by Joyce Armor
“Yes, give me a few minutes and I’ll call you back.”
She ended the call.
“Trouble?”
“Brian’s casino. He’s had some trouble booking the entertainment for the grand opening. Seems like all the country stars in his price range are booked or have last-minute emergencies. Originally they had Diamond Rio slated, but I think when they had to bail, some of that money was diverted. Now he has less money and fewer options. Do you mind if I…”
“Go ahead. It’s pretty dead around here.”
Ellie stood and looked down at Bonnie fondly. “You guys are the all-time best bosses.”
It was true, and not because they were lax. They expected a full day’s work for a full day’s pay, and the work had better be good. They also welcomed input from their employees and were family friendly and cognizant and supportive of personal obligations. Bonnie smiled and Ellie headed off, once again a woman on a mission. Was she about to cross-pollinate the two men of her dreams? That thought stopped her cold. Brian might be the man of her dreams, beautiful, classy, gorgeous Brian, but Russell? Russell? Now where was that annoying inner voice when she needed it?
That evening, as Ellie drove down the famed Las Vegas Strip, the sun slipped below the horizon and the neon lights came alive in all their glory. The sight never failed to put a smile on her face and energize her. It was so alive and so over-the-top. She knew even when she lived here and was so young that all that glittered wasn’t gold, but it was exciting, it got the blood pumping. There was no place on earth like it, although there were plenty of imitators. It was the ultimate fantasy world. Could she be happy living here again? Or did it just seem so wonderful because it was an occasional thing? Or was it a moot point? To dream the impossible dream…Oh Lord, she was in bigger trouble than she thought if her subconscious was belting out show tunes.
Ellie was gratified to see that the Back in the Saddle Casino parking lot was jammed. The new venue had been open for a couple of hours and a crowd was still filtering in. She ended up valet parking at the Flamingo and walking back several blocks. Inside Brian’s casino, she followed a group of Southern tourists who were “y’alling” each other to death and made her way through the crowd to the sounds of coins cascading into slot-machine buckets and dealers calling out, “Coming out!” and “Insurance?” Players were also yelling out enthusiastically if they hit a jackpot, blackjack hand or roll of the dice. She could almost hear the casino breathing. It was alive. She felt pride, she realized, as if Brian were her son or protégé. That has all kinds of creepy connotations.
As she got closer to the stage, she heard a familiar voice singing. And there he was. Russell sat on-stage on what looked like a backless barstool. Dressed in cowboy regalia that he looked like he was born in—weathered jeans, a red checked Western shirt with mother of pearl buttons and a white Stetson hat—he was playing an acoustic guitar. She didn’t even know he could play the guitar. And he was delighting patrons, who seemed as engaged as any crowd she’d ever seen, while there was still a lot of peripheral noise going on. Once again, she had to admit he had a really good voice and engaging stage presence. She stopped for a moment to listen to him sing.
Oh come along, boys, and listen to my tale,
I'll tell you all my troubles on the ol' Chisholm trail.
Come a-ti yi youpy youpy yea youpy yea
Come a-ti yi youpy youpy yea.
On a ten dollar horse and a forty dollar saddle,
I was ridin', and a punchin' Texas cattle.
We left ol' Texas October twenty-third
Drivin' up the trail with the U-2 herd.
And then, to her utter astonishment, he began yodeling. And of course he was good at it. Was there ever any doubt? That’s one talent he hadn’t shared on their road trip, praise the Lord. Several people in the crowd clapped and cheered, and Ellie was rather stunned to realize she felt something odd—even more pride for him than she did for Brian. What was up with that? It’s not like she had discovered him. What alternate universe is this? She was still standing there, trying to keep her chin from dropping, when Brian approached her excitedly.
“Thank you, thank you, thank you. You saved my life. He might not be well known, and he’s more cowboy than country, but this is supposed to be a saloon, after all, so he’s perfect. This guy is great. He got a standing ovation after the first two sets.”
