Doug became reliant on his daily workouts and runs to keep his energy up. His busy travel schedule and being "on" all the time for his customers was not easy, so staying in top physical shape was important to him. Everyone is motivated by something different. Doug was a goal-oriented person. Whether it was achieving a certain weight or a certain sales quota, he did much better when he knew the expectation. He decided that he needed to take on the challenge of a half-marathon and he began training in earnest for such an event.
He and Lacy had started living together in a townhouse on the south side of the 101 Freeway in Woodland Hills, located northwest of Los Angeles in the San Fernando Valley. Since moving in with Lacy, he had changed his eating habits and was feeling much better with this change in diet. A Southern California girl, Lacy had embraced vegetarianism at a young age and had eaten a meat-free diet ever since. She was an excellent cook, but if Doug wanted meat, he had to prepare it himself. Since she was such a good cook, he rarely felt the need. If he had a craving, he could always order it when he was on the road. He had been a fast food junkie all his life, but his body was responding very positively to his new eating habits. Weight kept coming off and he didn't feel the least bit deprived. It was amazing what Lacy could do with different grains, fruits, and vegetables.
They had fallen in love with the townhouse because of the view of the hills which separated the San Fernando Valley from the Pacific Ocean. To achieve his goal of running a half-marathon, Doug charted out a running schedule. The hills were filled with paths. He started with a walk-run combination and went on to a full run, usually five to seven miles, four mornings a week. After that, he would shower, eat some fruit and grains, and spend the rest of the day making sales calls.
He had run sporadically over the years, but nothing like he found himself doing now. Even when he was on the road, he stuck to his schedule. When Doug was in Hawaii, he always ran on the beach, just because he could. He loved how it made him feel. There was something about the sand on his feet, the light spray and sound of the surf, and the salty, clean smell of the ocean that made him feel fully alive, every sensory nerve in his body awakened.
Southern California weather made it the perfect place for marathons and half-marathons. Doug pulled up the half-marathon schedule for races in Southern California on his computer. He decided to start with one that was three months away. He had been running for several weeks and with three more months to train, he felt he'd be prepared. He spent the months training intensely for his race. As the date for the half-marathon neared, he knew he had done everything he could to prepare himself. He just hoped it was enough.
The half-marathon race day dawned bright and clear. It was early spring in Southern California and as usual, it was beautiful weather. He had chosen Santa Monica as his half-marathon site, a short drive from their home. He planned on leaving about 5:00 a.m., knowing at that time of day, on a Saturday, there would be very little traffic on the freeway, always a consideration. He arose at 4:00 a.m. and heated up some oatmeal then topped it with fruit. He wanted to get protein in his stomach before the 6:30 a.m. starting time and the natural sugar in the fruit would give him some energy as well.
Doug and Lacy pulled into the parking lot in Santa Monica where many of the runners were already doing stretches and sprints in preparation for the race. He made his way to the registration desk, filled out the information form, paid his entrance fee, and picked up a free T-shirt being handed out by the sponsors of the race. He did some stretches, drank some water, and got in place for the half-marathon.
Officially, a half-marathon is a little over thirteen miles, but to Doug it felt like ten times that amount. Although he had faithfully stuck to his training regime, he had never run that great a distance. He gritted it out. Three hours later, he crossed the finish line to the sound of Lacy screaming and yelling her support. She was jumping up and down with joy and pride. Relief flooded over him. He had done it; he had completed his first half-marathon. He was hungry, thirsty, and just plain exhausted. Then it began to dawn on him—he really had completed his first half-marathon. While it had seemed grueling while he was doing it, now he was already thinking about running a full marathon. He wondered if running a marathon was like childbirth; after it’s over you tend to forget the pain.
During the next few months, he entered more races and stuck to his training regime. He was in great shape. When he thought about it, he realized this had to be the best time of his life. The money was flowing in, he and Lacy were crazy in love, and he looked and felt great. Life seemed almost perfect.
Then a couple of flies landed in the ointment. One morning, he noticed a few grey hairs around his temples when he was shaving. It seemed a little premature. He was only thirty-four.
