Page 60 of A Midlife Gamble

In a daze she turned full circle, unable to recall quite how she’d arrived where she now stood. Between then and now lay the remnants of a few scattered images…

Tony’s hand pushing her hundred-dollar chips forward, her own hand pulling them back. The dealer’s last card, busting him out at twenty-four. Tony’s face. The crushing groan that travelled around the table, sharp as a pin. Many pins. The sticky film of champagne coating empty glasses, the blank, almost expectant look on the dealer's face at what a disappointment she’d turned out to be, how ordinary after all. How very ordinary.

Five thousand dollars she’d had within her grasp. Five thousand dollars for those who had the guts.

Which wasn’t her.

Fortune favours the brave.

And that wasn’t her.

She wasn't a winner, because she hadn't even tried. She’d balked. Allowed a chink, large enough for fear and doubt, and plain old timidity to barge in and take over. Freezing the Kay who might, for once in her life, have taken the gamble.

Which she would have won.

Looking down at the wig in her hand, the ball of blonde, she tried again to remember. How had she found her way from the games room, to here?

There had been no exit signs, barely a change of light to indicate a change of room. But she remembered now. A green square, with a white arrow, that had had her shouldering a heavy door, which had led into a long corridor, lit only with ghostly emergency lights. Another door at the far end. And when she’d opened that last door, it had made a small humming noise and as she’d walked out she found herself at the edge of a large space. Empty loading trolleys lined up side by side, identification stickers fluttering in the breeze. And across the concrete barrier wall at the end of this space, a strip of highway had been visible, fuzzy with the lights of people going places, living lives. And from then it had all become real. Then she had known. She had exited the stage, gone behind the curtain of Vegas itself to find herself in a loading bay, where the props for this theatre of dreams were unloaded all day, every day.

Somehow she had found her way back to the strip, and its almost empty pavements. Just herself, a young man with no legs, asleep in his wheelchair, another man in a dusty grey tracksuit, stretched out on the steps of a topless bar, like Caesar on a couch, gazing with indifference at his empty kingdom. And along with the men, dozens and dozens of small white cards, skittling along in the breeze, every last one of them showing a photo of a young, naked girl, straddling an unmade bed:Sandy. Call me. I never sleep.

Yes, she remembered now. She'd taken out her phone and called Sandy because here, at last, was someone else in the world who no longer slept. But the phone had been answered by an angry-sounding man and she hadn't known what to say.Where is Sandy? Is she awake? I need someone to talk to.

Back at the hotel, it had become clear.What is it for?she'd asked, and someone had told her. The golden globe she'd admired since they day they'd arrived measured the movement of the stars, mapped the geometry of heaven. There could have been no clearer message.

This was how she had arrived at where she now stood. She was here to measure a star, how long would the light remain, how long would it last. Only there were no stars. She had looked and looked, but there wasn't a single star. Walking backwards, hands balled to fists, Kay tried one last time. But her neck was stiff from looking up, and her heart limp. And she knew. The sky above was destined to remain forever starless; she couldn’t even get this right.

Clutching the wig under her chin, like a child might hold a soft toy… like Alex had once… she stared straight ahead. Her feet burned and throbbed, the first time she had felt them in hours. As she looked down at her shoes, she became aware of all the other signs of exhaustion her body bore: a light and spinning mind on a head she could barely hold up, a dry mouth, shaky legs. A few feet away, so very close, she could see the cool blue water of the canal inviting her to sit, to lie down, to sleep. An invitation she was powerless to resist.

They had walkedthrough every arch, looked behind every trash can, and had been standing on the pretend Rialto bridge, for long minutes now, Marianne, Helen and Caro. Each of them scanning and re-scanning, left to right, corner to corner. Once, Marianne had thought she’d seen a figure move behind the canopy of a restaurant, but it had turned out to be nothing. A shadow, if that were possible.

‘I just don’t think she’s here,’ Caro said for the second time.

Helen didn’t answer. She hadn’t answered the first time. Answering would have meant they would be moving toward a decision. A turning back, a giving in. And the idea of leaving Kay out here alone, no matter how perfect the scenery, wasn’t something she felt ready to face.

‘Why don’t we try one last walk through,’ she said, and was answered by a small but clear splash of water that sounded very close. Instantly she turned. Almost directly below the bridge, at the bottom of smooth white steps that had been closed off by black railings, sat Kay. They hadn’t seen her before, because she was almost hidden, tucked up against the brickwork. She had, Helen could see, removed her shoes and rolled up her trousers to dangle her feet in the water of the pretend canal. Like a child at the seaside.

The first thing Helen felt was relief. The second thing was envy. That water looked so cool and her feet, never fully recovered from the first day walking the strip, were itching to try it. ‘Kay!’ she called as she leaned over the parapet.

‘Where?’ Caro turned.

Marianne too, the three of them toppling forward to see.

‘Kay!’ Helen called again.

Slowly, Kay turned her head.

‘What are you doing?’ Caro whispered in a loud voice. ‘You’re on the wrong side of the railings.’

Kay looked first at the railings, and then back at Caro. She shrugged.

‘Come up!’ Marianne waved.

But Kay shook her head.

‘Do you need help?’

Again Kay shook her head.

---