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Show Flashing 41 "Why yes, I have. Alice, right?" I smile and duck my head. "Type up a storm for your Dad, Alice. Steam roll 'em, Harold." And Angelo flashes out. I hear him and his coins. I can feel the night again, moving down the hall with Angelo. My father loses interest in clipping wedding and birth announcements from the newspaper. "Do you want to go to the library?" he asks me, shrugging into his overcoat. We drive past Fremont Street with i t s madly flashing casinos. "Ham 'n Eggs, 99<fc," a billboard reads. "Everything at the NUGGET." We stop at the red light catty-corner to the Hitchin' Post Chapel with i t s posted prices. A tourist pulls up beside us in his high-fin Cadillac. He flicks cigarette butts onto the asphalt and drums his fingers on his steering wheel, impatient to feel the green f e l t and a high stack of chips. He wears fancy rings on his fingers and silver dollar images in his eyes. "This Godless c i t y . " My father shakes his head in disgust. I think myself out of the car and into the street where I can pull my skirt up around my thighs, stuff my 32-A bra with flowers, kick my legs into the bright blue sky, and scream expletives at the man by my side. |
