Just then, the thick-necked officer returned from out of nowhere. “Mr. Storm, can you step out of the vehicle please?” the officer asked with a crisp tone of disapproval.
Aiden got out and stood motionless.
“Do you object to a sobriety test?”
“No, of course not,” Aiden answered.
Another police car pulled up to the scene.
“Follow my finger,” said the officer.
Aiden managed to shift his eyes up and down and side to side.
“How much have you had to drink tonight, Mr. Storm?”
“Maybe one or two.” Aiden caught a glimpse of the other officer searching his SUV.
“Walk in a straight line for me please.”
Aiden swallowed down his annoyance and walked along the curb. “Look, Officer, this is all a misunderstanding. I'm on special medication, and sometimes it makes me drowsy.”
“Oh? So you've been drinking and driving while heavily medicated? Do you know that's against the law?”
“Yes, but I took my medicine hours ago.”
“Tom, we have a situation here,” said cop number two as he stood in front of Aiden’s vehicle.
The first officer walked over to the SUV, and after several minutes, he came back with a satisfied look on his face. “Mr. Storm, it seems Officer Meadows has discovered marijuana and unprescribed medication in the back of your vehicle.”
Fuck, Aiden thought. That Saturday Aiden went out with a couple of his friends for boys’ night. It appeared that none of them had thought to clean up the evidence from their wild evening.
“I don’t know how that got there. It's not mine.”
The first officer smirked. “Mr. Storm, you are under arrest for the possession of narcotics and driving under the influence.”
As Aiden was being handcuffed, he protested, “Hey, man, this is insane! I'm not drunk. I told you those drugs aren’t mine.”
The officer ignored Aiden’s banter, having heard all the excuses in the book during his time working the beat, and escorted him to the patrol car. A handful of people across the street took pictures while all this was going down and were videotaping the scene.
Aiden arrived at the local police station that early morning—booked and charged with driving under the influence and illegal drug possession.
***
Ruth picked me up at the house before sunrise the morning of our big trip to Vegas. The miles just seemed to trickle on by during the drive, and for the first two hours of our journey, I inadvertently dozed on and off.
“Hey sleepyhead,” Ruth said cheerfully.
Hovering in the half-world between sleep and restlessness, I opened my eyes to the rays of early-morning light. “Are we there yet?” I asked like an impatient toddler on her way to Disney World.
“Nope. Two and a half hours to go. Normally it takes four to five hours from Orange County, depending on traffic.”
We were both famished. Ruth made an exit off the I-15 freeway, and pulled up to a restaurant called Peggy Sue's Diner in the city of Victorville. We entered the small rundown eatery that barely had begun to draw in a sparse breakfast crowd. The hostess led us to a booth next to a window looking out toward the desert road.
“So what time is the benefit?” Ruth asked as she sipped on a cup of coffee.
“I have to be there at nine tomorrow night to find out who I am working on. It doesn't actually start until eleven though. Things usually need to be ready pretty early in case there are any snafus.”
“So what am I supposed to do while you’re rubbing elbows with all those celebrities? Sit in the hotel room raiding the mini-fridge?”
“No, silly. You're coming with me. You think I'd leave you behind?”
“I don't know. Maybe I'm not cool enough to hang out in your crowd anymore,” she teased.
“Whatever,” I responded with a roll of my eyes.
“So your boss really paid for the whole trip?” Ruth asked. “I can’t believe it.”
“I have proof.” I unzipped my purse and pulled out the white envelope, revealing the stack of cash. “Check this out.”
“Alexa! Put that away,” Ruth said with a gasp.
I looked around and noticed a bunch of truckers and a red-headed heavyset waitress looking back at me strangely. I quickly stuffed the envelope back in my purse, aware of the risk I was taking.
“How much is that?” Ruth whispered.
“$2,000,” I whispered back.
“You better be careful with that. That’s a lot of cash to be carrying around.”
