Tom was slouched against the seat, his arms loose at his sides, like this was the most natural thing in the world—a strange young woman sliding into a car with him, someone a third of his age. “Hello,” he said. “Lovely to meet you.” His hair must have been thick and dark when he was younger, but it was thinning at the temples, spangled with gray. He wore a button-down shirt and khakis—he looked like someone’s dad. I checked his hand. If he was married, he had decided to remove his ring. One first time, I said again, in my head. I forgot to hold out my hand, but he picked it up, brought it to his mouth, left a wet kiss on the back. When he wasn’t looking, I wiped the place where his spit shimmered on my skin against the fabric of my dress. I wondered if the rest of the night would be like that—him putting a mark on me, me trying to rub it away.

He put his arm around me as we walked through the Quarter, and I felt myself tense up and go hot every place his body touched mine. The stores and restaurants around us were made to look like old Havana, and the corridors were decorated with fake palm trees that rose toward a pretend blue sky. I stopped to watch the fountain trickle, and remembered the first time Des walked me through Caesars. I thought it was the most beautiful place I’d ever seen—the columns in the lobby, the statues of helmeted men and their impossibly large horses, the slick sheen of the marble floors. I was six or seven, and she was teaching me how to slide a wallet from a woman’s purse. My small hands would be an advantage, but I had gotten distracted by a fountain just like this one, the layer of coins glimmering under the water. I reached in and scooped up as many as I could take. I still remember the sensation of the cold wet coins in my hands, the way Des laughed when she saw the dampness spreading across my pockets. She used to laugh a lot more back then.