by Joel Travis
“I’ll bet they dashed back out on the floor and tried to steal him away.”
“That’s exactly what they did. I found out later that he didn’t give any of them a dollar. He only wanted me.”
“I can see why he wouldn’t have an interest in the other girls, after he’d invested eight hundred dollars in you and received the positive feedback of feeling your tongue halfway down his throat. I’m sure he expected you to go home with him when your shift was over.”
“I couldn’t care less what the customers expect. I think most of them understand before they walk in the door that they’re going to leave the club broke and disappointed. Unless I’m really plastered, like I was the night I met you.”
“Go on,” I said thinly.
“I changed into my sexiest dress and went back out to work the floor. I didn’t even have to look around for Mr. Moneybags. He was lurking right outside the dressing room door. He led me to his table and bought me two bottles of the club’s finest champagne.”
“You got drunk on the champagne, didn’t you?”
“Not really. Every fifteen minutes I got up to go to dressing room for one reason or another. I always took a full glass with me. I poured most of his champagne down the toilet.”
I shook my head. “If he only knew.”
“Oh, what’s the difference? It’s a fantasy for these guys just to spend time with me. Anyway, he was having a great time.”
“How long were you at his table?”
“The rest of the night. If a customer is buying you champagne at three hundred dollars a bottle, you don’t have to go back on stage.”
“Was he decent company?”
“All he talked about was himself. He said he had inherited a million dollars from his grandmother, who had inherited it from her husband when he died a few months earlier. The millionaire said that was lucky timing, since he didn’t get along with his grandfather. If his grandmother had died first, he wouldn’t have inherited a penny. He would have been nothing but a penniless pervert.”
“Sounds like a nice enough guy.”
We were interrupted by a flight attendant offering us puny packets of peanuts. I waved her off.
“What else did he have to say?” I asked.
“The usual. He said he had never met anyone like me and blah, blah, blah. I wasn’t listening most of the time, so I can’t tell you exactly what he said.”
“But you think he was having a good time?”
“The customers love talking about themselves. I always bank big bucks if I can keep my eyes open while they’re blabbing.”
“Was he still tipping you?”
“He was tipping like crazy. I did seven or eight table dances.”
A table dance is a private dance a stripper performs for the duration of one song. I’m not sure why they’re called table dances, because the first thing the stripper does is move the table out of the way to make room for the dance. Some people call them lap dances, which is more accurate, because the dance has everything to do with your lap.
“How much did he tip for the dances?” I asked.
“One hundred dollars per dance.”
“Good heavens, he was going through his whole inheritance.”
“He couldn’t help himself. You’ll see what I mean after we check into our hotel room.” She winked at me.
“Go on,” I said, still engrossed in the story.
“When I got off work that night I went out front to wait on my cab. He was there waiting for me.”
“Oh no.”
“Oh yes. I told him to come back to the club the next night and we could talk some more. He didn’t take the hint. It was like he thought I owed him something.”
“I wonder how he got that idea.”
“Nathaniel couldn’t separate fantasy from reality.”
“Nathaniel? I was expecting a more menacing name.”
“Well, he was the creepiest customer I ever met.”
Recalling the caliber of clientele I had seen at Lori’s club, I shuddered to think what Nate had done to achieve such status.
“Did he have a weapon?” I asked, letting my imagination run away with me.
“Did I say anything about a weapon?”
“No.”
“Well, I should have. He was hiding an ax behind his back!”
“You’re kidding!”
“Of course I am, silly. He didn’t have a weapon. But he was creepy and he was creeping closer and closer.”
“Was he speaking as he advanced?”
“Nope. I could tell he desperately wanted to talk to me, but before he could say what was on his mind, my cab pulled up just in the nick of time.”
“That was a close call, all right,” I said. “You were almost spoken to.”
“Are you being sarcastic?”
“I don’t see the point of your story. He sounds like a harmless drunk.”
“For the next two weeks he followed me everywhere. Like whenever I went to the mall, I could always count on him to show up there. It was really scary, Brit. I felt a shiver up my spine every time I looked over my shoulder and saw him back in the distance.”
“In two weeks he never caught up to you?”
“He tried, but he couldn’t keep up. He was always lagging farther and farther behind.”
That made no sense to me.
“I don’t see how he fell farther behind if he was trying to catch up. If you were on foot, seems like he could have—”
“Nathaniel didn’t have any legs,” she said. “His wheelchair couldn’t go up curbs or escalators, so he always had to find a ramp or elevator. It was so sad.”
I burst into a fit of uncontrollable laughter. Lori shot me a spiteful look. From her reaction I suspected that my outburst was inappropriate, but I couldn’t stop laughing for the life of me. Of course, I know that stalkers are a serious subject, and there is certainly nothing funny about a legless man. But put the two together and there’s nothing more hilarious! I mean, if you stop to think about it, the only requirements to be a stalker are too much free time and legs.
After we disembarked, Lori told me that I had made an ass of myself in front of her and the other passengers. She had never been so embarrassed. And when a stripper tells you she’s never been more embarrassed, it really means something. I was ashamed of myself. I wanted to make it up to her more than anything. To be honest, I wanted to have sex with her more than anything. Making up was merely a prerequisite.
