There are defining moments in our lives, when time is divided into before and after. An accident, a death, a betrayal so deep it scars the soul. Mine was all three.
* * *
The desert passed by our car window like static on a late night television show. The picture’s gone and all you have is a mass of random lines and dots. A universe of empty, meaningless, static. Is this what my life had been reduced to?
I wanted to remember the details of the past month, but the memories continued to escape me. I know what should have happened, what was planned, but my mind was filled with darkness. What would I find when the light finally broke through? Maybe I held the truth at bay for good reason.
My dad’s words kept ringing in my ears, “You’re safe now, Carmela. I have you. You’re safe now.”
But safe from what?
I glanced over as he sat comfortably in the driver’s seat of his luxury sedan with a silent calm on his face, his Sicilian eyes hidden behind his dark sunglasses, his thick lips pursed deep in thought with his eyes locked on the bleak asphalt of the two-lane highway.
As the sun faded away and dusk rose from the bare horizon, blues, pinks and purples swirled like oil in a street puddle after a rain. Dad took off his sunglasses and nodded to the cooler on the back seat. “Your mom couldn’t make this trip, but she packed cannolis in case you get hungry.”
My mom was a Vulcan, emotionless, logical but ever loyal to her family. Her hugs consisted of two brief pats on the back and her way of showing affection was through her cooking. The kitchen was her sanctuary. She communicated through fresh herbs and rich spices. If you smelled extra garlic, she was upset, and best to avoid her. Extra rosemary and she was happy. I needed only to sniff the air to know Mom’s mood.
Dad on the other hand was a bear of a man with his hairy arms, deep set dark eyes, and large boxy body. I viewed him as the quintessential Romulan. Fiery, aggressive, a leader in his community. He would have been a great Roman dictator, as the Romulans of Star Trek were based on.
Clearly, I was a Trekkie from the start. My fiancé, Dylan, and I had hours of fun assigning Star Trek character traits to the people we knew. As for me, I had the same Sicilian dark eyes, olive skin, boxy figure and thick black hair as my parents. Like my mother, I was blessed with all the right curves, except I lacked the small waist. Too many cannolis.
It was ten o’clock in the evening as we approached our destination crossing the border from Oregon to Nevada. The sky was a dark blue and warm golden lights dotted a small patch on the horizon, declaring life in the northern stretches of the desert. Knowing we were headed for Nevada, I’d imagined brilliant flashing lights, women in scantily-clad dresses hanging out on the corners, and crowds of gamblers bursting from the buildings.
Instead it was quiet. Desolate. Lonely.
The street was bare except for the tail lights of a single car in the distance. The Desert Rose Hotel and Casino sign flickered, then all but three letters stayed on. It became the Des Rose, and after a minute all the lights flickered again.
Across the street was a dull neon sign over a gas station and convenience store. A darkened liquor store sat next door, already closed for the night. Some lights flashed off and on over other businesses on the next few blocks. Beyond that there was nothing but the night, dark and heavy. No traffic lights, no traffic, and no pedestrians.
Dad pulled the car into the half empty parking lot, put it in park and turned the engine off.
“This is it?” I rubbed my eyes then unfastened my seatbelt. The stone structure resembled a small European castle. Towers and turrets on each of the four corners were shrouded in a haunting sense of mystery. It looked as out of place as I felt.
“This is it,” Dad replied. He glanced up through the bug-splattered windshield at the flashing lights over the entrance. “Come on, it’ll be an adventure.” Everything was an adventure to Dad. He opened his door, stepped out and stretched like a large bear emerging from a long hibernation.
My tired muscles ached and my nerves were raw. I just wanted to crawl into a comfortable bed. But the thoughts still tickled the back of my mind, would Dylan be here?
The accident.
I’d spent the long drive from Portland trying to piece it all together. But the pieces of the puzzle didn’t fit. My parents told me Dylan died in the accident. My head hurt from thinking about it. Nothing was making sense, especially words like accident, coma, and death. I didn’t remember any accident. I didn’t witness any death. How long had I been in a coma?
