Me, James and Mom give him a round of looks.
Jed reddens, but doesn’t flinch. “Louie’s Stiff One. He’s there.”
“I knew it,” James crows.
Declan finishes on the phone and comes back in, extremely pleased with himself.
“What’s going on?” I ask, glad there’s good news somewhere.
“Oh, you know. Business,” he says breezily, eyes raking over my mom, James and Jed. “You find him?”
“As I predicted,” James explains. “Louie’s Stiff One.”
“Why?”
“Why what?”
“Why would he go there?”
“Dad is more of a hot-dogs-and-ice-cream kind of guy. Louie’s sounds like it’s more hot dog than filet mignon.”
“More like Spam in a can,” Declan says in a voice tinged with disgust.
“That would be my Jason,” Mom says with a relieved smile. “Let’s go find him.”
“Why?” James asks.
“Why? Because I’m worried about him,” Mom explains.
“He’s a grown man. If he wants some privacy, give it to him.” James makes a sound of disgust.
Mom’s eyes narrow. “What, exactly, is this Stiffy’s? A strip joint?”
Declan, Jed and James all start laughing.
“It’s about as far from a strip joint as any place in Vegas can be,” James says with a chortle, his condescension clear. Is he...protecting my dad? Siding with him on some issue I don’t understand?
“Then why are you trying to stop me from seeing him?” Mom protests.
“I’m not stopping you.” James gives Mom a gimlet eye. “I just find your way of treating him like he’s on a leash to be a bit much.”
“Since when did my relationship with Jason become any of your business?”
James points to me. “Since she sprayed me like a dog while your husband attacked me for allegedly having an affair with you.”
“Which you would have been lucky to have,” Mom counters.
James is nonplussed.
Mom turns to Declan and says, “Can we please go to Stiffy’s?”
We walk down into the cavernous private garage, James driven in a separate car, while Dec, Mom and I climb into an SUV limo. The first two minutes of the ride are full of tense silence, which ends with Mom opening her mouth.
“When are you two actually getting married?”
She had to bring it up again, didn’t she?
Dec gives me a micro-look so swift I almost don’t see it, eyes darting to Mom, face going slack. “When we’re ready.”
“You’re already more than ready.”
“When we decide, Mom. Not you. Besides,” I add with a little too much glee, “we’re trying to find the right Liberace impersonator.”
Mom’s face goes sour. Carol was right. Hah! Mom doesn’t take the bait, though.
“Are you eloping?” Her voice is soft, turned up at the end, the question a cold squall on the surface of my heart.
“Maybe,” Dec and I say at the same time, then share closed-mouth smiles.
“Will you let me and Jason be there?” She blinks hard, holding her hands in her lap and twisting them, worry about Dad etched on her face.
“We don’t know.” Declan answers for me. It’s the same response I would have given.
Because it’s true.
“I would understand if you just ran off,” she says as she inhales, the words so airy I almost can’t hear them. “I would.”
Dec starts to answer, looks at me, stops, and crosses his legs, face impassive.
“Good,” I reply.
And the rest of the drive to Stiffy’s is quiet, but not calm.
* * *
You ever wonder what sour beer would look like if it took human form?
I don’t have to wonder any longer.
If Corrine and Agnes, from Mom’s yoga classes, came to Vegas, Louie’s Stiff One would be their place. As Declan and I walk in, I do a double take. At his other resort, we’re about the same age as most of the guests.
Here, we could be everyone’s grandchild.
“Don’t you dare steal my slot machine, Helen!” an old woman croaks, standing by, holding on to a tennis-ball-covered walker. As she moves one lurch at a time away from her spot, she calls back, “I’m going to start wearing diapers just so I won’t have to deal with this shit.”
This is so not Litraeon.
“How did Anterdec acquire this place?” I ask James, who looks around the casino like he’s starring in the corporate version of the Hoarders television show.
“Bankruptcy and buyouts and, hell, I don’t even remember.” He scrubs his chin with his palm. “We can’t sell the damn thing. No one wants it.”
I spot Dad easily, because he’s the only man in the room with red hair.
Hair, period.
He’s at a baccarat table, a pile of chips in front of him, and two empty drink glasses. He’s slumped in his chair, a small crowd around him, one man wearing an oxygen tank and—
“Is that man smoking?” I gasp.
“Sure. It’s allowed. We’ve been over this,” Declan says with a weary sigh.
“While wearing a nasal cannula and having oxygen pumped in him?”
Dec grimaces, then gives the room a calculated look. “I wonder how well-insured we are on this place.”
I hip check him and he shuts up.
“We have baccarat here?” James sniffs.
“What’s wrong with that?” I ask.
“It’s generally associated with finer establishments,” Declan explains.