New Year's, Las Vegas

No surprise that table 10 left the worst tip of the night. Alice grimaced as she opened their check. 

Should’ve put a buck or two on it. Would’ve been more than they tipped.

Not that she really blamed the girl — barely 19, with upper thighs about as thick as her stilettos, glossy mouth turning down as they walked in. She'd probably hoped for a nicer joint than Walkman’s, given the glitzy parties taking place at the casinos just a few blocks away. 

Walkman’s was certainly open on New Year’s Eve, but that was its only winning feature. Its typical clientele were Gertie and Ross at the old acrylic counter, sharing the chipped beef meal after playing the penny slots. The stalwart old-timers didn’t even raise an eyebrow when the girl shimmied past them in her rib knit dress.

No, Alice had to believe the abysmal tip was the fault of her companion. Older than the girl by more than a decade, his narrow eyes and set jaw might have been handsome if he didn't look out at the world like it stank. The way he guided the girl to table 10 by placing a hand on her neck sent shivers down Alice’s own. 

“I got it,” Alice had told Rob, who had taken a post by the counter, arms folded, as the couple came in. 

The busser meant well, but the situation required more finesse than he could manage. Wouldn’t  want to embarrass the girl out of a sorely needed meal — God knows Alice had been there. Maybe Alice could get her away from him for long enough to ask some questions. 

“How're you folks?” she had said with her warmest smile for the girl, who looked like she could jump into Alice’s arms. Navaeh would be her age in just eight or nine years — but best not think about that.

“We have the prime rib special tonight. You locals?”

Locals got a discount, but the man didn’t seem to know that, or didn't want to be known as a local. Anyway, it was another detail for the police, should they ever ask. 

“Restrooms in the back if you need them.”

This was for the girl. The restroom stalls had posters explaining what to tell the staff to signal that she needed help.  

A request for “a side of ranch dressing please?” and Alice would find an excuse to spirit her away to the back and call the cops. Hopefully she knew where to look. 

Alice spent most of the night with one eye on the newscast showing the party outside, and the other on the couple’s table, waiting for the girl to make a move. 

It had given her time to closely study the man. From the rectangular, gelled haircut to the unfashionable khaki shorts, he looked like any other tourist wandering into Walkman’s for breakfast. 

But something about the tropical shirt across his chest resembled a straitjacket. Something about the way he looked directly into her eyes while ordering — like he could order her for a price — had set off Alice’s impeccable sense of danger. 

He had been engrossed in reading on his phone, face unchanging apart from robotic bites of bloody prime rib. Married, maybe. Wife at home and he’s feeling the guilt. Or a workaholic, checking to see if any other workaholics were emailing him on New Year’s Eve. Or maybe Alice was overthinking, conflating him with the men she’d known, when he could be a wonderful boyfriend and loving partner. She involuntarily pulled a face at the idea.

The new year sputtered in while Alice was wiping down the counter. She only noticed due to a half-hearted whoop from Ross holding up his sherry in a toast. Then the fireworks began to pop; the roar from the crowd invaded even here, where time had stopped in 1979.

The girl pointed her phone at herself, her drink, the street outside, determined to project an image of wanton revelry despite her drab surroundings. 

Then she grabbed her companion’s hand for another photo, and in a violent motion almost too fast to see, he slammed her phone onto the table. She withered under his intense, silent stare. 

Alice looked around to see if anyone else had been alerted to the commotion, but Rob was across the room and Ross and Gertie were nodding off into their cups. 

She had approached the table with the pitcher of water and no real plan in mind other than letting the man know she had seen, and she was watching. Go to the restroom, Alice pleaded silently, telepathically, as she filled up the girl’s water glass. Don’t be stubborn. Let me help you. 

Then, minutely, her arm slipped. Ice water cascaded down the girl’s bare legs. 

“Oh, honey. I’m sorry. Let's get you cleaned up.”

The girl stood up with a jerky motion. She clomped over the old carpet in her glittery heels and disappeared down the hall.

Alice waited a moment before following her, conscious of the man staring at her back.

“Hey,” Alice said quietly, after she’d firmly closed the door of the restroom. “Holler if we can get you out of here, okay? I can get you a change of clothes and some cab fare —”

“I'm fine.”

The soft voice called over the far stall with a note of resigned acceptance. She didn't even sound surprised that Alice had followed her.

She emerged to check her reflection, ignoring Alice. Eyeliner ringed below her fawn-like eyes. The girl took a rough paper towel and scraped the black streaks away.

“We have ways — he wouldn’t have to know.”

“I said I've got it.”

Hope so, Alice thought, as the girl whipped through the door. No cure for stubbornness but time. 

In the end, Alice didn’t even see the couple walk out to join the parties that would rage into the night. And the tip — well, she did spill water on the girl. 

By 2 a.m., she was itching to leave. Gavin dragged himself out of his drunken stupor in the back office to cash her out. Phone rang. He left the drawer open to answer it. 

Alice dragged her gaze away from the dollar bills. No question, there was a time when she would have helped herself without hesitation. The grim total that Gavin placed in her hand made her almost wish she had. At least they wouldn't collect rent on a holiday.

“Shove it where the sun don't shine,” she told Rob as he held out his share of the tips to her. 

“Don't be stubborn.”

“I’ve worked all week. We're fine.”

One thick eyebrow raised suggested he didn't believe her. Was it the way she had inhaled her shift meal? Did she stare a little too hard at the till? Anyway, she wouldn't take Rob's money — he worked two jobs without complaining, without seemingly ever noticing the grimy old slot machines stationed at the entry, the girls who came in for lunch at 4 a.m. 

