‘I don’t need one. I’m going out all night to gamble and drink irresponsibly.’
‘But why?’ I intervene. ‘You shouldn’t be drinking in your’ – my eyes flick to her belly. It still looks swollen. Like she’s swallowed a netball – ‘in your delicate condition.’
‘I’m not preggers!’ she yells. ‘I got my period! Total bloodbath. Absolutely everywhere. Never been so relieved in all my life. It must have been the stress of thinking I was preggers making it late. I’m just so effing gutted that I’ve missed out on all that free booze. And look at the size of this.’ She points to her belly. ‘It’s all sugar but it’ll melt with the booze.’
‘Congratulations,’ I say. ‘Why don’t you two sort out your room key at reception while I go sort things for tomorrow’s show at Eddie from Talent Star’s birthday bash?’
‘Fuck that. I’ve missed out on nearly everything. I’m gonna be binge-drinking and doing all the things. Doubt I’ll have time for that freebie show. Eddie can shove it.’
Liberty visibly swallows. ‘She’ll be fine after she’s had a messy one tonight. No worries.’
‘And you’re coming with me.’ Cherry stabs Liberty in the chest with a pointy talon. ‘To cheer you up. She’s devastated Hank Junior hasn’t tried to find her,’ she tells me.
‘And that he could be a hitman?’ I add.
‘No. Just that he’s done a runner. Like all the rest. It’s so sad, pet. Let’s find a new cowboy for you. One with a real trash-tache.’
Liberty looks genuinely forlorn. ‘I really liked him.’
‘Sorry,’ I say, rubbing her arm. ‘I’ll meet you guys later. I just have to do this… erm, thing.’
I’m not two steps from the lift when they ping open and Big Mand and Big Sue clamber out, weighed down with bags. Big white paper bags with gold rope handles that I recognise. They immediately try to hide them.
‘Shopping. For costumes,’ says Big Mand too quickly.
‘Oh, yeah?’ I really want to pry but I’m in a rush myself so I’m going to have to let it go. ‘Can’t wait to see them,’ I say, jumping in the lift just as the doors are closing.
Big Sue yells at me. ‘We can’t make the birthday bash tomorrow, sorry!’
And the doors close.
WTF!
Ping. The doors open and Tash and Sister Kevin are waiting in the foyer. ‘There she is! I’ve been messaging you all afternoon,’ she says.
‘Sorry. My phone’s been off. And by the way, Matteo says he loves me. What’s up with you two?’
Tash, hanging from Sister Kevin’s arm, beams at me. ‘We’re going to see Celine Dion at the Bellagio. She’s doing a one-off performance tomorrow night and Kev won us tickets at the craps table,’ she squeals. ‘He had to lose eight hundred dollars first but then he hit the jackpot with these tickets!’
‘Wait. Tomorrow evening? But we’re working tomorrow, at the birthday bash as a favour for Nancy, remember? And then it’s the last night of Ged and Liam’s pre-moon.’ She’ll never squeeze in the Celine Dion concert.
Tash’s face falls. ‘It’s okay. It’s fine.’
Phew. Tash is the lead vocalist. She’s far too professional to drop the Dollz in it like that. Thank God.
‘You can do the birthday bash without me. No one will notice I’m missing. And Matteo loves you? That’s so cute, babes.’
Gah!
* * *
It doesn’t take me long to locate the Cocktail Hour bar or the grand piano that sits in the darkened corner. I’m not even going to ask anybody if I can play it because there’s no one around. The bar doesn’t open for another hour. I sit down and take a deep breath in. I take a deep sniff of his scent on the sweater and let images of Matteo swirl around inside my head until I feel the endorphins flooding my brain and my insides vibrating with excitement. Keeping my eyes closed, I put my fingers on the piano keys and start to play. Goosebumps cover my arms at the sound of my voice, the raw emotion mixed with the heady rush of adrenaline. As my voice grows, so does my confidence in these lyrics. Every now and then, I stop to adjust the key or scribble a new line down or change the tempo slightly before picking up where I left off.
This has to be the easiest song I’ve ever written. I feel light-headed with euphoria. Once I’ve cracked it, I check the time. I have ten minutes left to record.
‘Sorry, ma’am. You can’t be in here,’ says a waiter. ‘Staff only.’
‘But I am staff. Kind of. I’m the entertainment. The singer from England,’ I say pleadingly. ‘I just need ten minutes to finish rehearsing.’
