Page 69 of Faithful

As far as the people who cross paths with me at the club are concerned, I’m just another devoted fan.

Because we are two halves of one meme, and Kai’s the half people adore and I’m the half people hate.

Okay, I need to retract the statement above since it only covers the Iodine fandom. Not everyone, in fact, adores Kai Delisa.

That’s clear on Wednesday, when a huge crowd of protesters with homemade signs praising Jesus and condemning Iodine for promoting satanic beliefs takes a stand in front of MGM Grand.

I get to witness the commotion upon my arrival to the venue. There are a bunch of cops trying to force people away from the entrance, but it’s Vegas. Things aren’t exactly cut-and-dried here.

“You don’t need to be at the club every single night,” Kai says to me on Thursday morning while we’re still in bed.

“I like to watch you sing.”

“You should check out some other attractions while you’re in town. Just come back here when you’re done.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah. Positive.”

Later that afternoon, once the entire crew and the band are gone, I follow his advice and see a show at Caesar’s Palace, then wander around the Strip, play slots at the Bellagio casino, pop into some dance club in the Cosmopolitan (because the entry is free), and have a drink (or four) at Aria. Eventually, my common sense starts telling me I’ve spent enough money doing what I’ve been doing all night, and it isn’t fun without Kai. So I return to our hotel.

He’s already there waiting for me in bed.

I take off my clothes and slip under the covers to lie next to him.

“Did you have a good time?” he rasps out.

“There’s a huge billboard of you just down the street. The band, I mean.”

“Oh yeah? What’s it doing there?”

“It’s the residency ad. You didn’t know?”

“I’m not involved with the marketing side of things all that much.”

“Well, for what it’s worth,” I mutter drunkenly into the back of his neck, arranging my body around his, “you look hot in it.”

“You smell like a bottle of bourbon.”

“And you smell like cookies.”

“Fuck you.”

“Fuck you too.”

“Go to sleep.”

“You go with me.”

8 TESTING LIMITS

Friday at the club is wild when I arrive. The line of Iodine fans is so long, it starts downstairs.

The lobby is filled with Jesus freaks and security guards trying to kick them out. The hotel staff’s expressions range from terrified to determined.

“Is there some kind of religious convention?” an older woman with short bleached hair who arrives along with me asks.

“No. There’s a show upstairs,” I explain.

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