4th chapter
The Secret Diary of Cameron Baum
THURSDAY
"I do not understand."
John sighs. "What this time?"
"The female character--"
"Marilyn Monroe."
"Yes. Why does she not recognise that the male character--"
"Tony Curtis."
"-- is the same person as the other female character?"
"Because he and Jack Lemmon are pretending to be women to escape being killed by the mob."
"But they share the same bone structure and facial characteristics. It is unfeasible she would be so easily fooled."
"Remember what she said? ' I'm not too bright, I guess'."
"She is retarded."
"Y'know, when I suggested we watch a movie together I didn't anticipate it turning into 50 Questions."
"You told me to ask questions if I was unsure of anything."
"Cam, you've asked like a hundred in 30 minutes."
This is incorrect. It is 29 in 84 minutes.
"Can we just watch the end of the movie?"
John turns his attention back to the screen. We are seated together on the couch. Our feet up on the coffeee table facing the TV set. Chillin'. This is chilling without the gee. John has an half empty Bud beside him. I declined his offer of a can of WD40. I am 78 percent certain this was a joke or humorous remark
Osgood, I'm gonna level with you. We can't get married at all.
Why not?
Well... ln the first place, I'm not a natural blonde.
Doesn't matter.
l smoke. l smoke all the time.
l don't care.
l have a terrible past. For three years I've been living with a saxophone player.
l forgive you.
l can never have children.
We can adopt some.
You don't understand, Osgood. - I'm a man.
Nobody's perfect.
The movie ends. I say, "I do not understand." John groans. "He deceived Osgood by pretending to be something he was not, yet Osgood still wishes to marry him."
"That's love for you, I guess."
"I am pretending to be something I am not."
"I noticed."
"Would you wish to marry me?"
John stares at me for a moment then looks away. "It's still light out, let's go get some fresh air."
"The room is adequately ventilated."
"We can throw the ball around. I'll get my catchers mitt."
"You say I throw too hard."
"You do throw too hard. It's like fielding a cannonball. I tell you but you never listen."
"I'm not too bright, I guess."
FRIDAY
Becca Shaughnessy asks me to another sleepover, adding, "Mom's in rehab drying out so this time we can really let our hair down and party."
I say, "I will have to ask John."
"Your brother? Is he the boss of you?"
"Yes. John is the boss of me."
"Say goodbye to 30 years of feminism."
"Goodbye."
Becca laughs. "God, you should be a comedienne! You're funnier than Sarah Silverman."
We go and find John who is standing by the lockers with his new friend Riley, who says, "Sleepovers? Do people still have those? I outgrew them when I was ten. They're a sign of immaturity."
"Oh yeah?" Becca holds her middle finger up. "Know what this is a sign of?"
"Real mature, Rusty."
"Don't call me that! I hate being called Rusty."
"I know you do...Rusty. Come on, John. Leave the children to their kids games."
They depart. John didn't speak to me or give me instructions of any kind. Perhaps the decision is mine to make.
"I hate that girl," Beccas announces. "She's such a skank."
"Is that her nickname, skank? I thought it was Shauna's. And Emilia. And Rachel. And Sophia. And--"
"Whoa, time out, acid queen. When did you become such a bitch?"
"Bitch is Louise's nickname, not mine."
"I'm beginning to wonder. So, you gonna hang out with me or not?"
"I will hang out with you."
Becca grins. "Cool. You wait till you see what I've got planned. Kids games? We'll show 'em kids games."
END OF SCHOOL
"You are travelling in the wrong direction."
We are in Becca's Lexus and she has turned left onto the turnpike and not right for downtown and the street she lives on.
"Oh we're not going home. See the case in the back? There's 20 thousand dollars in there. That's ten each. I maxxed out mom's credit card. We're going to Vegas."
"Vegas?"
"Wild, huh? We'll hit the tables, overnight there and drive back in the morning. See my purse? Open it. Go on, it won't bite."
I open the purse. She is correct it doesn't bite.
"Take out my ID and read it."
I do so. "It states your name is Honey Bell. And you are 21."
