Las Vegas Noir (16 page)

Her last session with Dr. Golob hadn’t been a fruitful one, to say the least. She’d been complaining about the construction surrounding her. Vegas was booming. Old familiar buildings and hotels were being imploded and demolished. High-rise condos and towering casinos were vying for space in the once clear blue sky of the valley. Lake Mead was like a gargantuan bathtub with a faulty plug and a bad case of ring-around-the-ninety-foot rim.

Madison had moved to the suburbs six years ago to escape the congestion. Now the Green Valley area was pretty much a metropolis of its own. “Did you know, Dr. Golob, that years ago on Tomiyasu Lane there was a vegetable farm owned by a Japanese man named Mr. Tomiyasu?”

Her stomach growled again when she remembered plump red strawberries and sweet ears of corn that the housekeeper would bring home. Madison was so hungry all of the time back then that her sense of smell had sharpened considerably. She would imagine that by drawing in deep breathes through her nose she was actually tasting the fresh produce. This was something she never shared with the therapist.

Nor did she share with Dr. Golob how deeply affected she was by the constant cycle of destruction, then resurrection, surrounding her. Even at night, machines were digging and scraping away at the soil, leaving deep scars in the million-years-old earth. Machines that in the yellow lights used by the construction workers looked like something from a Martian collective.

Cold and relentless, they jabbed and dug and poked; just like her father had jabbed and dug and poked at her, Madison would think. Then the builders would come and layer by layer cover up the blemishes and pockmarks. They would be followed by the landscapers who planted trees, bushes, and flowers that really had no business in the arid soil of the Nevada desert. So, too, had Madison built walls of concrete around her, and layered her façade with cosmetics and apparel foreign to her nature.

“Oh no! Gotta go!” Madison, lost in her mental ramblings, was running late. She quickly showered, then dressed in her usual training ensemble: blue shorts, white shirt, socks, and Nikes. Her short curly hair needed only a dab of mousse to keep it in place. She applied mascara to her sparse lashes, a hint of blush to her cheeks, and some lip gloss on her narrow mouth.

Madison strode purposely to her old BMW, then inched her way out into the traffic on Silver Springs Road. She wasn’t too concerned about upsetting her client with her tardiness. She knew she could blame it on the construction work surrounding the area.

Lately, Madison was blaming everything on the construction, from her lack of sleep when she woke up drenched in sweat as the machines chewed and gnawed their way through the night (she never did remember the nightmares about her father) to her increasing desire to eat the food she would only allow to rot in the refrigerator. (Her stomach seemed to rumble more and more each day in a synchronized cacophony with the backhoes and loaders.)

Madison pulled into the club parking lot and got her gym bag out of the trunk. Three women dressed in short colorful tennis skirts walked by, bright sunlight flashing off the diamonds on their fingers. They were laughing, oblong bags slung across their backs. Thin, blond, and full-breasted, they passed by Madison without so much as a glance.

Garvey was waiting by the water cooler in the gym. To her surprise, he wasn’t tall and skinny. He was short and stocky like her. His hair was black and longer than the current buzz-cut fashion. He had shy brown eyes and perfectly unblemished olive skin. She soon found out his mother was Latina. His father was Caucasian and owned a concrete-mixing company.

Madison eased Garvey through the usual trainer’s monologue. What were his goals? How committed was he to meeting those goals? What were his eating habits? Where did he want to see the most improvement? She weighed him in and calculated his body-fat index, then took him through thirty minutes of a light workout on the weight machines.

Two clients later, Madison was ready to call it a day. On her way home she decided to stop at Starbucks for her one indulgence in life, a caramel macchiato. Hot beverage in hand, she picked up a copy of a local alternative weekly and wandered out onto the patio.

“Miss Feldon?”

Madison squinted into the bright light. Garvey Kendall was smiling shyly down at her. He had a cardboard cup in one hand and a small brown bag in the other. He shifted nervously from one foot to the other.

“Mind if I join you?”

