Four
an excerpt

It would have been enough of a comedy of errors if we had realized that Shirley was on the stairs while Phil and I were in the elevator, but since we didn't even realize it, Phil created his own little catastrophe by tripping over the elevator gap (or perhaps it was even his own two feet) and hitting his head on a wall fixture. I couldn't tell just what it was meant to be, the hotel staff obviously thought they could put anything on the walls that looked like it was made of marble and somehow we would think that we were in Caesar's Palace. If it was going to be imitation marble, they should have at least made it less conspicuous, or at least made of material that wouldn't drive a wobbling drunk further into a concussion if struck.
It instantly left a mark on Phil's head, one that would have been hidden by his hair if he had any, or one that he would have hidden with his hands if he were still conscious. He had probably just fainted; it had been known to happen to him even without the extraneous circumstances. We just couldn't take him anywhere except amusement parks. He never seemed to have any troubles in the world when we were near roller coasters. He could have married Charlotte on a roller coaster for all I knew.
I was always having to pull Phil back to his feet that evening. He just couldn't keep it together, not that any of it was his fault really. Well, I take that back. Recklessly marrying Charlotte was something he should have thought out beforehand, because when he did it he probably didn't even know what city he was in, let alone what was happening in his surroundings. The whole evening was seeming more and more like a bad dream, even though by that point I at least knew what was happening.
Shirley owed me an explanation, so Phil was going to have rest his head in their room instead of ours. Their room was closer anyway, and the halls of the hotel were almost as poorly laid out as the video poker machines. Hopefully we weren't going to be interrupting anything. Don't get me wrong, of course I am in support of their relationship, I just have no desire to see any of the events that transpire behind closed doors, and I know Charlotte will seize any opportunity they have alone together.
As I was dragging Phil through the halls, hoping to avoid any embarassing encounters with anyone along the way, I noticed another odd addition to the walls. It was a mirror that had bits of gold spray paint on it, as if a mirror needed additional decoration to scare the drunks passing by unaware of its presence. The designer obviously intended for the reflectee to look more sparkly, but the outcome was that it looked like I was covered in mustard stains. Still, I hadn't stopped and looked at my reflection since before we came to Las Vegas. Ignoring the flecks of paint, I found myself wondering how I ended up at this point in my life. I was a few weeks away from turning forty and all too paranoid about finding a gray hair in the reflection, but as far as I could tell it was all still brown. I knew I had kind of let myself go, physically. I could never keep a good exercise regiment the way that Shirley did instinctively, although my teeth were certainly in much more pristine condition, cigarettes of the evening notwithstanding.
Charlotte's voice snapped me out of my ponderings as she came out of her room. "Hey, what happened to him?" she asked, indicating Phil.
"Hit his head on that thing on the wall near the elevators," I said.
"I think those things were supposed to be ashtrays. They're so fucking ugly."
"I thought this was a non-smoking floor."