3
Sage
They say New York is the city that never sleeps, but I don’t think Frankie is planning on getting much shut eye in Vegas while we’re here.
She’s been in the hotel bathroom for at least an hour getting herself ready while I sit crossed legged in front of the window soaking up the sun.
Although my eyes are closed, I picture the brownish red mountains in the distance, and the cloudless blue sky.
When Frankie asked if I wanted to go to Vegas this weekend, I agreed right away. It’s been too quiet at home lately and I never thought I’d miss video games or loud shouting at nine on a Saturday morning, but I do.
The wind chime next to the open hotel window brings me back to the present. I hung it up last night when we arrived, along with a lemon garland I made. I didn’t like the energy in this space when we first walked in. It felt depressing, so I was glad I’d brought the lemons with me.
“What are you doing?” asks Frankie.
Slowly, I open my eyes. She’s wearing a white strapless dress, and her vibrant red hair falls loosely over her shoulders. I smile. “You look pretty.”
“Thank you.” She tosses her hair back and eyes me skeptically. “Are you ready?”
I stand up easily and brush the wrinkles out of my long flowy skirt. “Yup.”
As I approach, she tilts her face. “Aren’t you going to put on some makeup?”
“Oh, yes. I almost forgot.” I grab my lip balm from my crochet purse and apply it on my lips. “Thanks. The heat really dries them up.”
Frankie laughs and puts her arm over my shoulder. “You really are a gem, you know that?”
“I do,” I say. “And so are you.”
“What are we going to do first?”
“Well, I was about to suggest the Yoga and Meditation Center just off of the strip.” I look down at her dress and long earrings. “But I don’t think you’re dressed for it.”
“No,” she laughs. “I’m not.”
“What do you want to do?”
“Let’s find a nice place to eat and then hit one of the casinos.”
Gambling isn’t my thing, but we are in Vegas, so I agree. “But we’ll do the Meditation Center tomorrow, right?”
“Fine,” she says, putting on her sunglasses. “But we’re not here to work.”
“That’s not work.”
“If I’m sweating, then I’m working.”
I wink at Frankie. “I can think of something that makes me sweaty and isn’t work at all.”
Frankie frowns. “Lucky you. Lately, that’s been work, too.”
*
Frankie chooses a high-end restaurant for dinner and I order the stuffed red pepper with quinoa, and she orders the steak. By the time our waiter sets down two chocolate cakes at ourtable, another server appears behind him with two glasses of champagne. “These are from the gentleman at the bar,” he says.
Frankie looks over and smiles at a group of men smirking with their elbows on the bar. I’m about to tell the server to take them back when Frankie picks up her glass and takes a sip.
“How does it taste?” I ask.