For a moment, she
did
mind. She minded, all right, because she could smell the cinnamon coffee cake with its thick sweet icing that was nestled in the bag he set down on the round metal table. She minded because she didn’t appreciate him intruding on her solitude. She minded because he was a client, just an eighty-dollar hour, of which her cut was only forty percent. She minded because he was a man, and Madison knew from past experience that men didn’t like her.

Five years ago, Madison’s only friend, her cousin Sarah, had come to Las Vegas to celebrate spring break, and that was when Madison had lost her virginity. The cousins were the same age, born just weeks apart. Sarah had a clear complexion, long brunette hair, and sparkling blue eyes that matched her upbeat personality. Sarah was the darling daughter among three sons. Sarah’s family lived in Chicago.

A new hotel-casino had opened not far from Madison’s condo. It was the vivacious Sarah who suggested they should go to dinner at the hotel. After dinner, the two women went out onto the casino floor to play poker. Madison found she was actually enjoying herself. The pile of chips in front of her was gradually increasing.

One of the seats at the table opened up and was quickly occupied. Madison glanced at the newcomer, then almost knocked over the cocktail at her elbow. She’d seen him at the sports club many times. While she couldn’t remember his name, she certainly remembered how he looked while he was working out. (Muscles taut and straining under his glistening, tanned skin.) Madison felt a flush of warmth as she recalled how she enjoyed surreptitiously tracing with her eyes the vinelike pattern of pumped-up veins along his hard body.

The handsome man was sitting beside Sarah, and the two were obviously flirting with one another. The chips in front of Madison began to dwindle. She was paying more attention to the action between her cousin and the bodybuilder than to the poker game. Madison had just asked the bored-looking Asian dealer to cash her out when Sarah stood up and motioned to her.

“Let’s go to the nightclub downstairs. Bradley’s going to join us.” Bradley was looking at the two women, but his eyes passed right over Madison. He nodded at Sarah as if to signal he’d be joining her shortly.

The club was packed. Madison and Sarah had to wait in line for ten minutes. Bradley caught up with them, but the only place the trio could find to sit was on one of the large divans on the sprawling outdoor veranda. Bradley seemed to know everyone. Martini after martini began to appear. Madison quickly got drunk enough to attempt small talk with Bradley. Her cousin seemed to have lost interest in the bodybuilder once he’d introduced her to a mangy-looking rock-star wannabe.

People were thronging around the patio. Soon total strangers were sitting or reclining on the divan—laughing, drinking, kissing, and fondling their partners. Madison was pressed against Bradley. The close contact with him again sent a heated sensation throughout her body.

When Madison stood up to go use the powder room, she was unsteady on her feet. She was vaguely aware of Sarah shaking her arm and pointing to Bradley. The next thing she knew she was home—and Bradley was with her. Sarah had cajoled him into driving Madison to the condo.

Madison wasn’t simply home with Bradley. She was in bed with him. His breath reeked of vodka and vermouth. His kisses were sloppy, and he was groping at her thighs. Madison didn’t remember taking off her clothes, but she was naked. Bradley was wearing only his shirt. She could feel his bare muscled thighs against hers.

“Wait a minute, wait a minute.” The ceiling seemed to spin. “Brad, I think I’m going to be sick.” Madison struggled to move out from underneath him.

“No you’re not.” His words were slurred.

He was lying completely on top of her, his weight pressing her down, down, down.

Brad managed a drunken laugh. “Shit, girl, you really are flatter’n a pancake.”

Madison felt bile rising in her throat, but she managed to suppress the gag reflex. Bradley was now fully between her spread legs, and he began to position himself to move inside of her. Madison had read enough romance novels in her years of isolation to expect that her first time with a man would be somewhat painful. (Later, she would reflect that romance novels, like everything else in her life, were filled with nothing but lies and bullshit.)

When Bradley forced himself into Madison, she cried out. She was a fairly strong woman, and she pushed at his shoulders and thrust with her legs. She almost succeeded in bucking him off. Bradley stopped the invasion of her body for a moment. “Oh shit. You a virgin?”

