Don’t get me wrong, my parents are great.
On paper.
My parents are both attorneys, and they raised me as if I was to become one as well. First, my mother was disapproving of my high school jobs: barista in a coffee shop, video store clerk, clothing store salesperson. Then she wasn’t a fan of my college major: Hospitality and Human Resources. It wasn’t an obvious lead-in to law school and unacceptable by my mother’s terms. My father was just generally happy that I was planning to further my education, so he didn’t care. Meanwhile, my mother was very vocal about her disapproval over what I wanted to do in life.
So you see, my next job needed to be as much on the up and up as I could possibly make it. I could take a small job in the meantime so I’d have no gaps in my resume, but I haven’t previously had a break from working since I started working as a teenager.
My cell phone vibrates across my coffee table and I set my laptop aside so I can reach for it.
Malcolm: Can I interest you in some coffee?
Me: I only drink coffee within the first two hours of waking up. I’m on hour 5.
Malcolm: Lunch then?
Me: Persistent?
Malcolm: Always.
I set my phone beside me on the couch as I pick up the laptop again and settle it on my lap while I smile. Even though I asked him to not do anything about a rental car, he and his buddy surprised me a day after the accident with one. He has sneaked in messages to me here and there over the past few days and, while I’m not entirely sure what to think of him, I do think of him. He randomly asks me questions in regards to Boxy, but hasn’t given me any confirmation as to when my car will officially be ready. He’s requested some details about items for under the hood as well as the body work on the front and back bumpers. He keeps saying to trust him and his decisions regarding Boxy’s rehabilitation, so I’m just letting him take the reins since I’m sure he knows more about cars than I do. All I know is that I will have my precious car back soon, but soon is all he will tell me.
I search for job listings for another hour and then close up the job search and make myself lunch instead. Being unemployed has come at a perfect time, as now I have more time to devote to my duties as maid of honor for my best friend, as well as spicing up my online dating profile and making my apartment a little more on the feng shui side of things.
If anything, I will devote the next several weeks to wedding duties, throw some job searching in the mix and then, once the wedding is completely over, I will devote all of my time to the job hunt if I haven’t found one yet.
First thing on my MOH to-do list is to confirm our final dress fittings and then plan a bachelorette party. Being that we live in the City of Sin and there are plenty of opportunities for debauchery, I know that a good time will be promised with anything that I plan. I just need to make sure to plan right.
My phone begins vibrating again and I roll my eyes with fake annoyance, even though my stomach has butterflies thinking that it is Malcolm. He evokes such a strange mixture of feelings. I see it’s my best friend, Deena is calling instead and answer the phone quickly.
“Hey, lady!” I greet her.
“I need your help!” she cries into the phone.
“I am at your beck and call. What’s up?”
“We just lost our photographer. They double booked and then went with the other people because they signed their contract first. And I can’t do anything right now because I’m in a training class all day and only on a break and I can’t get ahold of Nate and he’s worthless regarding this kind of thing and—”
“Whoa, slow down. I got this. I’m your girl. I’ll have someone lined up between now and the end of the day. What’s your budget?” I ask.
“It’s four.”
“Hundred?”
“No, thousand,” she says as if it’s pocket change.
“What? Four thousand? Dollars?” I exclaim.
“No Pesos. Of course, dollars.” she laughs, sounding less manic.
“That’s a lot of money for photography.”
“Not when you know that the memories will last a lifetime. Plus, if you mention wedding with anything that ups the price. Standard catering is cheap compared to wedding catering.”
“Can I lie?”
“No, there’s specific details that they get so they’ll need the whole truth. Trust me, photography is the most important box on my checklist.”
“Okay, anything specific that I need to know?”
“Yes. I will email you a list of questions that I asked when I originally hired the last guy. It will have some of my for-sure, must-have, required shots.”
“Shots of tequila?
“Shots like wedding party, bride with parents, bride with maid of honor, and so on.”
“I get it. Fret no more my dear. I will get on this STAT!”
“Thank you, Beck. You’re a lifesaver! Crap, I have to get back in there. I’ll email the list to you. Love you!” she says while hanging up before I can tell her I love her back.
Operation: Devote All Time to Deena’s wedding commences now.
***
Me: Remind me never to get married.
Malcolm: Why’s that?
Me: I’ve spent the majority of my day looking for a freakin’ person to take photos at my best friend’s wedding. It’s going to cost her $4000. JUST TO TAKE PICTURES!
Malcolm: So because of that reason alone, you won’t get married?
Me: I’d at least have a cheaper photographer if that day ever came.
Malcolm: So, going out on a limb here - you don’t have a boyfriend you’re planning to marry?
Me: No
Malcolm: That’s good then.
I email Deena the details for two wedding photographers that are somewhat local to Vegas and within her budget and begin texting with Malcolm again. I hadn’t heard from him since our texting earlier in the day and I was somewhat missing the communication.
Me: What are you doing?
Malcolm: Finishing at the gym
Me: Then what?