"Isn't it great? I bought a fake ID off Ramona's brother. I think he's in a gang or something. Say goodbye to Becca Shaughnessy, potato queen of southern California, and hello to Honey Bell. She's a philosophy major at Vassar. She likes walks in the forest, the Ramones and wants to help children in the third world someday, and do all kinds of other third worldly crap. And check it out - no freckles. Photoshop."
I replace the card in her purse. It has a barcode on the reverse. In the future all humans captured and enslaved by Skynet will have barcodes seared into their flesh. Photoshop will not be required.
VEGAS
The drive takes almost four hours. The highway crosses dry desertland dotted with scrub and tall cacti until it reaches the city, which is filled with neonlit buildings like giant mesas rising out of the ground.
"It's so beautiful," Becca sighs. "Daddy used to attend real estate conentions here and sometimes he'd take me with him. Once he won a quarter of a mill at the tables and bought mom a diamond necklace and me a huge teddy bear that was so big it wouldn't fit in the car. We had to strap it to the roof." She smiles sadly. "Those were the best times..."
"You miss your father."
"I suppose I do. You miss yours?"
I consider the question. "My father is part of me."
"Aww, Cam, that's so sweet. Remind me to give you a hug later."
HOTEL
We check in and go up to our room, which is large with a walk-in clothes closet and a balcony overlooking the Strip, as the street below is called. Becca opens a small cabinet beside the bed.
"Minibar! Heads up, Cam. Incoming. WMD. Weapons of Mass Dissipation." She tosses me a miniature bottle with some pale liquid inside. "A little dutch courage all the way from Mex-i-co. Salut!"
"Salut!"
"I've brought two cocktail dresses for us to wear," she says, opening her case on the bed. "I had to guess your size, but let's face it you'd look hotter than me in a potato sack."
"I have never worn a potato sack before."
"Ha! Don't talk too soon. You haven't seen what I've brought yet."
We put on the dresses. They are both bright and shiny and leave our shoulders bare. Becca's is very lowcut at the front. I warn her, "Do not pop two out."
She giggles. "I'm not making promises I can't keep. If it wasn't for my boobs boys wouldn't notice me at all."
"Boys notice boobs?"
"Only when their eyes are open."
"But that is the majority of the time."
"D'uh! Hey, I've just had a crazy idea - while we're in Vegas let's get our noses pierced."
"No."
"Tongues?"
No."
"Nip--"
"No."
"Spoilsport. Okay, I've got our money, fake ID, Jimmy Choo's...how's my hair look? Too much product?"
"It is still red."
"Tell me about it. Once I bleached it blonde and mom was so loaded she thought I was a burgler and chased me out of the house. I had to sleep in the car. Can you believe it?"
"Yes." Becca's heartrate and respiration are normal. She is telling the truth.
CASINO
We enter the casino, which is a large room filled with people and tables upon which they gamble money on the outcome of various games."
"Head for the roulette," Becca advises. "That's where Daddy won bigtime. Let's try our luck."
We sit down at the roulette table. Becca exchanges the money for plastic tokens. "That's all there is," she whispers handing me half. "So don't spend it all at once."
I observe the roulette. A casino employee launches a small white ball into a wheel which has 37 slots in it. The ball goes one way the wheel spins the other. Gravity and friction combine to slow the velocity whereupon it settles into one of the slots. A simple algorithm tells me which slot it will fall into. The number four.
"Four. Black. Even," declares the casino employee, who is called a croupier.
No one wins, including Becca who placed 100 dollars on number seven. She groans in frustration; math is not her strongest subject.
On the next spin I push all my chips on to twenty-one. Becca whispers, "Cam, that's half our stake!"
The wheel slows. The ball slots home.
"Twenty-one. Red. Odd."
The croupier smiles at me as he pushes a large pile of tokens in my direction. His gaze flits across my boobs. Becca was correct; his eyes are open.
"Omigod! Cam, you just won 360,000 dollars!"
This is called stating the obvious.
On the next spin I place another ten thousand on the number two. The ball rattles home.
"Two. Black. Even."
