Fiction

On the floor of the Nevada desert, tiny pupfish mate, spawn and eat. Their pools are gorged with salt and heated by the scorching flames of the sun. The minute fish survive by tearing green algae from the surfaces of their stone cell and catching the flies that settle too long on the wet roof of their residence. It is a perfect micro eco-system fed by a network of prehistoric, subterranean springs. Of course, they can never leave their shallow homes; there is no entrance and no exit. They are destined to carry out the remainder of their lives between the rocks and crevices of the desert, constantly bombarded by the fiery sunlight.

Serena appeared in Las Vegas just before the end of May. She was half European and rich, living off an allowance given to her by her grandfather. Her parents were based in Paris and were semi-separated. This meant that they still slept with each other on occasion and sometimes travelled together to distant corners of the globe for deranged alcohol and drug filled holidays. Her contact with them was minimal and although she rose her eyebrows nonchalantly when she told me this, her chin quivered slightly as if she were suppressing some sorrow. It was her first night at the hotel and she had been slamming back gin and tonics for an hour. I was the bar tender on duty that evening and politely listened to her stories as I polished glasses and served the other guests.

She looked at me through beautiful, almond shaped eyes which were the color of the Sapphire bottle I was pouring her drinks from. Her skin was flawless. Long, wavy blonde hair brushed her bare, tanned shoulders. Her slim, petite body was clad in silver silk and her arms were so delicate that when she lifted her glass which was illuminated by the glow of the lights on the wall, she looked like a crystal chandelier. Her accent was half American and half Parisian and her speech was littered with the words ‘of course’. It was as if a peculiar mocking crow was sitting on her shoulder,

“Of course, I was a mistake”, she said smiling, referring to her conception.

“Of course, most of my inheritance is already spent”.

“Of course, I failed my exams and the Sorbonne rejected me”.

After she had finished confiding in me, she would lift up her nose bravely and smirk as if she were mentally fighting against this black bird cawing into her ear.

It was a whole week before I saw her again, this time she walked in with an entourage, random people she had picked up in the various casinos of Las Vegas. All of them were wealthy and attractive and amongst her companions I recognized another heiress, a journalist and an actor. I felt dowdy in my black pants, white shirt and black satin bowtie. When she gave me a dazzling smile, my mood improved and I guessed that I may be getting some good tips that night, especially as she seemed to be a little drunk. However, instead she was monopolized by one of her new friends who kept supplying her with red martinis.

“Of course, I never win at Roulette, I don’t know why I played”, I overheard her say to him and she smirked and lifted her small, button nose.

He laughed while he massaged her back and she leaned her head on his shoulder. Drunk and high, they left together; she stumbled in her heels, falling against him. He kept sniffing and wiping his nose, reliving the chemical remnants of the lines he had snorted.

For the next few months Serena and Jake were inseparable. They complimented each other. She was delicate, tanned and blond. He was muscular, tanned and blonde. Their teeth gleamed together, their expensive designer clothes label matched. They drank copious amounts of spirits and snorted lines of coke together in the restroom. Once, they ran out of coke and she asked me whether I had any. Of course, I had to tell her that I couldn’t help her as it was a sacking offence to supply drugs to the guests. From her reaction, it was evident that she was unused to having her requests rejected, and a flash of anger cracked the smooth skin around her lovely eyes. Jake stared at me with contempt, they both left as soon as they had finished their drinks.

For a while, she stopped visiting The Palm Tree bar, although I was aware that she was still staying at the hotel. It surprised me that I missed her; unlike the rich guests that usually patronized us she was amiable and considerate, always thanking me for her drinks, tipping generously, enquiring about my day. There was something vulnerable about her which made her interesting. At times, she would disappear into a trance as people partied around her and I would wonder what she was thinking about. She relied on her companions to entertain her, and took the submissive role in conversations, listening and asking questions. I realized that I had been watching her.

Jake though, sometimes came to the bar without her, in the early hours of the morning, just as the black blot of night was beginning to recede. When she was not there his personality changed, he became aggressive and demanding, snarling his orders and thumping his glass on the bar. When he ran out of cash, he charged the drinks to her hotel room. A few times I found him unconscious and supine in the restroom, white powder tipped on the floor and his nose dusted with cocaine. Las Vegas sometimes does this to people, makes them angry and self-destructive, resentful at losing another wallet full of money.

