What Happens in Vegas

by Halliday, Gemma

  “I’m so sorry, El. I totally spaced it. I think I ate my weight in stale chocolate chips last night,” Mary whines.

  “Bad date?”

  “The worst. He was gorgeous.”

  I admit, I’m not really understanding Mary’s logic. “So, are you coming for mimosas or not?”

  “I’m coming.” I hear the sounds of her shifting in bed. “Give me ten minutes,” she says before hanging up.

  I stab my phone off and assure Julio she’s awake. Though he doesn’t seem too worried. He’s enamored with the chapel and chatting up every cutesy couple that walks through the door. The latest one tells Julio they met through match.com, have been dating for three years, and are planning a honeymoon in Maui. Julio asks how long they were dating before they met each other’s parents. I can feel him internally cringe when they answer three months. Poor Julio.

  “Love me tender, love me do…” The Reverend Elvis comes out of the chapel, singing and swinging his hips in a pair of leather pants and matching jacket with the collar turned up. His black hair is slicked in an early-Elvis coiffure, and he’s even wearing blue suede shoes. To my horror, he approaches me with a squeak, squeak, squeak of his too-tight pants.

  “Good mornin’, little lady.” He swings his arms and swivels his hips in a signature Jailhouse Rock twist. “You here to get hitched?”

  All I can do is stare and wonder why Mary doesn’t get a respectable job as a cocktail waitress.

  “No,” I finally say, holding up my left hand. “I’m already married.”

  Congratulations, that’s wonderful! I hope you two are very happy together for many years to come.

  “Too bad,” he says instead. He reaches into his jacket, pulling out a business card. “Come to me next time. Second marriages are 25% off on Tuesdays.” Elvis curls his lip at me, then winks, before swaying over to Julio’s couple.

  I look down at the card. It’s pink with little hearts and a picture of Graceland in the corner:

  Reverend Alvin Thicket, Elvis Impersonating Ordained Minister. If you’re not married in 30 minutes or less, your ceremony is free.

  I can’t tell if this is funny or just depressing.

  Elvis leads the soon-to-be-honeymooning-in-Maui couple through the arched canopy of paper-maché hearts into the chapel. Minutes later I hear Firehouse’s Love of a Lifetime pumped in through tinny speakers, signaling the start of the ceremony.

  “Weren’t they adorable?” Julio asks, sitting down beside me.

  “Uh huh.” I close my eyes and lean back on the pink, polyester cushions. After spending another sleepless night curled up into the smallest ball possible on my side of the bed until Brad left for work, the power ballad is making my head hurt.

  “Did you hear, they only dated three months before Alan introduced Vanessa to his parents. David and I have been dating a year. A whole year, Ella.”

  “I’m sorry, sweetie,” I say. And I really am. It’s not fair what David’s doing to Julio. But, then again, I hate to break it to Julio that marriage isn’t always fair either.

  “Vanessa’s parents live in Germany, and she and Alan flew all the way there so Alan could meet them before the ceremony. All the way to Germany, Ella. David won’t even drive an hour into the desert to let me meet his parents.”

  “I’m sorry,” I say again. “David has issues.”

  “Damn right he does.” Julio’s accent thickens like it does when he’s really upset. “He’s gonna have issues with me when this is all over.”

  I pat his hand as he recedes into sulky silence, both of us listening to Alan and Vanessa’s vows.

  Alan promises to love and cherish his wife as long as they both shall live. Yeah right. Even when she has twins and gains seven pounds? What about when her boobs sag, her belly becomes a roadmap of stretch marks, and the neighbor across the street comes on to him? What kind of cherishing will he do then?

  I close my eyes again and try not to think about Dr. Brad and his “patients.” Instead I pretend I’m still married to My Boyfriend Brad. The one who shyly asked me out after he bumped into me at the Bellagio, spilling my white wine all over the Blackjack table. The Brad I wrote about in my diary after our first kiss. The one who insisted I quit dancing because the thought of other men watching his girlfriend drove him crazy with jealousy. The one who couldn’t wait to spend the rest of his life with me.

  Ella, you mean more to me than anyone in this world. You complete me, and I can’t imagine living my life without you. Please say you’ll marry me, and I promise I’ll love you forever.

