4.
 Lou flew to Las Vegas and rented a car. He blew through the credit cards in the wallet. He ran up bills, in small chunks, at several hotels. Gambled a little. Buying items on credit at expensive gift shops, then returning them for cash refunds, he churned up a couple of thousand dollars in cash over a matter of days. Went to see shows, had expensive dinners, ignored the sidewalk hookers. Automobile lights squiggled against the witches' brew of glowing colors in the desert sunset. Lou stepped into a convenience store and picked out a cold beer and some gum. As he closed the glass door, he became aware of a smile. The same kind of smile Marie Smith had made, not looking at him, but sending telepathic messages. He walked slowly down the aisle, brushing his fingertip past overpriced combs and stationery and cans of juice. As he did so, he checked her out through the corners of his eyes. She was tall, with long dark hair. The kind of strong body that suggested she could prance for hours with a twenty pound head dress like some exotic bird from another planet. "What is this for?" he said.
She laughed. "What?" She stepped close. He noted her lithe limbs under a clingy white silk dress. Small breasts spaced wide apart. Throaty voice. He understood her secret right away but rode on the wave, as he did with all of life, hoping it would be good before it went the way of all things. "What did you say?"
"I said what's this stuff here?" He pointed.
She giggled. "Clam juice?"
"Yes," he said. "There's a stack of it. Always in these minimarkets. Who comes in at two a.m. to buy clam juice? Can you imagine. Hey buddy, we just ran out of clam juice, gimme a coupla six-packs."
She laughed delightedly.
"Will you join me for dinnner?" he asked.
"Yes," she said.
"What's your name?"
"Allison Jane. What's yours?"
"Freddie Johnson."
They bantered at the checkout stand. He felt comfortable with her. Their hands brushed. He touched the firm muscles of her thighs.
"Where are you from?" he asked as they left, she with a quart of milk and some fingernail polish, he with his bottle of ice cold beer.
"Philadelphia. I'm in the revue at Caesar's Palace."
"I could tell," he said, with an appreciative tone.
"Thanks. Are you a comedian?"
"Yes. But I'm in sales. I'm Freddie Portiano."
"Will you be in town a while?"
"Just another day or so. But I come here often. Nice hair. I like your hair."
"Thank you."
She was elegant. He wondered if she lifted weights, swam in the Olympics, ran marathons, dressaged horses. She was as tall as he, with solid wrists and long fingers. They held hands walking along the warm sidewalk where laughter and conversation and perfume floated up among the whirling neons. People turned to stare at Allison Jane. She was beautiful.
Dinner: An air-conditioned hush, reddish lighting, invisible pianist, a bowing whispering waiter, medallions of filet mignon. French bread, California wine. Allison Jane was very poised and her white dress shimmered in the seductive light. "I never—" she started to say, suddenly looking very shy, or something.
He folded his hands on the table, where she could touch them if she wanted. "I don't either," he said. "Just walk up to people and start talking, I mean."
They sat like this for a while. Gradually, like a wary animal approaching to play, her fingers crept across the table. Her fingertip drew teasing, thoughtful scribbles on his skin. He wondered what she was thinking.
He said: "I don't know what came over me."
She blushed. "I don't either." She giggled. "You were so funny."
"I needed another soul at that moment."
She brightened. "That's it. So did I. And I wasn't expecting it at all. At that moment like that."
"I wasn't either," he said truthfully, feeling the warmth of her in his gut. His heart beat faster. Her tongue caught behind her two upper middle teeth on the final 't' in 'that' as if she had a delicate little lisp or a vulnerability like a child that made him want to offer her his trust and protection in exchange for hers. "I just saw you and I think the sun went up inside me for the first time in a long while."
She sipped her drink. Her tone was arch with old pain. "Oh yes. We all have our tale to tell, don't we? Our story."
He shrugged. "I dunno. What story? What's there to me?" Sirens. He shifted the conversation back into that bright convenience store light with its many promises of relief and refreshment. "I feel really lucky that I met you."
"I do too. I trust you, Freddie."
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