"So you're really going to go?" Julie asked.
"Of course I am," Kenny replied, as they wove their way through the floor of the Phoenix office. "She'd murder me if I didn't. In spectacular fashion, I imagine. It would definitely make the national news."
"But it's a surprise. She wouldn't know that you knew."
Kenny looked at her wryly. "And you think that would make a difference to Lynda, do you?"
"Fair point," Julie conceded. They reached the door to Kenny's office and went inside. Julie flopped into the visitor chair. "When are you leaving?"
Kenny checked his watch. "Soon. Very soon, actually. Have to be at the airport by 4. That meeting went longer than anticipated."
"That's what happens when you let Frazz chair," replied Julie. "While I appreciate his 'getting to know you' theory, I'm afraid I couldn't see the relevance of going around the table and nominating our favourite supercars."
Kenny grinned. "Is this because people laughed when you said a pink Nissan Micra?"
Julie tossed her head. "They're cute. And don't tell me you really meant to say Zeyron . . ."
"Veyron," Kenny corrected.
"Whatever," Julie replied. "When we all know you've had that Volvo brochure in your desk for weeks."
"Have you been looking in my drawers?"
"Don't flatter yourself, kid," replied Julie, a little too hastily. She began examining her manicure and yawned loudly. "So you're all packed and ready to go?"
Kenny pointed to his neat travel case that stood ready and waiting by the door. "That reminds me. Here's a copy of all my documentation . . ." He rummaged in his desk (carefully sliding the Volvo brochure under some old payslips) and handed over a clear plastic wallet containing photocopies of his itinerary, tickets and passport.
Julie flicked through it idly and suddenly burst out laughing. "Your middle name is Barnaby?!"
Kenny snatched back the wallet. "I meant to Tippex that out."
Julie watched amusedly as Kenny painstakingly Tippexed over the offending moniker. "I suppose it's just assumed that I step in as Assistant Editor when you're not here?"
"You're the Executive Assistant Editor now - didn't HR tell you?"
"Yay!" said Julie sarcastically, clapping her hands. "I just love filling in those little black squares on the crossword. I have a system now - I use a really thick marker and . . ."
"It's Sudoku now," said Kenny. "You get to write numbers in." He blew on the Tippex to dry it.
Julie rolled her eyes, returned to the original topic and the meticulous inspection of her cuticles.
"So is her mum going?"
Kenny shrugged. "Not sure."
"Oh, no!" said Julie, aghast. "Look, surely we could chip in for the plane ticket . . . even if we dip into expenses. She really ought to be there."
"Oh, it's not that. Spike's bought her ticket. He even offered to buy mine."
"Then what's the problem?"
"The problem is Marion Day has long dreamed of a wedding encompassing all the bells and whistles for her only child. The kitchen tea, the meringue dress, three bridesmaids in varying shades of pastel taffeta and a guestlist encompassing half of Norbridge and surrounds."
"Nothing wrong with that," said Julie, thinking wistfully of the bridal magazines she had stashed under her desk.
"I think it's taking her a while to get her head around the fact that the daughter getting married is Lynda Day and not . . . well, you."
"What do you mean?"
"You know what Lynda's like. She's managed and supervised increasing numbers of staff since she was 16. She could march into a boardroom of 25 executives and fire insults, ashtrays and demands at them but put her in a party or a room full of her closest friends and she's reduced to jelly. Jelly that has, on more than one occasion, been spotted slinking out of doors, climbing out of windows and – on one particularly memorable occasion – shinning down a trellis from a balcony. If I were a betting man, I'd put more than a fiver on her bailing on the wedding before it happened."
"You don't think she wants to marry Spike?"
"Oh no, I'm pretty sure she does," said Kenny. "Marriage, no problem. It's a contract, to her way of thinking. Wedding, different story."
"So this is Spike's way of getting her to actually go through with it before she realises what's going on? Isn't that a little . . ."
"Brilliant?"
"I was going to say 'underhanded', but then I remembered who we're dealing with," said Julie. "Yes, brilliant, I suppose. Although why you'd go to all the trouble . . . what does he actually see in her? I've often wondered."
Kenny opened his mouth to reply - although he wasn't sure what he planned to say - when Colin banged through the door, swinging a sports bag.
"Kenny! Are you ready? I've got a taxi ordered to take us to the airport. Should be here any minute."
"Colin? You're going too?"
"Absolutely!" Colin beamed. "I've always wanted to go to Vegas. Sounds like my kind of town. All those greenbacks floating around, just begging to be harnessed."
"And Spike and Lynda getting married, of course," said Kenny, dryly.
"Hmm? Oh yes, well that won't go too long, I shouldn't think. In and out then off to the craps."
"Colin! Don't be vulgar!"
Colin looked at Julie. "What?"
"Craps is a dice game," explained Kenny.
"Oh. Well, you're certainly dressed appropriately," said Julie, trying to keep a straight face as she took in Colin's ensemble of tartan trousers and loud shirt, printed with dice, cards and roulette wheels. "You'll definitely blend in with the crap."
"That's what I thought!" Colin said happily. "And the cap, what do you think of the cap?" He affixed a plastic green visor to his head. "Kenny, I couldn't get you one but I did get you these . . ." he handed over a pair of sunglasses. "It's in the desert, you know. Have to be prepared."
Kenny gingerly slid the oversized Elvis-style gold sunglasses on his face.
"Well?" Colin asked Julie, slinging his arm around Kenny. "What do you think? Couple of crazy carefree guys off for a lad's weekend in Sin City, eh?"
Julie had been overtaken by a coughing fit and couldn't answer.
"Sorry, guys," she managed to wheeze out. "Still getting over this flu . . . I'll have to . . ."
She made her escape quickly. Colin, undaunted, handed Kenny a piece of paper.
"What's this?" Kenny asked.
"Your boarding pass. I checked us in online so we can sit together! All the way to the USA! Viva Las Vegas, baby!"
"Fantastic," Kenny replied weakly.
Kenny's intercom buzzed. "Kenny? The taxi's here."
"Fantastic," Kenny repeated.
"Let me get that for you," Colin said cheerfully, popping the handle up on Kenny's case and wheeling it out of the door. Kenny's feeble protests went unheard and he sighed as he gathered up his travel documents.
"Fantastic."
