The Vegas Diaries: Romance, Rolling the Dice, and the Road to Reinvention (22 page)

He scrolled through the calendar on his phone and landed on that week.

“I’ll be in Oklahoma and Nebraska then. Will you come visit me?” he asked, burrowing his scruffy face into my neck.

“Of course,” I answered, immediately feeling a twinge of regret.

The truth was, I had already been thinking about going to Paris on my next vacation; in fact, I desperately wanted to go. Ever since my first trip years earlier, I had fallen head over heels for the City of Light. I had been there twice, but always for filming and always on someone else’s schedule. Now that I was finally independent, personally and financially, I wanted to do
my
dream trip to Paris,
my
way.

I started to wonder, even though I really liked this guy, if I was ready to be tied down
at all
. I knew that any serious relationship would require compromise, but was I even ready to compromise? I decided to brush those thoughts away for the time being, resolving to deal with them another time. I closed my eyes and laid my head on Mark’s chest, listening to the waves against the shore.

I
’VE HEARD MORE THAN
one person say that if your significant other carries more than one cell phone, chances are he or she is cheating. I can’t say that’s true all the time, but in my case, things definitely started to get out of hand.

When I decided to get an iPhone, I did it out of enthusiasm for Mark. I was so swept away by him after our first weekend together that having matching technology seemed like just the thing to make me feel a little closer to this new long-distance crush. It was the perfect accessory to a budding romance. I always intended to keep my BlackBerry for most other communication, including emails.

I certainly didn’t get a second phone with the intention of deceiving anyone, but simply having two phones lent itself to that. They became like two different extensions of me. Without realizing it, I started to compartmentalize my life according to what I used each phone for. Since Mark hit me up only on my iPhone, the ever-so-persistent Eric quickly became the man of the hour on my BlackBerry.

In the beginning, I found Eric’s attentions flattering, particularly because he was the type of guy who could have any woman he wanted. He asked me out routinely, and I would constantly remind him that I was taken. I wasn’t completely rude. After all, we were friendly acquaintances.

For years, I had been craving a career and someone special—and when it rains, it pours. Between
Peepshow
,
Holly’s World
, and
Extra
, I had three jobs, not to mention a beautiful, sweet, amazing man who seemed to care a lot about me. I felt so lucky to have Mark, but I was also starting to have my doubts about the relationship. Now another charming, handsome man was knocking on my door and really beginning to become more aggressive in an attempt to capture my attention. I started comparing Eric and Mark in my head. One was local; the other wasn’t. One was five years older than me, one eight years younger. Instead of listening to my heart, I started to wonder who the more “practical” choice was.

Mark’s tour schedule meant that he wouldn’t be attending my season two wrap party, but he made sure to send me a beautiful bouquet of orange roses (my absolute favorite). When Angel carried a second gigantic, breathtaking arrangement into the kitchen I was utterly blown away. Two bouquets! If Mark wasn’t the most thoughtful . . .

“They’re from Eric,” Angel said knowingly, rolling her eyes.

Oh, shit,
I thought. Mark’s sweet bouquet looked like a grocery store bundle next to this enormous, artistically crafted display.
Poor Mark
.

As I sat there staring at these two offerings, I started to get annoyed.
How dare he?
I thought. It was completely inappropriate for Eric to send me these! I felt defensive of Mark, who, unbeknownst to him, had been belittled in my own home by what looked like a floral monstrosity, now
that I knew who it was from. I shook my head and went upstairs to choose a dress for the night’s after-show festivities.

The cast and I were ready to get a little crazy. We’d been working on overdrive and were excited to celebrate our last day of filming at LAX, the nightclub inside the Luxor.

We were led into the cavernous space, under the black glass chandeliers and past the wrought-iron balustrades that decorated the club. We arrived at our booth on a second-story balcony, looking down at the pulsating crowd below. My friends and I danced, laughed, and snapped photos like crazy people, reveling in our moment together. Cakes, flowers, and complimentary bottles of Cristal were brought to the table all night as we tossed party favors to the crowd below us. After the cameras wrapped, none other than Eric appeared at our booth, looking impeccable and crisp.

