Submersed
by
Rachelle Vaughn
SUBMERSED
Copyright © 2012 by Rachelle Vaughn
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission in writing from the author.
rachellevaughn.com
Chapter One
I set my paintbrush down and stretched my aching back muscles. My shoulders and arm screamed from holding the brush at the same angle for too long. My stomach growled noisily to remind me I’d forgotten to eat breakfast. The painting was finally finished and I stood back to admire, or in my case, critique my work.
The dreary scene depicted a rainy day in Paris, the Eiffel Tower tall and pointed in the background. Instead of illustrating how fresh and cleansing rain could be, the painting was gray, gloomy and downright depressing.
I sighed, shook my head and looked away.
I hadn’t used bold colors since… Well in a long time.
It wasn’t like there was any shortage of colors around me. I lived at the top of a hotel in downtown Las Vegas. Colors were the blood pumping in and out of the city. Neon lights pulsed, billboards splashed with color twenty-four-seven. But the colors didn’t inspire me. I was too preoccupied by the demons that had plagued me for the last six years.
I went to the wall of windows and looked out at the city. I had to admit, the view was incredible. A replica of the world was literally at my feet. There were representations of dozens of cities and countries from New York and Italy to Monaco, Egypt and Paris.
To the left I saw the Empire State Building, the Chrysler Building and the Statue of Liberty at New York-New York. There was the Great Sphinx of Giza in front of Luxor and I knew that the spotlight at the tip of the pyramid would light up blue at night.
To the right, the MGM Grand, which would glow green after dark and the ornate Paris Las Vegas Montgolfier balloon marquee sign.
In fact, I could see the Eiffel Tower jutting up into the desert sky from my studio window, which was ironic because Paris, France was where my mother ran off to six years ago. My father assured me it was a coincidence, but I knew the real reason she left.
Although I lived smack dab in the middle of The Strip, I’d never been to the top of the half-scale reproduction of Europe’s most famous landmark. I’d never been on a gondola ride at The Venetian, or seen the shark reef at Mandalay Bay or even ridden the roller coaster at New York-New York Hotel and Casino.
Occasionally, I went to my father’s “estate” in Summerlin for dinner or to use the Olympic-sized pool. But thanks to the internet and my trusty credit card, I didn’t even need to leave the hotel for art supplies.
And that was just how I liked it.
I walked out of my studio, closed the door behind me and went through the bedroom out to the living area. When I pulled the foam earplugs out of my ears, I could hear my father’s voice booming out of my answering machine.
“Olivia,” he was saying, with that air of authority that had made him millions, “the charity dinner is next Saturday night. Please don’t forget. I know how you hate these things, but it’s important and you know I’d appreciate you coming.” He paused before adding, “I’m sure I could find someone to go with you as your date.” My stomach clenched. “Gwendolyn’s friend’s nephew is single and I know he’d love to meet you.”
Ah, my father, perpetual matchmaker. How could he even suggest fixing me up with a friend of a friend of a friend with a straight face. I groaned and cast my eyes to the ceiling at the thought.
“I’d have you come as my date,” my father continued, “but I’ve already invited Gwendolyn.”
Gwendolyn and my father had been seeing each other for a few months. I liked her. She was a breath of fresh air from the stale succubus that was my mother.
“You don’t even need a date,” he went on. “Just come with us.” Desperation laced his words and I felt so bad for him. He deserved to have a normal daughter, but I couldn’t be that for him no matter how much I wanted to.
“I can’t stand the thought of you shut up in your room while a party goes on right downstairs. So, think about it and I’ll talk to you later, honey.”
I sighed and promptly deleted the message.
My father’s message left me wanting to discuss my circumstances with someone. Vent out my frustration and cry on a friendly shoulder.
But that wasn’t likely to happen.
I didn’t have any friends. Not in a boo-hoo-feel-sorry-for-me kind of way. More of an I-don’t-want-the-hassle sort of way. Sure, I’m friendly with plenty of people. Frank the concierge, my driver, the housekeeping and room service staff, but that’s about as much as I can handle, socially speaking.
Speaking of housekeeping, like clockwork, there was a knock on my door at two o’clock. When I swung the door open, Michelle my favorite guest room attendant was standing on the other side with her cart.
“Is this a bad time, Olivia?” she asked.
“No, not at all. Please come in,” I said, waving her inside.
She wheeled her cart in and I shut the door behind her.
Michelle had been working on the housekeeping staff for about a year. She wore her dark frizzy hair pulled back in a messy bun. She looked a few years younger than I did, but I had never asked her age. Her face was plain, although she would probably be pretty with a little mascara, and the only thing that really stood out about her were her massive breasts. I could tell she was self-conscious about them by the way she hunched her shoulders forward so they wouldn’t stick out so far. She didn’t look particularly overweight, but then again I’d only ever seen her in her baggy unflattering uniform.
I wasn’t nervous around Michelle like I was most everyone else. Maybe because she seemed just as uncomfortable in her own skin as I was.
