The Vegas Diaries: Romance, Rolling the Dice, and the Road to Reinvention (19 page)

“So I was walking back to the room after getting a massage and I felt like something MASSIVE was coming out of my vagina . . .”

“Uh, Hols—” Mark started, attempting to interrupt.
He had to hear this,
I thought gleefully.

“. . . like I was giving birth to something,” I continued, speaking a bit louder as he tried to muffle me out.

“Um, Holly . . . ?” he asked, starting to sound concerned.

I wouldn’t let him finish.

“So I started to get worried and hurried back to the room,” I laughed. “And the condom you used the other night fell out!”

“Oh my god, Holly!” Mark shouted. “I’m backstage with my friend, and you’re on speaker!”

My jaw dropped as I sat there in total silence. I wasn’t quite sure of what the appropriate icebreaker would be to his friend whom I didn’t know, but who now knew more about me than he ever needed to.

“Oh, heeeeey!” I called out to his friend with a forced air of casualness as I heard him laughing in the background.

“Let me call you back in a minute,” Mark managed through their eruption of laughter.

“Nice to meet you!” another friendly male voice shouted.

We hung up and I fell back onto the bed, smiling. I loved that I could laugh about stuff like this with him—and it wasn’t a huge deal. I could actually say what I wanted to say without censoring myself at all. Frankly, I didn’t even care that his friend had overheard it—and it was clear he and the friend didn’t, either.

“That’s why I asked you if you had a cervical cap,” he explained when he called me back a few minutes later. “I thought I felt something weird!”

“Oh!” It was all making sense now.

“I didn’t even notice that it wasn’t on at the end. I guess you had me distracted,” he said, laughing. “How did I not feel it last night?”

“How should I know?” I laughed. “I didn’t even know it was there.”

Ordinarily this would have made me feel insanely self-conscious, but not with Mark. You can say this about the guy: he certainly knew how to make a night memorable.

Well,
I thought as I laid back on the bed, smiling to myself,
so much for just a vacation fling
. In fact, I couldn’t remember ever having been so sure about wanting to jump in feetfirst with someone.

If we had been ravenous texters before this trip, our communication became practically constant after it. When he sent me our picture from our final evening together, I decided to get myself an iPhone to save it on—as the wallpaper, no less. I loved that we could share emojis and play the same games. I still kept my BlackBerry for all my real-world communication and saved my iPhone almost exclusively for Mark, as a kind of portal to the dream world that our new long-distance relationship occupied.

Despite the fireworks (figuratively and literally), I was done assuming I was anyone’s girlfriend, no matter how they acted toward me. I had thought that Jeffrey and I were more than we had been and vowed
never to jump to a conclusion like that in the future. I didn’t want to feel that stupid again! So in this case, I used the term
relationship
loosely. I reminded myself that Mark was not my boyfriend, even though he felt more like a boyfriend than most of my previous relationships had.

So I was conflicted when Nancy asked me for what she called a “huge favor”—popping out of a cake for her boss’s birthday. An antic like that was just the kind of corny thing I was into. However, if I had a boyfriend, I probably wouldn’t pop out of a cake for another guy. Especially if that guy was the handsome Eric J. Parkington.
But you don’t have a boyfriend,
I reminded myself ruefully.

“Please,” Nancy pleaded. “It’s for his birthday party. It’ll be funny, nothing provocative. It’s a total gag. Everyone knows he has a huge crush on you, so it will just be a surprise that you’re there.”

“Okay,” I agreed, knowing that I’d be helping Nancy (who always dropped everything when I needed her). Eric and I had run into each other quite a few times since Nancy started working for him, including that night at the comedian’s pool party, and had added each other to our BBM.
I guess he and I are friends,
I reasoned. “I’ll do it!”

After
Peepshow
, I hurried to get ready for my “second performance.” I quickly switched up my hair and makeup, changed into a white dress, and raced toward the Hard Rock with Angel in tow. I busied myself with preparations for my big reveal so I wouldn’t have to deal with the growing guilt I was feeling. I really just wanted to be curled up on a couch somewhere with Mark as my boyfriend, instead of living out some weird, campy fantasy of being the girl who jumps out of a birthday cake.

