by Lindsey Kelk
‘Oh my God, are you crying in there?’
Damn it.
‘No,’ I replied, putting down the lid and sitting back down. ‘I’m just … thinking.’
‘In the restroom of a restaurant?’
‘Shut up.’
‘Angie, Sadie wants to apologize. She’s tired, she’s been working a lot, she didn’t mean to be a bitch.’
‘Then where is she?’ I asked. ‘How come you’re in here and she isn’t?’
‘Uh, she has a phobia of public bathrooms,’ Jenny replied. ‘I know, I know. Just come on out, OK?’
‘I don’t want to.’ Sometimes I could be incredibly mature.
‘Don’t make me come in there, because I will do it.’
‘Course you will.’ I looked at the gap under the toilet door. Plenty of room for someone as skinny as Jenny, but there was no way she was going to crawl around on the floor of a lav in Herve Leger. ‘I won’t hold my breath.’
‘Wait no more, bitches.’
Silly me. Of course Jenny wouldn’t get down on the floor of a toilet (sober, by choice). But she would climb over the stall. In six-inch heels.
‘How are you doing that?’ I marvelled as she threw one leg over the partition, then the other, hooked her hands to the top and dropped down onto the floor.
‘Clearly you never had to leave a date via the bathroom window,’ she replied, shimmying her dress back down over her arse. Thank God she was wearing underwear. ‘You’d be amazed at what I can do, Clark.’
‘All bets are off with you, Lopez.’ I shuffled across the toilet seat to make room for her tiny bottom. ‘Now what’s this about you getting promoted?’
‘Aww, it’s nothing.’ She screwed up her face. ‘It’s not really a promotion. I’m just taking on more work, really. That’s practically a demotion, right?’
‘Um, no.’ It was hard to hug someone sitting on a toilet, but I found a way. ‘New title? Pay rise? Tell me!’
‘Basically, Erin emailed me to say she wants me to take on more stuff while she’s away on her baby vacay, like running a few of the accounts as well as organizing the events,’ she said, trying to play it down, but I could see she was excited. ‘I’ll be managing a few people. It’s probably gonna be a nightmare.’
‘It will be amazing. You know it will.’
‘Yeah.’ She rested her head on my shoulder. ‘I kinda kick ass at this job thing, don’t I?’
‘You kind of do,’ I confirmed. ‘But you always do. You were a kick-ass concierge, you were a kick-ass stylist. I bet you were a kick-ass babysitter at some point, weren’t you?’
She nodded decisively. ‘Four years’ professional babysitting and not one fatality.’
‘I’ll take that as a yes.’
‘So, are you going to get your ass out of the bathroom and come join the party? We’re gonna hit up Ghostbar.’ She stood up and held out a hand. ‘Or are you going to stay in here and be a Debbie Downer.’
‘Debbie Downer,’ I grumbled.
Jenny slapped me around the top of my head. ‘How about tomorrow we do something, just me and you?’
‘I don’t want to be a knob, but I would love that,’ I said, taking the hand and leaving the toilet stall behind. ‘Do I really have to go back out there and deal with her?’
‘Not if you don’t want to,’ Jenny said. ‘It’s your vacation. Do you want to go back to the hotel? Shall I call the car?’
I considered my options. Super-swanky club with super-swanky girls, doing shots, dancing until dawn in a dress that made me feel like my RE teacher, or finding out how long it took to fill up that tub in the middle of my room and go to bed. I spent a good three seconds trying to convince myself I wanted to go to the club before answering.
‘There will be another club tomorrow, won’t there?’
‘There will.’
‘Hotel, then, please.’
‘Your wish is my command.’ Jenny waved me towards the door with a flourish. ‘We are living in a fairytale, and I am your fairy godmother, lady.’
‘Jenny. How drunk are you?’
‘Angela. Very?’
‘Thought so.’
Twenty minutes later, I was back in my room, truffling through the mini bar and running the world’s most exciting bath. So, my first day in Vegas had been a bit of a let-down. It always took a little bit of time to unwind on holiday, didn’t it? And I had a lot to be wound up about. Visa worries safely locked up in an emotional box that could give me an ulcer another day, I thought I was safe and sound. Cast your cares away, worries for another day. But now, joy of joys, I had to share my holiday with Sadie, and I couldn’t cast her nearly as far away as I would have liked.