The second fly in the ointment regarded his relationship with Lacy. He loved her very much, but could sense she was beginning to get frustrated with him. Sometimes he just didn't feel like making love. She was hurt and couldn't understand why. Recently, Lacy had told him she thought he should see a doctor because he looked tired. She asked if he was worried about anything or if something was troubling him.
Doug didn't say anything, but lately he'd noticed that his sales had really slowed down. He'd started to miss his cigarettes. He seemed to have lost his enthusiasm for the early morning runs. He was bothered by chills, sweats, and occasional bouts of nausea although he didn't feel sick. Some mornings it was just easier to push the snooze button on the alarm clock, pull the covers over his head, and try for more sleep.
He knew he needed to call on some of his customers in Las Vegas, but whenever he went there, the constant noise of the casinos, the smoke-filled rooms, and the frenetic nature of the city exhausted him. He was feeling tired almost every day and the thought of going to Vegas did not really appeal to him. Even so, he decided he'd go a couple of days before the Memorial Day weekend, which would allow him to get back home and rest up over the three day holiday.
The Wednesday before Memorial Day, he flew into McCarran airport in Las Vegas. As soon as he landed and got off the plane, he could hear the incessant sound of the slot machines in the terminal and figured he'd better get used to it for the next couple of days. He went to the car rental kiosk the Aravalve sales personnel used and got a mid-size car. He was staying at the Venetian and it was just a short drive to the hotel.
Doug checked in and went to his room to make appointments for later that afternoon and Thursday. The Venetian was a "suite" hotel, which Doug preferred. He liked having some space in his room, as he often spent a lot of time doing paperwork. The room was great. It had a TV in the bedroom and in the bathroom. He'd be able to watch baseball in both of the rooms. Doug eyed the fully stocked refreshment center, craving a cold beer. It was a little too early and he had calls to make, but he decided he owed it to himself to have a couple of beers later on. Maybe that would make him feel better.
He set up his calls and went down to the hotel valet parking, got his car, and set out. The old spark just wasn't there. He couldn't seem to set the hook. No one wanted valves right now. How had it been so easy only a few months ago? he wondered. He drove back to the Venetian in the late afternoon, gave his car key to the valet attendant, and stopped at the first hotel bar he saw. The cold beer went down easy and the second was even better. Well, what the hell, he thought, it's been a lousy day. I just hope tomorrow is better. He quickly lost $20 to the electronic poker machine in front of him on the bar counter, ordered another beer and fed another $20 into the machine. After the third quick beer and down $40 he went up to his room, showered, and changed clothes.
The beer made him feel better. He decided to go to the sports lounge and bet on a couple of the baseball games that would soon be underway. The smoke was thick in the bar, making him want a cigarette even more. Well, he thought, why not? I don't know anyone here and I'll quit tomorrow. He walked out of the sports bar and found the hotel convenience shop, which had all the necessities anyone in Las Vegas needed —condoms, be
er, wine, cigarettes, and magazines in every language.
Doug lit up. The first pull on the cigarette almost made him sick. The next one was better. It was kind of like riding a bike. You never forgot how. It had been awhile since a pack of cigarettes had been in his shirt pocket. Actually, it felt pretty natural. He promised himself the beers and cigarettes were just for tonight. He knew he should call Lacy, but he decided to go back to the sports bar instead. He'd call her later.
He drank several more beers and, seeing some people next to him with an order of chicken wings and onion rings, decided to have those as well. The more beer he had, the better the cute little cocktail waitress looked. "Hey darlin'," he said, "When you get a minute, I'd like to order some food and another beer. What's your name? I always like to know the name of the person bringin' me my beer."
"My name's Britney. I'll be right back with your beer.” She gave Doug a big smile. Britney was dressed in a tight black corset, which pushed her ample breasts over the top. She wore black fishnet hose, high heels, and a very short skirt. She looked like she was farm-fed, fresh from Kansas, just one of the legions of young women who came to Vegas hoping to find a rich man, but instead, found themselves selling their bodies to make a living. The casinos and bars in Vegas swarmed with beautiful young girls like Britney. Sex sold well in Vegas.
