Chapter 27 #2
The three run for their lives across the road. They make it to the traffic island, stopping for a moment; however, Gene looks to his right, seeing the cars still a bit further back—
“Go! We can make it across, go, go, go!”
They run as fast as their legs can carry them. Gene nearly trips over the curb as they make it to the other side, cars approaching, one of them even honking. The noise makes him jump—Santi grabs his arm and pulls him further inland, assuring that he’s safe.
“Fuck! Hahh!” Gene yells.
“It’s alright! It’s alright! I’ve got you,” Santiago says, pulling Gene to stand up straight.
Gene pants. “Thanks, man.” He pants again. “You guys good?”
“Yup, all good.” Maurice gives a thumbs up, holding his camera steady around his neck with his other hand.
“Same here.” Santi pats Gene’s shoulder. “I think the entrance is over there?” He points to the Caesars Palace casino—a U-shaped building with white temple-looking ends, and Santi’s finger leads to the center of the U: a black pavilion awning. “It looks like it’s right there behind the fountains.”
“Then let’s go!” Gene exclaims. “We need to get to Ray—hurry!”
Gene leads the group, running toward the entrance, past cascading fountains and immaculately carved marble Greek sculptures. They pass the car valets and make it to the main doors—only to be stopped by a security guard.
“Show of IDs, please?” The tall suited man holds out a gloved hand.
“IDs? What… oh.” They never carded us at the Flamingo.
Gene reaches into his pants pocket and snags his wallet, pulling out the card in question to hand it to the man.
Santiago and Maurice do the same, and they’re all let through without hassle.
Thankfully none of us forgot ours, but, man. This is just slowing us down!
He’s walking at the same time he’s shoving his ID back into his wallet and back into his pocket.
Immediately, he’s greeted by slot machines, blackjack and poker tables on a plush red patterned carpet, surrounded by tall, white, Greek-style pillars.
There are a few doors off in the back, but it’s hard to see where anything leads when, blocking the view, in the middle of the room, is a small pond with a replica of Cleopatra’s boat, bare-chested Cleopatra figurehead and all.
It’s not just a boat—it’s a lounge, with various people dining and sipping wine glasses on top of it.
Santiago whistles. “Wow, that’s fancy.”
“Maybe we can check it out later,” Gene says, looking around the boat, trying to find any indication of where the drag show is being held. “We’ve still got two more weeks to explore Vegas. Right now, we gotta find Ray.”
“Right.” Santi nods.
“Do you think we should split up?” Maurice asks.
“For now, let’s stay together,” Gene says. “I don’t want to lose you guys, too. The entrance to the showroom has to be along the back somewhere; let’s head that way.”
And so, the three of them hustle on towards the back of the casino—past dinging slot machines, past dozens upon dozens of people, past waitresses dressed in black wigs and white togas.
There, he spots it: behind a crowd of loitering people, two sets of closed double doors to what he can only assume is the showroom…
With security guards standing in front of them.
“Oh god, the show has already started, hasn’t it?” Gene pulls his bangs away from his forehead, sweat dampening his palm. Muffled bass is heard from the other side of the wall.
“You can probably still get in,” Santi says. “You know, even from our own shows, it’s not like they don’t let people in after it starts.”
Gene chuffs out his lips. “Well, duh!” He chuckles. “You’re right.”
He leads the others to the doors in question—and they’re stopped by the guard, holding up a hand.
“Um, excuse me,” Gene says. “Is this where the drag show is being held?”
The burly guard raises an eyebrow. “Yes, currently performing is Don Bellacino and his dancers. Do you have tickets for the show?”
“Tickets?!” Gene gasps. Of course. Of fucking course you need tickets to go see a show; how stupid am I? “No, I’m not here to watch the show; I’m just looking for a friend who might be in there.”
“Unfortunately, I cannot let you in without showing me a ticket.”
“Ugh, really…”
“They might not be sold out if Ray was able to get in, and he must’ve gotten here right before it started,” Maurice reasons. He turns to the guard, “Where’s the ticket booth?”
“Along that wall, before you get to the hotel registration desk.”
“Thank you.” Maurice nods.
“I see it over there,” Gene says, spying the glass of the booth embedded in the wall, white pillars surrounding it.
“Okay. I have an idea. I’ll only buy a ticket for myself, yeah?
It’s not like we’re all here to watch the show anyway—we’re here to get Ray.
So I’ll just go in and look for him, while you guys stay out here and keep watch in case you see Ray on the casino floor. ”
“Sounds like a plan,” Santi says.
“Alright. Here goes nothing.”