“I’m sorry,” I said after she claimed her bags. “I don’t know what got into me, unless it was that last story about the legless stalker.”
“You didn’t even care that I was being stalked by a madman. You thought it was funny. And quit smiling. You’re only making it worse.”
“I’m not smiling about the stalker,” I said. “I’m smiling because I’m in Las Vegas with the sexiest girl in the universe.”
“You can’t bullshit a bullshitter.”
Lori had been a stripper long enough to read guys like me. I felt quite uncomfortable, almost to the point of wishing she would go away. I caught a glimpse of her cleavage, which miraculously restored me to my senses. I could handle this. I was a mature, thirty-five-year-old businessman and she was a teenager. What Lori needed was an attitude adjustment. I tried to remember what would have improved my mood when I was her age.
“Lori, how would you like a bag of popcorn?”
“Popcorn?”
“I’ll buy you a bag,” I said, gesturing toward a nearby vendor. “Popcorn will make you happy.”
I didn’t mean to say that last part—the condescending comment about the popcorn being the key to her happiness. The words just slipped out.
“Now you’re treating me like a child,” she said. “I’m buying a ticket back to Dallas. I don’t feel right about this arrangement anymore.”
Lori veered off in the direction of the ticket counter. I stood there, a stunned onlooker, while she merged seamlessly into the crowd. As
I watched her walk out of my life, I began to feel empathy for Nathaniel the stalker, now that I was in his shoes. I’m speaking figuratively here—a legless man wouldn’t waste money on shoes.
I had to think fast, before one of the slick ticket agents made an easy sale. Thinking fast is my specialty, so I was surprised to hear myself shout something as lame as “Lori, come back!”
Luckily, there was a line at the ticket counter, so I arrived in time to have a word with the wayward stripper. I told her that I had paid her for five days in Vegas, not five minutes. Nevertheless, if she would hear me out for another five minutes, I would purchase her a return ticket if she still wanted one. Five minutes later she decided to stay with me in Vegas. In fact, she told me that she had never intended to leave. She was only trying to make a point.
“Do you understand how I expect to be treated?” she asked.
“As an adult?”
“Okay, as long as you remember that, we’ll get along fine,” she said. “Let’s grab a cab. I want to start working on my tan.”
During our cab ride Lori showed a heightened excitement as we passed the casino hotels. She made foolish comments about the architecture and asked me what some of the names meant. I supplied brief answers, for my mind was focused on distilling the conversation I’d had with Marty on my way to Lori’s apartment. There was something disturbing about it. Marty had been adamant that I should stay in Dallas. Even after I told him my life was at risk, he had insisted that I shouldn’t leave town.
“That hotel looks like a pyramid,” Lori said. “If they would have made it a square instead of a pyramid they could have fit more rooms in. And it shouldn’t be flat on top. If it was pointed, the top room would have a vaulted ceiling.”
I nodded absently, returning to my thoughts. Marty said he had talked to Detective Gardner and Forest had agreed that my involvement in illegal sports wagering was a relatively minor offense. Yet Marty also said that the police were looking for me and that I was in “big trouble.” How could I be in big trouble over a minor offense?
“Why do they call that game blackjack?” Lori asked. “The red jacks count ten points just like the black ones. I bet more people would play it if they changed the name.”
“There’s no shortage of players.”
“I have lots of other ideas of how to get more people to play,” she said. “The dealers spend too much time shuffling and the free drinks are too small to get a quick buzz.”
“Lori, I’m trying to concentrate on something that happened before I picked you up this morning. Let me think for a minute. You can tell me your ideas later by the pool.”
“What if I forget?”
“Then I’ll remind you. I can’t wait to hear them.”
“Obviously you can.”
I made a mental note to call Marty from the hotel room. If I was in big trouble there was little sense in keeping myself in the dark. I’m not a man who runs away from his problems. Whatever the problem, it had to be based on a misunderstanding that could be cleared up in a matter of minutes. I decided to relax and enjoy Lori’s company.
“Let’s hear some more of your ideas,” I said.
“Well, since most serious gamblers are men, I think all the dealers should be beautiful girls like me. And the dealers should work topless. That way nobody would leave the tables to attend those topless shows. Now that I think about it, there’s no reason why they couldn’t deal the cards in the nude.”
“I’m afraid your ideas might not fit in with the current trend. The casinos are trying to attract families to Vegas now.”
“I can’t imagine why,” she said. “Most kids are broke.”
“It’s because there are so many casinos opening up throughout the country. The increased competition has forced the Vegas casinos to invite the whole family for a good time or face declining revenues.”
Lori shook her head. “Vegas is no place for families.”
Thinking back to Marty’s advice, I began to wonder if it was any place for me.
Chapter 5
We checked into the legendary and luxurious Stardust Hotel, not to be confused with the little known, bare bones Stardust Motor Inn which is strategically hidden from street view by its namesake. I had memories of both—Sheila and I had spent the first few days of our Vegas trip in the Stardust Hotel, and I had dwelled in the Stardust Motor Inn on our final night when Sheila had been so put out with me that she put me out.
