Las Vegas Noir

by Jarret Keene

  BITS AND PIECES

  BY CHRISTINE MCKELLAR

  Green Valley

  The grinding rumble of heavy construction equipment awakened Madison Feldon an hour before her alarm was set to go off. She swung her short, muscular legs out of bed and stumbled into the master bathroom of her two-bedroom condo.

  “Those rude bastards,” she grumbled as she sat down on the padded toilet seat. “It’s not even 7 o’clock and already they’re at it.”

  Madison sat for a few minutes moodily contemplating the day ahead of her. She was a fitness trainer at a prestigious private club in Green Valley, a burgeoning upscale suburb of Las Vegas. She had a small but steady clientele. Madison was disciplined and very knowledgeable about nutrition and physical therapy. “It’s the social shit I can’t get a handle on,” she muttered. She sighed as she stood up, then went to the sink to wash her hands.

  The face reflecting back at her from the mirror, the only mirror in the condo, wasn’t necessarily attractive even on a good day, much less after a night of restless tossing and turning. Madison’s brown eyes had puffy bags beneath them and were slightly bloodshot. At twenty-nine years of age, her skin had a mottled look from too many summers in the dry, windy desert. Madison was stocky and compact. She was the only child of Louie and Rachel Feldon. The Feldons had carved a niche in the Las Vegas Valley in the real estate market. Along with their good friends, Al and Lois Clavell, they also owned a small local casino that was a virtual cash cow.

  It was spring in the high desert, and Madison had left her sliding bedroom door open to take advantage of the cool night air. Now, mingled with the noise of the machinery, she could hear the occasional shouts and curses of workers on the construction site. With much more force than necessary, she went and slammed the glass door shut. Madison stood, hands on her hips, glaring at the men in hard hats. Clouds of dirt rose and swirled in the air like masses of swarming angry bees. A chorus of muted honking began as commuters vented their frustration over the congestion caused by the project.

  Madison could feel the tic begin in her eyelid. She could never see it when she looked in the bathroom mirror. But it was there, she knew it. She could feel it. Just like she’d felt every nuance of her father’s subtle and not so subtle criticisms. It was his short, micro jabs that had caused the most damage. Not the clean, hard thrusts or stabs that Madison could—and did—parry or fend off.

  “It’s not my fault I’m not the son he wanted,” Madison mused out loud to the oblivious construction workers. “He would forgive me even that, I suppose, if I looked like Mother. At least he’d have a showcase daughter he could marry off to some money.”

  Madison looked like her father. Short, stocky. Brown nondescript hair and eyes, an overly large nose, and a slightly receding chin. Her mother was tall and had a willowy figure that looked elegant even under the worst of circumstances. Madison couldn’t recall one single time when her mother looked anything less than composed and perfectly coiffed.

  Her father, on the other hand, was loud and obnoxious. Louie seemed to revel in exemplifying the typical Jewish tycoon. Everything was a crisis to him. And he was merciless when it came to picking on his only child.

  “You want that I should spend fifty grand on a bat mitzvah for you when you look like a schlump?” he’d screamed at the chubby, prepubescent teenage girl. As always, her mother seemed to fade gracefully into the background during one of Louie’s tirades. Louie laid down the law. There would be no rite of passage for Madison, not until she lost twenty pounds. Madison lost the weight. That was when the tics started.

  Later on, one of her therapists expressed her horror at what went on for years at the Feldon home. While Louie and Rachael were wined and dined most evenings, the housekeeper strictly monitored Madison’s diet. Every morsel she ate had to be accounted for. Every carb and every calorie. Madison attended a private school and her humiliation was without measure when her father showed up at the dean’s office. Madison was called from class and had to sit in an agony of embarrassment as Louie made it loud and clear she was to eat only the meager lunches provided by her parents. The cafeteria was off limits.

  Her stomach growled and Madison noticed one of the hard hats across the street seemed to be looking into her second-floor window. “Eat this,” she sneered, and flipped him the bird. She brushed her teeth and went downstairs to the kitchen. Madison ground fresh coffee beans and began brewing a pot of coffee. Then she opened the refrigerator door and stood looking thoughtfully at its contents.

