Page 2 of Your Every Wish

He flips the collar of the suit back down and presses his hand against the crease for good measure. “Take it or leave it.”

What good would it do? Even with the $5,685 in my checking account, I’d still be $15,315 short.

Goddamn you, Madge!

“Never mind,” I say and grab my jewelry off the counter and hightail it out of Bubba’s with whatever modicum of dignity I still have left.

In my car, I try Mom again. All I get is a recording of her chipper voice, promising to call me back. By now, the money is long gone anyway. Between pricey plane flights, Night of the Iguana hotel suites, fruity margaritas and Max, there’s not a dime left of Mr. Sterling’s winnings.

I pull away from the curb and drive around for an hour to think, getting as far as Henderson before turning back home.

My usually spacious apartment feels claustrophobic.

Like the walls are closing in. I pop a Diet Coke and go out onto the balcony and look out over the Las Vegas skyline.

It’s one of those perfect September days, mild and clear as the eye can see.

My phone rings, startling me. I race inside and check caller ID. “Mom?”

“Do you hear that?” There’s loud music and before I can answer, she says, “It’s a mariachi band. They play every afternoon in the lobby of our hotel room. Oh, Kennedy, it’s beautiful here. Just divine. Stop it, Max.” She giggles. “Max says hi.”

“Mom, I need Mr. Sterling’s money back. I need it back, like yesterday.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, honey. What money?”

“The thirty thousand you were supposed to deposit into his account but instead pocketed for your little trip to Mexico. I’m in real trouble here. He wants it by the end of the day.”

“Honestly, Kennedy, why would you think I would take the man’s money? I could lose my job for that.”

“Lose your job? You could go to jail.” If I could reach through the phone and strangle her I would. “Mom, stop. Just stop! We both know you took the money and left me holding the bag. What am I supposed to do?”

The mariachi music is fainter now, like my mother is moving away from the band.

Finally, Madge lets out a sigh. What sounds to me like a guilty sigh. “Max needed this, honey.”

“Needed what?” But I already know. It’s always a man with Madge. Donovan, Larry, Kevin, and of course my father. Losers, every last one of them.

“He wanted this vacation for us so bad. And when his deal was put on hold, he was crushed, I mean absolutely devastated. Try to understand, Kennedy. Max is a very proud man.”

Yeah, so proud that he let his girlfriend pay for an expensive trip on stolen money.

“Understand what, Mom? That putting Max’s fancy vacation before me, your daughter, your own flesh and blood, was more important? Besides my livelihood being on the line, I could be arrested for this. Prison, Mom! Did you stop to think about that?”

“Don’t be so dramatic, Kennedy. Your whole world is about to change in a couple of days. Then you’ll take care of this, and everything will be fine. I was only borrowing the money for a day or two. How was I supposed to know your client would notice the discrepancy so soon?”

“Then why did you lie about it a minute ago?”

“Because I didn’t want us to fight while I’m on my trip.

You’ll have Willy’s money in a matter of days, then you can pay your client back.

I wouldn’t have taken it if it wasn’t for the inheritance.

Willy owes me this . . . he owes both of us.

All those years, and he never paid a dime for child support.

For God’s sake, don’t I deserve a little happiness? ”

There is no sense arguing with her. No, what’s done is done.

“Have a nice time, Mom. And just a word to the wise, Max’s deal is never going through. He’s never selling his business. You know why? Because no one gets their television repaired anymore. It’s cheaper to just buy a fucking new one.” With that I hang up.

I fetch my Diet Coke from the balcony and pour the rest of it in a glass with ice.

It’s stuffy in my apartment, so I open a few windows, letting in a warm breeze.

I signed a lease here two years ago. It was more for the address and convenience than for the apartment itself, which was probably all that and a bag of chips in the early 2000s.

I sprawl out on my white leather sofa, a hand-me-down from one of my mother’s old showgirl friends.

The couch is older than I am and, like the apartment, is starting to show its age.

I probably should have bought new furniture instead of diamond stud earrings, but half my job is looking the part of a classy casino host.

To this day, I remember Lorelie Cummings, my first mentor in the business and now my best friend, telling me, “Kennedy, your clients’ clothes cost more than your car.

It’s futile trying to keep up with these people.

Buy yourself a few good pieces. Quality with a little flash.

And hold your head up high. That’s all you can do, girl. ”

Words to live by, I suppose.

I snatch the papers off the coffee table, the ones that I received in the mail this morning from a lawyer in California. The ones I was trying to read before I got the call from Brock Sterling and my day went from promise to shit.

In two days, I’m supposed to meet this lawyer for the reading of my father’s living trust. Then, everything I ever wanted will be at my fingertips. But what good will that do me today?