“I overheard them saying something about a Greek garden.”
“Greek garden?” I thought for a bit, then it hit me. With a sinking feeling I knew exactly where they had gone. I polished off the last of my wine and pushed myself off the stool. “I’ve got to go. Thanks for the wine. And again, I’m sorry for … well, for everything.”
“A most entertaining evening, nothing to apologize for. Where are you going? It is late.”
“Maybe too late. I’m off to rescue the male strippers at the Olympic Garden.”
***
In Vegas, male stripping is a contact sport.
I’m not talking about Chippendales or Thunder Down Under, I’m talking real, in your face, strippers. Gorgeous young men, buffed to the max and attired only in a sack over their privates, ready to do your bidding—within reason… and the law, of course. You can touch, you can paw, you can kiss, you can have a public lap dance or a private one. You can sit next to the stage and risk being called up to participate in a very graphic imitation of the sex act—forwards or backwards, or whatever—imagination is the only limitation here. If you watch a dance, you are expected to stuff dollar bills into the sack, while the men preen for you.
Mona’s definition of Heaven.
One of the venerable strip clubs in Las Vegas, the Olympic Garden sat at the north end of respectability on the Strip. The first floor was a garden-variety (even in my diminished state I could still appreciate a pun, no matter how far I had to reach for it) strip club. Groups of men and couples watching thin, enhanced young women making love to a pole, somewhat in time to the music—almost benign if you knew what lurked upstairs, in the women-only den of iniquity.
Plunking down a ten-spot at the door—locals get in for a reduced rate—I shouldered through the crowd, heading for the stairs. A lone female attracts a lot of attention on the second floor—especially a lone six-foot-tall female. The near-naked men clustered around me like moths to a flame.
I was in no mood to play. “Another time, fellas.” One guy reached out to caress me. I grabbed his hand. “Don’t mess with me. Not tonight. I said no, I mean it.”
“You mean I can’t touch you?” The young man, about my height, with chiseled muscles, flawless skin, and long black hair, gazed at me with wounded doe eyes.
“No, you may not,” I said.
“Then how about this?” He grabbed my hand and pressed it to the taut flesh of one of his butt cheeks. “You like? I dance for you.” He rocked his hips provocatively.
My eyes went slitty. Amazingly, he got the message.
As I pushed past him into the room, he had a puzzled expression on his face—as if no one had ever turned him down, and he didn’t quite understand.
With low ceilings painted black and dim lights, the room was cramped and crowded. On a raised L-shaped stage in the center of the room, a man dressed in a Marine uniform, gyrated to a thumping beat, peeling his clothes off a piece at a time, to the delight of the crowd.
Women whistled and catcalled, pounding their open palms on the stage. Others rushed from their seats in booths along the walls, dollar bills held high, shouldering-in for a chance to stuff the dancer’s sack. The marine gladly accommodated each, holding his little sack away from his skin, an opening just large enough to elicit giggles from the blushing girls as they stuffed the bills inside and pretended not to angle for a glimpse of his jewels.
A clothed young man with limp, blond hair, a pockmarked face, a concave chest, and bored eyes, stopped in front of me. He shifted his tray so he could take notes on a pad of paper. “Can I get you a drink,” he shouted over the music.
I shook my head as I scanned the crowd.
He looked bored. “It’s the rules: If you stay here, you have to order a cocktail.”
Resisting the obvious pun as beneath me, I said, “Gin and tonic, no tonic.”
As he filtered into the crowd, I felt a hand on my arm. Turning, I found myself staring into the frightened, tired eyes of my mother.
“I’m so glad you’re here,” she shouted in my ear. “I need your help.”
“Why didn’t you call me? The Big Boss took a chunk out of my ass and I’ve been chasing all over looking for you.”
“I knew you’d be angry.” At least she had a grasp on the obvious.
“Where’s Kitty?”
Mother bit her lip as she nodded toward the stage. “I can’t get her to come down.”