I liked her because she never asked too many questions and she didn’t seem to judge me. Not in a way that was obvious anyway. I’m sure Michelle was curious about me as well as everyone else who knew of my obscurity. I knew everyone on staff at the hotel talked about me. I wondered if she fed them bits of insight about my life. Like how many towels I used. Or what I did alone up in my room day in and day out.
I imagined them all huddled together dissecting me in hushed tones, trading gossip. The thought made my skin crawl and I tried to focus on Michelle’s smiling face until the feeling passed.
When she started stripping the sheets from the bed, I jumped in to help her.
“You don’t have to do that,” she tsked.
“It’s okay. I don’t mind.” In fact, I always helped her when she came in, but she always protested the same way. It was probably because of who my father was.
I knew none of the other guests in the hotel helped their housekeeper, but I wasn’t like other guests and I wasn’t even technically a guest.
“Any big plans for the weekend?” she asked, shoving my pillow into a fresh pillowcase.
I knew she was just making small talk because everyone in the hotel knew I rarely left my room. But I hated small talk. I never knew what to say. Everything always ended up sounding so inconsequential. Then again, I supposed that was what making small talk was all about.
I shrugged. “No,” I answered, sliding my spare pillow from its pillowcase.
I silently debated whether or not to tell her about my dilemma. After a minute, I decided I had to confide in someone or I would end up talking to the walls. “My father wants me to attend a charity dinner next week.”
/> “That sounds fun,” Michelle replied cheerily.
“Not really,” I winced. “To be honest, I can’t stand my father’s pretentious events. Every time I go, I’m expected to schmooze with the bigwigs of Nevada while he loosens their grips on their wallets in the name of charity. It’s all such a sham.”
“It’s for a good cause, though, isn’t it?”
“Yeah, I guess so,” I mumbled with another shrug.
“So do you get to get all dressed up?” Michelle asked with almost annoying excitement.
“Well, it’s a formal event so I would have to get dressed up.”
“Well, that should be fun.”
I could tell Michelle wanted me to be a lot more excited than I was. She kept using the word “fun”. Then again, maybe the idea of attending a who’s who of who has the most simoleons appealed to her. Either way, she was trying so hard and I wasn’t helping.
I shook my head. “I’m not going anyway. I just can’t bear to. Especially without a date. My father doesn’t understand that when a man looks at me it’s with dollar signs in his eyes instead of genuine interest.” Not that I was interested in a man anyway. I would never let another man do to me what Derrick had done. Never.
“I’m sure there’s a way for you to have a date,” she said a bit furtively.
My brows knit together and I searched her face. “Don’t give me that look. I didn’t tell you so you’d feel obligated to set me up with someone.”
“No, that wasn’t quite what I had in mind,” she said carefully. “I hope it’s not inappropriate for me to make a suggestion.”
Okay, now she had me intrigued. “Of course not. I need all the help I can get. Whatta ya got?” I asked wearily.
Michelle looked around the room and spotted my laptop on the coffee table. “May I?”
I waved my hand at the computer. “Be my guest.”
She knelt down at the table, quickly typed in a few words and pulled up a website. She angled the screen towards me and I squatted down to take a look.
The website, to my dismay, offered male escort services. My eyes skittered over the screen and I felt two emotions. First, utter horror. And second, a tinge, a very slight tinge, of curiosity.
I stood up straight and shook my head until I thought I felt my brain jiggling. “You’ve got to be kidding me,” I stammered. “I can’t do that.”
I’d ordered shoes and books online, but never a man. Was that even legal? Oh, yes. Of course it was. Only in Vegas.
“Sorry.” Michelle grimaced; her eyes screaming don’t fire me! “I thought you might think of it as an expensive rent-a-date.” She started to close the screen and I stopped her.
“Wait.” I tried to be open-minded, but immediately cringed at some of the “models‘” faces staring back at me. “Even if I did do it, I’d end up with some greasy freak show.” I gestured to the photo of an overly tanned gigolo smirking on the screen. “I can’t present someone like that to Ronald Sharpe.”
“They aren’t all like that,” Michelle said gently. “My friend Christina hired one and if anything, she said he sort of looked like an accountant. She said the sex was the most amazing she’d ever had,” she added, smiling.
“I don’t want to have sex with the guy!” I screeched and took a step back.
Oh, God. I should have just kept my mouth shut. The entire hotel was going to be buzzing with this news after she left. Having a friend was not all it was cracked up to be.
“I just need him to escort me to a stupid dinner party.” The word “escort” obviously didn’t mean the same thing to both of us.
Michelle shrugged. “That’s up to you. You’re the one paying for the guy.”
“Whoa,” I cried out and put my hands up in surrender. “I’m not paying anyone. I haven’t even agreed to this and you’re already having me sleep with the guy.” Whoever the hell he was.
“Christina said the guy she hired gave her a wonderful massage.”
“That’s nice for your friend,” I said sarcastically.
“Here, look.” Michelle scrolled down the webpage. “There are all sorts of different men to choose from.”
“I don’t want the same one your friend had.” I shuddered at the thought.
