Taming Vegas (7 page)

“I think you ought to sit down.” Before I break the glass by
squeezing it too tightly, I set it down on the counter and cross my arms over
my chest. I know I look disbelieving, but I honestly don’t know why Kyle would
go through a ruse like this. What is he going to end up with in the end? I mean
that’s what this has to be about. The harshest thing that pops into my mind is
that he wants money.

“I think I’ll stand.” I tell him haughtily as I wait for
whatever lies are going to spew from his lips.

“Fine. I’ll just be out with it then. Oliver Stanton is gay,
and he’s cheating on you with me.” After being told the most ludicrous thing of
my life, there is a strange silence that envelopes the both of us as we stare
at one another. My first reaction is to start giggling as I point at him and
shake my head.

“You’re good, Kyle! That’s hilarious, Oliver, sleeping with you!”
His eyes harden and his lips thin to a peculiar line as I watch a muscle
twitching above his right eyebrow. The man standing before me is not my friend,
and I’m getting tired of his antics. “I think you need to leave.” I tell him
with a much more serious demeanor when I realize that he’s not going to take
back what he just said.

“Melanie…” I point at the door as my insides turn to stone
and my heart speeds up. If he doesn’t leave my apartment soon I’m going to be
forced to make him leave, and it won’t be pretty. He seems to see that on my
face and shrugs one shoulder as he sets down his glass.

“Oh, and if I ever hear anything about this again, whether it’s
even in a tiny column in some shit newspaper, I’ll be contacting a lawyer about
deformation of character!” I know the look on my face is murderous because I
can feel the way my eyes widen with my rage, and the slam of my apartment door
is the only answer I get. How dare he come into my home and start claiming
obscenities about my fiancée?

My first instinct is to call my mother and tell her what
Kyle just claimed and have a good laugh. The second one is to call Oliver
instead, but there is this tiny voice in the back of my mind whispering that
lie over and over again. What if it’s true? So I settle for telling my felines
goodnight and going to bed a little later than usual.

It’s been one hell of a day.

The next morning I wake up and realize that today is cake
tasting day, and if I don’t hurry my shower I’m going to be late. That means my
hair goes up into a ponytail and my makeup barely passes inspection. I try to
look fashionable as I slip on a pair of adorable flats with polka bows and a
silver buckle on the side. Since I’m going to be bloated by the end of cake
tasting, I wear a black sweater dress that dips in the back.

My cellphone is abuzz again just as I get out of the
bathroom, and I smile when I see that it’s a text from Oliver. Putting what
happened the previous night behind me, I text him back to let him know that I’m
on my way down. After a quick feeding of the cats, I hurry out my front door
and step into the elevator with a couple down the hall.

“Good morning.” I’m oddly cheery this morning despite last
night’s trials, and the both of them have small smiles for me in return and
mumbled greetings. Unfortunately, their names elude me as I get off the elevator
behind them.

I’m not sure if I’m attempting to prove a point to the
world, but instead of waiting for Oliver to be the gentleman and take my arm to
lead me to his limousine, I do something I’ve never done. The last few feet I
increase the tempo of my steps and fling my arms around his neck so that I can
lean up on my tiptoes and kiss him. I mean the kind of kiss where lips are
mashed together and then parted, tongues dance together and then explore, and
normally a man groans.

We have kissed before, but never in quite this manner and
especially not in public. Therefore, I chalk up his reaction as surprise when
he pushes me away, and his cheeks grow flushed, and not in the good way. Hurt
blooms through my chest as he wipes the back of his hand across his mouth and
stares at me like something has possessed me. And then I notice that his
parents and mine are standing off to the side of the foyer.

Oliver, in his gentlemanly fashion, attempts to appease what
just happened by holding out his arm to me. My teeth grind together as I stare
at the shocked expression on my mother’s face, but I know it’s not because I
flung myself at my fiancée. She’s feeling the same kind of shock that I am
right now. Why did he push me away? Suddenly, the words Kyle spoke to me the
night before flood back to me, and I feel tears stinging the corners of my eyes
as I work to swallow the lump in my throat.