The last time I saw them together was at the Sahara casino. I was there alone because I knew Serena frequented the place. She was playing poker at the next table and barely spoke to Jake as she studied the cards in her hands with the vacant hunger of a seasoned gambler. She had piles of chips in front of her but he was losing every hand. He grimaced angrily as his money was dragged away from him along the green felt. Absent mindedly she played with her chips, dropping them from her hands and knocking them together. She examined them one by one, studying their different colors and markings. Slowly, her mouth opening gradually, she yawned, hiding it with a hand swathed in diamonds.

It didn’t take her long to find a new crowd of gambling friends. Perhaps the failed relationship had changed her, made her more suspicious of wealth and privilege, for her new companions were less glamorous than before and I recognized one seasoned gambler who had been living at a nearby hotel for a few years. Harry was not wealthy, but he did have some savings in the bank and he won enough on the tables to almost cover his losses. He was a sensible gambler but nevertheless as addicted as the high risk takers. Generous, he laughed loudly at people’s jokes and gave large tips at the bar. The clothes he wore, tonight a blue and yellow Hawaiian style shirt, still evoked the style of tourists. Serena was dressed in a calf length, black, velvet dress that clung to her curves, a gold, cashmere shawl that draped seductively across her shoulders and a fan of diamonds that glittered on her ears. She smiled at me, but when I began for the first time to flirt with her by telling her that she looked stunning that evening, she recoiled slightly from me, as if she was repulsed, and then responded,

“Of course, yesterday I was very plain”.

Harry and Serena spent most of their evenings at the casinos rather than at my bar. Her skin was losing its luster and there were constant shadows and bags under her eyes. The contours of her face became slightly bloated from the amount of alcohol she was consuming and her wrinkles were deeper. Harry was obviously proud of Serena and in her company he puffed out his chest like one of the mating black grackles that nested in the streets of Las Vegas, his laugh began to remind me of their rattling calls. She snuggled into his round stomach like a pupfish hibernating in mud for the winter. When Harry began discussing his gambling tactics, she and their other friends listened avidly as if they were listening to a genius. I became worried about her, having seen so many people develop a serious gambling addiction, fired by the inescapable casino culture that flourished under the hot Vegas sun.

After a particularly blazing day that had slowed down the movements of everyone in Las Vegas, two new guests walked into the Palm Tree bar. Gold and diamonds shone from the woman’s limbs and she glittered like a fairground ride. Her tight facial skin hinted at the plastic surgery she’d undergone. The man was white-haired, furrowed and bored. It was early evening but without any hesitation and with the least amount of communication possible they concentrated on becoming seriously drunk. Separately, they began visiting the restroom, wiping their noses as they walked out. Their behavior was slightly bizarre as it seemed their sole reason for being together was to get as wasted as possible. Once, whilst the woman was in the rest room, the unmistakable aroma of marijuana emanated into the bar, the man looked at me and rolled his eyes, I had to turn my back and stifle a snigger. That was how I met Serena’s parents for the first time.

I only saw them together as a family once; they appeared in the middle of my day shift. The curtains were open and the sun beamed into the bar, lighting their faces harshly.

“What an awful man”, her mother said in a slurred French accent as she wiped her nose with her index finger.

“He’s a con man, Serena, he’ll take you for everything”, her father added.

Serena listened to them quietly; she was clearly unhappy and seemed to resent their words. After each sentence she sighed and shook the ice swimming in her glass.

“Come back to Paris, Serena, it is too hot here”, her mother said sulkily.

After writing on it quickly, her father ripped a check from its spine and handed it to her,

“Here take this, if losing money has made you fall in love with that man then maybe this will bring you to your senses”.

She looked at it, shrugged and quickly put the check in her purse.

After she left Harry, she began drinking even more heavily and one evening her alcoholism gave me the opportunity I had been hoping for. During the last hour of my shift I worked as quietly as possible so that I did not wake her, barely breathing. Using the bar as a pillow she had fallen asleep where she was sitting. Even the strong fluorescent bulbs on the ceiling above did not waken her. She was alone; there were no boyfriends around to help her to her penthouse suite. I closed the bar, clearing the ashtrays from the tables, washing the drip trays and finally, switching off the lights one by one. Nervous that she would react unfavorably, I shook her gently but she did not open her eyes. So I draped her over my shoulder like a fur stole and carried her to the elevator. She was light and easy to hold and I could feel her body through her silk, purple dress. I could not stop myself from stroking her arm.

