It would be just like Fred's mother to pull a stunt like that. And, suddenly, the thought of it made me angry."I won't be treated like trash," I hissed vehemently to myself. "After all, I'm still legally married to Fred-he's my husband-and I should be able to see him if I want to." Emboldened by my rage, I decided I'd just go in anyway. To my way of thinking, I had a perfect right to be there.The door was unlocked when I tried it, and I walked inside. The first thing that caught my eye was a rerun of "Police State" on the tube, but nobody was watching it. The living room was empty.I tiptoed into the kitchen. Nobody was in there either.It was a big house, the same home where Mrs. Robinson and her late husband had raised their family. There were plenty of rooms to inspect if I planned to smoke Fred and his mother out into the open.With the adrenaline of anger still energizing me, I decided to conduct a search. Going from one room to the other on the ground floor, I found nothing but. But Jen was still impressed as we drove up from the south end, her head swiveling back and forth as we passed Luxor's pyramid, Paris' Eiffel Tower, and the Roman colossus of Caesars Palace.We pulled in to the valet driveway at Mirage, and gave the bags we'd need to the bellman. I stretched as I stepped out of the car, glad to be away from the driver's seat for the next 36 hours or so.As we walked through the doors to the front lobby, I reached over and took Jen's hand, the first time we'd done that. She smiled at me shyly, and squeezed my hand.Check-in was pretty quick and painless, and the $20 I slipped the clerk got us a Strip view room on the 26th floor. We rode the elevators upstairs, and Jen gawked at the view while I called down for our luggage. Once the bellman had delivered our bags (and been tipped accordingly, Vegas requires a large amount of $1 bills!), I stepped up behind Jen, who was still gazing out the window."So, I thought we'd do sort of a more casual night tonight,.
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