“Melanie? What was
that
for?” I turn my gaze away
from my mother’s and look at Oliver’s dispassionate eyes. I not only took him by
surprise, but he looks a little green. Am I really that terrible of a kisser?

Unable to help it, I think about Kyle and wonder he’s a much
better kisser than me. I’m thrown into flashbacks of all the times that Oliver
initiated each one of our kisses and his lukewarm reactions. I think about the
fact that he won’t sleep with me even though I made it obvious I was willing on
several occasions. I’d come to accept that maybe I would be just a trophy wife
who slept in a separate room from her husband, and we would eat dinner on the
opposite end of the dining room table.

“We need to talk.” I’ve been a meek woman around Oliver
Stanton because his family intimidates me.
He
intimidates me, but not
enough for me to stand down when my conscious is screaming at me that there is
something wrong with this picture.

“Melanie! Mel, I think we can talk a little later,
sweetheart. We’re going to be late for cake tasting and-” I don’t hear what
else he has to say because I’ve shoved him through the elevator doors,
undoubtedly embarrassing and angering his parents and mine.

“We’re going to talk, Oliver Stanton.” There’s another
couple on the elevator that I don’t know, but they give each other the ‘oh
shit’ look and get off on the next floor. Oliver is either speechless, or he wants
to be somewhere else right now, either way he’s not uttering a word.

My cellphone and his immediately go off as we step onto my
floor, and I pull mine out with resignation. It’s my father’s number on the
screen, so I answer it. I hear Oliver answer his, and he comes up with an
excuse as to why I had to come back to my apartment. Something about I forgot
my lipstick or some such other.

“Dad, I’m sorry. There won’t be cake tasting today.” I can
hear Mrs. Stanton trying to apologize for my behavior even though she’s not my
mother.

“Honey, what is going on? Your mother’s down here crying,
and the Stantons are mortified by your behavior!” I’m trying exceedingly hard
not to work my jaw, but I almost bite my tongue. “Melon Ball,” I hear the
quietness of his voice and assume that he’s walked to a more private section,
“are you alright?” If I thought my heart was breaking in two before, it’s
undeniably shattered to pieces because of the concern in his tone.

“I’m fine, Dad. I just need some time to talk things over
with Oliver. It’ll be alright. Why don’t you take Mom to that café I was
telling you about down a few blocks? They have incredible cupcakes!” My palms
are sweaty, and my heart is pounding in my chest as we near my apartment door.
I fumble for the key and shove the door open a little too forcefully.

“You’ll call me after this chat?” I nod and realize that he’s
unable to see me.

“Yeah, I’m fine Dad. Have fun.” Before he can convince me to
come downstairs and go cake tasting instead; I turn off my phone and motion for
Oliver to walk into my apartment. His lips are still raw from my kiss, and his
hair is tousled from where I attempted to run my hands through it. Oddly, it doesn’t
send a thrill down my spine as it ought to.

“What the hell is going on Melanie?” The cats have the
intelligence to scatter and hide as I pull out two glasses and set them on the
counter with too much force. “You’re going to embarrass me in front of my
parents, your parents, and the public eye because I didn’t respond to a kiss
like you thought I should?” He sounds disbelieving, and I know exactly how he
feels.

“You
pushed
me away, Oliver! If anyone should be
embarrassed, it’s
me
!” I try to take in a deep breath and settle my
nerves so that I don’t say something I might regret later. “Kyle was over last
night.” My gaze is piercing as I watch his reaction to my words. There’s a
slight twitch below one eye, and I see a bead of sweat pop out on his forehead.

“What does he have to do with this?” Oh, he’s good. I couldn’t
lie about being unfaithful with that straight of a face and calm of a tone.

