Wishes Washed Away

There are no more parties I can attend to. I sigh, gripping my brown/blue silk chiffon dress in my hands, knowing that here in Vegas, I won't be able to flaunt it. I fold it carefully and slip it back into my suitcase, frowning. Sadly, Brennie's sleeping on the couch, South Park playing quietly on the television. Again, I check my email for anything significant:

Took your Gucci sunglasses. Borrowed an Italian fashion scarf. Wore the Burberry London Lorelei empire dress. Thanks, babe.

-R

The fashion scarf will be her noose.

Brendon falls off the couch and heads over to the pantry, grabbing some Captain Crunch. "You hungry?" he asks groggily, stumbling over to the table. He sits down. "I know you're leaving pretty soon..." His voice trails off as he shoves a spoonful of kid's cereal into his mouth. Brennie frowns.

"Are you going to miss me?" I tease, still messing with my sidekick. Edward's sent me another email:

Can't wait 'til you come back to the set. I'm sure you'll have lots to tell me; there's a party awaiting you...hope I'll be your escort there.

-E

I bite my lip. Edward's sweet and gorgeous, but...thirty nine against twenty is a bit much, even if it is fake. The tabloids are all over my supposed cheating in Vegas. But what do they know? Can't they tell they've been conned? I waltz over to the fridge and grab the orange juice. "I um..." I take in a deep breath. "I'm sorry for the way I'd been in the beginning." I haven't apologized for the past decade, and the words shape weirdly on my lips. "And I'm going out for a little bit. Promised Edward I'd get him a souvenir." Before I'm able to step out of the kitchen, Brendon pulls me into a tight hug. I attempt to wriggle free, but his iron grip won't let me.

"I'm glad you're finally changing," Brennie says, grinning. "What are you planning on getting Edward, anyway?" He's a classy guy; I'd say he would appreciate some nice wine...something like that. Hopefully I can find him something classy and inexpensive. I can't stand giving nor receiving shabby things.

"I just need to go out." I swing open the door, and Brendon climbs into the driver's seat. "Is there a place where I can purchase something nice and not incredibly expensive?"

He raises his eyebrows. "...Did you just say 'not incredibly expensive'? Wow, either you're losing your mind, or you're turning over a new leaf. Either way, I'm liking this new Maggie." I slap him as he backs out of the driveway, and we're off towards the Strip again.

After parking in a shady area, we stroll into the Venetian in hopes of finding something nice but not high-priced. So far, I shelled out twenty-four dollars for my polka dot bikini, and that left me with four-hundred seventy-six dollars left to spend. With that, I'll probably just buy him a nice pair of sunglasses by Dolce and Gabbana. Edward'll grow to appreciate them.

"How about these?" Brennie grabs a pair and puts them on. It's shaped oddly, and tourists have worn them too much. They're crooked. I ignore him and stare at the glass case, scrutinizing a pair of Chanel glasses. Gucci. Giorgio Armani. Christian Dior. Calvin Klein. Bvlgari. "Ma'am, are looking to buy a certain pair?" asks a noisy salesman, slightly disgusted by Brendon's love for touching things. He twitches as Brennie's hand touches the lens. His finger prints are now all over the sunglasses--the ultimate crime. "Are they for your boyfriend over there?"

I shake my head. "They're for a friend." I point my thumb at Brendon. "He's just my idiot bodyguard. Not very good at his job, but...he's entertaining." The salesman nods understandingly. "How much are the Gucci sunglasses?"

He grins, pulling out the keys to open the case. "They're three hundred, but you know, that's without tax." He looks up at me, eyebrows raised. "Will you take them?"

I shrug. "I like the frame, the lenses don't look too dark...why not." He grins and struts over to the counter, ringing them up. I hand him the money, and the salesman neatly places Edward's present into a shiny onyx case. "Thank you very much," I say, nabbing Brendon by the collar. The salesman breathes a sigh of relief as Brendon struggles under my grip.

"What the hell, Maggie?" Brennie shouts, his expression like a small school boy's. "I was having fun!"

"You were annoying people," I reply, waltzing to the exit. "Drive me home." But Brendon's standing next to the indoor river, watching people board the gondola. "C'mon, Bren. We've got to go."

He grabs my arm and drags me to the line of couples waiting for a romantic ride on the boat. I glare at him. "Oh, it's just once, Maggie. Do it for me, please?" Brennie sticks out his lower lip, forcing it to tremble. "I've never been on one!"

"Come back by yourself." I cross my arms against my chest.

"You're going on this ride with me, whether you like it or not." The gondolier helps me in, grinning as I sit awkwardly next to Brendon. We start to sail smoothly across the pale blue water, dark pennies at the bottom of the river. "Isn't this peaceful? And look at the ceiling!" I stare at the paintings of angels and whatnot, feeling somewhat disinterested. Paintings of half-naked children never really excited me.

For most of the ride, I smile at the cute, tan gondolier, winking every so often. Brendon either ignores or doesn't see that I'm making a move on our third wheel as he points out the bridge, the restaurants, and the other various shops. By the time we turn around and come back, the gondolier has given me his cell phone number discreetly, and Brennie is tugging me towards the exit.

After finding the Volvo, Brendon drives us home. I take out the Gucci sunglasses from their case, wiping them with the burgundy silk cloth the salesman threw in for free. I put them on, making sure they aren't crooked. "I thought you said those were for Edward," Brennie points out, weaving through traffic.

"They are. And these are definitely men's shades, dear. Can't you tell?" The squareness of the frame accents the jawline. For women, sunglasses tend to have softer edges, usually a cross between squares and circles. "You really ought to learn more things about fashion."

"I have no interest in that," he scoffs, dodging several taxis. They honk as he swerves past them. "I think you should care less about fashion and wear whatever you want. Screw brand names!"

I glare at him over the sunglasses. "Brand names are important; they not only look great, but they're also made of good material." The more expensive it is, the longer it will last. "It doesn't hurt that it's designer."

"It doesn't hurt for you to shop at places that aren't considered 'high-end'. I mean, our trip to Target wasn't that bad." Brendon slams on the breaks as the light turns red. "You can always find something that looks similar to whatever the high-fashion brands sell."

"Nothing is like the real thing," I reply, carefully folding the Gucci shades back into their case. "No matter what mom tells you."