On the next turn of the wheel I hesitate then decline to bet.
"What's wrong? You're on a roll, girlfriend."
"Wait."
"Zero."
The croupier rakes in everyone's tokens. There are groans around the table. Can everybody here be poor at math? It appears so.
I place another ten thousand on thirty-four.
"Thirty-four. Black. Even."
Beside me Becca is jumping up and down. People round the table are smiling and laughing.
Suddenly a man in a dark suit and dark sunglasses materialises next to the croupier. He is not smiling or laughing. His arms are folded and he stares directly at me. I do not recognise him but I know what he represents.
Authority.
I have been noticed. I sense danger. It is time to leave.
"We have to go," I inform Becca.
"What? But we only just got here."
"We have to go. Now." I pull her away from the table.
"Wait. What about the money?"
"Bring it if you wish."
"You bet I wish!"
We exchange the tokens for cash. It amounts to one million and eighty thousand dollars. Becca seems excited by this.
"Omigod! Half's mine, right? Fair's fair.I brought it."
"You may have it all."
"No. Half each is fair. Omigod, we're rich!"
The cash is placed in a nylon holdall with the hotel logo on the side. Becca carries it and we ride the elevator up to our room. Inside, I tell her, "Pack your things, we are leaving."
"No way. It's still early. I want to party."
She is being stubborn. I will instruct her one final time. If she refuses to accompany me I will throw her off the balcony and continue alone.
"We must leave. Now."
"But I--It's the money, isn't it? You cheated."
"I did not cheat."
"But you did something. No one wins big three times in a row. And now we're in trouble, yes?
"Yes."
"Give me a second to get my stuff."
Becca disappears into the bathroom. There is a knock on the door. I open it. Outside is the man from the casino. Dark hair, dark suit, dark sunglasses.
"Excuse me, Miss. But I believe you dropped this in the corridor." He hands me a thick roll of hundred dollar bills. "You should be more careful. There are some bad people about who would do just about anything for that much money."
I smile and say, "I'm not too bright, I guess."
"So it seems. May I come in? There are some irregularities concerning your ID."
I allow him past and close the door. Becca is still in the bathroom.
"You realise that here in Nevada underage gambling is a federal offence? We take that very seriously. You and your friend are in a lot of troub--"
I snap his head back, fracturing the third vertebra in his spinal cord. He crumples. I catch him before he hits the floor and drag him inside the clothes closet. I frisk his body. No weapons but I pocket the pager and cellphone. I close and lock the door, squeezing the handle so the metal distorts ensuring the key will no longer work.
Becca emerges from the bathroom. "Okay. All set. Who was at the door?"
"A man from the casino."
"Where is he?"
"Lying dead on the closet floor. We go. Now." I grab her by the arm.
"Huh? What was that about the closet? Wait. Cam, you're hurting me."
We take the back staircase to the basement garage. I place the suitcase in the trunk of the Lexus. Becca refuses to part with the bag containing the money.
"No. I'm not letting it out of my sight."
"Very well. I will drive."
We head up the ramp into open air. Above I notice a small camera positioned on the arch to observe exiting vehicles.
"We will need a new car."
"Okay. I guess we can afford it. The clutch was going anyway."
THE SHOWROOM
We find a dealership a few blocks from the Strip. I park the Lexus in the shadows.
Becca says, "Oh cool. Ferraris. I always wanted an Italian car."
She walks toward the showroom. I begin to follow when the casino man's cellphone vibrates. I flip it open. A male voice says, "Rosselli? That you?"
I mimic the casino man's voice. "This is Rosselli."
"Where are you, man? The Boss wants to know if you've got the money back from those twinks."
"The money's safe. The twinks won't cause us any more problems."
" Okay. Nice catch. Good work, Rosselli."
I ring off and crush the cell in my hand, dropping it on the sidewalk. I follow Becca inside.
The showroom is brightly lit with shiny vehicles dominating the foreground. A young human male in a dark suit, bright tie and even brighter teeth greets us. A laminate nametag on his left lapel suggests his name is Richard.
"Good evening, ladies. Can I be of assistance?"
