The Vegas Diaries: Romance, Rolling the Dice, and the Road to Reinvention (26 page)

“Are you okay?” the promoter asked the girl, leaning in to her ear to whisper something. His lips remained at her ear as her eyes widened.

“No way!” the girl gasped before quickly turning to the other girl and whispering in her ear.

“Oh my god!” her friend squealed.

“Holly, oh my god, it’s
so
nice to meet you,” the girl with the fishnets purred, suddenly slapping the widest, most fake smile she could muster on her face. “We’re so sorry, we didn’t know it was
you
.”

“That’s okay,” I replied, thinking,
You shouldn’t have to know who someone “is” to be nic
e. “It’s nice to meet you.”

“Oh my God!” her friend exclaimed. “You have to tell us ALL about the Playboy mansion!”

I took a deep breath, smiled, and said, “I don’t live there anymore.”

If Ray can’t see how snobby these people are, he’s got a serious problem,
I decided. And it appeared that he chose not to.

“Wow, those two were a little much, right?” I proclaimed after finally convincing him to go back to the booth.

“They were okay,” he noted before launching into a short diatribe.
“You seem like a loner. I have a philosophy: I let
everyone
hang out. Then everyone has a good time. Everybody wins.”

Maybe I wasn’t the social animal people assumed I was. Maybe I
was
easily put off, but I wasn’t a snob. It was my way of protecting myself. For the past decade, I’d foolishly opened myself up to a lot of people who didn’t have my best interests at heart. Neither Ray nor I was wrong to be the way we were; we were just different.

Too different to be a couple,
I thought.

“So what’s next for you?” he asked me the next morning. His flight was in a few hours, so we had some time to kill. I busied myself by pouring two iced coffees from the room-service tray, then stirring mine frantically with a straw, even though I took my coffee black.

“Like . . . today?” I asked, trying with all my might to avoid the
question
.

“No,” he said, a boyish grin on his face. “Like, in life. Like, next year? What’s after
Peepshow
?”

“I don’t really know yet,” I confessed as I handed him one of the iced coffees. It was true.
Holly’s World
had yet to be reordered for its third season, and while I loved
Peepshow
and
Extra
, I knew I would eventually want to move on to something new and wasn’t really sure what that would be. It felt like just yesterday I had struck out on my own and landed those jobs. But more important than simply figuring out what was next was figuring out what I really
wanted
to do. And after spending the last few years proving myself to the world, it was now time to figure out what
I
wanted.

“More TV?” he asked, his eyes searching me for an answer.

“Maybe. We’ll see what happens.”

“You know why I like you so much?” he asked, setting his glass on the table with a flourish. “You are
killing
it. For real. Like, with the TV show and the stage stuff. It’s like . . . awesome. I just couldn’t be with someone that doesn’t know what they want to do in life, you know?”

“Yeah,” I agreed hesitantly. “Thanks.”

But I really don’t know what I want to do with my life,
I thought. Obviously it’s possible and quite common to be attracted to someone’s ambition, creativity, or work ethic, but I suspected that Ray was just blinded by the glitter of it all. I couldn’t shake the feeling that he was interested in me because I was on TV, not because of who I was. Hey, I couldn’t blame him. After all, I’d been the same way when I was his age!

His comments raised some questions. I was already in my third year at
Peepshow
, and I had given myself four years in Vegas. Would I want to stay longer? Somehow that wasn’t sounding as appealing to me as it may have a few months earlier. As attached as I was to so many of the things that came with my life (the friends, the money, the excitement, the notoriety), I started to wonder if I wasn’t ready to grow up a little bit. Perhaps going on a date with a younger man had made me realize that I might be ready for the next step, whatever that may be.

And ready or not, fate was about to force my hand.

“She must be a witch,” exclaimed the girl.

“I do not think so,” declared the Wheeler. “But there is some mystery connected with her, nevertheless . . .”

—L. Frank Baum,
Ozma of Oz

Y
ou know,” the bartender teased, “this place is haunted. There are secret apartments behind the restaurant where Lee used to stay overnight, even though his house was only a few minutes away.”

