by Tracy Ellen
As I walked nearer, her eyes flickered briefly my way. Her smile was friendly enough, if a little tired, and I smiled back.
Hearing guttural screams of frustration from inside the bar, and then a female voice shouting out slurred instructions, I locked eyes again with the blonde in the hall. She chuckled without humor at my shocked expression.
I stopped beside her and peered inside the bar to see what was causing all the fuss.
A woman had gone feral. She was tall with long black hair and pale skin, and it was immediately obvious she was ridiculously smashed and out of control. Wearing a skimpy halter dress barely covering her butt and high heels, she was attempting to perform a handstand against an older man. If his scarlet, flustered face was any clue, the man did not know her or want to be her spotter, but he also didn’t try to stop her. Since she was obnoxiously drunk, that was probably a wise move.
As I watched in disbelief, she shouted out more garbled instructions while her remarkable cleavage heaved for breath. Flinging back scads of long black hair, the wild woman kicked off again. Her dress fell over her head and the men at the door roared loudly. Sheer black panties were too small to successfully contain a thatch of white-blonde pubic hair that I could have lived my entire life happily without seeing. Apparently, the feral woman colored her hair on one end or the other.
If the older man survived getting his face punctured from her wildly waving stilettos, and if she managed to get her feet locked around his head, then I believe the idea was to pull herself upright. Sometimes, that move required your partner’s assistance, but not tonight. The woman was feral strong. In seconds, the man had a howling, gyrating, crazy-eyed women sitting up on his shoulders with her thatch grinding into his face.
Banshee woman held his head tight against her and rode him while the man’s arms fluttered uselessly at his sides, as if he was trying to fly. When she flung herself off backwards, the dazed older man was gasping for air.
The drunken woman landed on her ass on the marble tile. I heard the blonde next to me gasp, but the woman appeared unfazed. She flipped over and started doing a ludicrously bad worm across the bar floor. Her hands got caught up in her long hair. I winced when she ripped some black strands right out of her own head. Now the banshee had something to howl about, as patrons of the bar scrambled to move their stools and get out of her way while she expanded and contracted in their direction.
I was shocked nobody from security had stopped the wild woman yet. Not even a bar manager had tried to subdue her since I’d been observing from the door entrance.
Just then, she jumped up off the floor and onto the top of a closed grand piano. She went from feral woman to bad stripper. Pulling up her dress, she was bumping and grinding to the loud dance music piped throughout the club. In a parody of seduction, she used her hands and arm motions to imitate the sex act. Then she was feral again, furiously headbanging and screaming with the song while hopping across the piano top in her stilettos.
My mouth had dropped open at the crazy spectacle.
“Oh dear God,” the blonde at my side muttered, swigging on her wine.
I shook my head. “I can’t imagine what those heels are doing to the finish of that grand piano.”
“Scarring it up something terrible,” the woman stated with a sigh.
I held out my hand. “Hi, I’m Anabel Axelrod.” I chuckled. “You sounded pretty positive what those heels will do.”
She gripped my hand firmly and shook it. “Hi Anabel, I’m Carrie Bradley. I am positive because I saw her do the same thing last night.” She sighed again. “I checked the piano afterwards and it was fucked.”
Surprised, I jerked a thumb towards the bar. “Do you mean that crazy woman routine in there is an act she does?”
“No, I meant I was also following her around all of last night. I watched her do this at another bar when she was drunk. It’s what she does when she’s extremely pissed off.”
“Do you know her?”
Carrie’s expression was sheepish. “Yes, she’s my twin sister, Catrina Bradley.”
“Wow.” I whistled soundlessly.
I regarded Carrie. The white blonde hair had thrown me off, but now I could see the resemblance. The sisters weren’t identical, although both were tall with slender builds, pale skin, and sharp noses. However, nature had unfairly tweaked their similar features. Carrie was pleasant looking rather than pretty while Cat was a beauty, in spite of the banshee screaming and the bad black hair dye job.
