One Night In Vegas

by Odell, Roxie

  Even the pressure of the water hurt, but she sucked it up and continued squirting every small bottle of free toiletries out on her finger, everything from hair conditioner to hand lotion to shaving gel. While she was doing so, she took a good look at herself in the mirror. No longer was she even remotely glamorous. Instead, she looked like a victim on one of those TV crime shows. There were big black rings under her eyes, courtesy of her streaked mascara and eyeshadow. Her nose was caked with dried mucous, and her hair was a matted mess. Not only that, but there was some sort of crust around the right side of her mouth, as if she’d upchucked somewhere.

  “Gross,” she muttered, shaking her head at herself.

  Corrine continued struggling with the ring, wondering how it had ever been slipped onto her finger in the first place since it obviously didn’t fit. She had no idea where it even came from, and it certainly wasn’t hers. Putting that mystery out of her mind for the moment, she closed her eyes and said a prayer as she continued working the band around and around her finger, until it finally caught hold of the slippery hair products and slid off with a motion so quick and powerful that it caused her to slam her other hand into the mirror. “Great,” she muttered as she looked at the instantly forming bruise. “Now both my hands are messed up.”

  Her freed finger didn’t feel much better, but she was so glad to have the ring off. She washed her face and patted it with a clean towel. She pulled a brush through her hair many times, groaning with the pain of it, until it was tangle-free. She then stripped down and stepped into the shower.

  As the warm water sprayed down on her, soothing her body and helping to calm her thoughts, she tried to put together what had happened the night before. Really, she had absolutely no clue. She didn’t even remember eating, even though she was so hungry when Derrick finally agreed to leave his gambling behind for the night. As for him, she still had no idea where he was.

  She washed herself from head to toe with the remaining bottle of soap in the bathroom, and that took some of the edge off her hangover. She was still buzzed, though, so after she managed to wrap her head and body with a towel, she practically crawled to a chair. A quick glance at the clock on the nightstand told her it was already one in the afternoon, so it was no wonder she was hungry, thirsty, and bloated.

  She searched for her cellphone and found it on the nightstand as well, but it was completely dead. She plugged it into the charger, rolling her eyes at the gadget as if it was the phone’s fault. At that moment, she was glad her head was clear enough to remember Derrick’s phone number, and she used the landline to dial him.

  “Yeah?” he said when he picked up on the first ring.

  “Where are you?” she whispered, her voice destroyed from all the partying the night before. Even after several sips of water, she still sounded like she had gargled with rocks.

  “You okay?” he asked casually.

  “I—I don’t think so. I’m not well.”

  “All right,” he said. “I’ll be right there.”

  “Wait, if you’re at work or a meeting, you don’t have to—” she began to protest.

  “No, I’m still in the hotel,” he said. “I’ll be up in a few.”

  Corrine fell back against the overstuffed sofa. Her ring finger was still killing her, so she rested her arm on the back of the couch to elevate it. As she waited for Derrick to return from wherever he was, she sank into a deep sleep.

  When she awoke a while later, she felt momentarily refreshed, but that turned out to be a cruel prank because it wasn’t long before her hangover returned in full force. She checked her phone but found no messages, and even though she’d been sleeping for twenty minutes, Derrick still was not there.

  Corrine glanced down at her finger. It had returned to its normal color, but it hurt like crazy and concerned her greatly. “Hey, I think I need a doctor,” she said when she called the front desk again.

  “Can you come to the lobby, ma’am?”

  “Well, actually, I’m not, uh, I’m not in good shape. I’ve been drinking.” She was thoroughly embarrassed. Too drunk to go to the doctor? Gee, that’s a first and a last.

  The desk clerk laughed. “Well, ma’am, if you’d like, I can call a taxi for you, or is the injury bad enough to warrant an ambulance?”

  “Cab,” Corrine replied bluntly. Now, on top of her own self-loathing, she was humiliated. I could have just asked for a cab in the first place, without spilling my whole stupid story. She shook her throbbing head at her own foolishness.