Kitty, in all her glory, sat in a chair on the stage as the now near-naked marine danced around her. How I missed her before, I don’t know…all right, I knew, but I’m not admitting to anything.
The marine threw a leg over Kitty, then fell into the splits on the floor, putting his privates on display, along with his flexibility. If I tried that, I would need surgical repair. Jumping to his feet, he stuck his bum in Kitty’s face—she seemed to be delighted—then he turned and straddled her, humping her chest. Rubbing her hands over his exposed skin… all of it… she laughed until she cried as cameras flashed and women cheered.
“You need to go get her,” Mother said in my ear.
“Not me,” I said as I cast about for a different solution. “I’ve shouldered enough humiliation the last couple of days to last a lifetime.”
Mother squeezed my arm in a rare show of sympathy and affection. Today was sure one for the highs and the lows. “What do we do?” she asked.
I grabbed one of the other dancers who trolled the crowd. “I’ll spot you a Franklin if you go get that woman off the stage and bring her here. We need to take her home.”
In two loping strides he was on the stage. Scooping Kitty from the chair, he carried her down the steps, setting her on her feet in front of us. A large woman, apparently the mother of one of the brides having bachelorette parties at the Garden tonight, seized Kitty’s vacated chair, clapping her hands in delight as the marine danced around and over her.
I handed my knight with the tiny shield the promised hundred, and grabbed one of Kitty’s arms. Mother held the other as we escorted her down the stairs and outside.
“That was fun,” Kitty slurred. “What nice boys.”
The cabdriver was less than thrilled when he got a good whiff of Kitty—she was a hurl waiting to happen. I didn’t blame him, but since he was my only choice, I was not going to cater to his delicate sensibilities.
I stuffed the two women in the back, then took the seat next to the driver. “First the Presidio to drop off the one you’re worried about—I’ll have to see her inside while you wait. Then we’ll hit the Babylon.”
“If she throws up back there, it’s your funeral.”
“Buddy, if you want to kill me, you’re going to have to get in line.”
***
I delivered Kitty to Teddie, then escorted Mother back to the Babylon. For some reason, I wanted to deliver her personally to The Big Boss. Maybe I wanted the comfort of family, the nearness of folks who loved me in spite of myself. Tonight, considering the hour and everyone’s deteriorated moods, comfort was probably out. Family would be enough.
Dead on her feet, Mother clung to my arm as we rode up in the elevator.
“Mom, I know you were trying to help, and I appreciate that, I really do. But you need to take care of yourself. The Big Boss would be devastated if anything happened to you or your child. So would I.”
She rested her head on my shoulder. I rested my head on hers as I stared at our reflection. The two musketeers, we’d always said, proud the two of us could do what Mr. Dumas thought would take three. Of course, the original Three Musketeers were men.…
“I never asked you how you feel about a sibling,” Mona said in a tired, small voice. “I don’t know why I didn’t. I guess I take you and your even keel for granted.”
Apparently Mona was feeling sorry for me—her sympathy eroding the little control I had left. “I’m thrilled, actually… for all of us,” I said taking a deep breath, praying the tears wouldn’t come. Not now. Not yet.
The doors
opened to frame The Big Boss, worry and fear, etched every line of his face. His eyes flashed anger, and gratitude, as he took his future bride’s arm. “Mona, where have you been?”
She shot me a worried look as she transferred to The Big Boss’s arm.
“She was entertaining my guest. I’m responsible, and I’m sorry,” I said, more than willing to take one for the team. “Get her to bed. Tomorrow is soon enough for explanations.”
I prayed he’d listen to reason—mother looked the worse for wear—and the intervening time would give us musketeers time to get our stories straight.
For a moment I thought he’d argue, then he gave me a curt nod and turned away without inviting me in.
So much for family.
***
Teddie waited in my wingback chair by the window, his belongings in boxes by the couch, his mother nowhere to be seen... his suitcase by the door. He rose when I walked in. Black and blue and swollen, he looked … miserable. That made two of us.