  Or at least until our neighbor spreads her legs.

  Music blares from the speakers again as Elvis ushers the new Mr. and Mrs. Alan into the lobby. Julio jumps up and grabs the bride in a squealy hug, congratulating them both as if he’s known them for years.

  Thankfully, before I have to pretend I believe in the happily ever after, the frosted doors push open, and Mary comes in. She plops down on the sofa with an unceremonious, “Oof.”

  “Good morning,” I say, unable to help glancing at my watch again. Thirty-three minutes late.

  “Speak for yourself. Hey, remind me to slit my wrists if I ever contemplate going on a blind date again?”

  “That bad, huh?”

  “Worse.”

  “I’m sorry, Mary. Hey, did you know that your chapel gives 25% off to second marriages on Tuesdays? Don’t you think that’s just the most depressing thing?”

  “I do.” She pauses. “Get it?”

  “Get what?”

  “‘I do.’ We’re in a wedding chapel. Get it? It’s a joke.”

  “Sweetie, I’m saying this because I love you. Don’t ever tell that joke again.”

  “Nobody ever laughs at that,” Mary mumbles. “So, do you want to hear about the showboy?”

  I rub my eyes, wishing I’d just stayed in bed this morning. “I think I need a drink first.”

  * * *

  “Excuse me, I’ll have another one, please.” I signal the waiter who nods politely and scurries off to the kitchen to fetch me my fourth mimosa of the morning.

  “You’re on a roll, doll,” Julio says.

  He’s right. I am. I downed two glasses, one right after the other, while hearing all about Mary’s disastrous evening. Once the topic turned to Julio and how big of a turd David is for ditching him, I easily finished a third. I’m starting to feel like a lush. But at least the steady flow of conversation and champagne cocktails are keeping my mind off what “treatment” Brad might be giving Karen Richardson right now.

  “Can you believe that little brat actually threw me out of my own home?” Julio says, crunching down on an ice cube. He’s relating every gory detail of his and David’s fight to Mary, who’s nodding sympathetically while munching through her second chocolate croissant of the morning.

  “That totally sucks, Julio. I’m so sorry.”

  “Yeah, well, not as sorry as David’s gonna be when I’m through with him. You better believe I’m milking this thing for all it’s worth. David’s gonna be kissing my feet for the next six months straight if he wants to crawl out of that doghouse.”

  Poor Julio. I know what it’s like to be ignored. To be shoved into the background of someone’s life. Julio doesn’t deserve this. No one deserves to be taken for granted like this.

  “It’s not fair,” Mary say.

  “Damn right it’s not,” Julio responds, his lower lip jutting out in an heiress pout.

  They’re right. It’s so not fair. “So fuck ‘em,” I blurt out.

  Mary and Julio turn as one, gaping at me.

  “Ella!” Mary says. I don’t think she’s ever heard me swear before. In fact, it’s the first time in a long time I’ve heard me swear.

  But I like it.

  “That’s right, fuck them. I say, let’s just go have wild flings this weekend.”

  Julio laughs out loud, swinging his mimosa in the air, orange juice threatening to careen onto his silver studded tank top.

>   “It would serve him right,” Julio agrees.

  “It would. It would serve them right.”

  Mary looks from Julio to me, still staring slack jawed, her pastry suspended midway to her mouth.

  “Who is he to take me for granted?” Julio says, getting into the swing of things now.

  “No one, that’s who. No one should take us for granted.”

  “That’s right.”

  “Right.”

  Our tirade pauses as the waiter brings my drink. Across the street a young man comes out of a sports shop carrying a gym bag. He’s got that 21 Jump Street-Johnny look, all messy bangs and tight ass.

  “What about him,” I say, pointing to the Depp look-alike. “He can be your fling, Julio.”

  “He’s straight. You can tell by the bag. No self respecting queer would be caught dead with an Adidas bag.”

  “Fine. I’ll take him then.”

  “El, you’re a married woman.”

  “Fuck marriage.”

  Julio stops smiling, his mimosa suspended halfway to his lips. Mary sets her pastry down on the plate. They can tell I’m not joking anymore, and suddenly I’m not talking about Julio and David.