Madison began sobbing. It wasn’t that she didn’t want to have sex with him. But this was supposed to be
her
moment. Her first time with a man was supposed to be seductive, romantic. The man who deflowered her was supposed to be gentle, compassionate, and bring her slowly from orgasm to orgasm. Not treat her like some blow-up doll.

Madison managed to say yes to the man looming over her. A man whose face she could barely see in the darkness of her bedroom. A man who said to her with obvious annoyance in his voice, “Oh well. Let’s just get this over with then.” And he did. And that was it.

At the gym, Bradley didn’t avoid Madison; he simply ignored her. It was as though they’d never met. Madison didn’t tell Sarah what happened that night. She never even told her shrink, Dr. Golob. Sex was one topic Madison Feldon avoided at all costs. She never picked up another romance novel at the grocery store, either. Now here she was being invited to sit intimately and alone with a man.

“Hey, are you all right?”

Madison detected a note of genuine concern in Garvey’s voice. “Yeah, I’m fine.” She motioned with her hand. “Go ahead, have a seat.”

“I don’t mean to bother you. I just wanted to tell you that I know I’m in good hands.” His smile was simple and genuine.

“Thanks. I appreciate clients who appreciate me.” She smiled back.

A cement truck lumbered by on the congested street, bits of rock bouncing out of the revolving drum and skittering along the sidewalk near the coffeehouse. Madison winced and let out a harsh, irritated breath. She could feel the minute twitch begin in her left eye. Her uninvited guest didn’t seem to notice her distress. He kept rambling on about the importance of fitness and nutrition.

Garvey opened the brown bag and offered to share the coffee cake with Madison. Now her eye
and
her lip were twitching. She looked at everything but the tempting pastry and the man sitting across from her.

“I hardly think
that’s
nutritious. It’s all empty calories and major carbs, you know.” Madison’s mouth flooded. She clenched her hands under the table.

Garvey laughed. He had a good laugh. It was light and easy, almost infectious. She found herself responding to the sound. Madison Feldon giggled.

Two weeks later, Madison was at the gym with Garvey. He was a dependable client. He hadn’t missed a single one of his tri-weekly sessions. He was eager to please and quick to pick up on the nuances of working with weights. They were both sweating when the hour ended, and Madison hurried to the showers in the women’s locker room.

No one at the club had ever seen her naked except for Bradley, but then he didn’t really see her That Night, and he certainly never saw her again. Wrapped in a big towel, Madison kept her eyes averted from the potpourri of nude bodies around her. Fat, lean, wrinkled, smooth, young, old; from the corner of her eye she glanced at them, these naked females who moved unself-consciously through the rituals of blow drying their hair, moisturizing their bodies, and chatting on cell phones.

Garvey was waiting for her outside the club entrance. He asked if she’d like to meet him at Starbucks. Madison shrugged. “Only if you promise not to buy any junk food.” Again, that easy laugh of his.

Over coffee, Madison shared her thoughts about the growth and construction in Green Valley.

“These developers are eco-rapists. They don’t care about the environment. They don’t design or plan with any thought to water conservation or traffic flow.” Madison scowled. “When I first moved to Green Valley, you could hear coyotes yipping and howling at night. Now all I hear is the beep-beep of backhoes and loaders.” She looked at Garvey. “Where do you think the coyotes have gone?”

“I don’t know, Maddy.”

Madison flinched at his use of the nickname. Only the Feldon’s housekeeper had ever called her that. Despite having been designated as the enforcer of Madison’s diet, Mrs. An-son was kindhearted. On occasion she would treat the ever-hungry young girl to something special: a frozen Popsicle or a sorbet. They had to be careful since Louie Feldon demanded that his daughter weigh herself in his presence every morning. Her whole body twitched at the memory of the invective Louie would rain down on her naked body if the digital scale reflected so much as a gain of one ounce.