“I think he has a lot to do with everything that has
happened over the past few months. Ever since I went to Vegas-” He holds up his
hand and his eyes pop open. I plow past the blunder of admitting I was not
where I said I was a few months ago. “You have been different! I mean, we weren’t
exactly the hottest couple of the year between the sheets before I left, but
now it’s like you can’t look at me without vomiting a little!” My eyes start to
tear at the corners as I feel the abominable lump starting in my throat again.

“What the hell were you doing in Vegas?” His voice is high
pitch, and I realize that he really didn’t have any idea. “Do you realize what
this could do to our reputations? You can’t be seen going to a place like that
without me, Melanie!” My eyebrows scrunch together as I knuckle the tears off
my face and forget all about the fact that I was going to pour us some water. He’s
worried about our reputations and not exactly what I was doing in Vegas?

“Do you even
care
about me, or just my spotless
reputation?” This isn’t where the conversation was supposed to go, but I guess
we’re going to get this all out in the open now. Oliver gives this bark of
laughter that sounds disbelieving and hurt as he rubs his hands over his face.

“Of course I care about you Melanie! I’m going to
marry
you!” He’s yelling now, and the ring on my finger is starting to feel like a
lead weight.

“Is that it? You just care about me? Oliver forget about
Kyle and Vegas. Do you love me? I mean, do you really
love
me?” A lot
can be determined within a few seconds. Life and death are determined within
those moments, and I see the death of our relationship right in front of me. My
hands shake, so I put them on the edge of the counter and try to draw in deep
breaths that end up whistling through my teeth.

“Of course I love you! Melanie, how could you ask that?” I
see the lie in his eyes for what it is and step away from him as he tries to
put his arms around me. He looks bereft and confused when I pull the ring off
my finger and set it down on the counter.

“Tell me, was it Kyle? Has it been him this entire time?” I
can see it in his eyes that he has nothing but lukewarm feelings for me and
every time I mention Kyle’s name that twitch happens under his eye. I wonder if
they’ll ever tell anyone or if he’ll find another woman that will turn the
other way while he has the relationship he actually wants.

“Melanie,” It’s all in that one word, my name.

“I think you should go. I’ll call my parents and let them
know that the wedding is not happening, and you can tell your parents whatever
you w-want.” My voice cracks and I have to put a hand over my mouth to keep in
the strangled noise that tries to betray me. Oliver sincerely looks sorry over
what is happening, but he takes the ring and gently slips it into his pocket. I
don’t look at him when he turns around in my doorway in an attempt to see if
I’ve changed my mind, but I haven’t.

As soon as the door shuts and I know that he’s made it to
the elevator by now, I slide down the cabinets until I’m sitting on the floor
with my knees pulled to my chest. He never did answer me if he slept with Kyle,
but it was obvious that he had. My mind seems to be on autopilot as I sob on
the floor like a child.

I barely recall it, but sometime later in the afternoon I
call my parents to let them know the grim news with a monotone voice. When my
mother tries to tell me that they’ll be over, I tell her that I’d rather be
alone. The truth is I’d rather be in an altogether different city. My heart
skips a beat as I think of  one person I might be able to call who will make me
feel better about all of this. But would it fair to treat him like a rebound?

It’s been eight weeks and three days since I left Vegas for
the sunny coast of California. Not one person has contacted me from Sin City
and I rather like it that way. There is one person in particular who did not
call me back when she said she would call, but I can be patient.

Flashes of purple, black, neon green and yellow dance across
my vision as I watch the late season tourists skating past on rollerblades and
gliding on bicycles. I’ve been living rather cheap in a motel along the beach
that doesn’t even have a kitchenette, but I’m starting to believe I may have
outrun my problems. Besides, the small café I’m sitting at has the most
excellent coffee I’ve ever tasted in my life. My lips upturn easily when the
waitress comes by with my second cup of the day.