A dry heat surrounded us when we stepped outside the diner an hour later. By the time we were back on the freeway, I was feeling antsy. It wasn’t long before we were in Barstow—a desolate, often unnoticed city consisting of nothing but miles of dirt, truck stops, and abandoned shacks. I counted down the miles as we passed the green signs that read: Las Vegas 100 mil.
After two sweaty hours, Ruth announced, “Hey, this means we're halfway. Look.”
I glanced out the window. A large cowboy-inspired structure with a sign that read, Buffalo Bills, was situated right beside one of the largest rollercoasters I’d ever seen. On the southbound side of the freeway was a row of small hotels. The anticipation of what was around the corner began to take effect.
The big moment finally arrived a little after ten thirty that morning—we approached the most beautiful sign I’d seen all day: Welcome to Las Vegas. When we reached the Las Vegas strip, I took in the sights around me. There were rows of stunning exotic hotels and buildings. LCD screens flashed information about upcoming shows. Taxi after taxi displayed advertisements with half-naked men and women.
We drove down the congested streets, steering clear of the tourists who mobbed the sidewalks like a plague. At our final destination, The Bellagio, my mouth nearly dropped to the floor. It had elaborate fountains featuring a ballet of water and lights set to music.
We found a parking spot, grabbed our bags, and headed toward the lobby. If the front of the hotel was mesmerizing, it was nothing compared to what I was about to see next. We ventured inside one of the world’s most luxurious hotels—my breath taken away by the sight of thousands of colorful hand-blown glass flowers covering the ceiling. I glanced around at the hotel guests waiting in line to check in, and could hardly wait to see what the room was going to look like.
We didn’t have to wait until three in the afternoon to check in due to my privileged circumstances. As we made our way to the elevators, we passed row after row of slot machines and dealer tables. The scent of stale cigarettes and pricey Cuban cigars floated past my nose, making me desperately want to experience gambling for the first time. We decided to go to our suite and settle in before we started throwing our money away.
The two-bedroom suite was twice the size of Scotty’s old apartment. The place flaunted Bellagio-themed art décor, Italian marbled bathrooms each with their own small flat-screen televisions, and a separate dining area. As promised, Isabella had made good on her word.
I threw my luggage down and let myself fall onto the deluxe king-sized bed. “This is unbelievable.”
“Your boss hooked you up,” Ruth said. “Must be nice.”
“Yeah, she's good to me.” I quickly shot up from the bed and asked, “So what do you want to do first?”
“I'm exhausted from all the driving. I need to get some rest if we’re going to hang out later.”
I decided against taking a nap and instead went into the living room. The scenic view from the patio window distracted me. Our suite overlooked the entire Las Vegas strip. I could have spent all day standing out outside and watching the nonstop city goers and tourists. The strip glistened in a multitude of colorful lights and flashing neon signs. I watched ritzy vehicles and limousines pass by. The sound of honking and revved-up motor engines was like music to my ears.
I stepped back inside the suite an hour later and went to wake up Ruth. I was ready to do some sinning in Sin City.
&n
bsp; “Ruth,” I whispered from her doorway. “Ruth, wake up.”
“Huh?” she mumbled.
“Get up. You're not supposed to sleep your life away in Vegas.”
Ruth came out of the bedroom in a daze, along with her hair sprouting in all directions. She pulled back her long black mane into a neat ponytail and made her way to the wet bar for a bottle of water.
“Hungry?” I asked.
“Yeah. We haven't eaten anything since breakfast.”
I turned my attention to the courtesy guide lying on the desk. I flipped through it and asked, “Fine dining or causal?”
“Let's do something fun,” Ruth suggested.
I made a reservation at an elegant Mediterranean restaurant called, Michael Mina, located right inside the hotel. I would never have eaten at a pricey restaurant like that one under normal circumstances. It was a rare treat, considering that our drinks alone were more than I ever thought possible.
After dinner, we headed to the casino to have a look around and check out the action. It was painful to watch high rollers press their luck by throwing down a grand on a blackjack table and lose it all before they had a chance to blink.