The “Lee” in question was Liberace, who was now peering at me from behind the bar, in the form of a cardboard cutout.

“We should totally have a slumber party here. We could do some ghost-hunting and film it for the show,” I mused as I walked around the giant piano-shaped bar, taking the room in. I looked up at the black ceiling, dotted with fiber-optic stars, and around at the mirrored walls. “It would be hard to film, though, with all these mirrors. It would be impossible to not see the camera people.”

“Or . . . we could just have a sleepover and not film it,” Laura said
wryly, taking a sip of her cocktail. Out of the entire cast, Laura was by far the least attached to the TV show.

I sat down at the bar next to Hannah, face-to-face with the cardboard cutout. We had just finished an amazing lunch at Carluccio’s and had migrated to the adjacent “Piano Bar” to toast Laura, who had recently bought herself a condo. I was finally turning my room keys back in to Planet Hollywood after a very memorable two-year stay.

“I saw your ‘at home’ piece in a magazine at the salon,” Hannah began. “Are you happy with how it turned out?”

I let out a sigh and laughed simultaneously. “Yeah, I like the pictures, those turned out great, but the headline is another story.”

“I figured,” Hannah said with a smirk.

“It’s just so frustrating that everything has to be about ‘finding a man,’” I complained. The piece, which was supposed to be about my newly decorated home in Las Vegas, had been titled “Waiting for Prince Charming,” and the slant of the story had been how I had everything but a man. It turned a piece I would have ordinarily been proud of into one I was kind of embarrassed about. I had been excited to show off my new house, one I had purchased on my own, as a single woman, but instead of highlighting my busy work life, the article made it sound like I was pining away in my perfect home, waiting to be saved.

“Yeah, that sucks,” Hannah commiserated, stirring her cocktail.

“Where’s Lindsay?” Nancy asked.

“She’s MIA,” I answered with a shrug, as if her absence didn’t bother me . . . but it did.

I had invited my sandy blond friend to dinner, but she hadn’t returned my text. She had seemed cranky and stressed the past few times I had seen her.

I had been trying to reach her for the last week, in fact, and had been receiving only minimal responses. I was bummed because I could have used the extra shoulder to cry on. Months after our breakup, I still couldn’t
stop complaining about Eric. I had major regrets about ever going out with him. I had let Mark go, and for what? Not only was I shitty to Mark, but the guy I had basically left him for, Eric, turned out to be a total ass.
Talk about instant karma,
I thought.

Earlier, at dinner, over a plate of stuffed shells, I bitched to Nancy about Eric’s lack of post-breakup sensitivity, partly because I was hoping she’d have some reassuring words for me. I didn’t even care if she went back to him and repeated what I said. He deserved to realize how insensitively he behaved. Deep down, I was hoping that Nancy would tell me that Eric really
did
miss me and that he was just trying to act tough or give me my space. Even though I knew he was a dick, my ego still couldn’t get past that need for approval.

“Just wait until your TV show’s back on,” Nancy replied flippantly. “He’s thirsty. He’ll be pursuing you again for sure.”

That was just what I didn’t want to hear. Sure, it was further proof that Eric was not someone I should be wasting my time on, but it still hurt my feelings. It made me feel like I was nothing without my show.

“Are you coming to Blush tonight?” I asked her. “You know, I asked Lindsay if she was coming and she said no and that she was still upset about last weekend. I asked her what she meant and she refused to answer. Do you know what she’s upset about? Not telling me is kind of a bitch move.”

“Yeah, I’m coming, and I don’t know about Lindsay,” she said, suddenly a woman of few words.

Okay, something’s up,
I thought. The Nancy I knew would have agreed with my “bitch move” comment and carried the shit-talking to a whole other level. I had a sinking feeling she was going to repeat what I had said to Lindsay, but threw that thought out of my mind.
Nancy has my back,
I reassured myself.