  Madison was unaware that the tic had moved from her eye to her upper lip. The refrigerator was stocked, like the tiny pantry, almost to the point of bulging. Unopened packages of deli meats, cheeses, and bagels and cream cheese in all flavors were crammed inside. There were pints of yogurt, bottles of chocolate milk, and doggie bags full of uneaten meals. Madison poked through the contents of the refrigerator before pulling out the only item that wasn’t covered in mold, curdled, or decayed: a carton of egg whites.

  As she scrambled the egg whites in a Teflon-coated pan, Madison thought about the new client she was to begin training later that morning. He was a walk-in referral. Garvey Kendall sounded nice enough over the phone. He’d actually seemed a bit nervous. Madison smiled as she measured one and a half ounces of egg onto a paper plate. She had a mental picture of Garvey: tall, geeky. Probably wore glasses and was eager to put some muscle on his skinny frame.

  Her cell phone rang, its shrill intrusion into her breakfast moment causing her to drop a plastic forkful of egg onto the dirty parquet floor. “Damnit!” She glanced at the caller ID. Her stomach relaxed when she saw it wasn’t her mother calling. It was her shrink’s office. Dr. Golob’s secretary briskly informed her that tomorrow’s appointment would have to be rescheduled. The doctor had a family emergency.

  Partly due to her mother’s insistence, but also partly due to simply needing someone to talk to, Madison had been in therapy for years. In school she hadn’t been that popular to begin with, then word had gotten around about her father’s dietary directive. She became the constant source of entertainment for her creatively cruel classmates.

  The strict diet she was forced into seemed to interfere with her pubescence too. While other girls her age were whispering and giggling about bra sizes and tampons versus pads, Madison remained flat chested and untouched by the monthly curse. It wasn’t until she was fourteen that she got her first period. Even so, she remained ridiculously unendowed with breasts.

  It was Dr. Golob who’d suggested Madison study nutrition and fitness training. He’d pointed out she could modify her body type with a regimen of a proper diet and exercise, so why not make a living out of it? “People will have to talk to you, Madison. Actually, your clients will be counting on you. Trusting you to help them improve their bodies. You really need the socialization. Consider it part of your therapy.”

  Her last session with Dr. Golob hadn’t been a fruitful one, to say the least. She’d been complaining about the construction surrounding her. Vegas was booming. Old familiar buildings and hotels were being imploded and demolished. High-rise condos and towering casinos were vying for space in the once clear blue sky of the valley. Lake Mead was like a gargantuan bathtub with a faulty plug and a bad case of ring-around-the-ninety-foot rim.

  Madison had moved to the suburbs six years ago to escape the congestion. Now the Green Valley area was pretty much a metropolis of its own. “Did you know, Dr. Golob, that years ago on Tomiyasu Lane there was a vegetable farm owned by a Japanese man named Mr. Tomiyasu?”

  Her stomach growled again when she remembered plump red strawberries and sweet ears of corn that the housekeeper would bring home. Madison was so hungry all of the time back then that her sense of smell had sharpened considerably. She would imagine that by drawing in deep breathes through her nose she was actually tasting the fresh produce. This was something she never shared with the therapist.

  Nor did she share with Dr. Golob how deeply affected she was by
the constant cycle of destruction, then resurrection, surrounding her. Even at night, machines were digging and scraping away at the soil, leaving deep scars in the million-years-old earth. Machines that in the yellow lights used by the construction workers looked like something from a Martian collective.

  Cold and relentless, they jabbed and dug and poked; just like her father had jabbed and dug and poked at her, Madison would think. Then the builders would come and layer by layer cover up the blemishes and pockmarks. They would be followed by the landscapers who planted trees, bushes, and flowers that really had no business in the arid soil of the Nevada desert. So, too, had Madison built walls of concrete around her, and layered her façade with cosmetics and apparel foreign to her nature.

