by Mina Vaughn
“You’ve got some kind of stick up your ass if you can’t enjoy this place,” I grumbled. He said nothing.
We continued down the outdated hallway to our room, which was lacking the delightfully cliché décor of the rest of the place. Part of me was disappointed. “I was hoping the room would have a throne or something,” I said with a pout.
Aston just curled his lip in disgust.
I rolled my eyes at his snobbery and plopped down on the bed. “Should we unpack a bit then hit the slots?” I asked. We were in Vegas, at long last, and I sure as hell didn’t want to go straight to bed. Or straight to sex. For once.
Aston ran his hand through his hair. “I’m tired.”
I pulled him down next to me. “What is your deal?” I asked, trying to get him to make eye contact with me.
“I just,” he began, then trailed off. I patted his hand, encouraging him to continue. “This is fun, don’t get me wrong. Going with the touristy hotel on a road trip, I get it. It’s part of the charm. It’s just so old and dirty, you know? I’m mortified to be staying here.”
My eyes went wide. “What?”
He shrugged, almost defiantly. “It’s embarrassing.”
This was too much. I really didn’t think he was so spoiled that staying here would make him feel mortified. I was the one feeling embarrassed now, and angry and inadequate. “I don’t have the energy for this right now,” I said, suppressing a sob. I didn’t want him to see that he’d made me cry. I put on my brave face and shook my head at him, disappointed.
Deciding I needed time to calm down, I grabbed my purse and key card and headed to the casino.
This was not how I pictured my first night in Vegas. I imagined myself dolled to the max in some sort of wiggle dress with amazing shoes, strutting arm in arm with Aston into a chic little vintage lounge, the kind that the Rat Pack used to attend. Old Vegas, retro stuff, fun and sexy and jazz that went into the early-morning hours.
Instead, I sat in front of a Sex and the City slot machine and cried into my cranberry and vodka. The little magenta drinks were tart, refreshing, and numbing. The machine in front of me had nice shoes for icons and seemed to win a lot, so I bet quarter after quarter on Carrie and her friends. Reaching into my purse, I found a tissue and blotted my eyes. I didn’t have the foresight to put on waterproof eyeliner so I worried my cat eyes were turning into raccoon eyes.
The night wound on this way. Ooh, I won five dollars. Great. Another drink? Why, yes. Until finally, a hand on my shoulder shook me out of my slotty funk.
“Are you here for the pageant?” a voice behind me asked.
I turned around and in front of me was an absolute doll. A pinup for the ages. She was wheat blond and had soft pin-curl waves around her face. Her lipstick was racer red, and her eyeliner reached far beyond the corners of her eyes, as if they were stretching after a long nap.
“Yes,” I said, continuing to assess her. She was wearing sailor shorts, a red bandeau top, and had the cutest polka dot espadrilles I’d ever seen. I wanted to be her best friend.
She sat down at the slot next to me and extended her hand. “I’m Flora. I was last year’s winner, and I’m on the judges panel this year.”
“Veronika Kane,” I said, suddenly intimidated. “Nice to meet you.” Were my eyes still running? Did it look like I’d been crying? Was I one too many cranberry and vodkas in?
Flora cocked her head and looked at me, concerned. “Nervous?” she asked, flicking her eyes to the tissue and my drink.
I shrugged. “A little. Just drove for over a week to get here and I’m just sort of blowing off some steam.”
She gave me a sympathetic look. “Wow, driving for a week. Well, at least you won’t have to tease your rolls too much,” she joked. “Convertible?”
“Of course,” I replied, patting my hair.
She crossed her legs and leaned in. “Some of the girls who competed last year are going out. You look like you need a friend and a good time. Want to come?”
I sighed. “That’s exactly what I need right now. Let me just—” I reached for my phone to text Aston where I was going to be and then realized my phone was dead. Whatever. He was brooding and we could talk later. I didn’t have to explain myself to him.