When Britney brought his beer, she leaned over Doug, placing it on a napkin. He could smell her. All he wanted to do was run his hand over her breasts and touch her almost visible nipples with his fingers. God, he wanted her. This is insane, he thought to himself. What in the hell am I doing? What about my commitment to Lacy?
"Britney," he said in a ragged voice, "what time do you get off work? I'd like to buy you a drink."
She gave him another one of her big smiles. She leaned over him once again, cleaning the ashtray on his table. He could feel her in his hands, feel her under him. Whatever the consequences, he had to have her.
"I'm off in an hour. Why don't we meet in your room? Management doesn't like us to have drinks with the customers in the lounge. What's your room number?" Britney asked.
"1461," Doug said. "I'll meet you there in an hour."
He ate his chicken wings and onion rings, ordered another beer, and decided to place one last bet. His baseball bets had been a disaster. He had dropped $500 in just a couple of hours. Doug decided to bet on a horse race instead in an attempt to recoup his losses. There was a long shot in the race, Commando II, that looked pretty good. It was the last race, so Doug bet $500. The horses were out of the gate and the announcer was screaming that Commando II was in the lead. Doug jumped out of his chair, his attention fully focused on the big screen showing the long shot ahead by several lengths. Doug knew his luck was turning. Commando II was going to make a bundle for him and he'd go back to California a big winner. As he watched the screen, he heard the announcer saying, "What's this? What's happened to Commando II? He's barely moving. This is unbelievable." Doug watched in horror as the rest of the horses ran past Commando II on their way to the finish line. The jockey finally got Commando II to slowly move to the finish line. He came in last.
Doug stumbled out of the bar and made his way to the elevator. The door next to his room was ajar and he could see a bunch of young men inside the room that couldn't be over nineteen or twenty. It was obvious they had been partying all day and intended to keep going. Swell, he thought, just what I need; a bunch of post-teenyboppers partying all night. He thought about Lacy and knew he should call her, but knew he wouldn't be able to disguise his drunkenness. Anyway, Britney would be coming for a drink in a few minutes and he needed to get the room presentable.
He hung up the clothes he'd taken out of his travel bag and put away the clothes and towels he'd thrown on the floor. He opened the drapes and stood in amazement at what water and gambling had done to the desert. In every direction buildings were ablaze with neon lights. He looked down at the cars, one long line of headlights, moving to the next casino, the next drink, the next sexual encounter. Whatever you wanted, Las Vegas had it.
Doug promised himself he'd just have a drink with Britney, nothing more. Even though she made him so damn horny he thought he would explode, he'd just have a drink with her. He was committed to Lacy. However, the alcohol was dulling his resolve.
Well, maybe I'll have a little drink before she comes, just to be ready, he thought. He opened the door of the refreshment center and found a small bottle of bourbon and a club soda. They were chilled and went down smoothly. Doug tried to set the alarm clock on the bedside table, but his brain wasn't fully functioning by this time. Instead, he left a wake-up call with the front desk; then he heard a knock on the door.
Doug opened it for Britney. She had changed out of her serving costume into a tight, white sweater and jeans. It was obvious she wasn't wearing a bra, her erect nipples showing beneath the sweater. One look at her and every promise he had made to himself went down the drain. He wondered if she was wearing any underwear at all. "You are the sexiest woman I have ever seen," he said.
She walked over to him, ran her hands up his chest and then behind his neck, kissing him deeply. "I wanted you from the moment you walked into the lounge," she said. She pressed up against him, her breasts warm and large against his chest. He just wanted to rip off all her clothes and it was all he could do to restrain himself. She began to unbutton his shirt with one hand, her fingers lightly grazing his nipples. Her other hand drifted down to Doug's crotch and she deftly massaged the huge bulge in his pants with strong, urgent strokes. Oh my God, thought Doug, I've died and gone to heaven. He kissed her again, backing up to the bed, drawing her on top of him. She pulled her sweater over her head and unzipped her jeans, pulling them off easily. She reached down and unzipped his pants, releasing his large, fully erect penis.