  “Oh no! Gotta go!” Madison, lost in her mental ramblings, was running late. She quickly showered, then dressed in her usual training ensemble: blue shorts, white shirt, socks, and Nikes. Her short curly hair needed only a dab of mousse to keep it in place. She applied mascara to her sparse lashes, a hint of blush to her cheeks, and some lip gloss on her narrow mouth.

  Madison strode purposely to her old BMW, then inched her way out into the traffic on Silver Springs Road. She wasn’t too concerned about upsetting her client with her tardiness. She knew she could blame it on the construction work surrounding the area.

  Lately, Madison was blaming everything on the construction, from her lack of sleep when she woke up drenched in sweat as the machines chewed and gnawed their way through the night (she never did remember the nightmares about her father) to her increasing desire to eat the food she would only allow to rot in the refrigerator. (Her stomach seemed to rumble more and more each day in a synchronized cacophony with the backhoes and loaders.)

  Madison pulled into the club parking lot and got her gym bag out of the trunk. Three women dressed in short colorful tennis skirts walked by, bright sunlight flashing off the diamonds on their fingers. They were laughing, oblong bags slung across their backs. Thin, blond, and full-breasted, they passed by Madison without so much as a glance.

  Garvey was waiting by the water cooler in the gym. To her surprise, he wasn’t tall and skinny. He was short and stocky like her. His hair was black and longer than the current buzz-cut fashion. He had shy brown eyes and perfectly unblemished olive skin. She soon found out his mother was Latina. His father was Caucasian and owned a concrete-mixing company.

  Madison eased Garvey through the usual trainer’s monologue. What were his goals? How committed was he to meeting those goals? What were his eating habits? Where did he want to see the most improvement? She weighed him in and calculated his body-fat index, then took him through thirty minutes of a light workout on the weight machines.

  Two clients later, Madison was ready to call it a day. On her way home she decided to stop at Starbucks for her one indulgence in life, a caramel macchiato. Hot beverage in hand, she picked up a copy of a local alternative weekly and wandered out onto the patio.

  “Miss Feldon?”

  Madison squinted into the bright light. Garvey Kendall was smiling shyly down at her. He had a cardboard cup in one hand and a small brown bag in the other. He shifted nervously from one foot to the other.

  “Mind if I join you?”

  For a moment, she did mind. She minded, all right, because she could smell the cinnamon coffee cake with its thick sweet icing that was nestled in the bag he set down on the round metal table. She minded because she didn’t appreciate him intruding on her solitude. She minded because he was a client, just an eighty-dollar hour, of which her cut was only forty percent. She minded because he was a man, and Madison knew from past experience that men didn’t like her.

  Five years ago, Madison’s only friend, her cousin Sarah, had come to Las Vegas to celebrate spring break, and that was when Madison had lost her virginity. The cousins were the same age, born just weeks apart. Sarah had a clear complexion, long brunette hair, and sparkling blue eyes that matched her upbeat personality. Sarah was the darling daughter among three sons. Sarah’s family lived in Chicago.

  A new hotel-casino had opened not far from Madison’s condo. It was the vivacious Sarah who suggested they should go to dinner at the hotel. After dinner, the two women went out onto the casino floor to play poker. Madison found she was actually enjoying herself. The pile of chips in front of her was gradually increasing.

  One of the seats at the table opened up and was quickly occupied. Madison glanced at the newcomer, then almost knocked over the cocktail at her elbow. She’d seen him at the sports club many times. While she couldn’t remember his name, she certainly remembered how he looked while he was working out. (Muscles taut and straining under his glistening, tanned skin.) Madison felt a flush of warmth as she recalled how she enjoyed surreptitiously tracing with her eyes the vinelike pattern of pumped-up veins along his hard body.

  The handsome man was sitting beside Sarah, and the two were obviously flirting with one another. The chips in front of Madison began to dwindle. She was paying more attention to the action between her cousin and the bodybuilder than to the poker game. Madison had just asked the bored-looking Asian dealer to cash her out when Sarah stood up and motioned to her.

  “Let’s go to the nightclub downstairs. Bradley’s going to join us.” Bradley was looking at the two women, but his eyes passed right over Madison. He nodded at Sarah as if to signal he’d be joining her shortly.