I yawned and stretched my back as I pulled my small suitcase along the path to the large entry. The clackity clack of its wheels over the seams of the sidewalk echoed through the night. Lights flashed inside the lobby with bells and whistles blaring a barrage of insults to my sensitive ears.
The inside was a mixture of old grandeur and cheap thrills. Like something I’d seen in an old film noir movie on TV. The colors were dull and the edges of everything were worn and frayed. A small hotel desk was on the left and a roadside diner type café was on the right. A whiff of cigarette smoke from the casino made me cough and turn up my nose. It smelled of sour beer, stale whisky and something rancid I couldn’t quite place.
I leaned against the hotel check-in counter while a young woman with spikey short hair, black lipstick and a name tag that read Florence – Los Angeles, got us checked in. What, I wondered, brought Florence from Los Angeles to this remote, isolated spot in the Nevada unknown? Was this like the Isle of Misfits? If so, then I was definitely in the right place. Why, I wondered again, would Dad choose this place for an adventure?
I half expected the music in the lobby to start playing the Eagles song Hotel California. But instead, it played Cyndi Lauper’s Girls Just Want To Have Fun. Not in this place! My mind screamed an automatic answer to the song.
“Here’s your room key,” Florence from Los Angeles said as she handed Dad a small packet. “Room 504. Take the elevators over there,” she pointed to the hall on her left. “There’s a coupon in there for one free drink for each of you, along with a free breakfast in the Rose Bud Café, and lastly a five-dollar credit to be used in the casino. Enjoy your stay at the Desert Rose.” After that, she sat down, and her eyes returned to the computer screen in front of her. We were no longer of any interest.
“This way,” Dad grabbed the handle on my suitcase, flung his garment bag over his shoulder and nodded toward the elevators. The hall smelled old and musty with a heavy layer of cleaning solutions.
“This hotel was built in 1902, over a hundred years old.” Dad loved being a version of Google, spewing useless and uninteresting facts whenever he had a captive ear. “Did you notice the outside French Chateau architectural design?” he asked as we stepped into one of the two elevators. “Sturdy construction here.” He whistled some vaguely familiar tune as the ancient elevator chugged its way up through the building. I wondered if it was being pulled up by the original cables.
Note to self – take the stairs.
The elevator stopped and the doors opened. Dad started to step out, but I noticed the light above the door. “Dad, this is only the fourth floor. We’re on the fifth.” He glanced up and chuckled.
“Right you are, good catch.” He stepped back in and pushed the button again for the fifth floor. I watched a bellboy stroll past us before the doors closed. His red and black uniform trimmed in gold looked faded and old. He looked like he belonged in an old black and white movie. A wisp of stale air brushed past my face leaving a hint of moldy dust. There was a grinding noise above and the elevator doors jerked closed and finished its climb upward.
“Ah,” Dad said as he stepped out onto the fifth floor. The hallway was empty and quiet with faded floral wallpaper and dim lights that flickered above the room doors. “This is much nicer. Smells fresher up here too.” It smelled like they’d just vacuumed with a lavender scented carpet cleaner that wasn’t quite strong enough to hide the deeper odors. “Here we go,” he pointed to room 504. “Shall we get unpacked and head down for a spin of the wheel and a drink?” He opened the door and stepped into the room.
A blast of cold air slapped me in the face. I headed straight to the thermostat to turn the air conditioning down, but it wasn’t on. The temperature was set at 70. Had my world lost all its warmth?
The hotel room barely had enough space to walk around each of the two queen beds. Beige walls were almost brown with age around the corners and the carpet was a multi-color shag, worn and flat in the main traffic areas. A cheap pressed board desk and wood chair were positioned by the window. It smelled stale, as if no one had stayed in there in a long time. I wondered what the turnover in these rooms was like.