When we arrived at the top floor, high above my room in the basement, I placed her on the floor, propping her up into a sitting position. She murmured something that was incomprehensible. In her clutch bag I found her key and when I pulled it out, a lipstick fell on the floor. It was the same color that stained the rim of my glasses every evening, and my hands began to shake. When the door swung open I was shocked by the enormity of the penthouse. Ahead of me in the lounge, were rows of wall-length windows looking out at the streets of Las Vegas. Carefully I placed Serena on top of a long, vanilla sofa. Suddenly she woke up and slowly opened her eyes, staring at me for a few moments until she said,

“Of course, you are the barman”, and she giggled and grabbed my bowtie.

She quickly returned to her comatose state and I spent our first night together sitting on the floor next to the sofa, her hand resting on my chest, smoking and unable to sleep, watching her breasts rise and fall under her silk dress and listening to her quiet, gentle snore.

Despite my requests for her to be discreet, and her reassurances that she would be, it transpired that she was unable to control herself. Hotel staff were forbidden from having relationships with the guests, yet, while I worked, my hand would be stroked when I wiped the counter with a cloth. She would lean across and kiss me on the cheek when I served her. If I pushed her away or avoided her touch then she would become petulant and upset. During the first few weeks of our relationship I discovered that she did not like being refused or contradicted whatever the situation. It was the little black crow that hated being challenged the most. If I questioned it’s version of the events of her past, as summarized by her ‘of course’ comments, then her nostrils would flare with anger. Sometimes I wanted to strangle that cruel and arrogant bird.

Inevitably, I was fired and Serena insisted that I move into her luxurious, penthouse suite. I was easily persuaded. My former colleagues now provided me with room service, spending sometimes up to half an hour in our room hiding from the manager. I had wanted to get a new job but she discouraged me, preferring my company every night at the casinos instead. In many ways I had achieved the aspirations of many a bar tender, cab driver, and bellboy of Las Vegas. I had a rich girlfriend who supported me; I no longer worked but had access to more money than I’d ever known before. Her parents, if she had told them, would have disapproved. However, Serena was not speaking to them; they had not left Las Vegas but had instead become addicted to poker and were now staying at a hotel on the other side of town. Apparently their behavior was an embarrassment to Serena and they were losing a lot of money. I wanted her to tell me more but she was still sometimes quiet and thoughtful, disappearing into a secret world of her own. There was a wall surrounding her that I could not break down.

We gambled into the early hours of each day waking up with painful hangovers. Sometimes Serena would agree to sit by the hotel swimming pool with me in the afternoon. It was shaped like a huge heart, it’s deep, blue water was always clean and slightly warm, heated naturally by the sun. We laughed at it’s tackiness but it was impossible not to be infected by it’s optimism and naivety, it’s shape gave our spirits a quick lift, like the barely registered rush of caffeine. Serena wore a bikini, her tan perfectly even as if it had been painted on by an artist. We sunbathed next to bankrupt gamblers wearing shabby T-shirts and shorts who spent a dime a time at the slot machines. Prostitutes and rent-boys surreptitiously eyed the clientele lounging around the pool searching for the rich and desperate. One afternoon, a thief ran away with someone’s Gucci purse, Serena told me she had seen him pick it up but had decided not to warn the owner because she had been bored. The day before she left me, we had a swimming race in the pool,

“Of course, I am a terrible swimmer” she informed me but had won easily.

Instead of being pleased, she glared at me and left the pool immediately; leaving me behind, treading water, trying to deduce what I had done wrong.

Later, we played blackjack, with the absorption of two people who were reading ancient hieroglyphics on the fronts of our cards. I was losing and becoming increasingly irritated even though I was playing with Serena’s money. I faithfully made sure she never ran out of champagne and that she never had to light a cigarette, but she was quiet and hardly looked at me. She was concentrating on the game I told myself. When she started playing with the chips in front of her, knocking them against each other, I was reminded of the time I had seen her in the Sahara casino with Jake and a feeling of terror gripped me, making my throat constrict. Her eyes swept over my face indifferently and she examined her chips even more closely. A haze of smoke separated us.