“Thank you for rescuing Mother,” he said with a self-conscious shrug. “And me.”
“It’s what I do.” The awkwardness between us rooted me to the spot—too far to reach out and touch him, but too close to avoid the pain. “I see you’ve packed up.”
“I think I got everything. If you give me a minute, I’ll run the boxes upstairs, then I’ll get out of your way—I’m sure you’re tired.”
“No more than you. Where are you going?”
“To the airport. I moved up my departure time. A plane is coming from LA. It should be here shortly.”
I wondered if he could hear my heart shattering. “I see. Do you have a ride?”
“I thought I’d catch a cab.”
“Not from here—not at this hour,” I said. “I’ll take you.”
“You sure? You don’t have to.”
In two strides I bridged the gap between us. With one hand I touched his cheek. “Yeah. Yeah, I do.”
***
The streets were as dark and empty as the silence between us when I drove Teddie to the Executive Terminal. Pulling to the front door, I killed the engine and went to help him with his luggage. Not a word passed between us as we walked through the empty terminal to the waiting jet, its lights flashing, its door open, inviting. How I would love to climb aboard…
At the bottom of the steps, Teddie handed his bag to the pilot and turned to face me. “I’m really sorry I hurt you. I didn’t mean to. It gets lonely on the road.”
“I know. Dreams change, life moves in unexpected directions.” Being careful of his split lip, I leaned in and gave him a tender kiss, lingering, savoring… making a memory. When our lips parted, I gave him my best smile, which wasn’t very good. “Be safe, my love. Enjoy the ride. You are going to be brilliant.”
I turned and walked away.
I didn’t look back.
***
Alone with the wreckage of my dreams, I swallowed my tears as I motored away. Unable to face the taunting echoes at home, I headed for the Two-Fifteen and the west side of town. Dawn would paint the valley soon. And I knew the perfect place to greet the new day.
Home to wild burros and an occasional wild mustang, Red Rock Conservation Area had been my refuge for as long as I’d called Vegas home. At this hour, the park was closed, but I had a special rock, east of the entrance, off of Calico Basin Road, that provided the perfect vantage point from which to survey the whole of my city. Facing east, it would be the first to catch the light, to absorb the warmth and promise of a new start, a fresh beginning. Perfect.
Wrapping myself in the blanket I kept in the car for these sorts of emergencies, I scaled the angled face by memory and feel, then wedged myself in against the rock. The beacon of light shining toward Heaven from the point of the Luxor pyramid had been doused for the evening. In the cool, crisp air, the other lights of the Strip sparkled like strings of multicolored Christmas lights, beckoning, inviting all to the party. A party where, for a brief moment in time, the banalities of life fell away and, surrounded by the magic of Vegas, we could all be who we wanted to be. This was my town. My life was right here, and I was smart enough to know it.
And there’s this thing about Vegas anyway. Those who have lived here might escape for a bit, but we always come back. The town and its attitudes crawl into your gut and you can’t get rid of them. Most of us never even try.
Leaning my head back against the rock, I shut my eyes, surrendering, but the tears wouldn’t come. Maybe the time for tears had passed—one could only hope. More tears had been shed in the last twenty-four hours than in the last ten years of my life. I was hoping that would keep me for a while.
I didn’t hear the crunch of tires on gravel, or see the headlights, until the car turned into the parking lot below me. The sleek, long outline of a limo. Who would be coming up here at this hour? And in a limo? I felt my brows crease into a frown. I did not want to share my rock or my misery with anyone.
The back door opened, and in the light I saw who wanted a piece of my rock. The Big Boss.
I wasn’t sure if his presence was a good thing or a bad thing.
He reached inside the car and grabbed what looked to be a bottle and glassware. Waving them at me, he started in my direction. Paolo, our seemingly ever-present limo driver, lit his way with a flashlight—the thin beam swallowed by the vastness of the desert—then retreated to the relative safety of the car.