I commented bluntly, “No offense, but I have three sisters. I know what they’re capable of when they get extremely pissed. I can honestly say not even Kenna has behaved this badly in public. How come you aren’t in there stopping her?”
Carrie nodded miserably. “I tried to stop her last night and it only made things worse. Now I’m waiting until she winds down.”
We both looked back at her sister. Cat had jumped off the piano and was up at the bar. Now she was trying to pull men off their barstools to come dance with her, rubbing herself up and down their legs as if they were poles.
Carrie drained the last of her wine, clearly embarrassed by her sister’s outrageous behavior. “When I watched her get drunk and do this last night, I was completely blown away.” Carrie pointed to the bar. “That Catrina is not the twin I’ve known all my life. Something happened a while back to set Cat off, but I’m not sure what.” The blonde girl continued confidingly, “I’ve been so worried by things she’s told me when we’ve talked on the phone. I drove out here and got here yesterday morning to see for myself what’s been going on.
Carrie seemed relieved to have another person to talk to about her problems. Recalling her air of dejection, she clearly needed someone to listen for a couple minutes, even a stranger. I decided I could stay for a few minutes longer, or at least until the need to pee became urgent.
“Have you found out anything to explain all that?” I asked, waving towards the bar area.
“I know she’s acting crazy, but I blame it on this man she’s fallen for here in Vegas.” She wrinkled her nose as if she tasted something bad. “From what I can tell, he’s some sort of asshole manipulator. It’s like she’s under his power. Cat has always been happy with her body image, but he made her get breast implants. He has my sister into things she’d never normally do and I think he’s got her on drugs. It’s the main reason I’m here. I’m trying to convince Cat to move home to Ohio, even if it’s for a little while, to get her away from his…thrall or whatever it is.” Carrie stared inwards for a few moments before shaking herself out of it to continue. “Before Christmas, they had a big fight over another woman. Cat has been crazed ever since. I thought I had talked her into leaving him over the phone, but then she stopped answering my calls.” She nodded towards the bar, “Now that I’ve seen her binge drinking, I’m freaking out she’s going to hurt herself or somebody else.”
We shared a pained glance when Cat smacked the bar top and shouted at the bartender, “Get me another goddamn drink! NOW!”
“Geez Louise, maybe you can’t control her, but I can’t believe Bellagio security hasn’t shut her down and escorted her out.” Carrie’s twin or not, bad boyfriend problems or not, Catrina Bradley was a disturbed individual and a total bitch. She needed to be put in a sleeper hold.
Carrie pointed off to a shadowed corner in the bar I hadn’t noticed. A woman stood with arms crossed and stared at Cat. She was flanked by two burly security guards.
“Their hands are tied because of the boyfriend. Cat has bragged to me on the phone that he has clout in the casinos. She can do whatever she wants because everybody knows she’s with him. I haven’t met him yet, but she makes it sound like they’re afraid to cross him.”
“There seems to be a lot of that going around in Vegas,” I replied, dryly. “What did Cat say when you asked her about all of this?”
Carrie’s pleasant face drooped in despair. “Cat and I have never seen eye to eye on men.” She shrugged a shoulder.
“She accused me of being jealous because she has an exciting new job and a boyfriend with money. But she’s still my sister and I’m not going to just stand by…wait a minute. Look at this.” Carrie dug inside her purse while saying between clenched teeth, “What would you think of your sister’s exciting job and her rich boyfriend if he gave her cards like these to advertise?”
She finally located it and passed me a square red card printed in a bold black font that read,
Catrina LaFave,
Head Woman
Queens of the Kochsucker
Las Vegas, Nevada
(702) 734-6656
My eyes opened wide in disbelief. “I wouldn’t think too much of the job or the boyfriend.”
My mind raced with several thoughts at once. ‘Holy Hannah, Catrina Bradley was a prostitute! No wonder Cat was binge drinking. If my job was giving head forty hours a week, I’d be bingeing on something, too. Was it the strangest coincidence ever or was Kyle Koch a pimp running a brothel that specialized in blow jobs?’
