What Happens in Vegas

by Halliday, Gemma

  “I pull the ring, and she magically disappears. But here’s what really happens…”

  Fifty-five minuets later we’re all clapping our asses off as the ending credits roll across the screen. Kit is still staring intently at the TV, only now a huge smile is pasted across her face.

  “Honey, you are so cool!” David says, slapping her on the back.

  “I can’t believe you went through every one of his tricks. Vlad must be so pissed,” I say.

  “Oh he is.” The smile widens to truly evil proportions. “Once word got out I was doing the show, ticket sales plummeted. The Grand’s terminating Vlad’s contract at the end of the month.”

  “No way!”

  “Yep. Rumor has it he’s going back to Latvia.”

  “Well, you were fantastic,” Ella says again, trying, I can tell, to get Kit’s mind off Vlad lest she start breaking crockery again.

  “So, any plans for a Magic’s Biggest Secrets Revealed Two?” David asks optimistically.

  “Well, the producers said there might be another installment coming. If it catches on, they’re even thinking about making it into a weekly series.”

  “Well, I think it was fabulous and I’d watch you reveal anything,” David says, giving Kit a hug. Then steals a glance at my Garfield clock. “But, unfortunately, my little starlet, I’ve got to get going. This boy’s riding into the high desert first thing tomorrow morning.”

  “Is Julio going with you?” Ella asks. After David came home from the hospital, he told us all how he’d officially flounced out of the closet. He said his mom took it better than he expected. His dad, not so much. It was a week before the old butt-less wonder would even acknowledge he had a son. I guess Mom finally wore him down though, as David’s driving out there for his birthday party tomorrow.

  “No, Julio’s staying this time,” David says, picking at some non-existent lint on his gold tank top. “Dad’s not quite up to that yet. But, Mom said she’s working on him. Maybe Julio and I will go out for Christmas.” Then David grins, shrugging his tote bag onto his shoulder. “Mom’s already knitting Julio a stocking.”

  See, what did I tell you about David’s Mom? I knew she and Mrs. Claus had a lot in common.

  “Well, I’m going to go home too, then,” Ella says. “I’ve got an early Homeowners’ Association meeting tomorrow. We’re planning a girls’ night out on the Strip and we have about a zillion babysitters to coordinate.”

  “Right, early morning,” David mocks, and pokes her in the ribs as she shrugs her sweater on.

  “What?”

  “I see that new lace bra you’re wearing, and honey, let me tell you, it don’t say early morning to me.”

  Ella blushes. “Please. I’m a married woman.”

  “You want to share a cab, El?” Kit asks, gathering up her meager pile of cosmetics and stuffing them back into her bag.

  “Sure.”

  I hug all three of my friends, as they one by one make their way out the door. I watch Ella and Kit get into a cab as David drives off in his Miata.

  I lock the door and then clear the empty glasses from my battered folding table, putting what’s left of the peacha colada in my refrigerator. Happily, I scoop up my winnings for the night and take them into the bathroom, stacking them in neat little piles beside my sink. Who would have thought I could win the jackpot with a measly pair of fours? Maybe my luck really is turning around.

  * * *

  It’s Wednesday morning. Three days until V day – Valentine’s Day and the big white wedding that will send my sister off into the land of happily ever after. It’s been a quiet day at the chapel, so I’m sitting at my desk arranging little colored almonds onto squares of meshy material with pink ribbon. Sam’s doled out last minute duties to all of her bridesmaids, assuring us that it’s all part of the “fun” of being one of her “ladies in waiting” as she’s started calling us. Me, I’ve been praying nightly that I make it through the ceremony without strangling her.

  As I attempt to tie almond satchel number fifty million, the satin ribbon slips between my fingers, and little pastel almonds go spilling across my desk. A few tumble over the edge, and I quickly bend down to retrieve them before the five second rule expires.

  It’s while I’m crouched under my desk quickly searching for a pale yellow one (two Mississippi, three Mississippi…) that I hear the little bells ding over the door and I see a pair of Skechers approach my desk.

  The Skecher owner not-so-subtly clears his throat. “Uh, excuse me.”

  “Just a sec. Nuts,” I call from under my desk.

  The man chuckles softly. “Don’t pass judgment until you know me better.”

  Huh?

  “Huh?” I straighten up to get a look at the wisecracker.

  Oh. My. God.

  It’s Keanu Reeves. I mean, of course it isn’t him, but good lord this man is lights-camera-action handsome. His dark hair is clipped short around a perfect brooding hero face, tanned to a yummy golden glow. Though not a Tiki Room tan like Sam’s. A real, honest to goodness, made-by-the-sun tan. And he’s got those incredibly soulful brown eyes, so dark I can almost see my reflection in them.

  “Are… are you okay?” he asks, concern knitting his dark brows together.

  I blink. Hard. And realize I’m staring slack jawed like some sort of idiot. If this were a Chuck Jones cartoon I’d have little pink hearts flying out of my eyes right now.