  The club was packed. Madison and Sarah had to wait in line for ten minutes. Bradley caught up with them, but the only place the trio could find to sit was on one of the large divans on the sprawling outdoor veranda. Bradley seemed to know everyone. Martini after martini began to appear. Madison quickly got drunk enough to attempt small talk with Bradley. Her cousin seemed to have lost interest in the bodybuilder once he’d introduced her to a mangy-looking rock-star wannabe.

  People were thronging around the patio. Soon total strangers were sitting or reclining on the divan—laughing, drinking, kissing, and fondling their partners. Madison was pressed against Bradley. The close contact with him again sent a heated sensation throughout her body.

  When Madison stood up to go use the powder room, she was unsteady on her feet. She was vaguely aware of Sarah shaking her arm and pointing to Bradley. The next thing she knew she was home—and Bradley was with her. Sarah had cajoled him into driving Madison to the condo.

  Madison wasn’t simply home with Bradley. She was in bed with him. His breath reeked of vodka and vermouth. His kisses were sloppy, and he was groping at her thighs. Madison didn’t remember taking off her clothes, but she was naked. Bradley was wearing only his shirt. She could feel his bare muscled thighs against hers.

  “Wait a minute, wait a minute.” The ceiling seemed to spin. “Brad, I think I’m going to be sick.” Madison struggled to move out from underneath him.

  “No you’re not.” His words were slurred.

  He was lying completely on top of her, his weight pressing her down, down, down.

  Brad managed a drunken laugh. “Shit, girl, you really are flatter’n a pancake.”

  Madison felt bile rising in her throat, but she managed to suppress the gag reflex. Bradley was now fully between her spread legs, and he began to position himself to move inside of her. Madison had read enough romance novels in her years of isolation to expect that her first time with a man would be somewhat painful. (Later, she would reflect that romance novels, like everything else in her life, were filled with nothing but lies and bullshit.)

  When Bradley forced himself into Madison, she cried out. She was a fairly strong woman, and she pushed at his shoulders and thrust with her legs. She almost succeeded in bucking him off. Bradley stopped the invasion of her body for a moment. “Oh shit. You a virgin?”

  Madison began sobbing. It wasn’t that she didn’t want to have sex with him. But this was supposed to be her moment. Her first time with a man was supposed to be seductive, romantic. The man who deflowered her was supposed to be gentle, compassionate, and bring her slowly
from orgasm to orgasm. Not treat her like some blow-up doll.

  Madison managed to say yes to the man looming over her. A man whose face she could barely see in the darkness of her bedroom. A man who said to her with obvious annoyance in his voice, “Oh well. Let’s just get this over with then.” And he did. And that was it.

  At the gym, Bradley didn’t avoid Madison; he simply ignored her. It was as though they’d never met. Madison didn’t tell Sarah what happened that night. She never even told her shrink, Dr. Golob. Sex was one topic Madison Feldon avoided at all costs. She never picked up another romance novel at the grocery store, either. Now here she was being invited to sit intimately and alone with a man.

  “Hey, are you all right?”

  Madison detected a note of genuine concern in Garvey’s voice. “Yeah, I’m fine.” She motioned with her hand. “Go ahead, have a seat.”

  “I don’t mean to bother you. I just wanted to tell you that I know I’m in good hands.” His smile was simple and genuine.

  “Thanks. I appreciate clients who appreciate me.” She smiled back.

  A cement truck lumbered by on the congested street, bits of rock bouncing out of the revolving drum and skittering along the sidewalk near the coffeehouse. Madison winced and let out a harsh, irritated breath. She could feel the minute twitch begin in her left eye. Her uninvited guest didn’t seem to notice her distress. He kept rambling on about the importance of fitness and nutrition.

  Garvey opened the brown bag and offered to share the coffee cake with Madison. Now her eye and her lip were twitching. She looked at everything but the tempting pastry and the man sitting across from her.

  “I hardly think that’s nutritious. It’s all empty calories and major carbs, you know.” Madison’s mouth flooded. She clenched her hands under the table.