What Stays in Vegas by Beth Labonte Page B

thousand dollar shoes latching on to whoever has the most money, and lining up for the most exclusive clubs they can pay their way into.”
    “Geez," I said.  "I was kind of hoping to hit up some clubs one of these weekends, but maybe I'd better go shoe shopping first.  You know, if I want to catch a man.”
    “Your shoes are perfect,” said Chris, playfully stepping on my foot.  I cringed as I noticed the scuff marks all over the toes.  How the heck old were these things?
      “You don’t want to be like those girls anyway," he said.  He reached down and brushed some pizza crumbs off my leg.  “They don’t have any interest in air hockey.”
    I smiled up at him, and then looked quickly back down at my pizza.  Perhaps it was the Las Vegas sun, but my face suddenly felt very warm.  I stared at Splash Dad as he kicked angrily at the bushes by the bumper boat waiting area.  A woman wearing a lot of gold jewelry hurried over to comfort him.  Splash Mom, I assumed.
    “So,” I said, changing the subject, “not that I don’t enjoy it, but we always seem to be making fun of other people or talking about work.  I still don’t know very much about you.  There’s got to be more to you than just designer of strip club parking lots and air hockey phenomenon, no?”
    “Well, when you put it that way, could there possibly be anything more?”
    I giggled.  “Let me rephrase that.  Once we get past all the glamour, there must be something that brought you to this point in your life.  I can tell you quite simply that I was born and raised in Massachusetts, have hated the snow ever since I got too old to play in it, and have a very real fear of dying an administrative assistant.  Now you go.”
    “First of all, you’re never too old to play in the snow,” said Chris.
    “Tell me,” I said, “have you ever had to scrape ice off your windshield before leaving for work on a ten degree February morning?”
    “No, but once when I was six we took a ski trip to Colorado and I think my parents had to brush some snow off the car,”  said Chris.  “But, you know, I was all snug in the back seat with the heat on.”
    “Exactly.  I don’t want to hear about snow from you, Mr. I Live In The Desert.”
    “Touché.  But I haven’t always lived in the desert.  I grew up in San Diego and went to UCLA for  my engineering degree.  Right before graduation my roommates and I decided that before we sold our souls to the corporate world we wanted to do something for ourselves.  So we moved to Vegas and tried our hand at amateur pornography.”
    I wish I could have seen the look on my face, because Chris only lasted about three seconds before he broke out laughing.
    “I’m just kidding!  Believe it or not we opened a paintball field, but it tanked. I don’t think any of us had the drive or the experience to make it a success.  But we had fun while it lasted.”
    We watched as Splash Dad made it loudly known to everybody who passed him that he would never frequent these bumper boats again. 
    “Do you still talk to the other guys?” I asked.
    “I do.  Randy is still my roommate.  The other guy, Ryan, met a producer of Cirque du Soleil when we were out at the bars one night.  He ended up marrying the girl and now he travels the world.  Every few months I get a postcard from some new country that he’s in.”
    “Well there you go,” I said.  “Every decision you make, no matter how insignificant it seems, can change the direction of your entire life.  I mean, what if he hadn't gone out that night?  He'd probably still be here like the rest of us corporate chumps."
    “True, true.”  Chris nodded slowly.  “And if you hadn’t carried a tube of stain remover in your purse, you may have never ended up in Vegas at all.”
    "Exactly.  And if Kendra's husband hadn’t left, she never would have missed her meeting with Rob, Rob never would have tore you a new one, and we may never have ended up hanging