  “I’ll ring you as soon as the cab arrives, ma’am,” the front-desk clerk said then hung up.

  Despite her agony, Corrine wanted to stick around. She was torn between getting medical attention and waiting for her boyfriend, but she knew the taxi wouldn’t wait for her forever. When the clerk called back to let her know it had arrived, she grabbed her phone and charger with her less injured hand, stuffed them into her purse, and headed downstairs.

  Corrine kept her head down as she ambled to the valet area and the waiting taxi. Despite her shower and her attempt to brush her unruly mop of hair, she knew she was still a mess. Nevertheless, the doorman still held it open for her as if she were a princess.

  As soon as she was situated in the cab, she sent Derrick a text: “Going to ER.”

  As she slumped in the back of the cab for the relatively short ride to Valley Hospital Medical Center, Corrine once again tried to revisit the night before, but it was no use. Her stomach threatened to hurl its contents all over the back of the taxi, so she was glad when she was dropped off and could finally be admitted for care.

  The nurse smirked at her, wearing an expression quite like that of the front desk clerk at the Bellagio. Apparently, injured ring fingers were a thing in Vegas, but it was a first for Corrine. The ER was surprisingly less busy than usual, so she received immediate attention.

  After Corrine sat alone for a while, another nurse entered the curtain-enclosed space and looked at her finger, also wearing an amused expression. She gently examined Corrine’s hand before taking her blood pressure. “Decided to tie the knot in Sin City, huh?” she asked.

  Wait. Tie the knot? Corrine hoped she’d heard her wrong. “I’m not married,” she said.

  “You’re not?” asked the nurse in surprise. “Darn, I just lost my bet.”

  Corrine’s stomach dropped, and she was overcome with absolute terror. She had no idea what had happened the night before, but she did have some vague recollection of marriage. For the life of her, she couldn’t recall why, and that scared her to death. The last thing she needed was to find out that she’d accidently married someone in a drunken stupor at some drive-thru chapel with an Elvis impersonator to officiate.

  After taking her blood pressure, the nurse produced a breathalyzer to measure Corrine’s blood-alcohol level, a move that both shocked and humiliated her, as common as it was for protocol. “Tell me you didn’t drive here yourself,” the nurse asked soberly.

  “No, I took a cab,” replied Corrine quietly.

  The nurse nodded. “Good. Just so you know, you’re still legally intoxicated. If this is a regular occurrence and you’d like some help, I have some literature for you.”

  Corrine tried her best not to scrunch her face up at that remark. She hadn’t come to the ER to be diagnosed as an alcoholic. She understood the lecture and couldn’t blame the nurse for it, especially considering they likely spent a lot of time coaching people into rehab, but just like the marriage remark, it was mostly unexpected and shocking.

  More than once since meeting Derrick, she’d had to put herself on the wagon. Hands down, this was the worst episode, but there were others before, and she had to wonder if she should put some stock in what the nurse was saying. She didn’t consider herself a full-blown alcoholic, but she was sure she had a problem, considering that she’d woken up smashed, completely unaware of what happened during the last ten hours of her life.

  “I hear ya,” she said humbly to the nurse.

>   “Well, knowing’s only half the battle, as they say,” the nurse said. “Is that a yes or a no?”

  Corrine scowled at her. “It’s an ‘I hear ya’,” she repeated. “I’ll take care of it. Now, what about my finger?”

  “It doesn’t seem to be broken, but we’ll confirm that with an X-ray. For now, ice and aspirin would be my recommendation to treat the bruising, swelling, and pain. I can’t really give you anything when you aren’t, uh, clean.”

  “Clean?” asked Corrine, confused.

  “You’re drunk,” she blurted out. “We can’t prescribe painkillers to people who have alcohol in their systems. It isn’t safe.”

  “Damn it, I know that,” Corrine spat out of frustration. “I’m embarrassed and pissed off at myself. You don’t have to keep rubbing it in my face.” She noted that the nurse seemed to have a little glee on her face. She suddenly regretted her trip to the ER altogether, and she just wanted them to tend to her finger and let her out of there.

