The Dry Cleaner From Des Moinesby Joni Mitchell
‘Make the most of tomorrow - it will never happen again.’
The broken parts of my fortune cookie lie strewn on the freshly laundered, white linen table cloth.
“What does that mean?” I ask. Indifferent shrugs ripple around the restaurant table. No one cares much; it’s just a meaningless fortune cookie.
“You worry too much, John. Just enjoy being here. We only get this chance once a year.”
“Yeah, a long weekend away from the grind.”
“Gentlemen; a toast. To freedom.”
These are my pals; the ones I can trust to drag me away from my tedious job running the dry-cleaning shop and share a guys’ weekend away. A weekend in Las Vegas. Always April. Always the third weekend. Same hotel. Same restaurants. And, best of all, always the same casinos.
We’d first met twenty years ago as ‘American Youth Football’ fathers, taking our young sons to football practices and games, giving our wives a few hours respite each week. Ten years later we found ourselves sitting on the bleachers, watching our kids perform in their final senior high match. As the sun cast ever-lengthening shadows over the bleachers, we knew an era was drawing to a close. The kids (of course, they we’re just about fully grown men by this time, ready to head off to college) didn’t need us any morefor transport and advice; but we turned up each week anyway. What else were we to do? I reckon we needed them now more than they needed us.
Sharing beers during half-time of that last football game, Larry had suggested that, after all we’d been through, the shared experience of fatherhood, it would be a shame to lose contact. Sure, we could still come and watch the games but, without the familial interest, we all knew it just wouldn’t be the same. Paul suggested the four of us meet up for at least the first and last games of each season and also, with wives, for Thanksgiving and Christmas. We all agreed. Tony pointed out, though, that all four of these events took place in the second half of the calendar. How about something special earlier in the year? And, the annual trip to the Vegas casinos was born.
We all raise our glasses, “To freedom!”
“Freedom from what?” enquires Tony, “The IRS?”
“Well, I’ll certainly drink to that!” Paul earns more than the rest of us; but he works hard for it with his haulage company and doesn’t flaunt it. He, more than any one of us, needs a weekend away from work.
Over the years, we have settled into a comfortable routine in Vegas. Travel on the Friday, arriving mid-afternoon. Unpack. Meet up in the ‘Silver Moon’ Chinese restaurant for drinks and a meal before hitting the casinos. After being cooped up together on the flight from Des Moines, via Denver, we spend the first part of the evening working the casinos individually, meeting at ‘The Lucky Loser’ around ten for a beer and exchange of the inevi