I don’t believe in coincidences that strange. It actually wasn’t such a far leap of logic the Kochsucker on Cat’s business card would be the same Kyle Koch that I’d run into this afternoon. The maid, Melody had mentioned the same sort of shady suspicions about him as Carrie. How many creepy Koch’s were running around Vegas? I could easily believe he’d be a skeevy pimp.
“Good luck with helping your sister. My advice? Do whatever it takes to get her out of town. Drug her, kidnap her, lock her in a room, and even sit on her if you have to.” I patted Carrie’s knobby shoulder. “It was nice to meet you, but I need to get back to my friends.” I started to straighten up, but then asked casually, “What was the boyfriend’s name again?”
“You!” Catrina shouted in a furious voice. “You fucking bitch, I hate you! What are you worth to him, that’s what I want to know? What can you do that I can’t do a hundred times better?”
Carrie and I jerked up our heads in astonishment to find Catrina in our face. We had slumped against the wall while discussing her twin and now she towered over us, fists on hips.
I was even more astounded when I realized the six-foot tall wild woman, a complete stranger, had addressed those comments to me and not her twin sister.
Standing up straight, I tilted my head back to stare coolly into bloodshot eyes blazing through long hunks of frizzy black hair. “Well, off the top, my manners are better, my hair is better, I can do the worm better, and I certainly dance a whole hell of a lot better. But excuse me, have we met?”
As I patiently explained to the burly security guards and the woman bar manager when they were at our side two seconds after Catrina lay writhing on the ground, it was self-defense. She had started it.
I indicated the red marks on both my upper arms.
What was I supposed to do when the Banshee grabbed me and started to shake?
I agree, Catrina may not have physical balls, but she deserved the vicious kick in the crotch that took her down. Luke would be proud of my precise execution. He might be disappointed I’d engaged with a drunken woman, but nobody calls me a “fucking bitch” to my face and walks away happy.
The woman bar manager looked uneasy when Catrina screamed from the floor that they were going to be fired if they didn’t kick me out of the hotel.
Until I mentioned I was a guest of the Bellagio in the baron’s party. The bar manager and the security guys were all smiles after that news.
Apparently, the baron’s clout trumped a gangsta’s minion’s crazy girlfriend. I was starting to believe the baron could be a good fit in our family.
Carrie’s face was scrunched with worry as she spoke in a low voice to the Bellagio staff. Whatever she said, the bar manager quickly nodded her agreement and motioned to the security guards. The two men hauled up Carrie’s snarling, swearing sister from the floor and carried Cat off to the back of the bar.
In a rush to follow the security guards, Carrie hurriedly dug in her purse again while saying, “Thanks for listening to my problems. I’m so sorry for Catrina’s behavior. I have no idea why she attacked you, and I wish you hadn’t kicked her, but it’s clear my sister’s gone completely over the edge. I’m taking your advice and leaving with her for Ohio right now.” She pulled out a pen and pointed to the red business card still clutched in my hand. When I passed it over, she dashed off something on the back. “I hope you don’t want to press assault charges or anything like that, but here is my address and cell number.”
As she returned the card, I reassured Carrie that I didn’t plan to press charges. “If you’re getting your sister out of town, I won’t take it any further. Can I offer a little more advice to make your ride home to Ohio easier?” At her nod, I went on, “Let Catrina think I am pressing charges.”
Her grin was a little frayed around the edges, but the anxious lines smoothed from Carrie’s forehead at my words. “I will, but hopefully she’ll sleep most of the drive home.” She waved goodbye, but turned back long enough to say, “Oh yeah, Catrina’s boyfriend’s name is Kyle Koch.”
Experiencing the dread in my stomach at just hearing his name spoken out loud, as if by saying his name he could be summoned, I gratefully accepted the drink on the house the bar manager offered.
Chapter XVII
“Gangsta’s Paradise” by Coolio
Monday, 12/31
9:25 AM
The Vinyasa Power Yoga class offered in the fitness center had been extra challenging for me after a night of little sleep.
