Las Vegas twinkles out there, in the not-so-great distance. It tells the driver there is something he is supposed to discover -somebody or something wants him to discover it- as he stands here at this balustrade, on a perfectly clear night. Perhaps there’s a hidden code being transmitted through the wobble of the city’s lights, as they get caught in the waves of heat escaping the Earth. Searching the horizon, reading the blinking lights, the driver has to ask, “What? What is it?” That’s when he feels the presence at his side.

“Beautiful, no?”

She is. Flowing silk locks spill out in perfect ringlets from beneath a tipped-back hat. Her glossed lips sparkle just like the city in the distance. She has the untouched look of someone who does not go out, but spends her time inside at the continual care of experts. The driver believes a gust of the dry wind may blow the whole façade away.

He does not turn his gaze from the view over the city. The intonations of her scent, however, cannot help but draw his attention. Unmistakable and almost imperceptible, it’s like three or four petals left out in the rain. It tells the driver that this woman, whichever one of the well-known names, never steps down into his world; for anything, let alone to ask his opinion on the view. If someone like him were assigned to fix her car, or any other mechanical accessory invented to ease her life as much as possible, he would never enter into her consideration. She would merely mention it to an assistant -not even her husband, though the absence of a ring says she doesn’t have one- and the order would be passed down through the established network until if was finally barked as command, complete with deadline and the bosses growl “do it now! It’s for so-and-so”: a Name he’s heard everywhere, but might as well be the Viceroy of Hindustan for all he cares.

That’s why he takes the supposed question as a slip in this Somebody’s veneer. She is human, after all, and that’s what humans do: they reach out to others. It’s just that sometimes they misjudge who is and who isn’t fair game. He should just ignore it and save them both the embarrassment of having to negotiate, and inevitably fail, the untranslatable divide between a Name and a mere stand-in for somebody, or nobody, else. It’s too late.