  After the X-rays were taken, the nurse directed Corrine to sit in the waiting room. “We can’t legally let you go until you pass the breathalyzer,” the nurse said. “You can just rest here. It shouldn’t be long.”

  “Fine,” Corrine said and plopped down in the seat.

  While she waited, she charged her phone, and she was surprised to see that there were no calls or messages from Derrick. She wasn’t about to call him because she was far too furious and knew she’d say something awful in her current inebriated condition. That son of a bitch said he’d be right up, and he wasn’t. Doesn’t he care at all?

  Once she was discharged, with plenty of pamphlets about recovery tucked in her purse, Corrine took a cab to the Bellagio to retrieve her car and drive herself home. She didn’t even bother to collect her things. Just like that, she was done chasing down Derrick Quinn.

  Chapter 28

  The beautiful thing about living alone was that Corrine could strip down to nothing as soon as she walked in through the front door. She drew herself a tepid bath to cool her feverish body. She cranked up the A/C to the cooler side, clothed herself in a comfy pair of pajamas, and dined on ice cream in bed. She also followed the snide nurse’s advice and filled a Ziploc bag with ice to hold on her sore finger. There were enough carbs in the Rocky Road to put her into a bit of a sugar coma, so she curled up against her pillow and slept soundly.

  For the next few days, she maintained a life free from all electronics, entirely disconnected. She found it very healing, spending time just tending to her home and herself. She paid for lawn maintenance, including the garden around her patio, so she didn’t have to bother with that. She made sure to sit out in the morning and evening sun, when the days were at their coolest, and simply relaxed the best she could.

  On the third day, she plugged in her computer and hooked up her phone. When she noticed the date on the computer, she was a bit taken aback because it was an indication that she’d been at the Bellagio for longer than she realized.

  Since her phone was attached to her computer, the photo app automatically popped up, displaying the latest snapshots with a prompt to transfer them to her hard drive. There, right before her eyes, was a photo diary of the night she’d lost, the night she’d forgotten. The worst part was that they were wedding pictures.

  Now, there was no way for Corrine to deny it. She examined the evidence, scrolling through the pictures again and again. There she was with Derrick at the Graceland Wedding Chapel, standing in front of a man in a horrible sequined pantsuit, bell bottoms and all, drunk out of their minds.

  “Maybe it’s a good thing I was drunk, for once,” she muttered as she continued scrolling through, tears of anger and embarrassment flooding her eyes.

  She was sure there had to be a law that would render such a wedding null and void, since the so-called consenting adults were not sober enough to consent. She embarked on a feverish internet search for the number of the local government agency that handled Vegas weddings and quickly gave them a call.

  “County Records, can I help you?” answered a voice on the other end.

  Corrine had no idea how to even begin. She really had no evidence of what happened, other than her badly bruised finger and a few pictures that suggested she’d gotten married. “Uh, hi,” she said. “I need to find out whether I’m actually, um, married.”

  The woman on the other end was another in the series of Las Vegas natives who weren’t at all new to the situation. “Name?” she asked, deadpan.

  “Smith,” she answered. “Corrine Smith.”

  “Is that married or maiden?” the woman recited.

  “That’s my maiden name,” Corrine answered.

  “Married name?” the woman robotically asked.

  “Quinn, I think,” replied Corrine.

  “Corrine Quinn? Cute.” The woman chuckled and then instructed Corrine to hold on for a moment while she clacked away on her keyboard. “Yes, I have it right here. Six days ago, Graceland Chapel.”

  “Six days ago? How can that be?” Corrine was stunned that she’d lost what seemed to be an entire week. She was haunted by the nurse’s words at the ER, and now she thought it might be a very good idea to take a serious look at the alcoholism literature.

  “I didn’t take a blood test or anything,” argued Corrine.

