Playing Along by Rory Samantha Green

told himself it isn’t a problem until it’s a problem.
    Duncan’s pupils look like pinpricks and George is beginning to wonder if now it’s a problem. He’s bouncing in his seat, “Vegas, baby, Vegas! I’m talking Tom Jones, Frank Sinatra, Engelbert Humperdinck—all the greats! This place is a riot. Who’s going to hit the tables with me?”
    Anna looks protectively at Mark. “I’m really tired. I think you and I should go back to the room and get some sleep.”
    Mark nods obediently, “Yeah, not tonight, Dunc, Anna and I are going to hit the sack.” Duncan’s mouth hangs open, “But it’s only eight o’clock, mate—live a little.”
    “It’s not eight o’clock in London, Duncan,” says Anna frostily, “it’s four o’clock in the morning. We aren’t on Las Vegas time yet.”
    “Give me a fuckin’ break! Vegas doesn’t keep time, Anna, haven’t you noticed there’s no clocks anywhere?” Anna stands up and takes Mark’s hand, virtually dragging him away from the table. Mark shrugs at the boys and dutifully follows. Duncan shakes his head in disgust, “Man, he’s whipped.”
    Mark had confided to George on the plane earlier that Anna has been uneasy recently, complaining that they don’t have enough quality time together. “She wants to take baths in candlelight—and give each other massages. I’ve got to make more of an effort.” George had listened sympathetically, secretly wishing he had the same sort of issues to contend with. He steps in now remembering his pact with Simon earlier. “Relax, Dunc. Simon and I are up for it—aren’t we, Simon?”
    “Yes Sir!” says Simon, saluting. “And by the way—this club sandwich isn’t bad. I wasn’t sure what to make of the four layers but when I—” Simon is cut off abruptly by a peroxide blonde with an extremely oversized bottom barreling towards their table. She is squeezed into tight white jeans and a T-shirt with the words Beauty is in the eye of the beer holder emblazoned across her ample chest.
    Zeroing in on George, she turns to her friend and screeches in a loud southern accent, “I know who this is! You’re that Irish singer, the one with the funny name. I’ve seen you on MTV winning all those awards. You’re Bow Wow, aren’t you?”
    “Well, uh… I could be,” George says, desperately attempting to remain composed, while Duncan, Gabe and Simon are all stifling the giggles.
    The woman is oblivious. “Didn’t I tell you, Lorraine? Didn’t I say we’d see someone famous in Vegas? Can you sign this?” she says, lifting up her t-shirt to reveal rolls of dimpled fat and a bra with generous square footage.
    “You got a pen, sweetie?” she asks Duncan, who is reveling in the sideshow.
    “Sorry, love, I don’t. But Bow Wow might.”
    George holds up empty hands. “I can’t currently oblige, but it was nice of you to stop by,” he says, inching himself away from the woman’s formidable bust, as Simon kicks him under the table like a twelve-year-old.
    Unperturbed, she pulls her t-shirt down and walks away declaring to her friend, “Did you hear those European accents? Those Irish boys are sure polite.”
    Gabe opens his arms wide, “Welcome back to Vegas, lads!”

LEXI
November 12 th , 2009
The Grove, Los Angeles
    Lexi was indeed late to meet Andrew and they missed the beginning of the movie. He got very huffy and insisted they wait for the next showing, and after sharing a pizza, they are now wandering around the huge Barnes and Noble bookstore in The Grove shopping mall.
    “Are you sure nothing’s going on with you and your new boss? You seem to be working very late.”
    “No way! He listens to Neil Diamond and drinks wheatgrass.”
    “The maiden doth protest! Isn’t that a sign that you’re lying?” Lexi clenches her jaw. She feels like screaming. Andrew has been especially annoying recently. His latest lover, Heston, has recently dumped him and he’s acting like a clingy child. In high school she had