Suddenly I was in Vegas. The story spun in my head as I cyclically remembered how So-Far-Normal Jon and I had met, and his not-so-normal notions that have become apparent since he was prematurely given that nickname three months ago.
I reminisced my audaciousness that had eventually led to this vacation when I spun from Sam’s conversation into Jon’s, the Waldorf’s high-ceilinged vestibule with black and white tiled floors and gold-framed-mirror lined walls as my drunkenly remembered background.
I replayed this scene in my head, grinning with satisfaction despite spending the day alone. Entertaining myself, I walked—from hotel to casino, through the casino to Sports Book, back to the hotel, and then to the pool. To others, I was a petite, wildly curly brunette in green shorts, a blue tube top, and red hoop earrings, wiggling to her secrets as she walked.
Positioned poolside, I took a sip of iced tea (charged to the room, of course) and closed my eyes to soak in the desert sun. Eventually, I fell asleep.
“Hey, what’s up?” A boy woke me up, hitting me on the leg with a rolled-up March Madness betting bracket.
Ignoring my startled reaction, he sat down next to me, and continued talking. “You know, we have seen each other all day. You must have walked back and forth from the casino at least three times. Why are you always alone?”
His name was Pete. A third year at Brooklyn Law School, he was in Vegas with friends for Spring Break. He went to Georgetown undergrad. He was Jewish. And, despite our meeting on the other side of the country, we lived only four blocks away from each other in Brooklyn.
Perfect-on-paper Pete seemed too good to be true. After a short conversation, I gave him my number, suggesting that we get together once back in our borough.
Three days later, Jon and I shared a cab from JFK to his East Side apartment; I would continue on to Brooklyn from there.
After collecting his suitcase from the cabby, Jon slammed the cab door and walked away. I never saw him again.