  “What? Oh, yeah, I’m… I’m fine. Great. Perfect, in fact.” What the hell is wrong with me? Why is it I can’t seem to form a coherent sentence around any member of the male species who doesn’t resemble the elephant man? I give myself a mental cold shower and try to focus.

  “So, how may I help you?”

  “You don’t remember me, do you?” he asks, his eyes crinkling at the corners.

  “Nooooo,” I say slowly, wondering how on earth someone this attractive could have slipped my mind. “Did you come in with your fiancée?”

  “Fiancée?” he says, a true smile hitting his lips now. Beautiful lips. The kind you just want to grab onto and kiss like you’re Deborah Kerr on a beach. “No. I’m single.”

  There is a God.

  “I came in with my friends the other day. The Star Wars wedding.”

  Wait. Star Wars wedding? The only single guy in that freak show was…

  “I’m Jacob.”

  This would be the part of the cartoon where my jaw drops so low I trip on it as I stagger out of my chair. This is the wookiee? You have got to be kidding me.

  “I told you I don’t give up easily,” he adds sheepishly, looking at me through his lashes as that adorable grin widens.

  “No! You can’t be the wookiee, you’re totally hairless.” Wait, that didn’t come out right. “I mean, of course you’re not hairless, I’m sure you have some hair. Like on your arms and legs and stuff, a whole lot of hair.” Wait, did I just call him hairy? “Not that I think you’re overly hairy. Like, I’m sure you don’t have like wooly back hair or anything. I mean, not that there’s anything wrong with that, I think you’d still be cute even if you did have back hair, but they’re not my favorite kind of backs. The hairy ones. I mean, not that I’m anticipating seeing your naked back or anything. Or any part of you naked, really. Of course, it’s not like I want to not see you naked, because I’m sure you look really good naked. Not that I’m thinking about you naked right now or anything. Nope, not at all. I’m thinking about you totally clothed.” Ohmigod, I need a twelve step program for people who can’t stop saying stupid things around the opposite sex.

  Only, defying all known logic about men, Jacob doesn’t back away with warning flags in his eyes. Instead, he laughs out loud. It’s a deep, rich sound like a stereo with too much bass. I like it. I like it a lot. I like him a lot.

  “Just for the record, my back is hair free,” he says with a wink.

  I nod. Afraid (with good reason) to open my mouth again.

  “So,” he continues, “I, uh, was
wondering if you might be free this Saturday for dinner? I know, I know, you have a lot of guys interested in you…”

  Ha! That’s a good one.

  “…but, maybe you could clear your calendar for just one evening?”

  “Done.”

  He smiles a wide, pleased grin and two adorable little dimples appear on the side of his cheeks. I try not to drool.

  But then I pull my head out of the clouds and remember A) I’m not Sandra Bullock on a speeding bus and B) this Saturday is Valentine’s Day. Sam’s wedding. Of course he would ask me out on the only day in my entire life that I’m not available.

  “Oh, uh, actually, Jacob. I, um, have this thing to go to on Saturday.”

  His dimples melt away as the smile vanishes. “Oh. I see. Right, well, it is Valentine’s Day. I guess I should have figured you’d have a date.”

  “No, no, it’s not that. I mean, I don’t have a date. I’m not dating anyone. No date at all.” Yes please, Mary, try to sound a little more desperate. “It’s my sister. She’s getting married on Saturday.”

  “Oh,” he says, the dimples returning. “Oh well, how about you invite me to that?”

  Brace yourselves, we are now entering the Twilight Zone. Submitted for your approval, a straight, seemingly normal young man asking a complete stranger for a first date to her sister’s wedding.

  “You want me to invite you to my sister’s wedding for our first date?”

  If I’m looking at him like he just proposed we skydive without parachutes, he doesn’t seem to be phased by it. He simply shrugs his quarterback worthy shoulders.

  “Sure. Why not?”

  Why not. Excellent reasoning. I like this guy.

  “Okay. Do you want to go with me to my sister’s wedding this Saturday?”

  His grin widens, showing off two rows of dazzlingly white teeth. “I do.”

  “Great.”

  “Get it, ‘I do?’”

  I stare blankly at him.

  “We’re in a wedding chapel? I do?”

  Would you believe he even has the same corny sense of humor I do? What are the chances of that happening?

  He shoves his hands into his pockets. “Sorry, I guess I tend to make corny jokes when I’m nervous,” he apologizes, looking too adorable for words.

  Strike that, maybe I can come up with a few words. Like: yummy! Or: Wanna come back to my place? Or even: Whose life is this, because this sort of thing certainly doesn’t ever happen to me? Gorgeous strangers don’t pursue me with near stalker enthusiasm. Nobody – and I mean nobody - ever laughs at that “I do” joke, let alone beats me to it. And I’m never faced with the task of asking my mother to add a last minute place at the table.

