What Stays in Vegas

by Labonte, Beth

  “None taken. But that’s the thing, Tess. If I bail on the family company, I won’t have the means either. Especially with Todd gone. You think my parents would support me if I decide to start dressing like a hippie and laying around in the grass painting rainbows?”

  “Is that what you did in college?” I asked. I was having some trouble picturing Kendra dressed as a hippie, or even laying in grass.

  “No,” she said. “But that’s the image my parents have of artists.”

  “Well that wouldn’t be us,” I said. "We would be businesswomen with clients, and a website, and some kind of van with our company logo on the side. There’d be no lounging around or smoking drugs, or whatever the heck your parents think artists do. And if we're a success, we wouldn’t even need your parents help. Not for long.”

  “If we were successful, yes,” said Kendra. “But what if we fail? We’d have no jobs, no money, and who knows if my family would even let me back into the business. We’d end up stripping at The Jiggly Kitty to make ends meet. And I for one do not want to give Rob Dorfman the satisfaction of seeing that.”

  “Okay," I said. “But if nobody ever took chances, then nothing would ever get accomplished would it? I mean, what if the guy who invented the Internet decided that it was too much of a risk?”

  “Then we would never have known what we were missing out on, would we?” asked Kendra.

  “That’s a terrible attitude."

  “Hey, don’t think I haven’t had this argument with myself plenty of times over the years,” she said, raising her voice. I seemed to have struck a nerve. “It’s just how it is. Luckily I actually do like being an engineer most of the time.”

  “You like building strip clubs?” I asked. “You like the fact that because of us some poor girl can now find a job as a stripper instead of at McDonald’s? Or that because of us some guy with a wife and kids can travel less than ten minutes to the nearest Jiggly Kitty instead of going home to his family? Do you really like that? Because for me, it makes me feel kind of sick.”

  I should’ve just shut up, but I couldn’t. I kept pushing the subject even though I could tell she was getting annoyed with me. “And how about the fact that it’s your dad who started all of this, doesn’t that gross you out at all? I mean he must make a lot of site visits.”

  Lack of sleep and residual drunkenness were certainly egging me on, but also, just maybe, a teensy bit of anger for ditching me with Tooth Model.

  “Look," said Kendra, "if we didn’t do it Rob would just find another engineering company that would. The stupid strip clubs would get built with or without us!”

  We were standing face to face in the middle of the room, pretty much poised for a cat fight. The security guard by the door slowly inched his way toward us, either getting ready to break it up, or trying to get a front row seat.

  "But it's all just so pointless," I said, tears starting to fill my eyes. "I'm twenty-eight years old, Ken, and what have I contributed to the world? Well-labeled file folders?" I sat down on a bench and hung my head in my hands. "I just don't want to do this anymore."

  “I know," said Kendra, softening a bit. "But if you don't want to be a secretary anymore, then quit! If it's the money you're worried about. then keep your job and start something on the side. Sell your paper clip sculptures to one of the hotel gift shops, or put some up on eBay. Try something. But if you don’t have the drive for it, don’t turn it around and make it my fault. Don’t make my unwillingness to be disowned by my entire family be your excuse for not even trying!”

  Now she was the one who had struck a nerve. All the years I'd wasted behind a desk added up in my head and I suddenly felt like throwing up.

  “Oh God.” I stood up to run for the door, but it was too late. I threw up right there on the carpet, below the painting of the man throwing darts at his own head. The security guard beeped on his walkie talkie and called for a janitor. “Somebody just barfed in the Gardner Room,” I heard him say. Lovely.

  “Oh man,” said Kendra coming over to rub my back. “Are you okay? I didn’t think I upset you that much.”

  “I'm pretty sure it was the tequila shots, not you," I mumbled, wiping my mouth with my wrist. The last time I threw up in public I was nine years old and had just ridden the tea cups at Six Flags four times in a row. I apologized to the security guard on our way out.

  “No problem, miss.” He winked. “Nobody cares much for that painting.”