Eager to soak in the rays of the November sun, Lori modestly changed into her swimsuit behind the bathroom door. I don’t mean to overstate her modesty, for when she flung the bathroom door open she was wearing the most inappropriate swimwear I’d ever seen. The bottom portion of the suit was a thong, otherwise known as a string. The top matched the bottom to perfection, also being a string. I felt the same apprehension I feel whenever I see a fat man approach a flimsy hammock—I could only hope the strings would hold up under the pressure.
“Lori, you can’t be serious about wearing that in public!”
“Do you like it?”
She modeled the suit by performing a perfect pirouette on the bathroom tile.
“Do that again,” I said.
She complied. “Do you like it?” she repeated, adding a sultry smile.
“One more time,” I said.
“You’re making me dizzy,” said the dizzy blond when she stopped spinning for the third time. “What are you wearing to the pool? You didn’t bring any trunks. Let me have a look at your underwear. Maybe they can pass for trunks.”
“They probably could. With what you’re wearing, no one would even notice me in my underwear.”
“Strip down, then. We’re burning daylight.”
“Go ahead without me and save me a chair,” I said. “I need to purchase some swim trunks, clothes, and other supplies from the hotel mall. And I need to cash my traveler’s checks in the casino and lock the cash in the closet safe. I also have to make an important phone call to my brother. Then I’ll head straight down to the pool and join you.”
“I’ll see you down there tomorrow,” she said.
#
I cashed my traveler’s checks in the casino so I could use some of the cash on my shopping spree. While I was in the casino I stopped off at a nearby blackjack table to try my luck. You know what my luck is like. I lost two hundred dollars before I had the self-discipline to simply get up and walk away. I fared no better at the other tables I had to pass on my way out of the damn casino.
I bought what I needed in the hotel mall and headed back up to my room to lock the remaining three thousand dollars in the closet safe. Then I placed a call to the Moran residence. Susan answered. She said Marty was hoping I would call. He was next door returning a plunger. I offered to call back in ten minutes.
“No,” she said, “I think Marty would want you to stay on the line. You can talk to Ace while I run and get him. You remember Ace Monroe, don’t you?”
“The skinny black guy I met on my deathbed? Susan, I don’t need to—”
“Brit? Ace here.”
“Yes, Ace. How are you?”
“I’m hanging in there. I’m sure I won’t be out of work for long.”
“Even if you are, you’ll get through it somehow,” I said to boost his confidence.
“I dropped a crate of pineapples on the foreman’s foot.”
“Serves him right for not getting out of the way.”
“He fired me without hearing my side of the story.”
“I wish I had time to hear it.”
“I would have been up for a raise in two weeks if I could have held onto those pineapples for another second or two.”
“Try not to think about it,” I said. “It’s only money.”
“I’m not going to lie to you, Brit. I need money to live.”
“Maybe I can help you,” I said, remembering a lead from my own job search. “Last I heard, they were looking for bodies down at the funeral home.”
“You tryin
g to be funny?”
“No, I’m serious. An able-bodied man like yourself can find work if he’s willing to work the graveyard shift in the graveyard.”
“I’m not that desperate,” Ace said. “Things could be a lot worse. At least I didn’t get mashed by a diesel truck. And Marty tells me you’re out of work and in trouble with the law.”
I was glad I had lifted his spirits, but I was beginning to feel a tad depressed.
“I thought you were a goner when I met you in the hospital,” he said. “It’s like I’m talking to a dead man.”
There was a lull while the depressed dead man tried to think up a response.
“Brit? I think we have a bad connection. Can you still hear me?”
“I’m afraid so, Ace.”
“What?”
“I’m afraid you’re right about the connection not being great.”
“Hey, can I ask you something? What was it like from your point of view that night? There you were on your deathbed, all blue in the face, shaking like a leaf. Did you feel your life slipping away?”
“Well, I must have believed I was dying or I wouldn’t have given such a comprehensive confession. But to be honest, Ace, death doesn’t intimidate me.”
“Why not? It scares the hell out of me.”
“I guess once you’ve defied death, you don’t worry about it so much anymore.”
“Damn, you’re a cold-blooded dude,” he said. “Like John Wayne or somebody.”
Lori came stumbling into the room, followed by several other girls. The girls were sexy stripper types, laughing and dancing with all the coordination truly drunk people possess. Lori saw that I was on the phone and skillfully guided the girls into the bathroom, closing the door.
“Hold on a second, Ace. There’s a disturbance in my room.”
“Sounds like a bunch of drunk women.”
“There aren’t that many. Let me find out who they are and what they want.”
They wanted cocaine. When I entered the bathroom, I saw Lori passing out the stuff in little ziplock baggies. From the impassive look on her face, she apparently didn’t think I should have a problem with her dealing illegal drugs out of our hotel room. She even offered me my own baggie, which I gladly accepted. I flushed it down the toilet, to the dismay of the girls.