Malcolm: Are you seeing if I’m available for that coffee, lunch, dinner, dessert, drink?
Me: Why so many options?
Malcolm: I didn’t want to leave anything out. Just in case.
Me: Just in case what?
Malcolm: You turned me down again.
I couldn’t help but laugh to that. I have turned him down every time he’s asked. I have no real reason; maybe I am still mad about the brief loss of my car.
Me: You make me sound like I’m so mean about it.
Malcolm: Even if you wanted to hang out tonight, I can’t. I’ve got a prior engagement 2nite. As much as it kills me to say that.
Me: That’s fine. I have plans anyways. I need to plan a bachelorette party.
Malcolm: Easy. This is Vegas. Male dancers, lots of drinks.
Me: Get out of my head!
I grab my laptop again and start searching for the best all-male dance revues in town. Of course, several come up. I pull up Yelp instead and decide to go with the show that has the best reviews. I pull out my credit card and pay for ten tickets to a show called Exposed Men and message all the girls who would be coming with us. The show is set for next weekend and while most women my age in Las Vegas have seen several of these shows, this will be my first. Part of me feels like I’m doing something so taboo!
Malcolm
I was surprised when Rebeckha texted me first this evening as I was finishing up at the gym. I was in the locker room after showering and just about to head over to the rehearsal space for a few hours when the first text came in. When she was hinted about hanging out, I felt like banging my head against the wall because I already had plans. In the text conversation, I did gather an important fact she’d never straight out said anything about it until now: she does not have a boyfriend. Learning that has me wanting to high five someone in excitement. Since I was alone in the locker room, I just sat on the bench in my towel and texted with her
for a few more minutes.
My night goes by fast, as it usually does when I have rehearsal. When I walk into my condo, I go straight for the fridge and am immediately disappointed when the contents include nothing that I am in the mood for. I look at my watch and head to the bathroom to rinse off, then head to the grocery store to get more greens for the fridge.
As uneventful as shopping can be, I end up back home still wired from the day and decide to put some time in on my business proposal.
I finally go to bed in the early a.m. hours after staring at the computer monitor and going back and forth between spreadsheets and research.
***
I spend the majority of my morning at the gym with one of my clients, Brie. While I’m sure she isn’t as into the whole fitness thing as she claims to be, she’s never late for her appointments . She flirts endlessly and has even flat out asked me on a date. Her persistence, along with my general lack of sleep from last night, had me almost agreeing to coffee with her this morning. She’s not hard on the eyes with her blonde hair, curves in the right places, and a nice ass, but I just don’t want to mix business with pleasure. I’ve done that enough times to know it never turns out well, plus I don’t need to. Plus, my sights are currently set on one peach and one peach alone. I am still working on getting Rebeckha to accept an invitation from me, but I am hoping that I’m wearing her down. There’s something about her – I just can’t put my finger on it – but she enchants me and I want nothing more than to pursue her and get to know her.
“So, Mal, you sure you can’t join me for coffee or a smoothie?” Brie asks.
“Sorry. I have to head somewhere after this,” I lie.
“Maybe next time,” she says hopefully. “Same time next week?”
“Yeah,” I say, looking at my watch.
“Bye, then.” She waves as she walks away.
I watch her. She’s deliberately shaking her ass with enthusiasm.
Suddenly, I have a craving for peaches.
***
“So, everything is looking good. We’re ahead of schedule and should have the car ready by Friday,” my mechanic says to me as I walk around the car, surveying all the dents and impressions that have accumulated over years of use.
“The full rebuild?”
“I had extra hands on deck recently and a few quick jobs, so this one got all the attention from my top two guys. They’re gonna do some additional minor cosmetic work to the body, get her shined and polished, and then she should be good to go. You sure you want to buff out these spots? They add character.”
“While I think that character is good, I’m sure a fresh-looking car is the least I can do. Thank you, man. I owe ya.” I thrust out my hand to shake his.
“This must be some gal for you to take her piece of crap that was on its last leg and have it completely overhauled.”
“She’s is. She just doesn’t know it yet.”
“Sucker.” He laughs.
“Call me when I can pick it up, yeah?”
“You got it, Mal. Should be ‘round lunchtime. I’ve got to say, it’s been a fun project. Good learnin’ tool too for them apprentices.”
I nod my head and smile as I head out of the shop, unsure if I’m happy about the car being finished so quickly or unhappy about not having an excuse to randomly text Rebeckha again. While I’m pondering, my phone vibrates in my pocket.
Beck: Thought of the day: what would happen if I got into a car accident in this rental?
My heart begins pounding. Shit! Rather than texting her back, I press the icon to call her.
“You ‘right?” I ask as soon as she answers.
“Huh?” she asks.
“Did you just get in an accident?” I ask.
“Oh! Ha! I forgot that I texted that to you. No, I’m fine.”
“It just came through as I was walking out of the shop.”
“Weird. I texted that to you at least an hour ago,” she replies, slurring slightly.
