Baby Needs a New Pair of Shoes. Lauren Baratz-Logsted

      Foxwoods Casino was a fair drive from where we’d started, but when we walked into the casino en masse it felt as though no more time had passed than the length it would take for a reader to turn the page.

      Maybe it was that Conchita drove like a maniac. Or maybe it was the single drink I’d allowed myself from the minibar—“Never get drunk while you’re playing—” my dad’s words rang in my brain “—only losers get drunk at the table”—the champagne going down like silk bubbles as I listened to the Brazilian music Conchita was blaring on the stereo.

      “Hey.” Hillary smiled at me lazily over the top of her own flute of champagne. “You’re drinking something with alcohol in it and it’s not even Jake’s Fault.”

      For a moment, I felt a frisson of anxiety. I was starting to get hungry and I wondered if they had any Michael Angelo’s Four Cheese Lasagna kicking around the casino kitchen, but then I pushed the anxious feelings away. This was a special night. I would do special things.

      Whatever the case, whether the ride went so quick because of the speed of the driver or because of the buzz from the champagne, I felt great as we walked through the door.

      I’d never been part of a group like that before. Much in the way of people who are serially monogamous in their romantic relationships, I’d always been serially monogamous in my friendships. My mother was so sick for so many years before she died, we’d spent so much time one-on-one, it was as if I could only relate to other women one-on-one. Back at the private junior high, there’d been the best girlfriend I got drunk with during the science fair. During high school, there’d been another best girlfriend. And, ever since then, there had been Hillary. Hillary herself had other friends she sometimes did things with, and sometimes I went along, but for whatever reason, the dynamic never worked for me, unless it was something fairly innocuous like a group going to a movie. I didn’t mind her other friendships, wasn’t jealous of them in any way; the group thing just wasn’t for me. Oh, for years I wished I could be the kind of woman you see in the middle of a group of other women—laughing louder than anyone else, living large—I just didn’t know how.

      It was hard to believe then that, as we strode through the casino, for the first time in my life I had a posse.

      In the entryway, just outside of the casino proper, there was a woman with balloons pinned all over her clothes—she even had on a balloon hat—who was blowing brightly colored balloons into all different shapes: flowers, animals, one even looked weirdly like Bill O’Reilly. She was handing out her creations to anyone who wanted them.

      “That’s kind of an odd thing to have in the entryway,” I said, “don’t you think?”

      “Oh, I don’t know,” said Hillary, “it’s probably one of those little extras, like free rolls of coins for the people who get bused in, that are devised to lull gamblers into forgetting how much money they’re pissing away at the tables.”

      She must have seen my expression, because she quickly added, “Oops, sorry.”

      “Plus,” said Stella, “they need to give people something to entertain them when they’re not gambling.”

      “Yeah,” said Conchita, “but every time one of those things pops, I’m going to be wondering about who’s getting shot.”

      “I once dated a balloonist,” said Elizabeth Hepburn.

      And then, before I even knew it, my posse was splitting up.

      Going up to an information desk, Stella grabbed a bunch of brochures that she distributed to the others.

      “Ooh, I want to go to the Club BB King,” Hillary said. “Look—” she pointed “—Hall & Oates are playing later on tonight, with Todd Rundgren.”

      “I used to hang with B.B. King,” Elizabeth Hepburn said.

      “I want to go to the Hard Rock Café,” Conchita said.

      “And how,” Rivera said. “They’ve got a ‘Pimp and Ho Party’ going on with The Dizzy Reed Band.”

      For once, Elizabeth Hepburn looked perplexed. “I don’t think I know anyone from the Pimp and Ho band,” she said, then she brightened, “but I did used to go out with Dizzy Dean! He played ball for—”

      “I’m hungry,” Stella said, flat statement.

      “Oh, I’m sure there are lots of great places to eat here.” Hillary cheered her. “How about this, I’ll go with you to get a quick bite…and then we’ll both go to the Club BB King!”

      “Meanwhile,” said Conchita, “we’ll go see Dizzy and then we’ll all meet up after the shows. How does that sound?”