Dreaming in Vegas

Mission 1. Hook up with someone as old as my mom (54) and as young as my sister (20) in a month.
Mission 2. Live a completely gay lifestyle (without the gay sex) for a month.
Mission Three: Live without an apartment for a month.

I am shedding, slowly but surely. The man here today replaces the man from yesterday. Tomorrow, will be the same. And as much as each day pragmatically brings me closer to death, lately, it’s been bringing me closer to life. The life I’ve always wanted for myself. The life of freedom.

It’s easy to get philosophical with Alexi Murdoch on Sunset Blvd. However, moments of clarity don't last long in this town, and mine was lost by a buzzing in my groin. I answered it.

“Rob Lowe, you never answer your phone. I leave three phone messages,” said a tall, flop-topped Euro on the other line.

“I hate phones.”

“Are you mad at me because I got the girl. Is that why you don’t call back?”

“Evan, I would have called you back if I got the message. You owe me $1500. I call guys back that owe me that kind of coin.”

“Relax, Relax Rob Lowe. I’m only kidding. I never call.”

There was a sound of flushing on the other end.

“Evan, are you shitting?”

“No, no. I took one before and forgot to flush, so I walk in and flush. Want to be tidy houseguest.”

“Evan, where the fuck are you?”

“Brentwood or something. I am new here, remember?”

“Do I need to pick you up?”

“No, no. I will stay here for a few days. But wanted to give you rent money.”

“Ok, good. Are you staying with that girl from the bar?”

“No, different girl. Bigger tits. Smell very good. I meet her in after-hours club after fuck other.”

“You’re setting the bar high for M.C.”

“American bitches. The best. I could love many. M.C. only get German bitches”

"Ok, then."

“Women like the M&M candy, Rob. You open brown pack, eat one. Mmm, taste good. But just because you have good taste, won’t satisfy hunger. You get taste, but hunger, taste, but hunger.”

I was a bit scared, because I almost got what he was talking about. I laughed politely to volley the conversation back.

“Rob Lowe, you don’t believe, but tell me anyone who can eat just one M&M and not whole brown pack.”

“Ok,I believe you, now when can you get me the cash? I’m out of town tomorrow.”

“Put M.C. on the phone.”

“He’s not here, but I will be at my place in a minute. I’m picking up some shit there for a bachelor party in Vegas.”

“I am not deadbeat, Rob Lowe.”

“I’m not really saying that you are. Did I say that?”

"Ok, then. I am not deadbeat."

“So, this girl, she offered to let you stay at her place?” I said to steer the conversation.

“No, I just never leave. She leave for work. I stay. She come back, I here. I just fuck her again.”

“Well, good for you.”

“She smell very good. Like warm apples.”

“Ok, Ok. Hold on while I park.”

“Not problem.”

The phone went silent for a minute, the boredom of each other stronger than the discomfort of silence. I walked into my place and saw M.C. there. I pointed to the phone and said "Evan," under my breath.

“Here he is,” I said as I handed the phone to M.C. He was wearing my shirt.

“Hello, hello MC here.”

I grabbed my mail and plopped down on the couch. It was a nice mix of heart-pumping electronica with German conversation bumping in as the foreground mix. Listening, I became lost in the new complexity of my life and my place. I walked into my bedroom to pick up some "club clothes" for this weekend in Vegas. M.C. walked into "our" room and handed the phone back.

“We go to bank,” he said confidently.

We got in my car and headed to the currency exchange in Santa Monica. M.C. ran in, exchanged his cash and the transaction was final. I was officially renting my place. I drove M.C. back to say goodbye.

“You want to come in for moment?”

“Naa, I really should be going.”

“Come, one drink to celebrate America.”

“Fuck, how can I turn down an invitation like that.”

It was strange being invited into my own place, but also comforting. Without Evan around, it was clear that M.C. didn’t want to do this town alone. And as emotionally distant as M.C.and Evan seemed to be with each other, the company of ambivalant friendship is sometimes better than the company of oneself.

So we drank, talked and played with TiVo. Like M&Ms, no one can drink just one beer. So Thursday night turned out to be just like Wednesday, without any figurative progression. M.C. had the bed and I took the couch. Sameness once again rocked me to sleep.

The morning light taunted my arousal. The sunbeam told me to get out of this place. But I already knew what needed to be done. I needed to escape.

I walked in my bedroom to see a stranger's form in a place that was so uniquely my own. I had slept there far too long. Rob Lowe was finally awakening, and someone was there to take his spot.

I flipped up the covers and I was surprised by what I saw--M.C. in jammies. It was truly a sight to behold. I stood there and took in the ridiculousness of my life through the fresh-scrubbed perspective that only the morning and it's accompanying fashion can usher in.

I grabbed M.C. by the arm and roused him awake. He looked at me, confused. I was the doctor when he entered the world. I was the only thing he knew at that moment.

I broke the spell with a challenge.

“M.C., grab your shit. I’m taking you to Vegas for a bachelor party.”

M.C. smiled his biggest grin to date.

“The Vegas. I just dream of those lights.”