“Let’s go,” I said to Flora. She smiled, took my elbow, and we sashayed through the hotel toward the entrance. Once we were outside, the hot air hit us like a hairdryer in the face. Flora hailed a cab and we hopped in and sailed toward the Beauty Lounge.
This place was a pinup’s dream. It was decorated like a 1950s hair salon, complete with a black-and-white tile floor and big wacky hairdryers. We fit right in. A gaggle of pinups waved to Flora from a corner booth. I smiled, taking in the sight of all the girls. I could already tell they were my people. One was a curvy, black-haired pinup with a Monroe piercing and huge bumper bangs. Another was a more lounge singer–looking siren, auburn hair falling in long waves, held in place with a large exotic flower. The third girl at the table was a stick-thin, doll-like waif with huge eyes and horn-rimmed glasses. They were the cutest bunch of girls I’d ever seen, and my heart rejoiced that I was with people who would understand me. The best part? They were a diverse bunch, of all various shapes and sizes, so the last of my weight worries slipped away.
And when I sat down, I was greeted by warm smiles and hugs. No cattiness, no dirty looks. My fears about the actual contest fell away when the bartender brought me over their signature shot, the Bombshell. The girls cheered as I took the shot and joined their little club.
“I’m Sally,” said the one with the big, dark bangs.
“Johanna,” the amber siren said. “That’s Mellie. She’s not drunk enough to get chatty yet.” The waif giggled shyly, and the group erupted in boisterous conversation after Flora and I got settled.
The night went on in much the same way, a little chatter, rounds of drinks, and lots of laughter. We shared stories about how many people don’t understand why we look the way we do—that we weren’t stuck in the past or born into the wrong generation—just that we’d finally found a look and feel that felt right on our skin. It was validating, hearing these women share their experiences.
“Let’s compare ink,” I said, hoping to see some nice artwork. So far, I hadn’t noticed much more than a sleeve on Sally.
Johanna shook her head. “Nothing to show,” she shrugged.
Mellie stood and showed off a tiny pair of cherries she had right above her butt cheek. “That’s all I’ve got.” Sally let me examine her sleeve—which was a beautiful depiction of koi fish and Japanese woodblock art—and Flora spread her hands in apology.
I swallowed. “Are tatts uncommon in this pageant?” I asked. Lots of pinups I knew at home had plenty of ink. Was I in the minority?
“Some,” Flora said with a conciliatory tone. “It’s not a big deal if you have them, though. There are other big pageants that are more alt-centric.”
A bit of self-consciousness resurfaced, but I tried to dismiss it. I was learning to trust myself and couldn’t let this get in the way. “Let’s have another round,” I offered, deflecting the conversation. Someone brought up some new backcombing techniques and we were all engrossed. I learned a lot from these girls—a couple of tricks regarding fabric tape and boobs, some info on which swimsuit cuts looked best onstage when there was no object on which to pose. This was helpful because I normally posed on cars or seated, rarely just standing. Then the girls and I talked about our favorite rockabilly bands, the best songs, and the most fun shoots we’d ever been on. It was really nice having them to bounce ideas off of. It made the contest feel much less nerve-racking and more just like a good time I was ready to embark on. When I got back to the hotel, I’d try to patch things up with Aston and share my enthusiasm about the girls.
By the time we’d left the place, it was around four-thirty AM. Not late by Vegas stan
dards, but certainly late by mine. Good thing there were taxis, because I didn’t want to stumble all the way back to the Strip. I exchanged numbers with Flora, who offered to consult with me before the show, and I ambled my way back into the Excalibur.
I walked along the casino floor, wondering if I was ready to go back upstairs. My heart wanted to see Aston, but I didn’t know if he was mad at me for leaving without giving him time to defend himself. I’d just bailed, which was pretty shitty on my part. He may be spoiled, and he may be my sub, but I should have had the foresight to let him air out his grievances and vent about his “embarrassment,” as entitled as it was.