“French vanilla latte, heavy on the sugar.” Each day she’s
been giving me a wider and wider smile, and I wonder why it doesn’t give me the
same thrill it did in Vegas. Maybe I was hoping for someone else to be smiling
at me right now.

“Thank you, Jillian. Hey, do you have the time?” I’ve become
accustomed to leaving my watch behind and attempting to enjoy the scenery
rather than worrying about which exact minute I’m living in. It’s been
relaxing, but today I actually do have an appointment.

“Oh, uh, it’s eight thirty seven.” I thank her and take in a
deep breath of the ocean air that’s starting to smell like autumn. It’s a brisk
seventy degrees this morning, and tonight I heard the weatherman say it will be
sixty four. I guess I’ll have to pack these shorts away eventually.

It takes me another quarter of an hour to finish off my
second cup of coffee and the Danish in front of me. I push the rickety, metal
chair back and stretch when I stand. Today is the beginning of the rest of my
life, and I want it to be as exciting as the first day I came into this world. It’s
just that I want there to be a lot less blood, and I’m hoping it’ll end up that
way.

The walk back the motel is uneventful and quiet, but it’s a
welcome silence. I pull my card key out of my pocket and swipe it through the door,
whistling a quiet tune as I try not to think about what I’m about to do.
Slipping off my shoes in the doorway, I close the thin door behind me and pick
up my cellphone off the bureau by a tiny television stand with a tiny flat
screen.

There’s a message from Brent on the phone, but no other
missed calls. That’s alright, eventually she’ll think about calling me, and
we’ll meet again. I’m almost positive of that. Therefore, I ignore the sinking
feeling in my chest and visibly attempt to shake it off before I listen to
Brent’s message.

“Alex, I’ll be at the airport in forty five minutes. I’ll
see you there.” I can hear the sound of a child crying in the background and a
ding as someone walks through a door. He must have called right before he
boarded the plane.

It doesn’t take me long to pack up my luggage, grab a quick
shower, and change into something that fits Alexander Pope a little better. I
still look rather casual, but it’s better than the jean shorts and t-shirt I
was just wearing. I’m sure Brent wouldn’t recognize me in those.

The kind old woman who runs this motel helps me check out,
and I desperately try to remember her name. Unfortunately, it scurries to the
back of my mind and refuses to show itself. So I just thank her and wish her
pleasant rest of her day. Then I wrap my fingers around the handle of my
suitcase and walk out of the safe haven I built for myself here, and I try not
to think about the fact that I’ll be throwing myself into the wolf pack again.

I hail a cab with a smile that hides the sick turmoil I’m
feeling underneath the façade. My voice is pleasant when I tell the man where
I’m heading, and in my mind I think about the fiery pits of Hell opening up and
swallowing me at the airport. Yet it’s still just as bright and sunny as it was
at the beach this morning when I enjoyed the last two cups of coffee I may ever
have and my final pastry. As I’m getting closer to the final hour, my attitude
internally is beginning to change.

The only man on this planet that I trust is standing with
his hands in his trousers and his eyes scanning the crowd diligently as he
looks for me. Brent Hickory smiles when he sees me. It’s an easy smile that
spreads across his face like a reflex rather than an effort, and I find myself
smiling in return even though I’m terrified of the coming events. For that
reason, my feet are rooted to the spot and Brent has to approach me rather than
me approaching him.

“How has your vacation been?” He sticks out his hand, and
since I’m on autopilot I take it. My mind tries to formulate an answer to what
he said before I look like an idiot, but I see the moment when the knowledge
passes through his mind that I’m more than nervous about the future.

“It’s been interesting, and relaxing up until this point.”
Brent’s expression turns understanding when he lets go of my hand, and I return
it to my suitcase handle. Neither one of us speak as we go through the process
of checking in for the flight back to Vegas and my own personal nightmare. I don’t
turn down the glass of champagne in first class and ask for another when it’s
empty.