The party was such fun at Hyde last evening, we’d never left to check out other clubs. Kenna pulled another shocker and showed up around 1:00 AM. She was relatively sober compared to most of us. She and Candy had lost track of each other at another nightclub. When Candy didn’t answer her phone, Kenna left to come join us.
“I am a bridesmaid in my brother’s wedding, too, so it’s only right I come spend some time with you guys,” Kenna stated defensively when the girls did a double take at seeing her at our table. It sounded to me like a line from an argument she already had with the un-cousin.
Since Kenna wasn’t drunk, Anna was willing to be supportive and spoke quickly, “No, no, it’s great you’re here.” She shook her head from side to side. “What do you think of my crown?”
Kenna laughed. “It’s disgustingly cool.”
I grinned and looped my arm through hers, always willing to sow the subtle seeds of discontent between Kenna and Crazy. “Damn straight you’re a bridesmaid. Come on, let’s go shake it like we’ve got it.”
With men, with each other, in groups, and by ourselves--we danced for hours. Sometime during the night, Anna had the autograph of some famous rapper signed scandalously high on her thigh.
Flushed with excitement, she’d proudly shown us. “I am not ever washing this thigh again!”
Several noses wrinkled at that statement.
Jazy was wasted and laughed loudly. “I can’t wait to hear what Reg has to say when he’s taking your garter thingy off with his teeth after the wedding.”
I laughed imagining my brother’s face. I was a little envious I hadn’t thought to ask that group of The Beautiful People to autograph my thighs.
We tucked the exhausted, but ecstatic bride into her suite around three in the morning. Kenna went whistling off to her room. I then delivered a singing Mac to her suite with Diego and a staggering Pam to John Smith. Somehow, between cajoling and outright threats, I navigated the smashed duo of Jazy and Tre to their shared suite. I forced them to swallow a preventative Advil each and down a glass of water. Tolerating their slobbering hugs and slurring “I wuv you, man” and “I’d kill fo’ you, girl,” I pushed them into their beds. They were passed out before their door locked behind me.
Being a maid of honor was no walk in the park—it was hard, thankless work. I needed to read those papers Darcy left me about sponsoring the Milton kids the minute I arrived home. If being a godparent to four small boys for life was anywhere close to supervisi
ng four wasted women for one night, I might have to reconsider the honor.
I’d brushed my teeth and changed into a sultry white satin nightgown, in the event Luke returned to our suite earlier than anticipated and couldn’t keep his hands to himself. Climbing into the bed, I expected to fall asleep instantly. Instead, my brain decided it had too much to think over. Rather than tossing and turning, I wrapped up in a blue cashmere throw and got comfy in the chaise lounge. Blackmail, murder, prostitution, marriage--I let the thoughts freefall where they would while I gazed out the huge windows into the night sky and dozed fitfully until morning.
Luke still hadn’t returned to our suite when I scrounged up every drop of willpower inside of me and dragged my butt to the yoga class at eight.
As I trekked back to the spa tower elevators with a steaming latte in hand, I was now on top of the world. That’s the addicting thing about exercise for me; no matter how lethargic I felt when I started, the end result would be an energetic high.
Hitting the button, I stood aside and blew on the hot, milky espresso before taking a tiny sip.
“Anabel Axelrod, I said we’d be seeing each other again.”
I was grateful to be looking down at my latte when I heard that cold, soft voice. Instead of Kyle Koch getting the satisfaction of seeing the dread on my face that I felt in his presence, I had a split second to compose myself.
‘Holy crap, how did he know my full name?’ I thought in alarm, which didn’t help much with gathering my composure.
But there was no way I was going to feed his bully ego that he was some sort of evil dude everyone should fear, even if it was true.
So, I used the line that had worked so well on his Banshee girlfriend. “Excuse me, have we met?”
I kept my blandly impersonal smile firmly in place while his dark eyes crawled over my face.
The spooky, closed-mouth smile appeared and he bowed his head in mocking acquiescence. “Not officially. My name is Kyle Koch. We were involved in that unfortunate incident yesterday in the staff area.”