“Mustn’t have seen it,” I say. “But really, no accident, right?”
“Scout’s honor.”
“You realize that’s boy scouts, right?”
“What do you know about the boy scouts?”
“We have them back home, too, though they’re just called Scouts because they’re co-ed and not only for boys” I laugh.
“Toe-may-toe and Toe-Mah-toooooo!” she laughs into the phone after carefully enunciating the two words.
“Hey, Beck? You doing okay there?”
“Huh? Oh yeah, totally. I just did some last minute catering things and had some extra bubbly. I’m safely walking around my complex.”
“Need a drinking buddy?”
Instead of answering me, she hangs up. I redial her but get her voicemail. Then I text her to make sure she’s all right and then go about my day.
Chapter 3
Rebeckha
When I walk into the dark club with my best friend and the rest of our party, it takes my eyes a few moments to adjust to the setting. We walk through a dark corridor and come face to face with a poster. The poster is a fraction of the size of the enormous billboard overlooking the city as you leave the airport. With a flashback of his eyes, his frame, and that mega-watt smile, it dawns on me.
My heart pounds and my stomach does somersaults as recognition registers.
It can’t be!
As a Las Vegas resident, I’m mostly immune to those ridiculous billboards, but when I met Malcolm I knew he looked familiar. Now, I just hope that he isn’t here or, if he is here, that he doesn’t recognize me as I try to melt into the crowd of adoring females.
It’s about five minutes until showtime as our group settles in to get comfortable with drinks. I keep looking around the room as if he will pop his head out at any time and see me. I can't relax, so I signal for the waitress and order a drink, asking her to make it a double shot.
My best friend, bride-to-be Deena, notices my distracted demeanor and gets my attention by a stare down.
"Panties in a bunch?" she asks.
"Huh?"
"You look like your drink is a Sour Patch Kid. What’s up?"
"Oh, nothing. Just anxious for the show." I fake a smile.
"Thanks for setting this up. I can’t believe in all the years we've lived here that we haven't done this before!" she gushes.
"Yeah. Me neither! “I say, trying to sound excited. My stomach is a bundle of nerves as I sit and wait for the show to start, unsure how the night will unfold.
It’s been a day since Malcolm returned my car, the repairs completed earlier than expected and pretty much turned into a new version of Boxy. She's become Boxy 2.0! He refused to let me pay for any of the upgrades he felt Boxy needed. He called me up yesterday and surprised me by being at the gate to my complex, taking a chance that I would be home. Who am I kidding, I’m unemployed – of course I would be home!
As I sit here and relive several conversations that he felt we needed to have, the lights overhead dim and strobe lights go on. The MC’s booming voice prepares the audience for what’s about to occur. I drain my drink and signal for another.
When in Rome.... or Vegas... well home.
The projector screen goes up and smoke begins to billow out onto the stage. The women in the audience go wild as five silhouettes appear onstage amidst the smoke.
Is one of those large figures, him?
I try to focus my eyes and then the lights go on.
There he is.
He’s on our side of the stage, shaking his hips seductively. He’s looking over the entire crowd, his eyes aren’t settling on one single person. Thankfully, his gaze sweeps over me. I just hope that the stage lights are too bright for him to make any out any faces in the audience.
My heart is racing.
All the gentlemen on stage slowly begin to remove the jackets they’re wearing and then they tear their shirts perfectly down the middle.
I hope they get discounts on clothing, if they rip them up so
often.
The guys have now jumped down from the stage and are running through the crowd. Malcolm passes me and doesn’t react as he goes to the table besides ours. He’s focused on that individual and I let out a shaky breath that I wasn’t aware I was holding in. As the guys finish grinding against the women, they turn and go back to the stage.
He flexes and his hands go out for high-fives as he weaves through the audience. I keep my hands to myself, which he notices as he passes. The moment he recognizes me is clear on his face. After he walks past me, he halts and then turns his head back towards me, locking eyes with me and then smirking as he continues up the stairs. Suddenly I have a lot of regrets about arranging tonight for Deena.
Malcolm is back on stage and it seems all his concentration is aimed directly at me. He’s putting extra precision into his movements and I feel extra guilty for staring at all his assets. I try to look away, but I can’t for the life of me.
I take a gulp – not a sip, because I need all the liquid courage I can manage to get through the rest of the night – of my cocktail and signal the waitress for another.
He’s seen me. He knows that I’ve seen him. And now, now I’m fucked.
The number ends and the guys leave the stage. The crowd is roaring and I turn to look at Deena and see how much fun she’s having.
Well, I might as well enjoy the eye candy.
The next song starts. Malcolm isn’t a part of this bunch so I am relieved and can properly enjoy the show like I came here intending to do.
As the show goes on, my heart stops each time the guys come into the audience. I am chatting and laughing with Deena’s co-worker behind me when I feel hands against my thighs, spreading my legs apart to accommodate him between them. He leans in and I feel his breath against my cheek.
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