Before we attempted to throw away our own money, a tall, skinny, middle-aged man in a cowboy hat and blue jeans meandered on over to us.
“Hey, ladies. Could I entice you two beautiful women to join me for a party in my hotel room tonight?” he asked, slinging an arm around my shoulder.
“Um, married,” I said, flashing him my wedding ring.
“Lesbian,” Ruth replied.
He got the message and walked off without another word. Ruth and I shared a laugh at the cowboy’s expense.
I decided to get brave and take my chances at the slots. Interestingly enough, the more we gambled, the more free drinks we were allotted. The two of us were nearly smashed by the time we gave up. Ruth complained that she had enough for one night and wanted to head back to the suite. I can’t say I was surprised. For as long as I’d known her, she was never a wild and crazy type of person. I eventually called it a night and followed her back to our room.
***
We arrived back at the hotel the next day after a full day of sightseeing. If I wanted to do my best at the benefit and make others more beautiful, I needed to get a little beauty sleep of my own. No doubt, it was going to be a long night. Although, I was still vague on the details of on what my job would entail.
After I woke up from my power nap, Ruth convinced me to go for a quick dinner downstairs. Later that evening, we headed over to The Wynn hotel, which was undeniably in a class of its own with extravagant interior colors of deep reds and gold.
I suggested that Ruth hang out in the casino until they officially started letting people in the club because I was unsure of whether she would be able to go inside with me.
At club, Tryst, the atmosphere was a bit overwhelming—unarguably a scene fit for royalty, lavishly decorated in deep red velvets. It also had its own outside ninety-foot waterfall in a misty florescent-lit lagoon surrounded by the patio.
The lead stylist informed me that the benefit was to raise money for an organization supporting research for autistic children.
“Here's the list of performers tonight,” she said, handing me a sheet of paper. “There are three musicians, as well as our main performer, who is also the host.”
I took notice of one particular name on the list and jolted into full alertness. “Aiden Storm?” I asked, almost unable to breathe.
“Yes. He's hosting the benefit. They’ve kind of kept it hush-hush until tonight. We didn't want the club to be overly packed, especially with adolescent girls trying to get in here with fake I.Ds,” she explained. “His makeup artist couldn't make it tonight, so you'll be filling in for her.”
My stomach began to turn cartwheels worthy of the U.S. Olympic Gymnastics team. “I…I—”
“Is there a problem?”
“No. I’m just surprised, that’s all.”
“You can start at about ten. Mr. Storm will be waiting in his dressing room.”
Clouds of mystification fogged my thoughts as I reread the list: one rap group, two female pop singers, and him. How on Earth did this end up happening? Would he even remember me? Was he the same person I knew all those years ago? God knows I had waited desperately for this moment to come.
Frightened and confused, I rushed to the front of the club to meet Ruth.
“What's going on?” she asked. “You look all wound up.”
“Ruth—oh God—you’re never going to believe who's singing at this benefit tonight.”
“Who?”
“Aiden.”
“Aiden Storm?” She waved me off. “Shut up. That’s not funny.”
“I would not joke around about something like this,” I said, swallowing down the dryness in my throat. “I'm filling in for his makeup artist.”
“Oh my God, Alexa.”
“I can’t even tell you how terrified I am right now.”
Ruth took both my hands and said, “Okay, calm down. Do you think he'll remember you?”
“I have no idea, but I have to be in his dressing room right now. I'll meet you when the show starts.”
“Alexa—”
“Yeah?”
“Just be yourself and he’ll remember. You’re a pretty unforgettable, girl.”
The trek to the dressing rooms was like walking through a dream in slow motion. I stood in front of a white door shivering in fear. Taped to the door was a piece of paper with the name in bold black letters, Aiden Storm, and all I could do was just stared at it. The air became heavy and thick, almost suffocating me right where I stood. With no other choice, I took a deep breath and opened the door. A faint tingling sensation crawled up my spine at the sound of laughter coming from inside. When I peered in, I swear it was like seeing a ghost. There, sitting in a chair and getting his hair done, was Carter. He chatted with a handful of girls on the couch next to him—girls who seemed to be getting as close as they possibly could without sitting on top of him. Carter turned his face toward the vanity mirror after the laughter relented and focused on his reflection. He didn’t see me come in, but his hairstylist did.