After a moment of silence, talkative Nancy returned. “Can I tell you about the DJ I hung out with who pulled down his pants in front of me?”
Nancy blurted out, downing the last of her Jack and Coke. “You know who he is, he just got a billboard next to the I-15. Anyway, he bent over next to his bed, spread his ass cheeks, and said, “I’m better than you!’”

The pure absurdity of the story made me laugh so hard I almost snorted my own beverage out of my nose. The rest of the table was less amused. I was beginning to notice that my other friends weren’t always as entertained by Nancy’s wild-card personality as I was.

I had forgotten all about DJ Ass Cheeks by the time dinner was over and we were all gathered at the bar. Hannah was looking at her phone and describing all the dick pics her boyfriend was sending her when she remembered something.

“Hey, Nancy, I found a picture of this actress from the sixties,” Hannah said, scrolling through her photos. “I think she looks like you.” Hannah pulled up a gorgeous picture of Natalie Wood and held her phone up for Nancy to see.

Nancy leaned forward to inspect the photo, squinting as if she were already too drunk to see straight. Just when I expected her face to light up (who wouldn’t want to be compared to Natalie Wood?), her visage contorted in disgust and she glared at Hannah.

“Fuck you,” Nancy snarled. “I’m way hotter than that.”

“You should be saying thank-you,” Hannah snapped back. “I’m never giving you a compliment again.”

The bar went silent, as we were the only ones in it at seven
P.M.
Nancy’s bizarre reaction was completely uncalled for and made no sense. It was as if she had been waiting for a reason to go off on Hannah, whom I had long suspected she was more than a little jealous of. Perhaps this was a sign that Nancy’s drinking was getting out of hand. I’d noticed her getting more and more wild, but had been so busy filming that I hadn’t given it much thought. I decided I would take Nancy aside at dinner that night and have a talk with her. Angel would be there, and I could use her help. She was good at the heartfelt stuff.

“Well, I’ll take Natalie Wood!” I said to Hannah with a smile, trying
to smooth things over. “Nancy, if you are meeting me for dinner, you might want to leave. We need to get ready.”

“Yeah, I’m coming,” she answered. “But I’m gonna go home and take a nap first.”

“That’s probably a good idea,” said Hannah, barely hiding her irritation as she stood up and grabbed her purse. “I’m not sure if I’ll be seeing you guys out tonight.”

I stayed quiet, not wanting to fan the flames. I asked the bartender to please call a cab for Nancy, then said good-bye to everyone cheerfully as if nothing had happened and headed home to get ready for the night. I chose a neutral-colored fringed bohemian-style dress to wear with color-coordinated Dior heels. I held my flowing hair back with tiny braids on either side of my head and wove a few small daisies through them. I was happy that Angel was coming with me to the appearance. I was looking forward to catching up, since it seemed like I saw her less and less these days. In fact, the whole group was rarely ever together anymore, and I missed it.

“Where is everybody?” Angel asked as we took our seats at a table with a lake view.

“Lindsay’s pissed at me or something, Josh has a gig, Laura hates going out on the Strip all of a sudden, and Hannah’s pissed at Nancy, who was supposed to be here, so I’m not sure if she’ll show up tonight,” I said, shrugging. We had all been so inseparable just a few months earlier and now we were drifting apart. Hannah’s new boy toy was taking up more and more of her time and I missed my partner in crime. Laura was no longer my roommate and had taken a new job endorsing a pole fitness class. When she went out these days, she preferred dive bars and a new clique of friends she had met on her own. “I don’t know what happened to Nancy. She’s not answering my texts.” I shrugged. “Maybe she passed out. She was pretty drunk at lunch today and snapped at Hannah. I was thinking we might need to have a talk with her.”

It wasn’t until we had finished dinner and been seated at our table
at Blush that Nancy finally appeared. No sooner had Angel and I been given our first glasses of champagne than a familiar screech hit our ears.

“Hey, strangers!” Nancy yelled as she hopped over the back of the banquette.