"We're in the market for a new set of wheels," Becca explains. "Richard - is that your name? Are you Richie or Dick for short? Because you look a bit like a Dick, doesn't he, Cam?"
"You look like a Dick," I confirm. Becca giggles. I do not know why.
"You can call me anything you wish, Miss...?"
"Belle. Honey Bell. But you can call me Hun for short. This is my friend. Her name's Cameron, which is short for, er, Cameroonie. And we want you, Dick, to show us what you've got."
"O-kay. Do you have any particular model in mind?"
"This one's nice." Becca indicates a red vehicle nearby.
"Excellent taste. This is a Ferrari 328. A classic example. Full spec. Very little mileage. This model was once owned by Wayne Newton."
"And that's a good thing?"
"Uh - he's one of our finest headliners."
"But he's old. Haven't you got anything that was owned by Johnny Depp?"
"I'm afraid not."
"Kurt Cobain?"
"No."
"Eddie Vedder?"
"The 328 has a V12 engine developing 390 BHP at 6,000 RPM."
"See, guy's always do that."
"Miss?"
"Come out with all that macho bullshit about revs and torgue and RPM. But what I want to know is - if I drive this will a cute guy want to date me?"
"I'm sorry, what?"
"I mean okay, I've got red hair, skin that nevers tans and freckles where no one should ever have freckles - jeez, enough already. But I'm not the Elephant Man, right? So if I drive this will cute guy's want to ask me out?"
"I'm sure they would fall over themselves to ask you out."
Becca smiles. "Then we'll take it."
"It's 98,000 thousand dollars."
Becca takes rolls of hundred dollar bills from the holdall and places them one by one on the vehicle's hood.
"Tell me when to stop."
THE HIGHWAY
The Ferrari is powerful and more responsive to drive than the Lexus. But I observe the speed limit. This is no time to attract undue attention from the police.
This is called being a responsible motorist.
We stop once enroute to the Interstate. Becca insists on buying some supplies from a supermart. She has not eaten for several hours. I wait in the car.
"Woo, look what I've got! Nachos. Bags and bags of nachos. Cowboy hats for us both. And champagne. They didn't even want to see my fake ID. I love Vegas!"
She puts a cowboy hat on my head and one on her own.
"Look at us. We're Butch and Sundance, baby! Bonnie and Clyde. Thelma and freaking Louise!"
I put the Ferrari in gear and drive away. Becca opens a bottle of champagne. The cork flies high in the air and is carried away in our slipstream. She takes several long swallows then hands me the bottle. I drink some to show willing.
A bag of nacho snacks is torn open. They fly everywhere. "Shit. Look at the mess. What am I like, honestly? My lovely new Ferrari. I'll get it valeted back in LA."
Becca tugs the rim of her cowboy hat low on her forehead and peers at me from beneath it. "So how'd you do it, Butch?"
"Do what?"
"Win all that money. Come on, you can tell Sundance. You picked the correct numbers three times. What are the odds of that?"
"A billion to one."
"So how'd you do it? Is it something to do with how you're this big maths geek at school who aces every test?"
"Yes."
"Omigod - you know who you are? Rainman!"
"I do not know this person."
"And if you're Rainman, that makes me the other guy. Woo hoo, Katie Holmes is hot!" she yells into the night. "Mankind is descended from freaky space aliens!"
"You are talking nonsense."
"D'uh - I'm Tom Cruise!"
Becca attempts to open the second bottle but it tumbles into the footwell.
"Shit. I'm not drunk, 'kay? I'm not mom. I know my limits."
"One tequila, two tequila, three tequila, floor."
"S'right. What are you going to do with your share of the money?"
"Bury it in a hole in the ground."
Becca giggles. "Oh Cam, you're so funny! I'm so glad you're my friend. You're not like those tightass bitches at school. Me, I'm going to buy...everything!"
"There is not enough to buy everything," I point out.
"...and I'll get it all giftwrapped with ribbons and bows and pretty maids all in a row!"
She picks up some stray nachos and forces them into her mouth. Several stick to her cheeks.