I put one more dollar in a slot with a flower motif, since Flora had been the person to successfully recover my evening, but sadly I lost. Oh well, at least I was only betting with a dollar instead of a ten or a twenty. I can’t imagine the kind of money it takes to enter those big poker contests, or to be one of those people with stacks and stacks of chips at the roulette table.
By the time I made it to the elevator, I’d recovered most of my senses. I was a bit shaky before we left the club, but the girls and I had a strong cup of coffee before our cabs came and I had a little something to eat at an all-night food truck outside the hotel. I was feeling much better, much more prepared to talk.
I slid the key card in the door once I’d made it there and walked in. The room was dark; he must be sleeping.
But I didn’t want to go to bed like this, worrying that in the morning we’d be at odds. I have always believed you should never go to bed angry. Clearly, Aston didn’t have the same upbringing, but I doubt he’d be that mad if I woke him now if I was just going to try to make up. Hey, making up often leads to sex, so I consoled myself with that as I made my way across the dark suite to the bed.
“Aston,” I whispered, fumbling for the light.
He didn’t answer. Deep sleeper. I knew that for sure since there was one night he slept tied to the bed. We’d dozed after the sex, and when I woke an hour later to try to untie him, he was completely sound asleep, spread-eagle, looking blissful among the ropes and the blindfold. I guessed the blindfold kept the light out, but I was shocked at how he was able to sleep without a blanket to snuggle. I suppose my body is enough, I thought with a smile. I couldn’t wait to make up with him—he may be a brat, but he was my brat and I missed him already. Loved him, in fact, and I didn’t care anymore how long it had been or how different we were. Now if I could only hear his loud snore, I’d be able to find his lips and kiss them. Or find a lamp.
Finally, my fingers found the light switch and I flicked it on, illuminating the pitch-black room.
Aston was gone.
I pulled at my hair, shocked. Did he go down to have a drink? To gamble at some other casino and feel all fancy since he was stuck here in this shitty room? Of course he’d want to leave. He’d just told me how below him this place was, so he probably took a walk to the monorail that connected the hotel with nicer ones and planted himself at a blackjack table. Hell, I didn’t even know what game he played, but I was sure it wasn’t slots. It was probably Texas hold ’em, one with a big buy-in that would stroke his ego. Damn him.
I was about to just tuck myself in and actually go to bed angry when I noticed something conspicuously missing from the room.
Aston’s bags.
I blinked, realizing the enormity of the situation. Aston hadn’t just gone to another casino for a card game and a drink—he took his stuff.
He moved out before we even moved in together.
I sat on the edge of the bed with my head in my hands. I was too harsh on him. The Domme thing, was it too much? Had it gone to my head like a power trip, making me push him away instead of pulling him closer to me? My eyes watered as I realized the best thing that has happened to me was gone. He kept talking about how I’d changed his life, but in reality, he’d changed mine just as much.
I fell backward onto the pillows, feeling the tears slide down my face and into my hair. I didn’t need this right now. I had so many other things to deal with that being heartbroken wasn’t an option.
It couldn’t be an option.
It took all the strength in me to push myself up off that bed. I walked up to the mirror, slicked on some lipstick, and adjusted my hair. He may not have left all that long ago. I could look for him. I had to get him back, at least to apologize. If he didn’t want to set things right, I’d understand, but he deserved to be heard and I should be the bigger person and admit wrongdoing.
So I left the suite for the second time, this time on a mission.
I got to the first floor completely reenergized. The doors opened and I walked into the casino with fresh eyes, ready to find Aston and talk.
Instead a hand caught my shoulder and pulled me roughly.
“Welcome to Vegas,” a gruff voice said.
I spun toward the voice, one I knew all too well.
Derek.
I tried not to stare. I knew Derek was in Vegas from the selfie he’d sent, but seeing the asshole right in front of me was nearly crippling. Our relationship flashed before my eyes—both good and bad. The kisses, the insults, the nights at the movies, the put-downs, the laughs shared while restoring cars, and of course, the fat-shaming. Every single moment of our time together ran past my eyes in fast-forward as he stared at me, smug smirk and tatted arms crossed. He was pushing up his muscles with his thumbs to make them look bigger, more intimidating. How pathetic.
