Page 18 of The Loophole
“I’m still working on that, but I’ll have something put together by tomorrow night.” He glanced at me and asked, “What do you want to do with the rest of today?”
“I figured you and your friends would want some time to hang out, maybe at the hotel’s pool or casino. But I’d like to meet up later for dinner, if that’s okay.”
“What will you be doing until then?”
“I brought a book. I’ll be in my room if you need anything.”
His friends were lounging in the back seat, doing something on their phones when we reached the yellow convertible. They both glanced at us as Embry turned to me and frowned a little. “So, even though you’re in Las Vegas, your plan for this afternoon is to hide in your room?”
He seemed disappointed, but I didn’t know why. I thought he’d be thrilled to get to go have fun with his friends, without me tagging along.
“Well, yes.” His frown deepened, but he let it drop.
I drove us back to the Strip, and when I pulled up to the valet parking station at Paris Las Vegas, Embry asked, “Is this where we’re staying?”
I nodded. “Is it okay?”
“It’s amazing.”
As the staff took care of our car and luggage, I held one of the doors for Embry, and he stepped through it and murmured, “Oh, wow.”
The casino began a few feet from the entrance, beneath a ceiling painted to look like a blue sky with fluffy clouds. It was fairly crowded, and the clusters of slot machines beeped, jingled, and played little tunes to attract attention, blending into a cacophony of sound.
The reception area was a bit calmer, even though it opened onto the casino. It was meant to resemble Versailles with its elaborate gold trim, framed artwork, and large chandeliers, though the row of modern self check-in kiosks tended to shatter the illusion.
Embry was enchanted, though. He followed me while Vee and Hal wandered into the casino, and he murmured, “It’s so fancy.”
After I checked us in, I handed Embry three key cards and showed him the room numbers. “My room is right down the hall from yours. If you need anything, either come by or call my cell phone.”
“You’re not going upstairs already, are you?”
He looked hopeful, so I said, “I don’t have to. Want to look around a little?”
“Yes, please.”
We started to make our way around the edge of the casino. Embry came to a stop when he spotted the roulette tables, and I asked, “Would you like to play?”
“I already am. Red.” The ball spinning around the wheel closest to us landed on red, and he smiled at me. “I won.”
“I’ll get you some chips if you want to play for real.”
“No, thanks.” The ball was set in motion again, and he whispered, “Red.” When it landed on red a second time, heclapped his hands delightedly and started walking. “I like that game. It’s just like in the movies.”
A few minutes later, Vee and Hal caught up to us. Each of them held two colorful frozen drinks in plastic containers shaped like the Eiffel Tower. Counting the straws jutting from the top, they were easily two feet tall.
Vee asked us, “Which one do you want? There’s Blue Raspberry, Margarita, Pina Colada, or Strawberry Daiquiri.” I didn’t understand what a “Blue Raspberry” could possibly be. It wasn’t the name of a cocktail, or a thing that occurred in nature.
Embry selected the bright red daiquiri, and I asked for the margarita, which turned out to be the neon green one. Then I asked, “How much do I owe you?”
“It’s our treat,” Vee said. “Least we could do after you brought us all the way to Vegas.”
“Vee and I want to hit the slots.” Hal gestured to the right with a tip of his head. “You two should join us.”
“Actually, I think we’re going to keep exploring. Good luck, though. I hope you win a lot of money. Oh, and here are your plastic key thingies, in case you can’t find us later.”
Embry handed over the key cards and recited the room number before our two groups went off in opposite directions. I took a cautious sip from my giant cup when Embry asked what I thought of the drink, and I told him it reminded me of a faintly boozy convenience store slushie. He nodded at that and said, “I think that’s what they were going for.”
After a while, we came across a shop that was meant to resemble a Parisian boulangerie. Embry gasped and ran over to the pastry case, and when I joined him he gushed, “Look at all the pretty colors! I wish I knew how to make macarons. I’ve tried, but they never turn out right.”