“But the audience was drunk, right?”
“He’s not Pavarotti, but he’s got it. In fact, he oozes it from every pore. I am in your debt now and forever. We’ll definitely bring him back.”
Brian went on singing Russell’s praises, and then they discussed the crowd and Brian’s own unmitigated success. She had never seen the man happier, which made him even better looking than usual, if that was even possible. No doubt Brian was in his element. So was Russell, apparently, chameleon that he was. There was never a better opportunity to compare them, but she resisted the temptation. She thought her head actually would explode if she forced it to come to some kind of conclusion about the unavailable Brian and the unruly Russell.
She looked up on stage again. Russell saw her at that point and smiled and then launched into another song.
There's a yellow rose in Texas, that I am going to see,
No other soldier knows her, no soldier only me
She cried so when I left her it like to broke my heart,
And if I ever find her, we nevermore will part.
She's the sweetest rose of color this soldier ever knew,
Her eyes are bright as diamonds, they sparkle like the dew;
You may talk about your Dearest May, and sing of Rosa Lee,
But the Yellow Rose of Texas beats the belles of Tennessee.
The guy must have a repertoire of a thousand songs. Hell, he probably has a repertoire of a thousand cowboy songs.
Was he singing to her? She felt her face flushing and tore her eyes from the stage, looking around the thriving casino instead. Everything was humming along as it should, and the tables were full, with tons of spectators watching as well. People talked and laughed, drank and ate. It was truly a triumphant opening. She smiled at Brian. “I knew you’d pull it off. There was no doubt in my mind. Told you so.”
“And you helped, more than I can say.”
She was about to respond happily when a beautiful brunette in a stunning aqua wraparound dress and killer strappy off-white heels approached them. She looked to be about 30, her long, sleek hair so satiny and shiny she could have stepped out of a hair commercial.
“Daddy wants to comp dinner to the Chinese couple on table six,” she said.
It had to be Cindy. Of course she’s gorgeous. What, you thought she’d be ugly? Or better yet, incredibly plain and dull?
“Sure. Tell Paula I said it’s okay and to take care of it, will you?”
“Of course. Thanks, hon.” She started to go.
“Cindy, this is Ellie Lambert.”
She came back immediately, without so much as a hitch in her step, smiling warmly. “Oh, yes, we spoke on the phone. It’s nice to meet you.” She spread out her arms. “What do you think of it? He’s brilliant, isn’t he?”
“Yes, it’s absolutely wonderful,” Ellie agreed. “It all seemed to come together so quickly, but I suppose that’s an illusion.”
“Brian makes it look easy, doesn’t he, but he worked really hard.” Cindy looked up at the stage. “And Cowboy Russ really put us over the top.”
“Cowboy Russ?”
She looked back at Russell, who was still singing “Yellow Rose of Texas.” It was strange seeing him through other people’s eyes. He was…talented. And respected. And attractive, very attractive if you’ll be honest with yourself. But why would you want to do that? What was wrong with her? This was Russell, that annoying shameless flirt and buttinski. Maybe she was attracted to him because she couldn’t be attracted to Brian in front of Cindy. Yeah, and if you believe that, I’ve got some swampland in Florida to se
ll you.
“Enjoy your stay,” Cindy said as if she actually meant it. Ellie gave the proper polite response and watched her walk away. Make that float. She watched her effortlessly float away. Class. She wreaked of class. The woman didn’t seem jealous at all. And she didn’t seem like a bitch either. She seemed friendly. And incredibly elegant. That wasn’t remotely how Ellie had pictured her. She had seen her more as a wallflower type, shy and quiet but formidable in her own way. With good feet, since her father was a podiatrist. Ellie looked at Brian, almost quizzically. Why would he want her when he had this gorgeous, poised, friendly woman who came with a casino management position?
“I have to circulate,” he said, dodging the questions he could see in her eyes, “but we need to talk. You’re due to leave soon.”