“Look, I’ll be there along with a whole slew of other people
who are potential witnesses if this goes wrong. After it’s finished, it’s
finished, alright?” I’m truly thankful for the way he’s trying to help me
through this, but I know that it doesn’t matter how many people are around. Yatzi
has the money, and the gall to pay someone enough to shoot me in public.

“I know.” I try for a smile and apparently it’s passable
because Brent doesn’t say anything more on the matter the rest of the flight.
Instead, he talks about his wife and how she’s pregnant. I feel a pang of guilt
for asking him to help me out with my problem of the nightclub and Yatzi when
he tells me that he’s having a child.

“How far along?” Brent doesn’t look objectionable about the
subject, so I assume that they’ve been hoping this would happen for some time. I
remember when he invited me to his wedding and wonder if Melanie went. Then my
brain determines that I’m idiotic for even thinking that she wouldn’t go to her
own sister’s wedding. Perhaps if we had met there instead; I wouldn’t be
desperately trying not to think about her.

“Six weeks, probably. Oh, if you talk to anyone in the
family you can’t say a word. She wants to tell everyone at Thanksgiving
dinner.” I know he’s talking about Melanie, but I’m glad he doesn’t say it
aloud. Even though his look is imploring, I trust him not to pry.

“I won’t tell anyone.” I promise him as our flight lands.
Part of me wants to make a joke out of this and say that I won’t be able to
tell anyone because I’ll be dead, but that might be in poor taste.

Leaving the airport is almost as time-consuming as waiting
to get onto the plane, and oddly I feel compelled to get this meeting over
with. Brent hails a taxi, and the driver loads my luggage into the trunk for
me. I’m about to tell the cab driver to take me to the hotel suite I rented
like an apartment, but Brent leans forward before I can. He tells the man his
address and settles back in his seat like nothing happened.

“I don’t think it’s a good idea for me to be anywhere around
your family. I have a price on my head.” The cab driver glances in the mirror
with a nervous expression and I don’t blame him. Brent adopts a serious air,
one that I haven’t seen in a long time, and he tells the cab driver to start
driving.

“Yatzi has agreed to forgive and forget if you sell him the
nightclub. I don’t think he’s going to pay you a visit the small amount of time
that you have to spend at my home. Besides, Christina will kill me if I don’t
show up with a guest when she’s made a special dinner. And by that, I mean she
hired a personal chef for the occasion and helped make the menu.” I know I must
look confused, and Brent chuckles as he pinches the bridge of his nose.

“God knows I love that woman, but she can’t cook for shit!
And that’s another thing you can’t tell anyone I said!” Feeling a little
lightened by the change in discussion, I listen to Brent talk about the times
his wife attempted cooking for him and almost burned the house down, literally.
Unfortunately, my mind wanders to Melanie and if she knows how to cook. This
leads me to think that if she can’t, I’d be willing to take the job as her
personal chef.

Brent’s home is about fifteen miles outside of the city
limits, so it takes us a substantial amount of time to get there. I’ve only
visited three times since we’ve known each other, and each time Brent has
something new added to his home. It’s not much more than four thousand square
feet and sitting on a conservative twelve acres, but it’s an impressive home
made with stone laid out in the modern, open concept theme.

I thank the cab driver and pay the fee before Brent is able
to get his wad of cash up there, and quickly retrieve my suitcase from the
trunk. My short walk across the drive to the grandiose stairs leading up to the
front door is fraught with a hot wind blowing across the land. There will be a
storm later; I can smell it in the air. Hopefully it doesn’t hit when I’m
signing the papers with Yatzi.

Christina has the green front door with a brass knocker on
it open before I reach it, and I turn around in the foyer with a vaulted
ceiling to see Brent with his hand on the back of his wife’s neck kissing her
gently. It’s no less passionate that an open-mouthed kiss and I turn away
before they can catch me gawking. I’ve been inside the home a few times, but
the simple elegance coupled with sprouts of color here and there always grabbed
my attention, and I find myself lost in the paintings that Christina has collected
over the years.

