Page 75 - EAMMV9covers

NICHOLAS BOOTHMAN
“Heading straight back after your speech?”
Driver’s eyes in the rearview mirror.
“Next day. Don’t do red-eyes anymore.”
“‘No red-eyes for Mr. Boothman.’ Got it.”
Sixth Vegas gig this year. No direct flights back to
Toronto after two PM. Got to go through Atlanta or
Dallas? Arriving home at nine AM? Done that. Never
again.
We turned onto East Tropicana and the clouds
broke. Sun peeked out. Rush hour traffic. We crawled
along in silence.
“That’s my dream,” the driver said suddenly.
Snapped me awake. I leaned forward. “What do
you mean?” I must’ve been dozing.
“Fame. Fortune. Hot hotels, first class flights,
lounging in the back of a limo.”
Slow right at the MGM Grand. Headed north on
the Strip.
“I drive speakers around every day. Best
restaurants, best hotels, TV shows.”
Why burst the bubble? Fame and fortune? Maybe.
Swanky hotels? Yep. Events happen there. First class?
Not so much anymore. Unless you’re a superstar.
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