“How the fuck did you find me?” I asked, hands on hips.
He snorted. “Because you always thought of yourself as a princess,” he said, gesturing to the Renaissance Faire aspect of the place.
I rolled my eyes.
“You’ve got a lot of nerve coming here,” he said with a slow nod. “Evading my calls and texts, dodging my lawyer. You’ve got a lot to answer for, you dirty little cunt.”
The part of me that would have reacted like a shamed dog retreated to the back of my mind, batted there by the new me, the Domme me. Derek hadn’t met her yet.
Maybe it was time for an introduction.
“I’d say you’re the one who’s got a lot of nerve, Derek. Following me across the country, harassing me with phone calls and texts. That’s enough to earn you a restraining order.” I put my hand on my hip, opening my body, juxtaposing the way he was facing me. He was closed off, physically, in an attempt to defend himself. I, however, was braver than him. And I wanted him to know it.
A strange look crossed his face. It was something I’d never seen—confusion. He didn’t know what to make of me.
I glanced over my shoulder at a police officer, who seemed to be walking toward a disruption at the other end of the casino. “See that guy? I can just walk over to him, show him the texts you’ve sent, and get that restraining order paperwork going now, if you’d like.”
Derek made a psssht sound. “You don’t have the balls for it.”
“Watch me,” I said, enunciating every letter, pivoting confidently on my heel.
He put his arm on my shoulder to turn me around.
I jerked away. “Don’t ever touch me,” I said, voice at least two octaves lower. It was an order, barked in my Domme voice. Derek paled.
“What the fuck happened to you?” he asked. I wasn’t even sure if it was directed at me, or just a shocked expletive from a man who thought he was the center of the universe.
I chuckled, twirling my hair. “What happened to me? I took control of my life. I left you, drove across the country, and I’m on my way to starting a new life. A happy life where I’m the one calling the shots.”
Again, the incredulous look. Eyes rolling, lip curling. “That’s cute, real cute. Starting a new life with that fraud money you stole from me with your little spoiled boyfriend?”
Tapping my foot, I just stared at him. I focused my glare, eyeing him, unnerving him. I watched him
squirm before speaking. “You can’t fool me,” I said, preparing the boldest move of my life. I knew what I had to do to get Derek off my back, but it only occurred to me now, in Vegas. A place where you had to keep your cards close to your chest and perfect your poker face.
I had to bluff.
“You really think that I’m going to fall for something so fucking stupid? Of course you don’t have a lawyer! Whoever called me must be one of your cronies.”
Derek bristled. “Of course I got a lawyer—you fucking stole a car from me you fat bitch!”
I squared my shoulders, pushing my chest out and bobbing my hip. It wasn’t fat, it was curvy, and he wanted my body. I could see it in his lecherous eyes. “You’re full of shit. You know for a fact you have no legal recourse here. I’ve consulted with my lawyers, and I know you don’t have a case. They said you’d stand to lose tens of thousands if you pursued this in court.”
Derek’s face reddened, and beads of sweat began to form on his forehead. He jabbed a finger at me. “That’s why I told you I wanted to settle out of court! It would save us both the legal fees and we could just end it. But no, you had to leave the state. With that guy you were in cahoots with. No wonder you’ve contacted lawyers—you’re up shit’s creek.”
I nodded. “You just keep telling yourself that,” I said. I had no idea if I was making any progress, but if I wanted any kind of ground here, I’d have to stay the course. “Once I’m done with the contest, I’ll have my lawyers get in touch with yours about proceeding. You don’t stand a chance.”
He glanced over his shoulder and grimaced. I kept my laser stare on him as he began to stammer. “Just settle, Veronika. My final offer is one hundred grand, as opposed to over double that if you lost in court. It’s not a chance you can afford. Can’t you see I’m trying to do you a favor? Hell, I was the one who got you into this contest for fuck’s sake.”