  “Ella, what’s going on?” Mary asks.

  “Tell us,” Julio prompts, setting his glass down and leaning his elbows on the table.

  My husband hates me. I put on my satin negligee, and he rejected me.

  “What is there to tell?” I ask. “So what if I want to fuck some gorgeous twenty year old. It’s not like I’m an old woman you know. Christ, I’m only twenty-eight.”

  “Ella,” Julio says slowly. “What is going on with you and Brad?”

  Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Why did I say anything? Why didn’t I just shut up? How many mimosa’s have I had?

  “Nothing. Nothing is going on between Brad and me.”

  “Ella, that’s not true.”

  “Oh no, it is true. It’s so fucking true it’s pathetic. Nothing is going on between us. Nothing has gone on between us since the twins were born, and nothing is likely to go on between us while Brad still prefers sleeping in the guestroom.”

  Shit. I’m crying. I don’t know when I started, but I can feel the salty tears stinging my eyes and sliding down over my cheeks. I envision my mascara sliding down my face.

  Julio sits back in his chair. “Wow. I had no idea.”

  Neither did I. I had no idea that saying it out loud would feel this good. There. I am not Perfect Brad’s Wife. I used to dance topless, and I can’t even interest my own husband anymore.

  And then something else falls out of my mouth that I had no intention of saying.

  “He’s having an affair.”

  “He’s what?” Julio leans forward again, fully engaged.

  “Ella, Brad’s not-” Mary starts to protest, but thinks better of it as I cut her a glare.

  “My husband is having an affair with my neighbor.”

  “Ella, are you sure?” Julio asks.

  “Who cares? Who cares if I’m sure? It doesn’t matter. He’s not fucking me, so he must be fucking someone else.”

  Julio looks down at my Mimosa glass. It’s somehow empty again. He looks back up at me, and I know what he’s thinking. He thinks I’m making it up because I’m drunk. I’m not drunk. At least, I don’t think I am. But it doesn’t matter if I am, because Brad is still having an affair. He still doesn’t give a shit about me, and he still acts as if I don’t exist.

  Mary’s looking at me like she still doesn’t really believe me. “Have you talked to him about this?” she asks.

  What am I supposed to say?

  Brad, I know you’re screwing Karen Richardson, so just stay on your side of the bed until Julio leaves, and we can go back to pretending neither of us cares.

  “No, I haven’t talked to him.”

  “Maybe you should.”

  “Right.” I signal the waiter for another mimosa. Julio looks cautiously at me. I raise one eyebrow at him, daring him to say something. But he doesn’t. Instead he sits back in his chair and stares at the twenty year old Johnny Depp as he drives off in his Jeep Wrangler. I could have had a guy like that.

  “So what are you going to do?” Julio asks. “About the neighbor.”

  “I don’t know.”

  Mary chews on her lower lip. “Are you going to get a divorce?”

  There it is. The “D” word. I lower my sunglasses so they don’t see the tears welling up behind my eyes again. Because I can’t get a divorce. If I’m not Dr. Brad’s Wife, who the hell am I? It’s the only identity I have anymore, and like it or not, I’m not sure I could find another one even if I wanted to. But instead I answer, “I don’t know. Let’s not ruin the day talking about Brad anymore.”

  Mary nods. Julio picks up his glass again, clearly not tickled with letting the subject go. But he knows me better than to press it. I close my eyes and lean my head back on the white, whicker chair. The sun is out today and the warm rays feel good on my skin. Soothing. Suddenly I miss my boys, and I want to go home.

  “So fuck him,” Julio finally says.

  I lift my shades to find his dark eyes watching me. He leans across the table and takes my hand. “El, you are the most beautiful woman I’ve ever met. Inside and out. And if Brad doesn’t see that, he’s an ass.”

  I feel those tears welling up behind my eyes again. “Thanks.” Julio is such a sweetie. And David is such a shit for ditching him like this. Men, gay or straight, they’re all the same. As soon as you become inconvenient they can’t be bothered with you.

  And I decide I’m not going to let David get away with this.

  “You know, David’s taking his family to see Kit’s show Saturday night,” I say. “If you really want to meet them, we could crash it?”