“You're the girl doing makeup?” she asked as she popped the gum in her mouth. I noticed the dark roots that were showing through her bleach-blonde hair. Her hair looked so stiff and crunchy that I was sure she used at least one whole can of hairspray to style it.
“Yes,” I answered timidly.
Wasting no time, I picked up a sponge and went to work on Carter. I remained silent as I lightly covered his face with powder and foundation, concealing only a pimple here and there. The last time I saw him, his skin was as smooth as a baby's bottom., and now it was like sandpaper. Only once did I allow myself to look into his eyes.
It was hard to make any conversation with Carter’s hairstylist continuing to blab on and on. The only time she took her attention off him was when her cell phone rang and she had to answer it. “I have to take this. Be right back,” she said to Carter.
I exhaled a deep breath, feeling immensely relieved. This was my chance to finally talk to him, but I had no clue as to what to say. My mind froze like I was suddenly brain dead. After several moments, I finally composed myself and went in for the kill.
“So, um…it's really packed out there tonight, huh?” I asked as I dabbed foundation on his forehead.
“Yeah. It’s a pretty good turn out, especially for an unannounced event,” he responded with a playful grin. I was glad to see he hadn’t lost that famous boyish smile.
I continued powdering his face in absolute silence.
Great, Alexa! Your once-in-a-lifetime opportunity and you draw a blank! “Okay, you're all set.” I wanted to kick myself.
Carter glared at me intensely, like he was looking straight through me. “Um—have we met?” His intoxicating gaze held mine. “You look familiar.”
“Well, we—”
An older blonde woman
barged into the room. “Aiden, can I have a word with you please?” she asked. “It’s extremely important.”
He was gone before I could think of anything to say to stop him, and I returned to the front of the club. Nothing could ease the affliction swarming inside of me. Quite simply, I had blown my chance, and I wasn’t going to get another one.
I searched the room for Ruth as I fought back tears. Through the massive swarm of people, I found her two feet away from the stage. Two rappers were jumping around like a couple of wild savages, screaming and shouting so loudly that I could hardly hear myself think.
“What happened? Did you talk to him?” Ruth yelled over the noise.
My voice broke and cracked as I admitted, “It took an hour for anything to come out of my mouth.”
“Yeah, and?”
“Then out of the blue he asked if we had met somewhere before. Just when I was about to answer, we were interrupted. Why am I always the one who gets cheated? Can someone please tell me why? ”
“Alexa, I'm so sorry. I wish there was something I could do.”
“All right, folks. In just about five minutes, it will be the moment you've all been waiting for, and our host for the evening will be here—Mr. Aiden Storm!” the DJ announced.
“Maybe you can get backstage later and talk to him,” Ruth suggested.
“Yeah right. Not with all the security.”
“But you’ve been hired to work on the set. You should at least try.”
The lights went out five minutes later, and the rumble of background music started up.
“Everyone please give it up for Mr...Aiden… Storm!”
Carter came out onstage, breaking out into a song. He was dressed in different attire than what I’d seen him in earlier. He wore a bright orange and blue tracksuit jacket, with a white collared shirt underneath, and his bangs were gelled up in the front.
“I live my life for you, so how could you treat me the way you do. Baby, we were meant to be, I wish I could make you see. So stop stepping on my heart. You're ripping us apart...”
Carter held the microphone out to the audience and allowed people to sing along.
When the song ended, he surveyed the audience with a satisfied smile on his face. “I just want to take a moment to thank each and every one of you for coming out tonight. I am very happy to be a supporter for such a very special cause. If you haven't been to the auction table, please do so before you leave. We have some great items. Your donations will be put to good use in our fight against autism. Now, this next song is from my new album, which comes out in October. And all you haters out there can kiss my ass.”
Forever Blue Page 19