Almost as soon as we woke up the next morning, Serena asked me to go shopping for her and she handed me a long list of food and alcohol, complete with specific instructions. The caviar had to be from Turkey, the chocolate from Belgium and the Vodka from Russia. Some of the items could only be found in specialized stores. Our fridge was full of white wine and champagne with very little space left for anything else, but I wanted to please her, so I agreed to go. It took me about four hours to find all the food she wanted. When I arrived back at the hotel, tired and cranky, I put down the bags on the coffee table and called out her name. There was no answer and I opened the door to the bedroom to see if she was taking an afternoon nap. She was not there and neither was her makeup and jewelry. Apprehensive, I went over to the wardrobe. Swinging on a few clothes hangers were my shirts and trousers but the others were empty. All of Serena’s possessions had gone except for some cheap knick-knacks that she had won at Circus World. I went over to the fridge, swore and took out some champagne, slugging it from the bottle. The insides of my body felt as if they were being sandpapered. I had been discarded like the chips she had been dropping from her right hand the evening before.

Downstairs in the lobby, an ex-work colleague told me that Serena hadn’t informed anyone that she was leaving and that the penthouse suite had been paid for until the end of the month, three more weeks. I caught a cab to the hotel where her parents were staying. The man behind the front-desk typed their surname into the computer and then said,

“There is nobody staying here with that name”.

“Bu…Bu…But they must be, d…d…did they check out?” I stuttered, something I had not done for years.

The man’s face was expressionless, “Sorry, I can’t help you, we are not permitted to give out that information”.

I nodded miserably and then walked slowly outside. Staring at the floor, tears welling in my eyes, I walked back to my hotel, past the luminous, flashing lights, the crack whores and the homeless people holding cardboard placards that begged for money.

In the next few days, I frantically phoned more hotels and searched the streets and casinos of Las Vegas. Each enquiry was unsuccessful, and I wondered whether she had left town, although considering her addictions this was not likely. Money was becoming short and I had to find a job. My ex-manager gave me my old position back but only because it was an emergency, two staff had been recently sacked for stealing from the cash register and I began immediately. I descended each evening from the twentieth floor where the penthouse suite was, to the Palm Tree Bar on the ground floor. I was living like a king compared to my co-workers who were sharing rooms in the basement. However, the time was drawing closer when I too would be living downstairs again. It was going to be difficult to adjust, champagne was now my habitual drink and caviar my favorite snack.

On the eve of the day I was due to leave the penthouse suite, I decided to visit some casinos straight after work. Feeling sorry for myself, I drank at the bar counting the ways that I had been ill treated. Suddenly, through a drunken fog, I spotted Serena leaving through a tall glass door. She was with her parents and a man wearing a white tuxedo that I did not recognize. Leaping up instantly, I ran towards her. It was very crowded and I knocked into a few people, bashed my thigh on a chair and almost tripped over a bag. The bells and electronic music playing from the army of one-armed bandits taunted me as I staggered towards her. By the time I reached the exit she was gone. It was like being punched. Without any explanation, I had discovered that I had already been replaced. It was not so surprising; Serena was one of those women who would continually be dealt another man whenever she chose to reshuffle the pack.

Needing to obliterate what I had just seen from my head, I decided to visit another casino. It was a hot, humid August evening outside in the streets of Vegas. Tourists cluttered the pavements, thrilled and excited by their environment, admiring the bright sparkling towers around them. Their smiles annoyed me for they interrupted my malignant brooding. Inside, I sat at a bar and ordered several drinks in quick succession. A pretty show girl sat next to me and because I needed a boost to my self-esteem I started chatting to her. After even more drinks, I invited her back to the hotel. When she saw the penthouse suite she was visibly impressed. She had been in Las Vegas for four years and I guessed that she would love to have a rich husband. I didn’t tell her that I was just a bartender deciding that I deserved a night of fun before returning to the old, banal rituals of my former life. Leaning against the ceiling length windows, we drank tequila from Mexico, sprinkling white grains of salt on the back of our hands. Beneath us, I could see thousands of neon lights tangled together between the shrouded brick and stone of the strip.

Meanwhile, in the Nevada desert that surrounded us most of the pupfish were dying. During the scorching summer temperatures, their pools become increasingly shallow as the water evaporates. Only a few survive in the small amounts of puddles that are left, even their mating was largely pointless. Yet they still cling to life, and when the cavities fill with spring water again, they spawn more fish that will live in these small, monotonous holes until most of them experience an agonizing death. I thought of the futility of Serena’s life and how she would repeat the same patterns interminably never coming to a satisfactory or important resolution. Detachedly, I watched my show girl date snort a line of coke with a twenty dollar bill and she casually handed me the twisted cone. As the drug slid up my nostril I thought again of the pupfish, picturing their thrashing bodies on the cracked, hard, desert floor, twisting their heads and their tails as they slowly suffocate to death, baking under the pitiless Nevada sun.