  “Ella, you are truly evil,” Mary says, but she’s smiling as she polishes off her croissant.

  Julio’s dark features light up. “Wouldn’t David just pee his pants then?”

  “Yes, he would.”

  His smile widens. “Let’s do it.”

  Chapter Eighteen:

  Kit, the Ace of Clubs

  I don’t know how Mary talked me into it. When she called yesterday, begging me to go with her to some skin show, I told her I was sick. A little white lie, but considering the whoppers I’ve told her lately, this one seemed harmless. Besides, I couldn’t very well tell her the truth. That I’d spent the last two days alternating between hating myself, hating Vlad, and blaming the whole damn mess on his soon to be ex-Troll of a wife. I couldn’t tell her that after crying my eyes until I ran out of tears, I still didn’t know where I’d gone wrong or what to do about my lover slash boss slash crush slash just plain booty call. That I had been pitied by Petey the bean counting idiot. That fuck-me boots only work so far as the bedroom and certainly don’t guarantee affection in the morning.

  So, I told Mary I was sick.

  “But, I can’t go there alone!” she whined. “I mean, who doesn’t enjoy looking at ripped abs, but I don’t know if I want to see their naked… you know… stuff.”

  “Dicks?”

  Mary groaned on the other end. “Their you-know-whats just hanging out all over the place. I can’t go alone. You have to come with me, Kit. Ella’s coming, but you know how reserved she is. She probably won’t make it past the first act without grossing out. And David’s still babysitting his parents, and he can’t come, so please, please come to Men with me tonight? Come on, you owe it to me after leaving poker so early to go out with Emilio.”

  Even though I’d planned an evening curled up with a bottle of Jack and a depressingly romantic Julia Roberts movie, I found myself being guilted into agreeing.

  So, instead of drinking myself into a coma, I’m now watching a cowboy come out on stage wearing leather chaps, a ten gallon hat and little else. I guess it could be worse. Unlike Mary, I don’t mind a few naked you-know-whats.

  “Take it all off, baby!” shouts Julio. Next to him Ella sips her Bacardi and Diet Co
ke through a straw as she waves a ten dollar bill above her head like a come-hither flag.

  Mary elbows her in the ribs. “You’re not actually going to stick that down his pants, are you?”

  “No,” Ella answers. Then gets a wicked smile on her face. “He’s not wearing any pants. I’m going to slip it under his chaps.”

  Mary turns beet red, pops a mozzarella stick in her mouth and takes a big gulp from her Corona. “We’ve gotta cut Ella off,” she whispers to me. “I think she’s drunk.”

  I think she’s right. Ella was already wobbly when she walked in, and that was two Bacardi and Cokes ago. Unlike her in the extreme.

  Ever since Maria came to town, I’ve been hiding my life from my friends. An unintended consequence of this is that I suddenly have no idea what’s going on in their lives. Mary’s been eating everything in sight, a sure sign she’s depressed about something, and Ella, who’s never had a hangover in her whole life, is suddenly drinking like she’s at a frat party. Not to mention that she’s completely abandoned her soccer mom image to leer at naked men and shove tens down their pant. Or lack thereof.

  “Ride ‘em, cowboy!” Julio yells as the dancer begins to move through the crowd. Ella stands up on her chair, giving the cowboy a one-finger-curl, “come here.” He does, shimmying his way across the floor. He reaches Ella and spins around, doing a little butt shake for her.

  Mary grabs my arm in a tight squeeze. “Oh, lord.”

  “No kidding.” That cowboy has the tightest ass I have ever seen. Zero jiggle. Wow. I’m suddenly kind of glad Mary talked me into this.

  Ella leans over, slowly slips the ten into the top of the cowboy’s chaps and slaps his perfectly shaped behind. The cowboy gives her a wink before he dances off to another table.

  “Oh my God. I can’t believe you did that, Ella.” I can’t tell if Mary is mortified or jealous.

  Julio on the other hand, is much easier to read. “Girl, I am jealous!” he says.

  Ella slips him a twenty. “Go get ‘em, tiger.” Julio’s eyes light up and he turns to follow the cowboy through the crowd, waving the money above his head.