Two large, faded paintings of roses in vases hung on the wall, one above each bed. A small flat screen TV sat on top of a dresser next to a mini-fridge. No microwave. A small one-serving coffee pot sat on top of the mini-fridge. The bathroom was a decent size with a tub and shower combo, double sinks and rose-pink tile back splash and a chipped tile floor. A stack of thin white towels and wash cloths that looked like they’d been bleached a few hundred times too many, rested on a wood shelf above the toilet. The bathroom smelled of Lysol.
I laid my suitcase on the bed by the window and unzipped it. I hung my clothes up on the five hangers provided in the small closet, put the rest away in the dresser drawers, then organized my toiletries in the bathroom. I felt rumpled from the drive, so I changed out of my University of Oregon sweats into some white capris and a salmon and white striped top.
“I really don’t feel like gambling, Dad. You can have my coupon for that.” I checked my lipstick and brushed my shoulder length black hair.
“What about a drink, Carmela? Something to top off that long drive before we turn in for the night?”
“Okay, one drink,” I said setting the brush on the counter. I stepped out of the small bathroom. “But one question Dad, why Crossroads?”
Dad hung his garment bag up in the closet and wiped his wide mouth with the back of his hand. He pursed his lips and narrowed his eyes at me as if trying to decide how much to reveal.
“Carmela, let’s just relax for now. I promise, in the morning we’ll have a big breakfast and go over everything. Don’t worry, things will become clear soon enough.”
As a successful lawyer and head of his firm, Dad knew how to choose his words carefully and how not to give too much information away. But to hide something from me, his only daughter? It hurt from my throat to my stomach. Damn Romans, Romulans, whatever.
I glanced sadly down at the wedding ring on my finger. Dylan, my husband was gone, but I wasn’t convinced he was dead. They say denial is the first stage of grief. And I was drowning in it.
I grabbed my purse, pulled the strap over my shoulder and headed out into the hallway. I hated gambling. I didn’t want to come to Nevada. I didn’t want to be a widow at the age of twenty-four. But I was the dutiful daughter. Angst shuddered through my whole body and tears welled up in my eyes. I clenched my jaw and turned to look away so Dad wouldn’t see me cry. This couldn’t be true. It had to be some horrible nightmare. I didn’t see Dylan die. So maybe they were lying to me.
I wiped my tears away by the time Dad stepped out of the room to join me, then we walked silently toward the elevator. I noticed pieces of wallpaper peeling away at the seams, frayed at the edges. The lights at the end of the hall flickered and then went out. I moved closer to Dad.
It was muggy on the first floor. The air was thick with mingling odors from the crowd of people and the old building. The Florentine carpets were faded and the crystal chandeliers were dull with age. Pieces of the chandeliers were missing, and the tops were covered in dust. And yet, I marveled at the distant charm of the place.
The main room of the casino held two long rows of slot machines and three blackjack tables. Past that was a smaller room that was partially closed off, which held a single poker table. The casino floor carpeting was worn and nearly bald in spots, and the main traffic patterns were almost black from years of use. Most of the patrons sitting at slot machines appeared to be over fifty, a drink in one hand and their other grasping a lever, or hovering over a large button that coaxed them to spin again.
I handed Dad my gambling coupon and noticed an enthusiastic bounce in his step as he headed straight for the blackjack tables. I watched him slide onto the center stool, place his coupons and money down, hold a hand up to order a drink, and laugh in conversation with the lady dressed in bright yellow sitting next to him. He acted as if this was a normal night. As if this was something he’d done a thousand times. But there was nothing normal about it. Not to me.
Curiosity infiltrated my mind. What did this casino, in the middle of nowhere, offer us? What connection did Dad have here? I huffed an irritating breath and set off to explore the place on my own.
A short white-haired lady looking as old as my grandmother, paced through the aisles of slot machines in her leopard leggings and black panther pullover sweater, scouting for the next machine to pounce on, that would surely bring her a fortune. A man with scraggly golden hair and a thick dull yellow beard sat at the end machine. His round body and loud roar when he won made me think of a lion.