I quietly waited outside one of the hotel’s newest suites. They had just added a new tower of deluxe suites, including one with a bowling alley. Two hotel staffers wheeled up the giant prop cake and removed the top. Nancy and Angel helped me step inside. I hunched down to await my signal. Nancy handed me a cupcake before placing the top back on. They wheeled the cart into the room and I could hear the partygoers won
dering who—or what—could be inside the giant wooden confection. A minute later, Eric was brought in, and everyone shouted “Surprise!”

“Now!” Nancy yelled to me from outside the cake. I exploded out the top of the cake, my arms in the air as the party went crazy with cheers.

Eric was standing directly in front of me, and I tossed the cupcake I had in my hand at his face and flashed him a bright smile. He dodged the cupcake and looked back at me with a face flushed and beaming with surprise.

“Happy birthday,” I said when I made my way to the bar. He gave me a hug and thanked me, his face reddening as his friends crowded around him to pay their respects.

Angel and I grabbed drinks and hors d’oeuvres before retreating to a table to hang out and people-watch.

“Eric just broke up with his girlfriend,” Nancy started when she joined us at our table with a cocktail in hand, clearly celebrating being able to pull all this off. “Everyone is
so
relieved. She really stressed him out. We haven’t seen him this relaxed since before they got together.”

It was clear that he was an alpha. His social circle revolved around him—the women all wanted to be with him, and the men all wanted to be him. As we observed the sea of adoring partygoers, we saw everyone
but
the birthday boy himself. He was constantly concealed by a crowd, each person in it offering him a drink, a shot, or a lingering hug. Angel and I remained on the fringes with our plates of food, taking it all in.

“Who’s that?” I heard Eric’s voice ask over my shoulder as he plucked my iPhone out of my hand.

“Umm, a friend,” I said hesitantly, shocked to see him sidled up next to me out of nowhere. I was surprised at how embarrassed I felt that he had seen my revealing choice of home screen wallpaper.
What kind of a psycho puts a guy’s picture as her wallpaper before they are even dating?
I berated myself, cringing. The screen was still lit up since I had texted Mark just a few seconds earlier to wish him a good night. I dropped my plate onto the table and snatched my phone back. I had seen Eric doing a ton
of shots moments earlier, so I wrote his uncharacteristic lack of manners off as intoxication.

“Is that your boyfriend?” he asked. “What is he? Some actor?”

Obviously he’d already heard about Mark.

“No,” I stammered, feeling my cheeks flush a bit. “He’s just a guy I’ve hung out with.”

I felt like Mark was more than a guy I had just hung out with, but I had to remind myself that technically, he wasn’t. Until we had a discussion about where we stood, I could for all I knew be one of a number of girls he was hooking up with. In my heart, I suspected that Mark wasn’t that kind of guy, but I had just been so burned before that I refused to let myself take any chances.

“I want to get out of here,” Eric said to me. Despite the occasion, he was dressed more casually than I had ever seen him, in a flannel shirt, jeans, and a baseball cap. It was quite the change from his usual Armani uniform. “Surprises aren’t really my thing,” he continued. “It was nice of everybody and all, but I’d much rather go somewhere quiet.”

“I’ve got to head home now, anyway,” Angel said. “Do you guys want to walk me down to my car? It’ll give you a good excuse to ghost,” she said, looking pointedly at Eric.

We quietly left the suite without anyone noticing, walking Angel to her car. Eric shot off a quick text, and moments later his Mercedes town car appeared. A driver quickly emerged and opened the back door for us.

“Where should we go? Besides home,” he asked, already anticipating my answer.

“Take me to the Double Down,” I replied. The Double Down Saloon is the absolute best dive bar in Vegas and I wanted to see if Mr. Fancy Pants could hang. He looked amused by my suggestion, but without any hesitation, instructed his driver to take us there.

When we rolled up in his car, we were surprised to find the bar virtually empty. The tiny one-room establishment featured a bar, serving their signature Ass Juice shots, a few pool tables, and a small corner platform
for live music. The walls were covered in graffiti, stickers, and signs that read “Shut Up and Drink.”

I helped myself to a tattered barstool while he ordered us two fruity drinks. We attempted a bit of small talk, but Eric, like me, wasn’t the most chatty person in the world, so luckily the bartender chimed in quite a bit and kept the conversation going.

