Chapter 8

March 16, 2005

Las Vegas

The faux deck that served as the sidewalk in front of the Treasure Island Casino was crowded as the first showing of the nightly pirate battle drew near. People pushed into the front crevices of the deck, trying to get the best possible view, pressing against one another to create a human gridlock.

Josie moved through the crowd, squeezing past a group of Japanese tourists, taking pictures of the opulent city. She scanned the area for the young Englishman she’d met the day before, hardly daring to believe that he’d show. She twisted, hiking up on her tiptoes, wondering why her brain had come up with this place, at this time of day. There were far too many people.

Just as she was about to give up and head back, Josie felt a hand on her shoulder. She whipped around and caught sight of her intended date standing a few feet from her.

“You made it,” she yelled over the din, scooting around a heavyset man in shorts with black tube socks pulled up to his knees. “I didn’t actually think you would show up.”

“Is it always like this?” he panted.

“What?”

“Is it always like this?” he yelled louder, as the crowd surged back, making him bump into the wooden wall.

“Pretty much,” Josie yelled back with a huge grin.

“And they do this every night?”

“Every hour, actually.”

“Why?”

“It’s a form of advertisement. People stop and watch the show, then after it’s done they wander in to the casino. Each casino has its own gimmick to draw people in.”

“Does it?”

“Does it what?” she asked, watching the lights flicker out across the fake pond as the two ships battled.

“Does it draw you in?”

“Look around you. There are people from all walks of life milling around, taking a moment to just stop and enjoy what’s laid out before them. Las Vegas is one of the few truly decadent places where people are free to…” She stopped and turned towards him. “Yes, this draws me in. I people watch, and this,” she waved her arm, “is as good as it gets. It’s the ‘it doesn’t count’ attitude; it lets people express themselves in ways that they might never have thought of before. I often just stroll around, taking random pictures, capturing these infinite moments of freedom.”

“And freedom is important to you,” he stated.

“Isn’t it important to everyone?” she asked. “Too many times people try to lock themselves up in cookie cutter molds, they feel as if they have to fit into what the public wants them to be. Be skinny, be beautiful, be straight, get married, have children, go to church every Sunday, believe in the ‘one true’ god, don’t get a tattoo, go to college, make lots of money, be productive, stop chasing the dream… I could go on and on about what the conventional world wants. It’s just such a shame!” Josie leaned against the railing and faced the pirate ship, watching as it slowly sank. “I’m sorry,” she mumbled. “I doubt you wanted to hear a lecture.”

Neville reached out to grab her hand. “I don’t mind the lecture, not when it comes from such a passionate advocate.” Josie threw him a hesitant smile, and tried to extract her hand, but he threaded his fingers through hers.

The crowd slowly moved on as the show ended, bodies pressing against each other as people tried to move on to the next nightly show.

“So where are we off to now?” Neville asked.

Josie cocked her head to the side and glanced his way. “Have you ever been here before?”

“No,” he said, with a slight shake of his head.

“I know just the thing then,” she whispered, tugging on his hand.

“That sounds almost ominous.”

“What’s wrong, Brit boy, don’t you trust me?”

“I’m not sure trust is the right word,” he mumbled as he followed her lead.

“Really?” Josie shot back over her shoulder. “What would you call it, then?”

“Oh, no,” Neville laughed. “There’s no way to answer that without it coming out wrong. I’ll just happily follow your lead tonight, and leave it at that.”

“Just remember you said that,” she shot back. With a sharp wave of her hand and a harsh: “Taxi!” Josie flagged down a cab.

“Climb in,” she told him with a wave of her hand as she bent down and through the door window of the cab. Neville stood on the curb merely staring at the cab with an odd expression as Josie instructed the driver. She pulled out of the window and looked at him oddly.

“Is there something wrong?” she asked, opening the back door.

“I – er – no,” he replied. “It’s just… smaller.”

“Smaller?”

“A bit. The cabs are – not so compact, back home.”

“If you’re feeling claustrophobic, we can always walk,” she offered, pulling back from the cab.

“No – really, it’s all right.” He folded his body down to sit on the seat and slide across.

“You sure?” Josie asked, taking a tentative dip down to sit on the cab seat.

He reached across her and pulled the door shut. “Yes, I’m sure.”

The cab darted off down the congested strip, zooming around slower moving cars as they headed north. Josie watched as Neville’s fingers gripped at the door handle, his knuckles blanching white. She reached over to grasp his other hand.

“We could have walked.”

“I’m fine, truly.” Neville gave her a weak smile. “So, can you tell me about where we’re going, or is that a secret?”

"Why don’t you look out the window since we’re here.”

“The Crown and Anchor Pub? Is this what I think it is?”

“I thought I’d take you to one of my favorite watering holes; about as close to England as I’ll ever get.”

“Brilliant,” he exclaimed, giving her a genuine smile this time. “Oi, does this mean you only went out with me because I’m British?”

“I did tell you I found your accent appealing,” she replied, sliding out of the cab.

“You, m’dear, are a tease,” he groused, following her out of the car.

“Perhaps,” she responded, pulling him up the sidewalk. “You’ll just have to stick around to find out.”

“That sounds like a challenge,” he chuckled. “Dare I hope I’m up to it?”

A/N:

For those of you who caught the mention of cookie cutter molds, and why that phrase would mean anything at all, I couldn’t resist. I know, I’m a bad, bad girl.