windshield. Melanie was a true local, born and raised, which gave her more clout in his mind, in what way, he didn’t know.
James himself had missed eleven whole years in Vegas when he was living with his grandmother. And when he came back as a man, he’d expected it to seem smaller to him. In some ways, it did. The motel where his mother had rented a room by the week looked like a scale model, so dilapidated he was surprised to find it still open. The first time he saw it after moving back, he pulled his car into the parking lot to sit and look at it for a while, and he was tempted to run around the building to see if he could beat his old time.
But the rest of Vegas had grown. Sure, he’d heard about it, he’d seen the casino openings on the news. They got mail in Orange County all the time from the marketing machine in Las Vegas promising free buffets, shows and bargain-price rooms if grandma would just come park her butt at a slot machine and play for a little while. Of course his grandmother had no penchant for gambling or showgirls, so they never went. And when James came back at twenty-two, it was a different world.
For the first year and a half after he came back to what he considered his home, James struggled to adapt. He’d moved into a small apartment near where he used to live as a kid. Even though it wasn’t the best side of town, it was the part of town he knew, and it was surprisingly unchanged in eleven years. A few break-ins while he was at work were all it took to cure his nostalgia. He moved to a one bedroom at one of the brand new upscale apartment complexes with washers and dryers in the units, dishwashers, garbage disposals, multiple tropical pools and spas on the manicured grounds, a gym, and a guard at the gate at all hours. The apartment buildings in his complex were fourplexes painted different shades of neutral colors and strewn about at odd angles to each other, creating a neighborhood atmosphere rather than barracks.
This was an unfamiliar Las Vegas, but it agreed with him. He could go out to the pool on a weekend and chat with neighbors, pet a dog, throw a ball with a kid, feel like a normal human being. But there was the feeling, too, that he was faking it, that this wasn’t the real him; inside he was really the twelve-year-old kid with a druggie mother who sent him away. But he got used to the fraudulence, embraced it to some degree, and allowed himself to just show the world the person he wanted to be.
“So you came from Chicago, huh?” said James. “I have an uncle who lived there for a while.” He wouldn’t have shared any familial truths under the usual first-date circumstances, or at all for that matter, but there was a celebrity factor that he found irresistible.
“Oh yeah?”
“Yeah, maybe you’ve heard of him. Danny Rains?”
“You’re joking, right? Dan Rains the linebacker? 1985 Bears?”
“Yep, that’s him. Only played four years in the pros. But he was there when it counted.”
“Wow. That’s so cool,” Melanie sat back against the sofa and shook her head. “I’ve been a huge Bears fan since I was eight and my dad taught me about football. Does that mean you’re a Bears fan too?”
“Totally,” he lied. “Ever since uncle Danny made the team.”
The truth was he’d been a fan of the Raiders ever since moving to Southern California. Having never had a football team nearby, he suddenly had two to choose from. He chose the Raiders over the Rams; the Rams were boring. The Raiders were dirty but they got the job done. He could relate to that. His grandmother allowed him to go to games with a friend from school and his father, and the season after he became a fan, the Raiders won the Super Bowl. It was the kind of consolation prize that truly made a difference. If he hadn’t been shipped off to his grandmother, he never would have been a Raiders fan, and he never would have known what watching his team win the Super Bowl felt like. As it was, all
James himself had missed eleven whole years in Vegas when he was living with his grandmother. And when he came back as a man, he’d expected it to seem smaller to him. In some ways, it did. The motel where his mother had rented a room by the week looked like a scale model, so dilapidated he was surprised to find it still open. The first time he saw it after moving back, he pulled his car into the parking lot to sit and look at it for a while, and he was tempted to run around the building to see if he could beat his old time.
But the rest of Vegas had grown. Sure, he’d heard about it, he’d seen the casino openings on the news. They got mail in Orange County all the time from the marketing machine in Las Vegas promising free buffets, shows and bargain-price rooms if grandma would just come park her butt at a slot machine and play for a little while. Of course his grandmother had no penchant for gambling or showgirls, so they never went. And when James came back at twenty-two, it was a different world.
For the first year and a half after he came back to what he considered his home, James struggled to adapt. He’d moved into a small apartment near where he used to live as a kid. Even though it wasn’t the best side of town, it was the part of town he knew, and it was surprisingly unchanged in eleven years. A few break-ins while he was at work were all it took to cure his nostalgia. He moved to a one bedroom at one of the brand new upscale apartment complexes with washers and dryers in the units, dishwashers, garbage disposals, multiple tropical pools and spas on the manicured grounds, a gym, and a guard at the gate at all hours. The apartment buildings in his complex were fourplexes painted different shades of neutral colors and strewn about at odd angles to each other, creating a neighborhood atmosphere rather than barracks.
This was an unfamiliar Las Vegas, but it agreed with him. He could go out to the pool on a weekend and chat with neighbors, pet a dog, throw a ball with a kid, feel like a normal human being. But there was the feeling, too, that he was faking it, that this wasn’t the real him; inside he was really the twelve-year-old kid with a druggie mother who sent him away. But he got used to the fraudulence, embraced it to some degree, and allowed himself to just show the world the person he wanted to be.
“So you came from Chicago, huh?” said James. “I have an uncle who lived there for a while.” He wouldn’t have shared any familial truths under the usual first-date circumstances, or at all for that matter, but there was a celebrity factor that he found irresistible.
“Oh yeah?”
“Yeah, maybe you’ve heard of him. Danny Rains?”
“You’re joking, right? Dan Rains the linebacker? 1985 Bears?”
“Yep, that’s him. Only played four years in the pros. But he was there when it counted.”
“Wow. That’s so cool,” Melanie sat back against the sofa and shook her head. “I’ve been a huge Bears fan since I was eight and my dad taught me about football. Does that mean you’re a Bears fan too?”
“Totally,” he lied. “Ever since uncle Danny made the team.”
The truth was he’d been a fan of the Raiders ever since moving to Southern California. Having never had a football team nearby, he suddenly had two to choose from. He chose the Raiders over the Rams; the Rams were boring. The Raiders were dirty but they got the job done. He could relate to that. His grandmother allowed him to go to games with a friend from school and his father, and the season after he became a fan, the Raiders won the Super Bowl. It was the kind of consolation prize that truly made a difference. If he hadn’t been shipped off to his grandmother, he never would have been a Raiders fan, and he never would have known what watching his team win the Super Bowl felt like. As it was, all
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