"D'you think boys will like me now I'm rich?"
"I do not know."
"They didn't before. D'you think your brother will like me? Because I really like him. I mean, I really really like him."
I suffer another software glitch that causes my right leg to go rigid, fully depressing the gas pedal. The Ferrari surges forward and strikes the rear of the vehicle in front, causing it to swerve off the highway and fishtail round in a cloud of desert sand.
"Omigod! Stop the car."
"We must keep moving."
"But those people could be hurt."
I glance behind. The vehicle is intact. The passengers are getting out.
"They are unharmed."
"Hey! We're really sorr-rree!" Becca yells back at them, half out of her seat. "Here. have some money for your trouble."
She throws a thick roll of cash out of the Ferrari. It falls shorts and lies there on the tarmac.
"Why did you do that?" I ask.
"Daddy once told me that money makes everything better. Pull over. Let me drive."
"You are intoxicated."
"Am not! FYI, I'm sober as a fudge. Judge. A fudge-judge." She giggles uncontrollably. "A fudge-judge, hahaha! Oh I'm so-oo wasted."
We drive on, leaving Vegas behind.
"Stop the car." Becca requests.
"No."
"Stop the car. I need to pee real bad. I mean it. Any second you're gonna be sat next to a lawn sprinkler."
I steer off the highway and bring the Ferrari to a halt. Becca opens the door and dashes into the desert. The other vehicles hurtle past. None slow or stop or show any interest in us.
Presently Becca returns. She looks forlorn and dishevelled.
"I fell over and sat on a cactus!" she wails. "I've got cactus spines in my butt. And I peed on my shoes. My beautiful Jimmy Choos." She bursts into tears. "I fell over and peed myself. I'm turning into my mom, aren't I?"
"There are behavioural similarities."
Becca's dress has slipped down. "You have popped one out." I inform her.
"What? Oh." She hitches her dress up. "I'm such a screwup."
"Nobody's perfect."
HOME
I drive on through the night. Becca falls asleep in a foetal position, a nacho snack still attached to her cheek. I reach across, pick it off and pop it into my mouth. It tastes of chemicals.
I stop for gas near the turn off for Los Angeles. I pay the attendent and add a hundred dollar bill as a tip. He smiles at me and says, "Gee, that's mighty generous of you, miss."
I smile back and say, "Money makes everything better."
"Ain't that the truth. Drive safe now."
We arrive at Becca's house at dawn. I park the Ferrari in the driveway and carry Becca's sleeping body up to her room and lay her on the bed. I stand by the window where I can see the street. It is unlikely anyone followed us, but I will keep vigil anyway.
At 8.09am Becca's pet cat, Mr Babbykins, enters the room and hisses at me. I grab him by the scruff of the neck and hold him up to my face. He struggles and spits and tries to scratch me.
"Cease. Or die."
I drop the cat. He scurries away. 42 minutes later he is back. He has a dead rodent, a mouse, in his jaws. He drops it by my feet then retreats to a safe distance to watch my reaction.
It is evidently a peace offering of sorts. I pick the mouse up and take two bites then toss the remains back to him. He devours it. Satisfied, Mr Babbykins approaches me and rubs himself against my legs making a low humming sound in his throat.
It appears I have made a new friend.
At 10.15 Becca stirs. "Cam, is that you? My head hurts."
"I will get you a seconal."
"Wait. I had this amazing dream. We went to Vegas and won a million dollars. I bought a Ferrari and..." she trails off staring at the holdall containing the money I placed at the end of her bed. "It isn't a dream?"
"It is reality."
"I think I'm going to be sick."
Becca rushes to the bathroom and kneels with her head in the ceramic bowl while she vomits up her stomach contents. I stand behind her holding her hair back.
This is what friends do.
--000--
The movie was of course 'Some Like It Hot'. The theme of the chapter was Deception so I dropped in a few lines here and there.
Apparently, in lab conditions, it is feasible to predict roulette by plotting velocity, friction, contact points, etc. In the first draft I had Cam counting cards. But blackjack's dullsville to write so I switched to roulette. Either way, kerching.