Read Online Leaving Las Vegas by John O'Brien - Free Book Online

both sides of her, she orders a margarita. This she drinks down halfway in short order, the balance to be slowly and conspicuously nursed. From the stage a cover of a Tony Orlando song blares out and fills the corner. She likes these gutsy, hard-working lounge singers and thinks that they take too much abuse. Of course she has to admit that anyone genuinely enjoying this music comes off looking foolish. At times it can sound good to her. She always wonders what the acts think of themselves; she can never tell. Across the bar is a young girl about to turn a trick. She avoids looking at Sera, though she is clearly aware of her presence. Talking to the girl is a lupine man with too much facial hair. He’s very proud of it, wears it like jewelry. The men at the bar have scented Sera. The young girl resents the uninvited competition and shoots an icy glance at Sera, who smiles back at her compatriot. Sera has never understood why so many people choose contempt as the first option. She can’t remember ever feeling that way.
    “About ready for another drink?” asks an even looking conventioneer, materializing on her left.
    “Yes, that would be great. Thank you,” says Sera, still wearing a smile. “Are you here for the convention?” She has no idea what conventions are in town.
    “Do I look that obvious?” he says. “My name’s Paul.” Extending his hand he shows exactly the same enthusiasm that he has offered to hundreds of business associates during the last few days. Sera guesses this and wonders if he would like to sleep with them, as well.
    “No, of course not. Just a wild guess. I’m Sera, and that’s a margarita.” She takes his hand and nods at her glass.
    The bartender is an older man who has spent most of his life at his profession. He has the drink ready almost before it is ordered. Likewise, Paul pays for it almost before it is served. A five dollar bill folded lengthwise and held between his two middle fingers has been moving metronomically, pointing alternately to Sera and the bartender. Paul is unaware that he habitually does this. It annoys his wife, who is at this moment giving herself a pedicure back in Pennsylvania, to no end.
    “I couldn’t help but notice,” he starts, “that you have a few bruises on your face. What happened?”
    “Car crash,” she says. “Nothing serious.”
    “Oh.… Good.” He seems to believe her. He’s seen car crashes in Pennsylvania.
    The girl across the bar gets up and, pausing to give Sera a nasty little smile, follows the wolfman out of view. That guy looks wrong. Sera hopes that she’s careful.
    “So,” she tries, “are you alone, or are you just using me to make somebody jealous?”
    “Alone. Alone. I’m here alone,” he says quickly. “Can I buy you a drink?”
    “You just did. Where are you staying?” she asks.
    “Right here in the hotel. Why?”
    Why. He said why. This catches her off guard. “Well, I thought that you might be looking for a date,” she says, testing the water.
    “A date! What, are you a hooker? What do you mean, a date? I just came over here to talk for a few minutes. A date? Have you seen your face lately? I’ve got a wife back home. And I’ll tell you something else: The hookers in Pennsylvania don’t run around trying to do—what do you girls call it? tricks?—tricks right after being in an accident!”
    “I’m sorry,” she says. “I guess I misunderstood. Please don’t raise your voice. I won’t bother you about it again.”
    “Sorry,” he says, modulating. “Look, you seem like a nice girl and I was curious about your face. I’m just sick to death of everyone in this city trying to get my money. Have another drink. I gotta go.” He leaves his change on the bar and walks away.
    That, she thinks, is not exactly what I needed to happen here. She has a nasty feeling, an old feeling. It has been quite awhile since she’s felt such a lack of control. Something is out of synch, and it is disrupting the ease