Slipping off my butchered dress and wriggling out of Sadie’s mum’s underwear, I stepped into the bath, feeling appropriately decadent. All I was missing was a Flake. Stupid American chocolate. It was strange, the things I missed about England. Obviously, I missed my family and I missed Louisa. I missed X FactorSaturdays. I missed mooching around Boots to kill ten minutes. I missed Percy Pigs, Wotsits and proper lemonade. Why didn’t America have lemonade? Sprite was not lemonade. But that wasn’t a patch on what I’d miss about America. Three hours of Come Dine with Meon a Sunday was not a fair trade for the love of your life. Speaking of whom, my phone buzzed into life on the cleverly placed table right by the bathtub.
‘Hello?’
‘Hey, it’s me.’
Talking to Alex on the phone always put me on high alert. I hated using the phone in general, a throwback to calling my mum and lying through my back teeth about where I was spending the night as a teenager, I was sure. It just set me on edge; but at least when it was with Alex, it was a good edge.
‘Are you here? Are you in Vegas?’
‘Yeah, we’re at the Wynn,’ he yawned. ‘It’s nice. And Jeff’s friends seem pretty cool. We’re gonna hit the tables.’
‘I couldn’t convince you to come over and tuck me in, then?’ It had to be worth a try. ‘There’s a mini bar and an amazing view and all of the TV channels. All of them.’
Alex replied with a low laugh. ‘I don’t think that fits in with the “guys only” theme of the weekend, but I could probably get away tomorrow?’
‘I’m supposed to do something with Jenny.’ I dangled my leg over the side of the bath. If I smoked, I’d be having a cigar right now. ‘But I really want to see you.’
‘We’ll work it out,’ he promised. ‘Where are you? Can I hear water?’
‘I’m in the bath.’ I splished and splashed for maximum effect. ‘It’s amazing.’
‘You’re calling me from the bath, but you tried to convince me to come over by way of mini bar and cable TV?’
‘Yes?’ There was a chance I was not the world’s premier seductress.
‘I love you, Angela Clark.’
Cue warm, fuzzy feeling that was nothing to do with the bath.
‘I love you,’ I whispered back. Sometimes I was still scared to say it. Like I had a finite number of uses and one day I’d run out and it would all be over.
‘So you get back to your bath, I’ll go make our millions, and we’ll see each other tomorrow.’
‘What are you wearing?’ I asked quickly, desperate to keep him on the phone.
‘A leather harness and a banana skin,’ he replied without pause. ‘This is boys’ night. You can try to seduce me all you like, but I am made of steel. But only because I know I’m going to see you tomorrow.’
‘Go on then,’ I relented, placated by his qualifier. ‘Have fun. But not too much fun. And no strippers. Or lap dancers. Or lap-dancing strippers.’
‘Just straight-up hookers then, I got it. Get some sleep.’
‘OK.’ I wished I hadn’t come back to the hotel. I was sure I wouldn’t be missing him half as much if I was dancing on a bar in my underwear somewhere while The Situation did body shots of my friends. ‘I’ll see you tomorrow. No hookers.’
‘No hookers.’
Forget y
ou, William Shakespeare. Had there ever been a sweeter goodnight between lovers? I think not.
CHAPTER TEN
The next morning I woke up bright and early at nine a.m. Technically the middle of the night by Vegas standards. After a good ten minutes spent staring out of the bedroom window (I opened the drapes from my bed with a remote control. This room had everything), I dragged myself into the lounge and gazed down upon my kingdom. In reality, if I were the King of Vegas, I probably wouldn’t be wearing a Star Wars T-shirt and giant pink cotton pants, let alone be wide awake and staring at an almost completely abandoned Strip before ten in the morning, but I was.
These were the benefits of being an early riser, I told myself smugly – you got time and you got space. Not that I’d normally know; I hardly ever saw anything outside of my eyelids before ten, but my brain was still on New York time, making it twelve and a perfectly reasonable time for me to be vertical. At least when I stood half-naked in this window, no one could see. Well, if they could see, more power to them. That would have to be one very powerful telescope and one very committed pervert. We were ever so high up.