“Are you hungry, Alex?” Her pretty voice floats my
direction, and I turn around with a polite nod. These two have always made me
feel like I’m scum for owning a nightclub. It’s not that they have ever told me
that to my face or treated me in a less than polite manner, but part of me
wonders if I’d be in a house with a pretty wife like Brent if I had taken the
Bar Exam with him.

“Let me take your things upstairs for you. Christina seems
to think you’ll be staying for a long time, so she cleaned and aired out the
guest suite upstairs.” I vaguely recall spring green walls and a brass bed
frame, but I was only in that guest room once before for an hour.

I follow my host up the wide stairs in the foyer, and carry
my own luggage up so that I don’t feel useless. Brent takes me into a room that
has obviously been renovated in the past year. The fresh, sky blue paint
accentuates the natural light pouring in from the bay window with a view of the
driveway. Instead of a daybed alongside one wall there is now a Queen sized bed
to my left with a corrugated iron frame and an off white comforter.

“I told Christina you might stay for a day or two, and she
insisted that we update the guest room.” I turn a disbelieving look on him, and
he shrugs a shoulder. “You think a woman can’t renovate two rooms in a week?
Believe me; she did it in a few days.” I open my mouth before I can tell my
brain that the words should not be said.

“I might be dead after tonight, Brent.” My friend, ever the
optimist, smiles as if I’m joking and claps me on the back as he leads me back
downstairs. I stop him at the bottom before we get to the kitchen where his
wife is waiting. “Brent, you’re staying here tonight.” I’ve changed my mind in
wanting him to come along. I can’t ask him to walk into a potential murder hole
with me.

“No, I’m going to sit down at the table with you. Not
because I’m your lawyer, but because I’m your friend. Now if you dilly dally in
getting to that cake any longer my wife will think you don’t like her cooking.”
Brent winks at me when I give him a curious look, considering he told me she didn’t
cook. But he doesn’t explain as we make our way into the kitchen through a wide
walkway with a wall on one side and pillars on the other. Beyond the pillars is
their great room with a large fireplace and tasteful, leather furniture.

Neither I nor Brent talk about the fact that the food is
pulled from the refrigerator and reheated. It’s remarkably tasty, home-cooked
food that reminds me of the days when I actually spoke to my parents. The
conversation is steered towards what I’m going to do with the rest of my life,
and I tell Christina that I’m not sure. The truth is I haven’t thought much
beyond getting past tonight.

While stepping through the front door of the place I once
called my own, I wait for a bullet to hit me square between the eyes. No one is
sitting downstairs, and I assume that the thug waiting by the elevator with his
beady eyes staring at me is waiting to escort me upstairs. Brent is on my heels
with his suitcase in hand, and a friend of his is mopping his forehead with a
piece of white cloth that oddly reminds me of a handkerchief. Who has one of
those these days?

He fixes his thick glasses over his small, close together
eyes and tries for a smile at the burly man in front of us. I don’t look up at
his face, but the muscles on his arms promise that if I try anything funny,
I’ll be in a choke hold that will knock me out flat in two seconds or fewer. I
almost make a crack about forgetting my own meat stick walking, but I deem it
unwise in the moment.

The ride up the elevator that used to be mine feels like a
lifetime, and then my stomach drops out from under me to signal that the ride
is over. Brent clears his throat quietly in the corner as he waits for the double
doors to open, and when they finally do, I want them to close again. Sitting
behind my desk with the glass tabletop is none other than Yatzi himself.

I must say the old man seems to complete the look of this
place. He’s wearing a suit that looks as if it might cost as much as the
renovations it took to create this office space. Our eyes narrow at the same
time. Yatzi motions for me to sit in one of the chairs where my own clients
used to sit, and I hesitate. Brent sits down for me, and I finally take my seat
next to him.