"Roll over," he said, panting. "Let me in you." He mounted her as she lay on her back with her legs spread invitingly open. He made one giant deep thrust into her wetness and came instantly. His eyes seemed to roll into the back of his head and he collapsed on top of her, releasing a deep primordial moan. It had happened too quickly, but Britney was a pro and lied, telling him how wonderful it had been for her. As drunk as he was, he believed her. He closed his eyes, intending to fall asleep, but hearing rustling noises, he opened them in time to see Britney taking money out of his wallet.
"Honey," she said, "I usually get $300, but I like you, so I'm just going to take $200. Thanks. We can have that drink next time."
All Doug wanted now was sleep. He knew if he stayed awake and sobered up, he was going to hate himself for giving in to all of it, the alcohol, cigarettes, and a prostitute. He slept until the sound of the wake-up call the following morning shattered his sleep. His head hurt, his body ached, and his mouth felt like it was filled with cotton. Oh God, he thought, I don't think I've ever felt this bad. He staggered to the bathroom, pouring himself a full glass of water. Aspirin, he thought, maybe that will help. Where in the hell did I put them? He found them in the side pocket of his carry-on luggage, quickly gulping four, when he remembered that he hadn't used a condom. It was pretty clear to him what Britney's main source of income was and it wasn't working as a barmaid. He felt panicky as he realized that last night he had unprotected sex with a hooker. Even in his bad days, he'd never forgotten to wear a condom. What if he'd picked something up? How could he ever explain it to Lacy?
Just then, the phone rang for a second time. It was Lacy. "Why didn't you call me last night?" she asked. "I waited until I fell asleep. Where were you?"
"Lacy, I'm really sorry, but I went to dinner with some customers. We ended up seeing the Blue Man Group and when I got back to my room, it was too late to call. I didn't want to wake you. I was just about to call you this morning before I left for a breakfast meeting, but you beat me to it. How is everything?" Doug lied.
They talked for a few minutes. The aspirin began to work. When he hung up, he started the shower. I hope this helps, he thought. The shower felt good
, a purging rite, something he desperately needed. Doug realized he had to get some food in his stomach, that there was no way he could make it to his first appointment feeling as he did now. He ordered eggs, bacon, toast, and a pot of coffee from room service.
As he got ready for his first appointment, he began to feel blessed that at least he was alive. He called on three companies, but only made one sale, a small one at that. At lunch he thought maybe he could fit a nap in before his scheduled afternoon appointments.
He went back to his room, saw the cleaning lady in the room next to his, and knew she'd be in his room in a matter of minutes. So much for the nap, he thought. He sat down at the desk, opened his laptop, and checked his email. Just then, there was a knock on the door. "Housekeeping," the voice said.
"Come in," Doug responded. A middle-aged African-American woman wheeled her cart in.
"I'll come back later if that would be easier," she said.
"No, go ahead and make up the room. I'll just sit here and do some work on my laptop. I'll stay out of your way," Doug said.
He looked carefully at the woman, noticing a slight bulge in the hemline of one leg of her pants. She followed his gaze. He didn't want to ask what the bulge was, but thought it was really odd. Doug idly wondered if she had some deformity. He turned back to his screen and began to answer his email.
Looking up, he noticed that she was looking around the room, seemingly surprised. "What is it?" he asked.
"Well, this room's pretty neat. Don't look like you spent much time here. Looks like you had a shower, slept, had a drink, room service, and that's it. You wouldn't believe what some of these rooms look like," the housekeeper said.
"You must see some pretty unbelievable things," Doug responded. "I've always heard that Vegas had everything," he said, inwardly cringing as he remembered the night before.
The woman appeared anxious to talk and began to tell him of the things she had seen while working in Vegas hotels. She told him of a fire which started in a room caused by people making meth, the $30,000 of gambling chips stolen from a blackjack table while people were playing, and even the recent murder of one of her fellow housekeeping workers. She told Doug that something bad happened just about every week, but you never read about it in the newspapers. The Visitor and Convention Bureau made sure those kinds of stories stayed out of the papers. They wanted everyone to think Vegas was clean and wholesome. The housekeeper told him about the underground rumor mill. Every worker in Vegas knew what was really going on.
Blue Coyote Motel Page 19