“Have a good night,” she called over her shoulder before he could argue again.

Nevaeh's father lived in a manufactured oasis, a neighborhood of lush palm trees and green golf courses far from the crowds vomiting up their blended margaritas tonight. Golden gates kept the rabble out. Only streetlights brushed the keypad as Alice pulled up. 

She prayed everyone would be long asleep; the last thing she wanted was to listen to her ex talk at her after a long night of work.

The windows of the white stucco house were dark, thank God. Alice killed the engine in the driveway.

She’d have to wake her daughter and shepherd her to the car. No one would be happy — but better that than leave her here for the night. 

No, she quietly corrected herself. Not better. Not really. Nevaeh deserved to live in this kind of neighborhood, among quiet neighbors and landscaped streets, with her own four walls that she could paint pink. Better would be for Alice herself to give up the control she'd wrenched through filing after filing, rental application and credit check, appraising glances and indignity. Better would be for her to drive home and let her daughter sleep. Better would be to let go.

The thought so repulsed her that it propelled her out of the driver's seat. She slammed the door hard enough to banish it.

Alice turned the spare key that he'd offered with much fanfare to find the house already unlocked. Immediately, her heartbeat quickened. Even behind these gates, he shouldn't leave the door wide open, not in this town, not after what they'd seen. She made a note to tell him exactly that the next time they talked.

Darkness cloaked the foyer. She flicked on the nearest light, which cast its glow only as far as the back of the white leather couch that demarcated the living room. Over it sat draped a pair of men’s golfing shorts. Below those, the marks of a snake shedding its skin — balled up socks atop loafers, next to his leather briefcase. An open plastic bag of empty takeout containers graced the console table, along with crumpled up napkins and soda cans. 

Just like their first apartment together. Same pig, nicer sty. 

She took a cautious step forward.

“Dad?” 

Alice stifled a shout of surprise as a little voice called down the grand staircase.

“It's me, baby girl,” she said, fighting to keep the fear out of her voice.

A pause and then hurried footsteps.

“Mommy?”

Mommy. Things had been bad. 

Her head hit Alice in the chest with a thump. Long arms squeezed. Before Alice could speak, the girl began to cry.

“What happened?” 

“Dad left.”

“What?” 

“They had a big fight — Dad and Danitsa. I heard them. Danitsa left.” 

The story came out in big sobs.

It explained the state of the house. She wouldn't call Danitsa for a girls’ brunch, but the new girlfriend kept the fridge stocked and the laundry clean enough for Nevaeh to spend a weekend there comfortably, and for that, Alice was grateful.

“Then I heard the garage again and when I came down, there was no one here and he didn't come back.”

“He left you here?” 

“I heard gunshots and I was scared.” 

“Why didn't you call me?”

Sobs overtook her narrow shoulders. 

Alice clutched the girl as she cried, as the white marble tile began to spin under their feet. She could spit on it.

Of all the stupid things he'd done, all the times he'd put Alice in danger in the clubs, or waiting in his car, hoping a deal wouldn't go bad, this was his most heinous fuck-up yet. She'd find him. She’d find him in whatever bar or back alley had the misfortune of having him and she’d take a pool stick — just like when they were 20 — and she’d —

“Mom, you're shaking.”

Nevaeh had stopped crying and now peered up at Alice through tear-darkened lashes. How was she so tall already? Oh, but Alice stroked her cheek, still round like a child’s, and her eyelids drifted almost imperceptibly.

“Get your bag and let's get out of here.”

When her daughter had disappeared upstairs, Alice rested her neck against the cool metal of the bannister. Then she scrunched her face in a silent scream and beat her fists into the air in front of her. The absolute injustice of the night.

The motion kicked up the trash heap on the table, revealing something else below — empty, orange, hard plastic. Empty. Caps missing. 

Of course.

Mama didn't raise a fool. Alice took out her phone and snapped a photo, making sure to keep his shoes in the frame. Even better — he'd left his wallet. She opened it to his scrunch-face ID card and positioned it next to the pill bottles.

She’d take this back to that judge who peered down at her over his glasses, who had the nerve to ask how she’d support herself and her daughter in her line of work, and she'd ask him whether the good old boy attorney looked so golden now.

Then, like a candle blowing out, she felt all the exhaustion and indignity of the night settle onto her shoulders.

Of course it wouldn't matter. Of course, he always wriggled his way out of trouble while Alice could never shake the aura of suspicion that had seemed to follow her all her life. He'd retaliate; she’d find herself in even worse straits than she was in now, with the rent due and her tips barely able to cover a gas bill.

But maybe she could wrench some justice out of the world. She opened the wallet again.

He kept half a dozen hundred dollar bills on hand, each newer and neater than she'd ever seen. Wouldn't be the first time she took money out of his wallet to cover her bills.

“Where did my money go?” He'd ask her when they talked again, if he had the nerve.

“Where did you go?” she'd say. “Left our daughter and left the door wide open. Someone robbed you, dumbass.”

That made her smile. 

But no. It wasn't about him, or what he would or wouldn't do. 

Nevaeh reappeared on the stairs looking like an angel in her pink pajamas. She had stopped crying. The overnight bag pulled her to one side. Alice hid the wallet behind her back.

“Ready?”

She buried her face again in her mother's chest in response. Alice nudged her out the door to keep from crying herself.

And with a sudden rush of adrenaline, she plucked four bills from the wallet and tucked them in her bra, covered the motion by sweeping her long hair forward.

“What are you waiting for?” she said as Nevaeh looked back. “Let's go home.”