  - 16 -

  I felt much better when I awoke for the second time that day. The air conditioning was cranked, and the home shopping channel that I had fallen asleep to was now selling a pair of awesomely awful looking pants. They had rhinestone pineapples all over them and came in horrific colors like watermelon and lime green. I sat up in bed and marveled as the counter showing how many people were currently purchasing the awful pants continued to climb. I can, and have, watched the home shopping channel for hours. I find it oddly comforting, and it warmed my soul when Gertrude from Alabama called in to say that she had just purchased a pair for her daughter-in-law.

  I got out of bed and headed into the bathroom for a quick shower, thanking the Lord the entire way that I did not yet have a mother-in-law. I needed to spruce myself up since Chris had called right after I got back from turning the Las Vegas Art Museum into a vomitorium. I invited him over once I was able to sleep off the worst of my hangover.

  I drowned myself in coconut body wash and changed into a pink Jiggly Kitty sweatshirt. Then I brushed my teeth about forty-seven times. A cloud of coordinating coconut body spray was my final attempt to cover the alcohol still radiating from my pores. In all honesty, I was a bit nervous about seeing him. Not nervous in a bad way, but more like I was unsure how to act. I mean, was he expecting another make-out session? Did he think I had invited him over for a little afternoon delight? Or were we just going to hang out and watch television like nothing had happened?

  In the short time we had known each other, there had never been any awkwardness between Chris and I, and I hoped that this new development would not change things for the worse. I really wanted us to both be on the same page, whatever page that may be.

  The late afternoon sun was pouring in when Chris finally knocked on my door. He had a backpack on one shoulder and a Monopoly board tucked under his arm. In his hand was a giant bottle of red Gatorade, exactly what I had been craving ever since I woke up.

  “You are the absolute best coworker ever,” I said, taking a huge gulp from the bottle before he could even come in the door. “I feel like I’ve been sucking on sweat socks. How are you holding up?”

  "I was pretty dead this morning, I'll admit. But then I remembered that I wasn't the one who defiled a fine art museum and I felt a whole lot better."

  I punched him in the arm as he brushed past me into my room. He was wearing another button-up shirt, but this time with a Metallica concert t-shirt underneath.

  "Very funny," I said. "So what's with the backpack? You going camping after you leave here?”

  “I just brought some entertainment for us.” He surveyed my suite with an approving nod. “Nice place, geez. One time the company sent me to Albuquerque and put me up in a Motel 6.”

  “The difference is that you weren’t traveling with Kendra,” I said, closing the door behind him. It had been strange enough seeing Chris in the club last night, but it was even stranger seeing him here in my hotel room with my clothes and makeup all over the place. I felt like I was giving away some sort of secret. I quickly ducked into the bathroom after the thought that maybe I had left a box of tampons on the sink refused to leave my head. But it was all clear, and I started to breathe a little easier.

  I watched as he dumped the contents of his backpack out on my bed. Besides Monopoly, he had brought travel sized versions of Scrabble and Battleship, plus an assortment of DVD’s. I smiled when I saw them because this was not a guy who had come over expecting action. This was just Chris being good old nerdy Chris.

&n
bsp; “Board games are lame, I know,” he said, misinterpreting my smile. “But with the right company, they can be fun.” He gave me a wink and told me to take my pick. I immediately went for Monopoly - my reasoning being that it would take the longest to play, and I really didn’t want him to leave. We set up on the coffee table in the living area and I put the home shopping channel on the television, just for “background noise,” though Chris didn’t believe me for a second. The next item up was a tote bag bejeweled with creatures from the sea.

  “Are those lobsters?” I asked. It was hard to tell exactly, there were so many rhinestones.

  “It’s definitely some kind of mollusk,” said Chris.

  “What the heck is a mollusk anyway?”

  “I’m not sure, let’s find out.” Chris fished around in his backpack and pulled out a dictionary.

  “Oh my God, you are such a loser." I laughed. “You’re carrying a dictionary around in there?”