A trail of handbags, high heels and empty packets of crisps suggested Jenny and Sadie had made it home at some point before sunrise, but their doors were firmly closed. Pouting, I paced the giant room, sitting on a sofa, getting up to look at the view, peering in a cupboard, flicking on the TV. A good night’s sleep had left me restless, and I didn’t quite know what to do. I could go for a swim, but I was hungry. I could order room service, but then I’d still be in the same place. Only one thing for it. I was going to have to go on an adventure.
Suitably stuffed into a pair of skinny J Brand jeans and one of Jenny’s cast-off Splendid T-shirts, I grabbed my satchel, tossed in my phone and room key and called for the lift. There was something a little bit heartbreaking about leaving the room – it was so beautiful; but my stomach was rumbling in a big way. It was going to be tough to go back to my apartment on Sunday night. Probably a good thing, The Voice popped up out of nowhere; good idea to get used to saying goodbye to things.
Ooh, you bastard, I thought in response, how dare you have a go before I’ve even had a cup of tea?
Given the state of the street outside, I was expecting the casino floor to be quiet at the very least, if not empty. I was wrong. All traces of the early morning sunshine were erased and replaced with the most unnatural light known to man. Even though the casino looked just as shiny and exciting as it had when I’d passed through the night before, something was off. Slot machines clunked and rang with sirens of success, crowds huddled around the roulette tables, crumpled and tired, with no idea of the time. The card tables were even more frightening. Aching, bloodshot eyes stared at bored-looking dealers, just waiting, waiting for that one card they knew was the next out of the deck. All I would have to do was touch them, just a gentle tap with one finger, and they would shatter into a million pieces. It was intense. And it didn’t look like fun.
‘Hey, it’s that girl from the plane,’ someone shouted from one of the card tables.
Surely most people qualified as ‘you from the plane’?
‘The one with the stick up her ass, with the super hot friend.’
That sounded a little bit more like me. I turned to see Brad and his gambling buddies two tables away. They looked like they hadn’t had an awful lot of sleep since they arrived. Or fresh air. Or non-alcoholic drinks.
‘Hey, blondie, what’s going on?’ Brad yelped over a very unpleasant-sounding cough. ‘You win a million yet?’
‘Not yet,’ I replied politely. ‘Give me time.’
‘I’d give you something,’ he snarked. ‘What room you in?’
‘Not yours.’ I had to eat before I could come up with a better comeback. ‘Good luck, Brad.’
‘Dude, she totally remembered your name.’ His friend sounded shocked. It made me sad.
Morning gamblers weren’t glamorous; there were no hot girls in cocktail dresses, no laughing, no glasses of champagne. Just hard liquor and occasional shouting. Even the sexy cocktail waitresses weren’t sexy. The outfit the De Lujo had them trussed up in made my recent waitressing uniform look more modest than K-Midd’s wedding dress. All I could think was, either they’ve been in those heels and that bum floss ensemble for hours, or they had to put them on at about six o’clock this morning and come to work. It was impossible to decide which was more depressing. At least they weren’t having to strip, I told myself, but then, they’d probably be in bed now if they were strippers. And at that point I realized there was almost definitely a morning shift for Las Vegas strippers, and that almost took away my appetite. Almost.
‘Table for one, madam?’
Words that should strike fear into the heart of any unmarried woman faced with enough food to put Comic Relief out of business for at least a decade.
I have always been a girl who likes her food. But nothing could have prepared me for what lay before me. There was not a sausage roll to be seen, and for the first time in my twenty-eight years, I could say this was a Good Thing. Led to my table, I passed a station full of seafood. Another full of cheeses. A salad bar that put every Pizza Hut in England to shame. There couldn’t be a cuisine that was not represented in that room, and when all the world’s foods come together, all the world’s foods smell good.
Two-thirds of the way through my second plate of deliciousness, my former roommate collapsed into the chair next to me and lay her face down on the table. The air conditioning made the hotel a bit chillier than I might have liked, but there was absolutely no need for Jenny’s giant mohair sweater teamed with what looked like the same leather leggings Sadie had been wearing the night before. Her lips were stained with day-old pink lipstick, and the rest of her face was hiding behind huge sunglasses. Her standard hangover hairdo was to bind it all out of the way in an enormous bun or ponytail to stop it irritating her, but today it seemed like she needed the extra camouflage. That or she didn’t have the energy to try to tame all the curls that bounced excitedly around her head. It was the only thing about her that seemed even faintly energetic.
