Chapter 4 All of the Falls

When I make it to the casino, I pause just inside the entrance to take it all in. It's not so much of an entrance as it is an opening where a wall could go. Thick cream columns intermittently mark the opening as the entrance, people coming and going with no sense of direction, but more than enough room to not run into each other. Men in black suits with white shirts and red ties stand near the columns on the far right and far left. There are slot machines as far as the eyes can see-modern ones with buttons to push to place your bets and traditional ones with levers on the side.

In the center of them all are two gigantic slot machines in a cordoned off area. As I watch, a couple uses their combined weight to grab the lever and pull it down. Jangly music that sounds more like a video game than a slot machine rings out and the display begins to spin, their bet under way and the woman claps giddily while watching. Her eyes are bright and full of hope and excitement. When the display stops she pokes out her bottom lip at the man she's with. They don't win. Another couple steps up and goes through the same process. I wonder if it's a couple only thing. Moving further inside, I spot the gambling tables. Roulette, Blackjack, Poker, whatever the vice, they have it here. Men wearing the same suit as the ones at the entrance, with the exception of emerald green ties and name tags, stand behind the tables, dealing cards to hopeful gamblers. The female dealers wear sleeveless black A-line dresses with a high neck. Some of them have black belts with their dresses while others have emerald green belts, matching the ties the male dealers wear. In the sea of bright, flashing lights, the belts and ties simultaneously blend in and stand out.

I make my way to one of the modern slot machines and dig in my purse to see how much cash I have. I bet I could find several ATMs here. Glancing up, I see two huge black ones right next to each other. Ominous, yet intriguing enough to make me get up and inspect them. Not only can you withdraw a ridiculous amount of money, you can get it in any denomination from tens to hundreds. Shaking my head, I turn go back to the slot machine and just as I raise my hand to put money in a waitress asks if I want to order a drink. Hell yeah, I do.

"She'll have a coke. Ms. Brenner won't be having anything alcoholic. Mr. Cranston's orders," one of the red-tie-guys says.

The waitress nods her head, smiles, and flits over to the next patron. Scowling up at the wimp keeping me sober, I flash my money in his face.

"You can tell Mr. Cranston he just lost out on," I pause to count the money in my hand, "$12!"

"Tragedy," he deadpans.

I search is features for a flaw to exploit in my mind and come up short. He has black, close-cropped hair and dark brown eyes. His face is covered in a goatee and even though he has thin lips and chocolate skin, his features are good-looking and he fills out his suit nicely. I stuff the money back into my purse and start walking away. I know without a doubt he's following me. Bastard! Just as I exit the casino, I hear him say, "This is Dennis. She's leaving the casino." I turn and flip him the bird. His lips twitch. Spinning on my heel, I run smack dab into another patron. I try to catch him, keep him from falling, but end up pulling him down with me. He lands on top of me, a smarmy grin on his face. Within seconds he's lifted away and I can hear him apologizing. I consider telling him it was no big deal, but Dennis is fighting a smile as he offers a hand to help me up. Glare firmly in place, I slap his hand away, struggle to stand, stumble after I get up, then hold my head high and strut out of there like I own the place. Because, screw him, too.

That's how I end up at The Mustard Seed. I'm trying really hard not to point out the obviousness of how seedy this bar is, fitting perfectly with the name. Something perpetually sticky is everywhere I step and the bar surface looks like it hasn't been polished in a few weeks, but the glasses are clean and they have no issues serving me, so we're golden. There was another bar called The Dirty Dawg, but I drew the line at possibly getting drunk enough to ride off into the sunset on one of the many Harley's I saw parked out front. That actually doesn't sound too bad at this point. Ride off and never return. The true dilemma though, with that one, it's located too damn close to the resort and something told me that if Jayce could cut off my damn alcohol in a resort and casino of that magnitude, he could probably reach across the street as well. Not to mention The Mustard Seed has this puff pastry buffalo chicken thingy that's simply divine! I've been trying to get the recipe from these guys since I got here, but they're not sharing. Losers.

Rapping my knuckles on the bar I manage to quickly get the attention of the bartender. He ambles over, fish lips pursed in thought as one hand pushes through his straggly hair. I know that look. The jerk is considering cutting me off! I scramble up in my seat, attempting to reach across the bar and grab whatever bottle my hand lands on, but end up banging my elbow against the bar. Crap! And he must be part super hero because he reaches me and slaps my hand away from the bottles.

"Owwww!" I yell before trying to cradle both my hand and elbow against my chest. I try my best to glare at him, but I'm sure it falls short because he smirks and crosses his arms over his chest.

"Don't you think you've had enough, Cali?" he asks.

"One, I told you only my friends get to call me that and I cut our friendship when you smacked my hand. Two, you said if I ate I could drink. I ate a lot."

"You ate once. You've been here for hours."

"I'm a paying customer! I can stay however long I want!"

"Not true, you can actually leave now. I'm making sure there's a taxi out front," he says before reaching for the phone behind the bar.

"This isn't the only bar in this town and I already told you I'm going to all of the falls," I tell him.

"You're not going to the falls, it's nearly midnight and there's only one, so stop saying all of them like there's more of them hiding somewhere. You're going to your room," he says.

"Why do the men in this city think they can just boss me around and tell me what I can and can't do? What I can and can't have? I'm a responsible adult in case you missed it."

In my righteous indignation, I jump to my feet, prepared to put him in his place. At least that's what was supposed to happen. What really happens is my left foot doesn't quite move with my right foot and I end up on my ass on the floor. Getting up seems like too much effort, so I just sit there. Someone will help me up. Eventually.

"Right," he says from above me. "Very responsible."

He disappears for a moment and then he's lifting me from the floor. Vaguely I wonder why I can't remember his name. Grant? Graham? Something with a 'Gr.'

"Up you go," he says as he pulls me close to him and practically carries me outside.

He makes sure I'm buckled in and instructs the driver to take me back to the resort. Joke's on him, I'm going swimming.

"Can you take me to the falls?" I ask the driver.

"If you're looking for that party, it's at the lake. I can take you there," he replies.

I perk up. Party at a lake? That sounds like fun.

"Yes, please!"