People tossed out chips as if they were monopoly money and downed the drinks as if they were water. Life in a casino was a game, and the odds were against the players. Yet people were hypnotized into believing they had a real chance to strike it rich, or at least win enough to pay off their mortgage. So they drank another drink and played another round. It was all madness to me.
Ah, I thought, the Crystalline Entity, that’s what the Desert Rose was. From Star Trek: the Next Generation, the entity was a giant engine of cosmic death that lived to consume everything around it. And the worst part was that the Crystalline Entity was beautiful, colorful and shimmering. It drew the unsuspected into its web and the hidden danger within. I pondered what my role here was. Dad had something up his sleeve and he was making me wait until the morning to reveal it.
Swaying across the dingy carpet, I felt as if I were on the deck of a ship in stormy waters. The waves threatening to overpower me. A tidal wave of defeat overcame the fear and my shoulders slumped. My knees felt weak. I turned away from the casino and faced the hotel lobby desk. I needed to get control of my emotions and suppress my sadness and frustration.
Passed the lobby desk, passed the elevators, a different light glowed from a bar on the other side. I inched my way to the quiet room away from the main casino. It was more open with half a dozen small tables and chairs, a bar lined with six stools that all had clear views to the five wall-mounted TVs. Each displayed a different sports channel. There was a large KENO board flashing numbers on every wall, but the bar was quiet and looked inviting. I figured this was as good a place as any to order my night cap.
I sat down on one of the bar stools and glanced up at glass shelves behind the bartender filled with liquor bottles from forty-year old Scotch to cheap Vodka.
“Welcome to the Pete Rose Sports Bar, what can I get you?” He was cute. He had one of those movie star, must-be-air-brushed faces with honey-tinted eyes.
My hands trembled, so I shoved them in my lap. I had no business being here, in this place, getting a drink. My nerves became unhinged. I wanted answers. I felt disconnected and paranoid. The latter emotion was surely a result of my dad’s actions. I turned to leave then caught myself, and swiveled back around. He was after all, just a man. The bartender.
Tucker – Crossroads was the name on his badge. It appeared everyone who worked here had the same style of badge. A small logo of the Desert Rose on the left, their first name in big bold letters and the name of their home town beneath that. I stared at the badge. “Miss? Would you like a drink?” He put an elbow on the counter in front of me and palmed his chin. “Or just a chat? I’m a great listener.”
A thin smile crossed my lips as I thought of Guinan, the El-Aurian in Star Trek. The kind and quick-witted bartender who loved listening to everyone’s stories. I was in a world of make-believe.
“Miss?” He prompted again.
“Oh…yes,” I laid my free drink coupon on the counter. “Does this work here?”
“Every night. What would you like?” Tucker from Crossroads took the coupon away, stamped it and shoved it in a drawer.
“You’re from Crossroads? Or does that mean you live here now? ” I was just amazed that anyone was actually from this tiny anthill in the middle of nothing.
He moved his face an inch closer to me. It made me nervous. He smelled wonderful. I inched backward on my stool and straightened my back.
“Born and raised here. We all have to start somewhere,” he said in a playful sultry voice. “Let me fix you a drink and you can tell me your story.”
Definitely an El-Aurian.
My mouth went completely dry and I couldn’t seem to formulate a single word. I wanted to close my eyes, crawl into some dark hole and hide. I wanted to shout to the universe - why was I here? But even the universe wasn’t listening. I forced saliva into my mouth. “Lemon drop martini.”
Tucker from Crossroads arched an eyebrow and grinned. He stood up and fixed my drink. It was fun to watch him jiggle the martini shaker. I could easily see myself partaking of this more often while we were here.
Tucker from Crossroads slid the martini in front of me.
“So what’s your story?” he asked as he took glasses out of a dish washer tray and wiped them down before setting them on the shelf.