Had he been refreshing my Twitter feed just to find out where I’d be?
I wondered, at once thinking that his behavior was a little much, but also feeling kind of flattered.

“Did you like the flowers?” he shouted into my ear over the blaring music, snatching the opportunity to fill the seat that had just become vacant next to me.

“You shouldn’t have sent them. I have a boyfriend, remember?” I replied, still refusing to thank him for the flowers.
Perhaps I haven’t been sending a strong enough message,
I thought.

“Then where is he?” he asked, a devilish grin on his chiseled jaw.

I shot him an evil look.

“If you were mine, you wouldn’t be able to keep me away,” he continued. I was determined to keep Eric at arm’s length, but his persistence made him hard to ignore. He partied with my friends and me through the night, intermittently disappearing for brief periods to socialize with other people he knew in the surrounding booths. We had a limo waiting to take a bunch of us home, and Eric spontaneously jumped in as we were leaving. My best friends, who like everyone else in town had fallen hard under this guy’s spell, were happy for him to join us in the raucous ride
home as we popped a few bottles of champagne so that we could each have a nightcap on the way.

The first stop was Hannah’s mansion on the Eastside. Next, Josh and Lindsay were dropped off at their lofts farther south. Finally just Angel, Eric, and I were left in the limo. I knew Angel and I would be dropped off first, as we were heading south and Eric’s luxurious condo was located in Turnberry Place, on the north side of the Strip.

As we pulled up to my house, Eric walked us to the front door. Angel darted in first, leaving me with an extra moment to say good-bye to Mr. Persistent.

I quickly ducked inside my house and reached for my M-embossed doorknob. The interior of my home illuminated behind me as Angel flipped on the lights and went upstairs.

Eric leaned towards me and then pulled back . . . and I just watched him as he looked behind me, a devilish grin appearing on his face as his eyes locked on to something.

“Good night, Holly,” he murmured.

“Night,” I said. I was confused, but as I turned around, I quickly understood.

Sitting on the coffee table were the two arrangements.

“W
HY DON’T YOU EVER
send pictures anymore?” Mark asked.

“I will, I’ve just been so busy,” I explained.

“We should talk on the phone more,” he added.

Truthfully, these were perfectly reasonable requests, but I somehow couldn’t find the motivation to up my game. I was having trouble juggling everything in my life, but I couldn’t admit it and Mark was feeling the slack. Picking up the phone to call Mark should have been easy, but something was keeping me at bay. Deep down, I felt guilty and unworthy of all the effort Mark put into making the relationship work, since I
was having my doubts about us. I respected him too much to not let this imbalance bother me, but I was still at a loss for how to actually handle it.

I grew vague when the subject of my coming to visit him during my next vacation came up. I desperately wanted to go to Paris, and Mark wasn’t free to come with me. The urgency was mounting for me, as if this were the last vacation I would ever go on in my life.

Something about my behavior was eerily familiar . . . I was reminding myself of Jeffrey, pulling away from Mark in the same way that Jeffrey had pulled away from me. It wasn’t fair
. Mark doesn’t deserve someone who treats him like this,
I told myself. I wasn’t as invested in the relationship as I should be. I knew now that I had to figure out a way to let this one down easy.

I can’t continue to lead him on,
I thought after texting Claire and asking her if she had the second week of March free.
It’s not like we had a future together, anyway
.
I’ll get to the point where I want to start a family way before he will
.

For me, having a talk about the future and kids with Mark was totally out of the question. I didn’t want to be seen as that “crazy” girl who’s trying to convince their man to settle down. During my time on
The Girls Next Door
, I had become known as the marriage-obsessed girlfriend, with babies constantly on the brain. It soon became a running joke on the show, which I was happy to play into. I thought the gag worked and there was a root of truth to it. I
did
want marriage and a family one day. But unfortunately it worked
too
well and the joke was soon inextricably attached to my public image. I couldn’t bear the thought of Mark thinking of me that way, too.