“Oh, hey!” Angel shouted back over the music. She excused herself to go say hi to Hannah, who had just walked in, making room for Nancy, who reached for the magnum of champagne at our table and clumsily poured herself a glass. She was wearing a leather minidress and her hair was disheveled. It was clear she was completely wasted.

“You won’t believe what Lindsay said about you,” Nancy shouted as she plopped down next to me.

“What’s that?” I asked, my spine stiffening. I could tell Nancy was already too far gone this evening. She clearly hadn’t taken a nap.

“She said you lied to her about the
Peepshow
auditions and that you must be jealous of her to want to keep her out of the show,” she stated, unable to conceal the slow, sly smile spreading across her face. “She also said that you are so self-centered that all you can talk about is Eric and that you don’t even give a shit about what your friends are going through.”

“That’s ridiculous. I practically beg Lindsay to come to those auditions!” I said, trying not to look like I was too interested in what she had to say. It was obvious to me that she was trying to start a bad-mouthing fest, and I wanted no part of it. Nancy was quickly becoming less and less trustworthy in my eyes, though parts of what Lindsay supposedly said rang uncomfortably true.

“And she said you were rolling your eyes and laughing because her show closed,” Nancy continued, her eyes barely able to keep focus, let alone eye contact.

“That’s definitely not true!” I exclaimed, growing more and more frustrated as I grabbed my phone out of my clutch. “I’m just going to text her and ask her what the hell her problem is.”

“Don’t say I told you!” Nancy screeched like a hellcat as she lunged at me and tried to wrestle my phone out of my hands.

I threw Nancy off me and stood up. Nancy’s forward momentum nearly landed her on the floor.

“Then quit talking so much shit!” I yelled as I quickly wove my way through the crowd toward the manager’s booth. I was furious—how dare she try to snatch my phone out of my hands! I rarely raised my voice, but something in me snapped. I didn’t have patience for the bullshit anymore. Lindsay had dropped hints that she thought Nancy had become jealous of our friendship not long after introducing us and that Nancy was scared I would “steal” Lindsay from her. I had brushed that off as too immature for Nancy, but now I was seeing that perhaps Lindsay had been on to something. I spent the rest of the evening at the managers’ table, simply to avoid Nancy.

“What happened?” Angel asked when she finally found me at the other table.

“Nancy said she told you off for talking shit about Lindsay and that you stormed off in tears!” Hannah exclaimed, a concerned look on her face.

I burst out laughing. “Not exactly,” I said. I filled them in on our exchange. “I’m not getting great service right now, but I’m texting Lindsay as soon as I get out of here.”

“What are you ladies doing?” I heard a familiar voice say behind me. It was Doug, the one who sprayed champagne on me at the MGM Mansion, looking uncharacteristically crisp in a white dress shirt, the sleeves rolled up to his forearms adding a casual touch to his otherwise dressy ensemble and showing off a deep tan.

“Nice tan,” Hannah teased.

“Thanks,” he smiled, flashing his blindingly white veneers. “I just got back from Saint-Tropez.”

Oh, here we go,
I thought.

“Anyway, how are you ladies?” he schmoozed, throwing a beefy arm over my shoulder. “How’s Eric?” he asked, looking pointedly at me. “Or are you not seeing him anymore? I thought I heard you were dating a DJ or something?”

“No.” I sighed, annoyed at him for quickly drawing attention to the mess that was my love life.

“I gotta get home soon,” Angel interrupted with a yawn. “I have to be up early with Roman tomorrow.”

“I’m down to leave, too,” Hannah added.

“I have to be here for an hour still,” I said, looking at my slim gold watch.

“I can give you a ride back to your house if you want to have your driver take Angel and Hannah home,” Doug offered, looking toward me for an answer. It was customary that nightclubs sent a driver to bring their hired hosts to and from the club. Ordinarily I wouldn’t have wanted to commit to sharing the drive home with Doug, but I knew Angel needed to leave, and not only was I obligated to stay, I wanted to. I was still fired up about Nancy’s behavior toward me and felt more like venting about it to anyone who would listen than going to bed.