I gulped.
“Nothing. I have no story.” I wasn’t sure what my story was. The dots weren’t connecting and key elements were missing. I didn’t want anyone here knowing that my husband of one day was dead. That I was on some mini-vacation road trip with my dad. Embarrassed. I picked up my drink and wandered back into the casino.
Then I saw him. It was Dylan! Holy shit! I knew they were lying to me, although I couldn’t fathom why they would put me through that. He was here. Dylan was here. I saw him across the room; he was even wearing the green silk shirt I bought him for his birthday. The soft green silk that complemented his red hair and green eyes.
We locked eyes over the crowd for only a moment, then Dylan turned and walked away. As I stepped into the crowd of gamblers and cocktail waitresses to follow him, I was sideswiped by a middle-aged drunk man who could barely stand up. He knocked me into the wall as he stumbled backward after shoving a casino employee.
“Sorry,” the drunken man belched in my face. I twisted up my nose in reaction to his repulsive smell of bad breath, nicotine and alcohol, and side-stepped along the wall to get away from him.
“Charlie, you’ve had your limit tonight, it’s time for you to go home.” The employee was a slender man with a narrow face and a goatee, dressed in a dark grey suit. I couldn’t read his badge, but was pretty sure he was security.
“Fuck you, man. You’re not the boss of me.” Drunk and donned in dirty wrinkled clothes, he shoved his fingers into the employee’s chest. “That is, not since you fuckin’ fired me from this snake pit.”
I sidled my way along the wall, but when I looked back for Dylan, he was gone. I stood in disbelief and my eyes searched in all directions.
There was an exit door past the rest rooms. He must have left through there. I pushed the door open and found myself outside on the patio, standing in front of a large fountain that had a sculpture of a rose bush in the center. Silver and copper sparkled in the water at the bottom of the fountain. A wishing well. But there was no one there. Just lonely sounds of crickets chirping in the night, muffled sounds from inside the casino, and water splashing as it fell.
I walked slowly around the fountain and surveyed the empty lounge chairs next to a waist-high stone wall, a few palms in large ceramic pots, but no Dylan. No one. I was alone in the empty night. A shiver rocked my spine like a long icy wind. The chill in my bones wasn’t from the cold.
Had I just wanted to see him so much I imagined him? No. I was sure of it. I saw Dylan. I couldn’t wait until I scolded Dad for playing such a mean and hurtful trick on me. I stormed back into the main gaming area to find him. He had moved to a slot machine and I wove through the gamblers to stand behind him.
“Dad, how could you?” I said with as much force as my meek voice could muster. Without the martini, I might not have said anything at all.
My dad looked up from the lucky triple seven slot machine. “How could I what?”
“The game’s over, Dad. I just saw Dylan.” I fumed. I had never fumed at either of my parents before.
“Dyl…” he shook his head when he saw that I was trembling. “Honey, Carmela, Dylan’s dead. We buried him.”
“I just…” sobs caught in my throat. Tears welled in my eyes. Why was he lying to me? My own dad? I swiped my wet face, mortified as I looked around. Although no one seemed to be paying attention to me, they were all focused intently on their slot machines, gambling chips, and cards. I swallowed hard. “I’m going to bed,” I said in a defeated voice. I didn’t have the strength to figure out what was real and what wasn’t.
“Wait, Carmela. I’ll come up with you,” Dad said looking at the machine in front of him. His hand hovered over the cash out button.
“No, Dad. It’s okay. I’m just tired and need some sleep. I’ll be fine.”
“I’ll walk you up. It’s time to turn in anyway.” He hit the button and pulled out a slip of paper.
I laid my hand on his bulky shoulder. “Dad, I’m fine. Stay and play.” I kissed him on the cheek and strolled silently to the elevators. But he didn’t stay. Instead he was right behind me and we made our way up to our room. We didn’t speak as we got ready for bed. But I would get answers from him in the morning. I had to.