Besides, his career was just starting to take off, and he had everything ahead of him. I felt he
shouldn’t
want a family any time soon.

Yes, I would be doing him a favor if I set him free,
I thought.

Maybe I was scared of getting hurt again. Maybe, in my own way, I wanted to preserve our relationship and freeze it as a perfect moment in
time, breaking it off before he could ever have a chance to tire of me and leave me heartbroken.

He had the following weekend off and had already planned to come to Vegas. I knew I should have canceled it, but I didn’t. For some reason, I couldn’t pull the plug. I tried to tell myself that it was because he didn’t deserve a long-distance breakup, but I really shouldn’t have let him spend the time and money to come out and visit, either. The truth was, I was nervous and didn’t know how to say what needed to be said. I hoped that seeing him in person would force me to face reality and help me find the right words.

“Let’s grab sushi,” Mark suggested as soon as he jumped into my car when I picked him up from the airport. We went to one of his favorite spots, which had a gorgeous, sweeping view of the Las Vegas strip.

After we ordered, we gravitated toward the corner of the booth and I leaned up against him as I usually did, but it felt awkward and forced, as if there were a large space between us. Our conversation was unusually stilted. I was walking on eggshells trying to avoid having the talk right before I had to go onstage, and while I couldn’t tell you what he was thinking, it was clear something was on his mind. He just wasn’t as talkative as usual and I’m sure he could feel the distance between us as I lay in his arms . . . how could he not?

“I have this friend whose wife was cheating on him . . .” he started awkwardly as he stared out the window.

I knew exactly what he was doing . . . and I can’t say I blamed him. My throat began to close up. I knew that wherever this conversation was going, it would end with us saying good-bye. I was selfish, terrified to have it right before going onstage; I was scared that I wouldn’t be able to dry my eyes and jump into character on time.

“Angel is hosting over at Chateau,” I interrupted with forced cheer, attempting awkwardly to change the subject. “You should really go see her while I do my show. It’d be fun.” Angel, in addition to acquiring my understudy role in
Peepshow
, had also landed a role in a neighboring
production,
Absinthe
, and was now booking nightclub appearances of her own. Somehow my ploy worked and our conversation veered in another direction for the time being.

Hours later, after the show, I grabbed Mark from Chateau and drove down the I-15 toward home. He kept talking about how Hannah and her new boyfriend had been there and how happy they seemed. He also told me how Angel had confided in him that her relationship with the guy she was seeing was better than ever.

He’s going to ask me if I’m happy in our relationship,
I thought, panicking.

I changed the subject as quickly as possible. It wasn’t just the idea of discussing our relationship with him that triggered my anxiety; it was the thought of anyone’s questioning my happiness, period. Just that thought terrified me for some reason.

The next morning, my alarm began chiming at eight
A.M.
on the dot, and immediately I popped out of bed.

“Where are you going?” Mark mumbled sleepily.

“I gotta go do
Extra
,” I reminded him as I began to get ready for the day. Our conversation very quickly turned into a heated discussion about how I hadn’t made any time for him on this visit (true) and his asking me if I was seeing someone else (not technically true), both of which I vehemently denied.

He wouldn’t let it go. Suddenly he asked me bluntly what he had been trying to ask over the past fourteen hours.

“Are you cheating on me?” he asked.

“No!” I cried, my eyes suddenly welling up.

“Have you ever cheated on me?”

“No!” Tears were streaming down my face now.

I could have easily taken control of the conversation and communicated like an adult, but all I did was shake my head while the waterfall of tears poured from my eyes. I couldn’t believe how incapable of
any mature communication I was in this moment. And wasn’t
his
age my issue? If it hadn’t been so heartbreaking, this preposterous situation would have been laughable. It was as if I was having an out-of-body experience, watching myself do everything wrong.

“We need to break up,” he finally conceded, unable to get through to me despite his best efforts. “I came all the way out here to see you and you can’t even make time for me. I’m busy, too, you know.”