Genuine Fraud(13)

Jule was silent. She applied highlighter to her cheekbones.

“I did that job,” the woman went on. She lowered herself off the counter and stuffed her messed-up feet into the shoes. “No family anymore and no money: that was how I started, and it’s no different now. But it’s not a way up, even with high-rolling guys. You should know that.”

Jule shrugged into a green cardigan and picked up her case. “Don’t worry about me. I’m fine, honestly.” Dragging the bag behind her, she headed for the door—but she stumbled slightly in the unfamiliar shoes.

“You all right?” the woman asked.

“Oh, yeah.”

“It’s hard to be a woman sometimes.”

“Yeah, it pretty much sucks, except for the makeup,” Jule said. She pushed through the door without looking back.





With her suitcase stashed in a bus-station locker, Jule shouldered a tote bag and took a taxi to the Las Vegas strip. She was tired—she hadn’t been able to sleep on the bus ride, and she was on London time.

The casino was lit up with neon, chandeliers, and the sparkle of the slot machines. Jule walked past men in sports jerseys, pensioners, party girls, and a large group of librarians wearing conference badges. It took two hours, walking from place to place, but eventually she found what she was looking for.

There was a cluster of women around a bank of Batman slots having what seemed to be a ridiculously good time. They had frozen drinks, purple and slushy. A couple looked Asian American, a couple white. It was a bachelorette party, and the bride was perfect, just what Jule needed. She was pale and petite, with strong-looking shoulders and gentle freckles—couldn’t have been more than twenty-three. Her light brown hair was up in a ponytail, and she wore a hot-pink minidress and a white sash with rhinestones on it: BRIDE TO BE. Dangling from her left shoulder was a small turquoise bag with multiple zippers. She leaned over as her friends played the machines, cheering, comfortable being adored by everyone around her.

Jule walked over to the group and used a lowland Southern accent, like in Alabama. “?’Scuse me, do any of y’all—well, my phone’s out of charge and I gotta text my friend. I last saw her over by the sushi bar, but then I started playing, and now, whoop! It’s three hours later and she’s MIA.”

The bachelorettes turned around.

Jule smiled. “Oh, are y’all a bridal party?”

“She’s getting married on Saturday!” cried one of the women, clutching the bride.

“Hooray!” said Jule. “What’s your name?”

“Shanna,” said the bride. They were the same height, but Shanna wore flats, so Jule stood over her a little.

“Shanna Dixie, soon to be Shanna McFetridge!” cried a bachelorette.

“Dang,” said Jule. “Do you have a dress?”

“Of course I do,” said Shanna.

“It’s not a Vegas wedding,” said a bachelorette. “It’s a church wedding.”

“Where are y’all from?” asked Jule.

“Tacoma. It’s in Washington. You know it? We’re just in Vegas for—”

“They planned the whole weekend for me,” said Shanna. “We flew in this morning and went to the spa and the nail salon. See? I got the gel. Then we hit the casino, and tomorrow we’re gonna see the white tigers.”

“And what’s your dress? For the wedding, I mean.”

Shanna clutched Jule’s arm. “It’s to die for. I feel like a princess, it’s so good.”

“Can I see it? On your phone? You must have a picture.” Jule put her hand over her mouth and ducked her head a little. “I have a thing about wedding dresses, you know? Ever since I was a bitty girl.”

“Hell yes, I have a picture,” said Shanna. She unzipped her bag and pulled out a phone in a gold case. The lining of the bag was pink. Inside were a wallet of dark brown leather, two tampons wrapped in plastic, a pack of gum, and a lipstick.

“Lemme see,” said Jule. She stepped around to look at Shanna’s phone.

Shanna swiped through the pictures. A dog. The rusty underside of a sink. A baby. The same baby again. “That’s my boy, Declan. He’s eighteen months.” Some trees by a lake. “There it is.”

The dress was strapless and long, with folds of fabric around the hips. In the picture, Shanna modeled it in a bridal store filled with other white gowns.

Jule oohed and aahed. “Can I see your fiancé?”

“Hell yes. He, like, killed the proposal,” said Shanna. “He put the ring in a doughnut. He’s in law school. I won’t have to work unless I want to.” She went on. Talking, talking. She held up the phone to show the lucky guy grinning on the slopes.

“Crazy cute,” said Jule. Her hand went into Shanna’s bag. She lifted the wallet and slid it into her tote. “My boyfriend, Paolo, is backpacking around the world,” she continued. “He’s in the Philippines right now. Can you believe it? So I’m in Vegas with my girlfriend. I should get a guy who wants to settle down, not backpack the world, right? If I want a wedding.”

“If that’s what you want,” said Shanna, “you can definitely have it. You can have anything if you set your mind to it. You pray and you, like, visualize.”