  “Ma’am, blood tests are not required in the state of Nevada for marriage. Based on what I see here, the marriage was legal and legitimate. You are no longer single. Now, is there anything else I can help you with?”

  “How do I undo it?” she asked.

  “Just like everyone else, divorce or annulment. If you’d like information on that, you can call—”

  Before the woman could even finish, an angry Corrine hung up on her. Just when she was starting to recover from the exaggerated partying, Corrine felt sick all over again, albeit in a different way. The confirmation that she was indeed married to Derrick was like a pot of super-strong coffee, leaving her shaky and nauseated.

  Corrine called the Tresor. She seldom ever asked the Tresor staff to hunt Derrick down for her. She knew they had their hands full at the busy hotel, but Corrine considered this an emergency.

  “I’d love to help you, Corrine,” said the woman at the front desk, “but he hasn’t shown up to work in a couple days. Last I heard, he was on a mini-vacation with you. He’s been traveling on business a lot, too, tending to that new hotel they’re building out in L.A. If I see him, I’ll tell him to call you.”

  “Do you ordinarily hear from him? Is there anyone he contacts more regularly?” She hated how desperate she sounded.

  “Only you, honey,” she said with a laugh.

  “Darn, now I’m worried,” she said. She recalled texting Derrick before she went to the ER, and at that time, she just assumed he’d stood her up because he was busy gambling like a fiend in the casino. It never occurred to her that something could be wrong with Derrick, and she suddenly felt horrible for possibly misjudging him and the situation.

  “I’m sure he’s fine, hon. Like I said, if I hear from him I’ll tell him to call you.”

  As soon as she hung up the phone, she considered calling the cops, then thought better of it. She decided the best thing she could do was put on some real clothes and go hunt for him herself. I’ll start with the Bellagio. Maybe that awful waitress, then go from the there. If I don’t find him soon, I guess I’ll have to involve the police, but I sure hope it doesn’t come to that. She hurried to her room to get ready.

  Chapter 29

  Somehow, putting on a cocktail dress to go to the casino where she last remembered being with Derrick seemed kind of inappropriate, but it made her feel like it gave her an edge of some kind. She was also hoping to save a little face. She’d gotten married under the influence, had no recollection of it, and had no idea where her husband was, so she was understandably nervous as she made her way to the luxury hotel.

  The feeling she got when she walked into the Bellagio this time was quite differe
nt from the first time. There was nothing pleasant or positive about it, nothing like the grand entrance they’d made before.

  Corrine marched straight to the front desk. “Is Derrick Quinn still a registered guest here?” she asked.

  “I’m afraid we can’t give out that information,” said the clerk.

  “I was here with him,” she told the clerk, who looked at her suspiciously. “He’s… my husband. Don’t you remember me? I left some of my stuff in the room. Come on!”

  “Your name?”

  “Corrine Sm—er, Quinn. Corrine Quinn.”

  “Sorry, but I don’t show you on the register,” the clerk said after a few clicks of her mouse and a peek at her monitor. “I’m afraid we cannot divulge the names of those staying in our hotel.”

  “I’d like to speak to a manager,” said Corrine, furious with herself for going about things the wrong way. She realized she should have lied, that she should have just asked to have him paged or something, as if she was there to meet him, but now it was too late for that.

  “Wait here, ma’am,” the clerk said. “I’ll call a manager for you.”

  “Fine,” Corrine said then walked over to one of the ultra-comfortable chairs in the lounge of the Bellagio and schemed.

  “I know you!” said a dark, devilish, familiar voice, jolting her out of her thoughts.

  Corrine turned her head and focused. She was not at all happy to see the dice-thrower, the one who had harassed her at the Tresor poolside. She had a nagging feeling that it wasn’t mere coincidence that he was there, but she couldn’t quite put her finger on why.

  “Ugh,” she said, her pulse racing with fear.

  “Nice to see you again, too,” he said with a shrug.

  “I never said it was nice,” she spat. “Are you used to running into people who aren’t at all happy to see you?”

  “Something like that,” he said with a laugh.