  Only they do, he has, and I am. And I wonder, could this be another sign of the new me? The new, improved, so over her ex-fiancé me that’s just been dying to rise up from the ashes of an Oreo binge and take on the world?

  Okay, so I’m not exactly taking on the world yet. Just taking a really hot guy to a really well planned wedding. But it’s a start.

  A really great start.

  I pull out a pad of pink post-it’s from my drawer and write down my address. I almost add my phone number, but then I remember with a little pang of embarrassment that he already has it. I hand him the directions and Jacob gives me a big smile before he leaves.

  As I watch him walk away I try not to picture Jacob in the role of Mary’s new soulmate. I mean, he’s definitely attractive, funny, and more into me than I can remember any man being. But, like a good little older-and-wiser relationship survivor, I’m forcing myself not to jump ahead on this one. We’ll date, we’ll get to know each other. We’ll see how it goes. Maybe we’ll end up telling our grandchildren how we met in a wedding chapel, and maybe in another six months I’ll be single, eating peanut butter from a jar and watching my Netflix alone again.

  Either way, it’s okay. Because no matter what happens, I know my life doesn’t have to start and end with this relationship. No matter if I’m single or coupled, I’ll still get to help twenty hopeful pairs a day through the alter of Elvis into wedded bliss, still dance at the Back Room until two a.m. admiring the bartender’s shake-shake-shake, and still spend every Tuesday night sipping peacha coladas and playing poker for fabulously overpriced cosmetics with the three people who mean the most to me in the world.

  Hey, I just had a ridiculous thought. Maybe they are my soulmates. I mean, who says your soulmate has to be that one perfect person Fate has destined you to be with? Or (in my case) the guy you’re lucky enough to bump into as you stumble through the alphabet of bad dates, Acne Man through big fat Zero? Maybe our true soulmates are all the people in between. The ones who pick us up when Commitmentphobe dumps us, refuse to let us wallow in our chocolate induced comas, and hold our hands as we embark on a new and scary leg of our happily ever after journey. Maybe soulmate is just code for someone who makes you happy to be you.

  Maybe. Maybe not. I’m the first to admit I haven’t got it all figured out by a long shot. But I’m starting to feel like maybe I don’t have to have it all figured out to be happy after all.

  * * * * *

  About the Author

  Gemma Halliday is the New York Times and USA Today bestselling author of the High Heels Mysteries, the Hollywood Headlines Mysteries, the Jamie Bond Mysteries, and the Deadly Cool series of young adult books, as well as several other works. Gemma’s books have received numerous awards, including a Golden Heart, a National Reader’s Choice award and three RITA nominations. She currently lives in the San Francisco Bay Area where she is hard at work on several new projects.

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  http://www.gemmahalliday.com/contact/

  To learn more about Gemma, visit her online at http://www.gemmahalliday.com

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  * * * * *

  * * * * *

  OTHER BOOKS BY GEMMA HALLIDAY

  High Heels Mysteries:

  Spying in High Heels

  Killer in High Heels

  Undercover in High Heels

  Christmas in High Heels (short story)

  Alibi in High Heels

  Mayhem in High Heels

  Honeymoon in High Heels (novella)

  Sweetheart in High Heels (short story)

  Fearless in High Heels

  Danger in High Heels

  Hollywood Headlines Mysteries:

  Hollywood Scandals

  Hollywood Secrets

  Hollywood Confessions

  Jamie Bond Mysteries:

  Unbreakable Bond

  Secret Bond

  Tahoe Tessie Mysteries:

  Luck be a Lady

  (coming summer 2013!)

  Young Adult Books:

  Deadly Cool

  Social Suicide

  Wicked Games (coming late 2013!)

  Other Works:

  Play Nice

  Viva Las Vegas

  A High Heels Haunting (novella)

  Watching You (short story)

  Confessions of a Bombshell Bandit (short story)

  * * * * *

  ELVIS HAS NOT LEFT THE BUILDING

  by

  J. R. Rain

  * * * * *

  ebook Edition

  Copyright © 2010 by J.R. Rain

  All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. The author ackn
owledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. If you're reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then you should return to your online retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the author's work.

  Dedication

  To my brother, Jason. A true storyteller.

  Acknowledgment

  A very special thank you to Sandy Johnston for all her help.

  * * * * *

  Elvis Has Not Left the Building

  * * * * *

  The Dream

  “What’s your name?”

  “Elvis Presley.”

  The dream is always the same. I’m in jail. No, I’m in an interrogation room, being questioned for an alleged crime. A murder. My own murder.

  Somehow, I’m able to see through the one-way mirror. Watching me, hidden behind the glass, aren’t just the homicide detectives, but everyone I had ever known, including my ex-wife, my daughter, my mother and even my still-born twin brother, Jessie, now full-grown and looking remarkably like me in my heyday. The media is there, too, of course. Always the media. Every reporter in the land is standing there, watching me, writing fiercely, covering the mother of all tabloid stories.