Unfazed and unwinded, The Big Boss arrived in front of me. “Care to share your blanket with an old man?”
“It’s a free world,” I said, wary of his unannounced intentions. “I can’t stop you from sharing my rock. But if you’ve come to take another bite out of my ass, you can kiss the blanket good-bye. I have neither the patience nor the goodwill to take anymore today.”
“If you’re in need of an attitude adjustment,” The Big Boss said, as he plopped himself down next to me, “I’m your man.” With a practiced motion he popped the cork on the bottle of bubbly, which sounded like a shot in the darkness, and poured us each a flute.
I didn’t need to see the label on the bottle—one sip and I knew it was the good stuff. “They always say a girl should beware a man bearing gifts.”
“Probably good advice,” my Father agreed. “However, I came to say I’m sorry.”
“For what?” I took another sip from my flute, savoring the tickles of the bubbles. I didn’t know how anyone could be angry while drinking champagne—it was such a happy, giggly beverage. Even though I was still a long way from those two emotions, I felt my mood lift, my outlook brighten.
“I want to apologize for my cowardice.” The moonlight shaded my father’s profile, the square set to his jaw, the tension around his mouth.
“I’ve never known you to be scared of anything or anyone.”
“If you never know fear, you’re a fool,” my father said, pausing to stare across the desert toward his kingdom before continuing. “I’ve been afraid a great many times, but terrified only once.”
“Of what?”
“A tall, thin slip of a fifteen-year-old girl with a chip on her shoulder as big as the Hoover Dam, and a determination to prove herself as relentless as the summer sun.”
“You were afraid of me?” I took another slug of champagne. This had been the weirdest day.
“Your mother sent you to me. Our relationship, yours and mine, was tenuous to begin with, remember?” The Big Boss found one of my hands in the darkness. He squeezed, and didn’t let go.
“I had a bit of an authority issue, as I recall.”
“A bit,” he laughed at the memory. “But now that I had you, I couldn’t face losing you again.”
“I wasn’t going anywhere.”
“Maybe not. But what if I had told you that you were my daughter? What then?”
“I would’ve been angry.…”
“And fifteen,” he added.
“I see your point, not the most rational age, but that doesn’t excuse—”
“
I know. That’s why I want to say I’m sorry. I screwed up. I could’ve sent presents and cards—all the things a little girl wanted.”
“Including a pony?”
He laughed. “That would have been your mother’s call. I’ve been a real ass. Can you forgive me?”
“Of course.” I let him loop an arm around my shoulders and pull me tight. “I just needed to have my say. I needed to be heard.”
“That you were, loud and clear.” He took the empty flute out of my hand, set it on the stone beside him and pulled the blanket tight around me.
“And I needed to know why.” I put my head on his shoulder.
“Do you have your answers?” I could hear the deep rumble of his voice in his chest.
“I understand why you did what you did. And I know you did the best you could given the circumstances.”
Love. What a messy emotion—whether between a man and a woman or a parent and a child—not to mention absolutely terrifying. None of us gets it perfect, we just hope the emotion itself is strong enough to hold us together.
“So how do we tell them?” I asked.
He went still.“Tell who, what?”
“How do we tell everyone that you are my father?”
“Are you sure?” I could feel the effort he needed to keep his voice level, emotionless.
“I thought I desperately wanted to keep life the same, no changes. But I realized if I do that, while I might succeed at limiting the downside, I’m limiting the upside as well. This is my life, in all its tortured machinations, and it’s a grand adventure. I don’t know how this next phase will play out, but I do know—if the past is any harbinger of the future—it’ll be one hell of a ride. I guess what I’m trying to say is, it’s time to be me.”
“Why don’t you tell your friends as you see fit, then we’ll both handle the board and the public?” my Father offered.
“You’re going to have a time with the Gaming Commission—our relationship should have been disclosed years ago.”
So Damn Lucky (Lucky O'Toole Vegas Adventure Book 3) Page 20