“I know.”
“I’ll probably get out of here around two or three. I’ll come to your room.”
It wasn’t a question. While she should have been affronted by his audacity, she was feeling something altogether different. Excitement? Daring? Hope? Fear?
“Meanwhile,” he was saying, diverting her attention from her fantasy world to earth, “you want something to drink? Dinner?”
“Just a root beer, if you have it. Thanks.” She had never drunk so much root beer in her life. At least it was caffeine free and didn’t give her a hangover. Hopefully Brian won’t give you a hangover either.
“Take the table on the left by the stage with a “reserved” sign on it. I’ll send it over. And then I’ll see you later.”
This was it. This was the night. Sex at last. Hallelujah, hallelujah. “No, it’s not that.”
“You don’t want root beer?”
“Oh, I’m sorry. I do. I was thinking about something else. Thanks.” She headed toward the table he had indicated, hoping he didn’t think she was as crazy as she knew she sounded. Yes it would be the night when she finally enjoyed some much missed sex. That wasn’t the momentous thing, though, or the only momentous thing. Not to her. Tonight she would learn if there was truly a connection with Brian, a permanent connection, and how they felt about each other. He wasn’t getting out of her room without telling her what he wanted. And then maybe she’d know what she wanted. Love. Well, duh.
Chapter 12
At a bar in The Palazzo Hotel, Roger and Spencer sat among several other patrons, the sound of nearby slot machines serenading them as the bartender slid a Sierra Nevada beer to Roger and a ginger ale to Spencer. Roger looked at his old friend thoughtfully.
“You’re sure you’re all right here?”
Spencer nodded. “Yeah, I don’t drink anymore when life sucks. I sulk.”
“Here’s to you.” Roger lifted his beer and clinked it with Spencer’s glass.
The artist sighed.
“You’re okay with us selling it, aren’t you?”
Spencer nodded again. “I am. You bought me out a long time ago, man. You can do whatever you want with it. I was never that materialistic anyway, and when I moved to France, the shipping company lost just about all my belongings. I realized I could survive with almost nothing. It was freeing.”
“To freedom,” Roger said, and they clinked their glasses again. They drank in amiable silence for a few minutes before Spencer took a lime slice out of his drink and set it in an ashtray.
“Sludge might be right, you know, as much as I hate to give him credit for anything.”
Roger knew he was talking about the fire. Spencer liked his weed back then, but it was the booze that really had him in its grip. He’d had several blackouts, and the fire had occurred before he finally sought help and quit drinking. He felt bad for Spencer if it was still bothering him after all these years.
“Ancient history, my friend, long forgotten.”
The artist took a long drink, remembering. “I was so wasted that night, Roger. I left when everyone else did, but I came back, as I often did. I liked being around the comix, and that was our first issue, which made it even better. Ever since we had rented the warehouse and started carrying other publications, every once in a while I’d bring a girl there. They liked being around me being around the comix.”
They both looked up at a boobie middle-aged woman with big platinum hair framing a weathered face, who hit some kind of a jackpot on slots. She “whooped” it up as coins clinked into the bowl.
“Yeah, you were pretty hot back then,” Roger deadpanned.
Spencer tried to smile, but it didn’t take. “I don’t remember ever lighting candles, but I could have lit the candle that night and left it. I don’t know. I honestly don’t remember.”
Roger took another swig of his beer and shook his head. “If you didn’t do it before, I doubt if you did it then. Men are creatures of habit, you know. On the upside, if it’s tortured you all these years, it’s probably made you a better artist. Again, if you weren’t in the habit of lighting candles, why would you have lit one that night? Doesn’t make sense. But worse-case scenario, if you did, if that’s what happened, it was an accident, Skippy.” He put a hand on Spencer’s shoulder. “Let it go, once and for all.”
Spencer looked him in the eye. “You were always too mellow for your own good. I’m sorry, man.”