  “Hey it’s for Scrabble, okay?” He flipped through the pages. “Here we go, mollusk, an invertebrate having a calcareous shell of one, two, or more pieces that wholly or partly enclose the soft, unsegmented body, and live in aquatic or damp habitats.”

  “Yes, that sounds exactly like something I'd want on my handbag,” I said.

  “Oh come on, Tess. I know you ordered one in every color before I got here."

  “I swear to you, I am in love with this channel but I’ve never ordered anything!” That wasn’t entirely true, but what Chris didn’t know wouldn’t hurt him. As I counted out $1,500 in play money to each of us, I glanced at my closet to make sure the door was shut. “Here, you and your dictionary can be the top hat. Sir Dorkus McDorkington, I presume.” I tossed it in his direction.

  “Thanks, that’s sweet of you.”

  We played happily for the next few hours. The sun went down and the lamps came on. Coffee was made and pizza was ordered. Embarrassing stories from high school were exchanged. I found out that Chris had played trombone in the marching band. Chris found out that I had once dug through a bag of cafeteria garbage to find my retainer. The home shopping channel, when Chris couldn’t stand it anymore, was switched over to TV Land for old episodes of Leave it to Beaver.

  I have never in my life met another person who wanted to watch that show with me. I mean, even my parents seem to find it boring. But here, in the City of Sin, I found someone. Despite the fact that I was losing horribly at Monopoly, I hadn't had such an enjoyable afternoon in a very long time.

  Chris had built up a rather impressive empire of hotels along one side of the board, and on my next roll I landed on Boardwalk. I looked down at my pile of ones and fives, and then over at my properties which were almost all mortgaged.

  “Seems I’m out of money,” I said, devilishly curling my ponytail around my finger. “Do you accept any other forms of payment?”

  “Well, I can take a check, but it would need the approval of Mr. Pennybags," said Chris. "I haven’t seen him around though, have you?”

  “No, Mr. Pennybags isn’t here.” I slid a little closer to him on the floor. “Any other ideas?”

  “Maybe,” he said. I slid a little closer still, and looked up into his face.

  “Hi.”

  “Hi.”

  He leaned in close, and oh my, whatever cologne he was wearing smelled absolutely delicious. Or maybe that was just what Chris smelled like without any help at all. Maybe it was just a really long time since I'd had myself a boyfriend. Whatever it was, kissing Chris sober was just as good as kissing him drunk, maybe even more so since we both had gotten in a bit of practice.

  I ran my hand inside his shirt and down his arm, feeling the muscles he had been hiding from the world, or at least from his coworkers. I pushed him down onto his back, right there in front of the television.

  “Do you think it’s weird to make-out in front of a 1950's sitcom?” I asked, after a while. “The Beav’s going to have to learn about this stuff sooner or later,” he said. He flipped me over and played with the zipper of my sweatshirt. "You are one beautiful secretary, you know that?" I felt myself blush and I turned to look at the television instead of Chris.

  “I’m really glad you came over,” I said, watching Wally try to explain why there was an alligator in the bathtub. “I like you.”

  “You like me, or you like like me?”

  “Let's just say that if you were still playing the trombone, and I was still searching through chicken patties for my retainer, I would definitely have one of my friends ask you out for me."

  “Ah, so you like like me.”

  “Seems that way.”

  We laid there on the floor for a while longer, my head on Chris's chest, lamenting the fact that tomorrow was Monday and the start of another work week.

  “We should probably finish the game,” Chris said at last. “It’s getting late.”

  I sat up and looked from the game board, to my pathetic pile of cash, then back to the board. “I think the game’s pretty much finished, remember? That’s how we got started corrupting the Beaver.”

  “Oh yeah.”

  We cleaned up the game and the food, and then Chris put his backpack on his shoulder. I suddenly felt extremely lonely, even though he was still standing right there.

  “Let’s call in sick tomorrow,” I begged. “We can play Battleship.”

  Chris pushed me up against the door and gave me quite a passionate kiss goodbye, then he looked into my eyes. I thought he was about to tell me that he loved me, I swear I did. I held my breath.