‘Morning.’ I raised my cup of tea in solidarity. ‘Fun night, then?’
‘I don’t know yet.’ She waved over a waiter and begged for coffee. ‘What the fuck are you eating?’
‘Everything.’ I began to push a croissant towards her, but pulled it back hastily when she retched at the table. ‘Looks like a good night. Why are you awake?’
‘Because I said we would do something today,’ she reminded me, seemingly entirely against her will. ‘And we’re doing something.’
‘As much as I really want to hang out with you, I don’t really want you to puke on me, so do feel free to go back to bed.’
‘Two things.’ Jenny thanked the waiter for her coffee, then stared into the cup in silence for a few seconds. Then pushed it away. Too soon. ‘Firstly, I’m so hungover that when I lie down, the room spins and I puke. Secondly, I made an appointment for us with this stylist guy I met in LA. He’s going to give us a Vegas-over. I’m going to glitz the shit out of you.’
‘Two things,’ I replied. ‘Firstly, your Vegas-over looks to be complete already, my love, and secondly, if the room is spinning, it means you’re still drunk, not hungover.’
‘Yeah,’ Jenny nodded, taking a very slow sip of coffee. ‘Yeah, it does.’
I gave her a very judgemental look. It felt good.
‘Shopping should be fun, then.’
‘Shopping drunk is super fun. If I hadn’t ever stopped into Urban Outfitters tipsy, I wouldn’t have red jeans in my closet,’ she responded.
‘And I don’t know how the world would cope,’ I replied. ‘Where’s Sadie?’
‘Don’t know. I do know we switched outfits in the club, and I know there was dancing, and I’m pretty sure there was some dude from that show about those guys, but then she wasn’t there any more and I came home. Without the guy from that show, before you ask.’
�
�Well, who can resist some dude from that show about those guys?’ I asked. ‘And I absolutely wasn’t going to ask. I know you’re all smitten kitten for the Sigster.’
‘Don’t call him that,’ she said, pushing herself up from the table and trying to focus on the food while keeping her coffee down. ‘Which way to the toast?’
‘Right over there.’ I pointed towards the bakery station and paused. No. Shopping. Must not be full of bagel. Am already full of Everything Else.
I was very excited. Not working regularly had limited my shopping excursions, and I’d been very, very sensible with my last few pay cheques. Meaning I was probably about to be very unsensible with whatever was left in my bank account. I still had a ton of Christmas shopping to do, but I told myself this was vital research. How was I going to write for fashion magazines if I didn’t set foot inside a department store? You can’t write about clothes you haven’t seen. Or touched. Or tried on. Or murdered your credit limit for.
‘The limo’s waiting,’ Jenny said as we attempted to navigate the casino floor without bumping into Brad. ‘I am so not going to want to get on the subway on Monday morning.’
‘I think I probably do prefer the limo,’ I agreed. ‘Although if it was a toss-up between the limo and Sadie or taking the bus and no Sadie, I’d be on a double-decker by now.’
‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’ Jenny pressed a hand to her forehead as she clambered into the big black car with significantly less elegance than she had displayed the night before. ‘But I would guess you’re right.’
The limo slid away from the hotel, leaving a towering white palace behind us, glittering in the crisp winter sunshine. Shame I knew Jenny had puked in the toilet just before we left. Took the shine right off it.
The Strip was still pretty quiet as we swept along past the casinos. Some of them looked magnificent in the daylight. The Wynn stood tall, commanding respect by refusing to subscribe to a silly theme, but then the Venetian actually took my breath away. I’d never been to Venice, and while I was quite aware that this wasn’t the same thing, I couldn’t wait to get inside that hotel. Plus there were huge billboards for Phantom, and oh to the em to the gee, I loved me a musical. It was no Les Mis, but still. I wondered if I would be able to sneak away for a matinee, knowing full well I’d be on my own for it and not caring in the slightest.