“No need. Sigh. I miss the Muskman days. The whole world was open to us. The possibilities were endless.”
“I don’t know, Roger. I’m starting to see Chantella, Volume One, Number One take shape. And Tiffy Does Dallas.”
* * *
Chantella was passing Bonnie and Roger’s hotel room when the door opened and Bonnie walked out.
“Hey, Chantella, where you headed?”
Bonnie noticed she looked kind of pensive.
“What? Oh, I’m meeting Wesley down by the pool.”
She wasn’t wearing a bathing suit or cover-up. Her outfit could best be described as combination black leather and white cotton ensemble, with some chains thrown in.
Bonnie walked with her. “Is everything all right between you two? I’m a good listener if you need one.”
Chantella just looked at her and didn’t say anything for a minute.
“Oh my God, are you pregnant?”
Chantella just stared at her. “How do you do that?”
Bonnie smiled. “I’m very intuitive, especially about that for some reason. Are you okay?”
They reached the elevator and Chantella pressed the “down” button.
“Actually, I’m surprisingly okay. I’m a little introspective these days maybe but I’m not suffering. I haven’t decided for sure yet what I’m going to do, but I still know it’s going to be all right.”
“You come from a large family, don’t you?”
“Huge.”
“I suppose you could go either way on that, decide you want a zillion kids yourself or that you’re going to be celibate for the rest of your life, or at least childless.”
“Uh, celibacy is not an option,” she smiled, almost shyly. “I always intended to have a family, though not that big and not this soon.”
“You know they say God laughs when we plan.”
“Yeah.”
They stepped into the elevator and Bonnie waited for the doors to close. She turned to Chantella and grabbed both her hands. “For what it’s worth, I think you’ll be a great mom.”
How could she know that? Does a great mom bring attention to herself by purposely not fitting in with everyone else? Does a great mom not care what other people think?
As if Bonnie had heard those thoughts, she said, “You’re smart, kind, feisty, loving, loyal and not afraid to be who you are. A great role model.”
Chantella was touched. “Thank you. That means a lot.”
“And also for what it’s worth, having kids is the best thing I ever did, which is not to say raising them was easy or always fun. But Roger and I are better people for having done it.”
It hit Chantella then. She knew, as she supposed she’d always known deep in her heart, she would have the baby if she were indee
d pregnant, and how could five home pregnancy kits be wrong? Now all she had to figure out was if she believed in the institution of marriage, and if Wesley really wanted to marry her rather than felt obligated to. She hadn’t thought she did believe in it, even though her parents’ marriage seemed happy enough as they cranked out enough kids to field a baseball team. She always thought she wanted to be different, independent, unexpected, “out in left field,” an ideal position for that baseball team, ironically. But was that who she really was or was it an affectation? No, dammit, she was out there. Or were all bets off since she met Wesley, the love of her life?
With eight siblings and 12 nieces and nephews, the Vanns were certainly a fertile clan. The Pope would be pleased. And nobody was a better aunt than Chantella. She loved those little rugrats, and even her brother Ian’s teenage daughter Lexie, the drama queen who would just die if this didn’t happen, her life was ruined because that happened, she would never speak to her best friend again, yatita, yatita, yatita. Chantella knew deep in her soul that she might not look maternal, but she was, from the top of her blue shaved head right down to her shiny black toenails.
She smiled kind of whimsically. It’s easy to be independent and, let’s call a spade a spade, a little odd, when you’re facing the world alone. But having someone you love, someone you’d die for, changes things. It changes everything. She turned her smile toward Bonnie.
“Thanks. I know it won’t be easy, but I think I can rock motherhood.”
Bonnie laughed. “Undoubtedly. I see big things for you and Wesley. You have to keep in touch when we’re in France and let me know how everything is. I’ll send you a French maid outfit.”
“Wesley’s dream come true. I’m excited about this, but for now could you…”
“…My lips are sealed.”
* * *