Santiago and Maurice stay put near the guard as Gene heads over to the ticket booth.
Maurice was right—they’re not sold out and have quite a few open seats, but Gene only needs one.
In fact, he plans to not be sitting at all; hopefully he can be in and out in no time, with Ray at his side.
All this nonsense is slowing me down. I hope he’s okay in there.
Ticket in hand, he rushes back over to the double doors, and holds it out to the guard. “Here.”
“Thank you kindly.” The guard rips off a portion and hands the stub back to Gene.
“You’re very much welcome.” Gene shoves it in his pocket, and the guard opens the door for him. “Alright, wish me luck!”
“You got this!” Santi cheers.
“Go get your man, Gene!” Maurice smirks.
Gene’s cheeks burn. “For sure.” He heads inside, and the door closes behind him.
It’s rather dark in this room, aside from the spotlights lighting up the stage.
And performing on that stage is a sight Gene had only seen in movies: a person dressed as an exaggerated Dolly Parton, blonde wig adding another head of height to their already tall stature, dancing around and lip syncing to ‘Jolene’ bursting from the speakers.
The way they move is mesmerizing, clicking their heels down elegantly, each step with a specific purpose.
A slight dizziness threatens to overtake Gene’s brain—he shakes his head.
No, I’m not here to watch the show. I can’t let the whiskey get to me. Focus!
But it’s a lot easier said than done when every head in the crowd blends in with each other in the darkness.
He walks along the back of the room, eyes scanning over every individual seated at the tables.
If he arrived here not too long ago, he wouldn’t be near the front.
No, he’d probably be in a seat closer to the back. I hope he’s okay.
I hope he’s here at all.
Finally, after passing by dozens of people, Gene spots him at a table in the back corner; he’d recognize that curly blond mop-top anywhere.
“Ray—oh my god, it’s Ray,” Gene whispers to himself.
Ray is slouched in a chair, obviously drunk out of his mind, looking rather dazed.
He’s slouched so much Gene almost missed him, so low in his seat that his head is resting on the back of the chair.
There are also two girls sitting at his table that Gene’s never seen before.
Those must be the girls Dennis was talking about. Jealousy burns a hole in his chest.
He doesn’t wish to cause a scene. He merely wants to snag Ray and get out of here. And so, he walks to their table as nonchalantly as he can, sneaking up and setting a hand on Ray’s shoulder.
“Ray,” he tries to say loud enough to be heard over the music, but not too loud to be considered yelling. “Hey, Ray! What are you doing here?”
“Huh… what?” Ray sluggishly turns his head toward Gene. And when their eyes meet—
Ray’s brows shoot up high on his forehead.
“Gene… what? How did you get here, man… what the hell?” His mouth hangs open.
“Gene?” says the blonde girl at Ray’s right. “Oh my god, you’re Gene Hillard! You’re in the Dusty Brooms with Ray!”
“Uh… yeah, that’s me.” Gene says.
“I didn’t realize you were coming to the show, too!” the brunette on the left exclaims.
“I wasn’t. I’m just here to get Ray.” He focuses on his best friend. “Ray, you’re coming back to the Flamingo with me.”
“Whaaaat?” Ray pouts, huffing out a harsh breath. “I just got here, man. I swear I’ve—” he hiccups, “—I’ve only been here for ten minutes…”
“You left, barely saying anything to any of us. I’ve been worried fucking sick. Same with everyone else. Plus, you’re wasted. You can barely lift your head off the chair.”
“I didn’t mean to worry you, Gene. See, I’m fiiiine.” Ray raises his head, trying to sit up straight—
Only to slump forward, his cheek slamming down on the table.
“Fuck, maybe I am a bit wasted.”
“You think?” Gene chuckles.
“Oh no, I didn’t realize how much he’d drank,” the blonde says, covering her mouth.
“Seems like you had even more drinks after you split from us all,” Gene says to Ray.
“I still wanna check out the show, though,” Ray says, dragging his head off the table and attempting to sit up again, albeit swaying a little. “I was having a good time.”
“Well, I don’t think you should stay here if there’s a possibility you’re gonna throw up all over the table,” Gene remarks. “Besides, who would you want taking care of you? Me, your best friend, or people you barely even know?”
Ray gazes up at Gene, his blue eyes dark from dilated pupils. He then looks back and forth at the girls, his mouth forming a flat line, before his eyes land on Gene again. He lets out a sigh.
“You, Gene.”
Gene smiles.
“That’s what I thought.”
The girls around them gasp. “Aww, but I was having a good time with Ray, too,” the brunette says.