Michelle opened her mouth, probably to comment about how it didn’t matter because they’ve all been with hundreds of women, but she wisely thought better of it.
“This one looks nice.” Michelle clicked on a photo of a muscular blonde Ken doll look-alike. His profile said he was down to earth with a magnetic personality. I almost laughed at how ridiculous this was, but chewed on my fingernail instead.
“Yeah, I can’t do something like this,” I blurted. Anxiety had started working its way down my arms and I clasped my hands together to keep them from shaking. “Thanks for the help, Michelle.”
“Sure.” She offered me a weak smile. “Well, I’m just going to start on the bathroom,” she said stiffly.
Great, now things were awkward between us. Just because I had to go and open up my big mouth.
“Okay. I’ll just be in my studio,” I replied.
I quickly retreated to my comfort zone, shut the door behind me and paced the room.
It wasn’t like Michelle’s idea was a bad one. It just wasn’t for me. I mean someone like me--isolated, shy, neurotic out of her ever loving mind--didn’t hire someone like that--tan, toned, gorgeous--to escort me to a black tie charity dinner. It was preposterous.
Or was it?
Nervously, I tapped my thumb on my chin. The more I thought about it, the more I wondered if that wasn’t exactly what someone like me would do. Money wasn’t an issue and what better way to appease my father and have a no strings attached arrangement with a man for one evening?
The upsides were obvious and almost convincing enough for me to consider it.
Now, for the downsides. Number one, I was a nervous wreck and experienced moderate panic attacks when presented with any situation outside my comfort zone--which coincidently included virtually everywhere but my hotel suite. Number two, the thought of having a conversation with a strange man, much less spending an entire evening with him made me want to hurl my guts out.
Okay, maybe this wasn’t such a good idea. It wasn’t as if I even needed to attend the stupid charity dinner in the first place.
Then the sound of my father’s distressed voice echoed in my head. I could already see the disappointment settling on his face if I didn’t man-up and go. My poor disillusioned father knew all about my issues but he still had high, if not completely unrealistic, hopes of me having a normal, fulfilling life.
It would just be for one evening.
Christ, I couldn’t believe I was actually thinking about this.
While Michelle vacuumed the bedroom, I wondered if I had the nerve to actually go through with it.
Chapter Two
As soon as Michelle left, I went back out to my laptop and scrolled through the photos online. The website promised the most attractive males in Las Vegas for safe, non-judgmental male companionship. Well, when they worded it like that, it sounded like exactly what I was looking for.
I needed all of those things. I needed a man who could give me the illusion of me trusting him--because Lord knew I couldn’t actually trust another man--and I needed a man I could realistically bring to meet my father. Now that was a tall order.
Several of the guys looked too old and almost…leathery. One was way too thin and gangly, the next way too body-builder big. The next had a too orangey tan and a goofy grin. Too gay looking. Too creepy. Too sexy. Yes, there was such a thing as too sexy when it came to black tie charity events.
One after the other I shot them down like a callous judge at a cheesy talent show.
It was after I started to really look deeper that I realized a few of them weren’t so bad. If anything, they were too good to be true. One looked like a Calvin Klein underwear model. Another boasted about his cover of Men’s Health magazine and had the
guns to back it up. The next looked like he belonged in an Abercrombie and Fitch catalog.
One thing was for sure. They all spent hours upon hours at the gym.
Before I could over think it, I made my decision and hastily called my father.
“Olivia,” he answered warmly. His voice was like a hug and I wished I could climb onto his lap like I used to when I was a little girl and he would assure me that everything was going to be all right. Everything had been much simpler then.
“Hi, Daddy.”
“So, have you decided about the dinner?” he asked hopefully.
“Yes, I have,” I answered around a mouthful of my thumbnail.
Anticipating my negative response, my father swiftly added, “I was thinking about it and wondered what you thought about being my date.”
His offer made me a little sad. I knew he would ditch Gwendolyn just to get me out of my room. I wished I could be normal for him so he wouldn’t have to try so hard and sacrifice so much.
No such luck.
“Oh, Daddy. That’s sweet, but it won’t be necessary,” I reassured him.
“All right,” he said. I cringed at the disappointment in his voice. “Shall I call Gwendolyn’s single friend and see if he’s available?”
“No,” I said, shaking my head even though I knew he couldn’t see me. “Actually, I already have a date.” I clamped my hand over my mouth, wishing the words could be pushed back inside. There was no turning back now.
“Oh?” I could almost see his eyebrow tilting up the way it did when something surprised him. “Anyone I know?”
“No. Uh, we’ve only been seeing each other for a couple of weeks.” Oh and the lies just kept coming.
“Well that’s wonderful, Olivia.”
“Yeah.” It was wonderful all right.
“Well, what’s his name?”
Shit.
I panicked. I hadn’t even picked one out yet. There was still the itsy bitsy decision to be made between the blonde surfer dude and the adventurous rock climbing buff with rock hard abs.
“Uh…” I stalled and made a mad dash for my laptop, nearly stubbing my toe on the coffee table.
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