After only a few drinks, I was practically spinning.

“Let’s go,” I decided abruptly while wobbling to my feet. “I need to get home.”

“All right,” he said, pulling a few bills out of his wallet and laying them on the bar. His was the only car sitting in the seemingly abandoned parking lot. I crawled into the backseat and shut my eyes. As we made our way to Planet Hollywood, I swayed back and forth at each turn. Finally, a particularly rough left turn forced me right into Eric, knocking my head on his shoulder. My tough-girl act was quickly fading because I was clearly being seen for what I was: a lightweight! I usually drank my vodka straight or with water because I could taste what I was getting, and it kept my pace slow and steady. Give me a booze-infused sugary concoction and I’ll slurp it down without realizing how strong it is—and eventually end up paying the price.
I should have chosen my own drinks,
I thought regretfully.

As we pulled up to the Planet Hollywood VIP entrance, Eric insisted on walking me up to my room, which, considering my level of intoxication, really was the nice thing to do. To my embarrassment, though, all the hotel staff that I saw on a daily basis greeted him by name.

“Good evening, Mr. Parkington,” I heard over and over again as we made our way up to my suite. When he tried to tip anyone (valet, doorman, etc.), they staunchly refused, as if they were in the presence of some sort of royalty.
This is so weird,
I thought.
How do they all know him? They all probably assume I’m taking him to bed. Ugh!
I predicted that my trip downstairs tomorrow would feel like a walk of shame.

We reached the top floor and continued down the black, velvet-flocked hallway. The intricately patterned black-and-azure-blue carpet swirled at the bottom of my line of sight, contributing to my feeling of dizziness. When we arrived at the door to my suite, I stopped, kicked off my heels, and kneeled, dropping my purse in my lap and digging through my tiny clutch in search of the key card.

“Aha!” I shouted as I produced the key card with my right hand. He offered me his hand and I pulled myself up, closing one eye with great concentration as I inserted the card into the slot.
These damn key cards never work,
I thought. On the third try, success! As I turned around to thank him for walking me upstairs . . . Smack! Just like that. Without my even realizing it happened, he planted a kiss square on my lips.

“Good night, Holly,” he said, and pushed open the door so that I could walk in.

“Night,” I mumbled.

I turned around and stumbled to my room.

Okay, it was nothing,
I thought,
Just a peck.

“Who was the boy at the door?” Laura called from her room in a mock-chastising voice.

“I’ll tell you tomorrow,” I yelled back, not feeling like getting into it.

It had been an interesting night, but truthfully? I would have rather stayed in, knowing Mark and I were an actual thing.

As it turned out, I was less than a week away from getting my wish.

“Are you seeing anyone else?” Mark asked me over the phone one evening. “Because I’m not and I don’t want to.”

“No, I’m not,” I responded. He didn’t ask me if anyone else had kissed me, so it technically wasn’t a lie. Besides, it
was
just a peck. If Mark had only had this conversation with me a week earlier, I wouldn’t have even gone to that party!

To be fair, I had no interest in grilling Mark about whether he’d been seeing other girls over the past few weeks, which was totally possi
ble since he turned heads everywhere he went. Since we weren’t officially exclusive, it was none of my business, and honestly, I didn’t really want to know.

“So I can say you’re my girlfriend now?” he teased me.

“Yes,” I said, a giant grin spreading across my face. It seemed so strange to be having this conversation after spending only one weekend together, but we’d been in constant communication for the last three months, so it felt like I knew him better than the people I saw every day.

Isn’t this how it’s supposed to be?
I reminded myself. I mean, I
had
already slept with the guy. Maybe I had finally met a gentleman for once.

And just like that, we were inseparable. Or as inseparable as two people with conflicting schedules in different cities could be. Any time he had a day off, he would come see me, and vice versa. He had recently joined a touring production, so his schedule varied, but my Wednesdays off were constant. I found myself looking forward to my days off more than ever . . . wishing they wouldn’t end, in fact.

Our first Wednesday apart fell the day before Thanksgiving. He had promised his family he would be home for the holidays, so I decided to make the most of the day with my friends.