  “Can’t,” he said. “Rob needs a concept plan drawn up by noon.”

  Ah yes, nothing like the mention of Rob Dorfman to kill a mood.

  “That was not romantic,” I said, and pushed him out of my room. I leaned out the door and smiled as I watched him walk toward the elevators. He blew me an exaggerated kiss before getting on, and I caught it in an equally dorky fashion.

  I shut the door and slid down to the carpet, my stomach in knots. It was, by far, the best I’d felt all day.

  ***

  Not ten minutes had passed when there was a knock at the door. My heart beat a bit faster at the idea that it was Chris, unable to wait until tomorrow to see me again. I flung open the door and stopped short of throwing myself into his arms. Good thing I didn’t, because it wasn’t Chris at all.

  There, in my doorway, stood Nick Trask.

  - 17 -

  “Hi,” said Nick, standing in my doorway completely unannounced. Completely unannounced, standing in my doorway, in Las Vegas. Three thousand miles out of context. I was having a hard time wrapping my hung over brain around what was going on. But before I could even attempt to think, he was pulling me into a giant bear hug and spinning me around in the air.

  “Wha-what are you doing here?” I stuttered as he plunked me back down on the ground. I looked from Nick’s brown puppy dog eyes, which were staring into mine, to the suitcase on the floor next to him. “Wha-what’s that?” I pointed dumbly at the suitcase. I couldn’t stop stuttering.

  “Is this a bad time?” he asked. He was totally casual, as if it were the most normal thing in the world for him to be here right now. He looked me up and down and I realized I must have been a little disheveled, as if I were just rolling around on the floor with a guy.

  “Uh, no,” I said, zipping my sweatshirt practically up to my chin. “I was just about to get ready for bed. Come on in.” I stepped aside and checked him out as he walked into my room. Even after getting off a six hour flight, he still looked like an Abercrombie & Fitch model. But that didn't matter right now. Nothing mattered except for what the hell he was doing here, and why hadn't he at least called?

  “I tried calling you last night,” he said, reading my mind. “But you never picked up.”

  Oh yes, now I remembered. Standing under the M with Chris, my phone ringing, and me shutting it off. Things had melted into a pleasant haze after that point and I honestly hadn’t given Nick a second thought since.
/>   “Oh, that’s right. I was out with my boss. I couldn't really hear my phone in the clubs.” I glanced all over my room for evidence that Chris had just been there. Not that it mattered, as I had every right to have a guy in my room. Nick was the one who was married, not me.

  I followed him over to the couch where he dropped his bags on the floor and flopped himself down. He put his feet up on the coffee table where Chris and I had just played Monopoly.

  “Um, Nick,” I said. “Really, you know I'm thrilled to see you, as always. But can I just ask you something that’s been on my mind since you walked in here about thirty seconds ago?”

  “Shoot.”

  “Okay, well, don't take this the wrong way, but what the hell are you doing here?”

  “You don’t seem very thrilled to see me, Tessa,” he said, ignoring my question. “I’m a little disappointed.” He stretched his arms along the back of the couch and yawned.

  “No, of course I am." I sat down on the couch next to him trying to ignore the tanned arm behind my head, the one that was threatening to tear right through his t-shirt. And also, oh dear, that cologne. Why did men have to keep coming into my room smelling so delicious? “It's just that I don't really understand why you're here."

  Nick pulled his cell phone out of his jeans and flipped it open. He kept glancing up at me and smiling as he scrolled through something.

  "I had a dream last night that you and I - " Nick had started reading one of the text messages I sent him out loud.

  "Oh God, please stop!" I cut him off and pressed my face into my hands.

  Suddenly Nick's hand was on the back of my head, stroking my hair.

  "Hey, you asked," he said.

  "Please, please, tell me that there's another reason," I begged, peeking up at him from behind my fingers.

  Nick stared at me for a few seconds, and then I felt his hand fall from the back of my head.