Page 36 of Lost Souls

The first thing Arnie Garth does, after he pushes Noreen Millburn out of the way and towards the small reception desk, is to rip said poster off the wall, muttering something about a violent antipathy to lazy spelling.

“Thanks a friggin’ bunch, Ambrose,” he mutters into the dusty air. Wondering, perhaps not for the first time, whether I truly am on his side. (You don’t have to tell me about unreliable narrators – my place is full of them. Sometimes they don’t even rock up.) Yet to whom else is he going to turn? He hasn’t a soul in the world.

Arnie swiftly realises that even Noreen may be drawing comparisons between the Dime After Dimeand that exquisite country-house hotel to which he had fruitlessly treated her just a couple of nights earlier. Or perhaps she has already spotted the glaring differences. It is, to be frank, the distance between a red carpet and something you just trod in. But if his guest has indeed entertained such thoughts, she is certainly not airing them or passing judgment and still simply appears overawed. Yet Arnie finds himself cursing Melisande for depriving him of his usual suite at the Tropicana.

The guy at reception graciously takes time out from the twin demands of picking his teeth and wiping his hands on a fraying string vest to greet the new arrivals. Whilst most hotel receptionists, especially in Las Vegas, are trained to take every registering guest, however striking, bizarre or unsettling, in their professional stride, Arnie can feel the man’s eyes swivelling between himself and Noreen as if these two are part of a human story he would for once, even with all his experience, be at a total loss to deconstruct. And, of course, the guy would be absolutely correct in this assumption.

“So, how many hours d’you want?” he asks, eyeing their lack of luggage.

Arnie looks at a curious Noreen. “It’s an American thing.” He taps the desk. “We’re staying until Sunday.”

“What happens Sunday, Arnie?” asks Noreen.

You don’t wanna know, he thinks, but says, softly, “Everything shuts down. For church.”

“Double room?” asks the man, working really hard not to picture anything.

“Sure,” tries Arnie.

“No, thank you, sir,” says Noreen. “We’re cousins.”

“I’ve seen worse,” says the man, who undoubtedly has.

Chapter Twenty

When poverty comes in the door, love flies out the window.

(German proverb)

Arnie would havebeen delighted to learn that the only room available this evening in the Dime After Dime was the Penthouse Suite were it not for the fact that the bed he has nobly chosen as his own is a lumpy, threadbare sofa in the outer chamber, with stains he really doesn’t want to think about. (He recalls an erotica colleague of his once observing that whenever you discover stains such as these, they always resemble a map of Ireland, which Arnie somehow felt showed a Celtic heritage, a love of geography or a life best unexamined.)

Noreen’s accommodation is hardly a giant leap upwards, but the woman appears utterly thrilled. Arnie can only assume that this is because she really needed to getout of Dodge for a while, as even with his monstrous ego he can’t quite believe that the main draw could be sharing a crummy suite with her American cousin, however long or lost.

Well, at least this time the TV isn’t on.

And this is still the city of dreams and hope, so he reckons he had better make the most of it. With a flourish, he trots over to the window and pulls back the moth-eaten drapes.

“Here you go, Noreen –Vegas!”

She stares at the brick wall for a few moments. It appears to reach up almost to the sky, without even a window or a lurid sign to break the monotony. He feels his heart sink like the cranky elevator they just got off.

“Do you know, Arnie?” says Noreen as she examines the offending structure, without even a hint of disappointment. “I never really considered the workmanship that goes into constructing a wall like this. See how firm and even every single one of those bricks is. So many men must have worked so hard together, as a team, making sure that whoever was eventually going to live inside was safe and warm and secure. I do hope nobody hurt themselves in the process. I collect for the Brickies’ Benevolent Fund back home, you know – the Hod of God, it’s called – although, of course, in Rough Fell the buildings are all so small. Thank you for giving me something to truly think about.”

“Are you for real?” asks Arnie, and not for the first time.

But the bouncing bobble has already moved on, and Noreen has discovered something else new and equallywonderful. A tiny freezer. She opens it and turns to her host, a face of undiluted radiance bathed in the refrigerated glow.

“Arnie –look!Isn’t that thoughtful?”

Before he can talk her through the economics of hotel hospitality – and politely warn her off – she is already examining a miniature Jack Daniels.

“They’ve even got drinks for dwarves!”

“That’s America for you. Built on kindness.” He smiles at her, with only a hint of desperation and a swift reminder not to talk her through his legendarySnow White Trashmovie. “Now, they’re strictly non-alcoholic, Noreen. Nevada’s a dry state. So, you just drink as many as you like.”

“Oh, I shall,” promises Noreen, “thank you.” She catches herself in an only slightly cracked mirror and appears visibly shocked. “But look at me, Arnie. You didn’t even give me time to pack. I need to go out and get myself some clothes and things. Do they have a Help the Aged shop here?”

“Awhat?” Arnie sighs once again at the sheer hopelessness of life, until a thought occurs, which he half dismisses the moment he utters it, if not before. “You remember to bring your credit cards?”