Out-of-date neon signs, long past retirement age, line Fremont Street. Their colored bulbs radiate an unwavering glow on the downtown Las Vegas streets. It is close to seven o’clock but the day’s heat clings to the air, stinging her eyes, as she exits from the back seat of the of the Town car. She gives a wave to the driver and quickens her pace entering the Horseshoe through one of the revolving doors lining the entrance. The cigarette smoke hangs in the air, like a cirrus cloud, causing her to wince. The room is low ceilinged and buzzes with ample fluorescents and gambling euphoria. Tourists, digging for gold, clutch metal coin buckets in the crooks of their arms as the clink of their booty echoes. They are permanent fixtures, screwed to row-after-row of slot machines. That’s Sin City, she thinks.
Benny Jr. insists that you can still ’smell the chips’ in the Old Vegas Horseshoe, on account of them being the same since Grandpa Binion opened the place in 1951, forcing the other houses to change from sawdust joints to classy, carpeted casinos. Benny always tells her, ‘they don’t make em like this anymore.’ Roxy wishes he would change the forsaken, threadbare carpet, but old cowboys seldom change.
"Would you radio Benny and let him know I’m here and will meet him in the Steakhouse?" She says brushing past Amanda the thin, freckled clerk at the registration desk. She checks her watch; three minutes until seven. She learned over the years you did not make Benny wait, you waited for Benny.
"Sure thing, Roxy." Amanda calls after her as she enters the elevator she hears the ting of a slot machine bell, a lucky winner screams at a jackpot win.
She presses the button for the twenty-fourth floor giving herself a once over in the floor to ceiling mirrors that adorn the elevators antique interior. Her lips are shaded Dangerously Red, matching her dress, complete with a low-plunging neckline and killer curves, all courtesy of Benny. She steps off the elevator and into Binion’s Ranch Steakhouse where Benny is waiting at the vintage mahogany bar. He slides his rocks glass across the bar and signals to the bartender, Petey, for another. She checks her watch again, noting it is one minute after seven o’clock. Her stomach muscles tighten as she gauges the expression on Benny’s face. He smiles at her tipping the brim of the cowboy hat covering his jet-black hair. The tension releases in her gut and a sheepish grin spreads across her face.
"Rox, the usual?" Petey asks polishing a wine glass.
Roxy nods and turns her attention to Benny planting a kiss on his left cheek. "Hi baby, sorry I’m late."
Benny retrieves her Chardonnay off the bar and takes her by the elbow leading her to their corner table overlooking the Vegas valley. Her breath catches in her throat as she gazes out over the cornucopia of shimmering lights. Benny and the Vegas lights brought her from Dallas and they are the reasons she remained after leaving she stopped performing each night on the strip.
Roxy hangs her purse on the back of the chair and takes her place at the table. "Benny, you said you had something important to talk to me about." Benny, opens his mouth to speak, their lanky waiter, James, brings over their salads.
"Mr. Binion. The usual for you. Caprese salad and the Pear and Gorgonzola for you madam. Your porterhouse and lobster will be out soon." James says sliding the dishes in front of them.
Benny stacks a thick piece of mozzarella on top of a ripe, red beefsteak tomato and slices into it. "Wanna bite?" he asks.
Roxy shakes her head and pushes a candied walnut around the plate with a fork. Her palms are sweaty. James returns and slides the tables candle towards Roxy. He places a steaming, twenty-one ounce Porterhouse, Au Gratin potatoes with a crisp, golden-brown crust, a bright orange Australian lobster tail, and a heaping mound of sautéed baby asparagus in the middle of the table along with two extra plates. The flame catches her eye, it orange, blue and white colors dancing the white wax. Benny prepares her plate, selecting tender morsels from each category. The converging smells assault her making her light-headed. Roxy reaches across the table and grabs her glass of ice water. She takes a big gulp, stifling the urge to vomit. She pushes her plate out of the way.
"What’s the matter?" says Benny.
"Oh, it’s nothing. I haven’t been feeling too good lately. I’m not too hungry anyway. Didn’t you want to talk to me about something?" Roxy says changing the subject.
"I do. We’ll get to that." Benny signals to James. "We need a bottle of champagne and two flutes. Bring only the best in the house for my girl here." James returns and pours the bubbly into two glasses. "We’ve been together for some time now ya know Rox," he pauses reaching into his pocket, "I’d like you to marry me." Benny extracts a golden ring topped with a three-karat diamond from its velvet home.
Roxy gasps, exhaling as she reaches for the ring, the dancing flame exhausts itself. "It’s beautiful." She says admiring the brilliant stone.
"Sorry uh, boss, I don’t mean to bother you but uh we got a shark we took outta the pit. It ain’t his first time neither." Bruno the head of security for the casino interrupts.
"Bring him on into the kitchen. I’ll meet you there." He turns to Roxy, "I gotta show a friend some cowboy hospitality. I’ll be right back."
Roxy stands. She feels her ears grow hot the fire spreading over her face. "Benny, I’m warning you…we have been over this a thousand time…"
"Roxy, sit down, shut up, and don’t’ move." Benny exits.
She hears Benny’s booming voice over a clatter of pots and pans, followed by a man pleading. The pleading turns into a wail of pain before silence. Two Horseshoe security guards pull the sobbing man through the dining room. He clutches his hand in a blood soaked linen.
"What did you do?" Roxy says in a whisper a look of horror on her face. "What did you do?" She says again raising her voice.
"You know we don’t play with fish in my house. If I were Grandpa Binion that fish would be two feet under in the middle of the desert, instead of missing a finger." Benny says as he dips his linen napkin in water to extract three dots of crimson from his shirt.
Roxy looks out the window at the glitter gulch below. In the distance, she sets her eyes on a thunderstorm bypassing the valley, illuminating the black horizon with flashes of lightning. Her eyes go wide. She looks at the ring on her finger, up to Benny and back down to the ring and takes it off.
With a slow, trancelike movement, she bends gathering her handbag. She pauses, touches her abdomen, and drops the ring into her full champagne glass. "Mr. Binion, I have to let you go." She says as she backs away from the table before fleeing from the restaurant.
She does not stop for Benny’s angry cries. She does not stop on the stairs for twenty-four flights. She does not stop during the two-mile walk down Fremont to her apartment. She does not stop through an hour of frantic packing or through eighteen hours and twelve hundred miles of desert driving. She does not stop until she gets to her Mother’s door, and rings the bell.
"Mama, I’m home." She cries, bursting into tears.
