by Candy Sloane
Kappa let out a hoot at the announcement of our destination.
“I was hoping for a more cultural destination,” MD said under his breath.
I shoved my hands into the pockets of the red and white checkered romper wardrobe had wrenched me into that day. I suddenly hated myself. If I hadn’t started falling for Scott, MD would probably be the winner.
The final Gasm.
Maybe the real reason I wasn’t looking forward to our trip to Vegas was because it illustrated without a doubt that this was almost over. We were going there not to gamble, or see a show, or even get so drunk one of us ended up married, but to tape the finale. While I wanted that so I could finally be with Scott, it also meant I’d have to pick someone besides him to win.
I glanced over at him directing the crew as they loaded gear into the cargo bay. He was sure of himself, powerful as he spoke, just like he had been when he was all mine. He’d said not all reality shows had happy endings, but I’d still have to crown a winner. I’d still have to let that person try to take the “virginity” that Scott had conquered so expertly.
Garrett pulled me aside after the crew had the establishing shots they needed and just before we boarded.
“You have to do an elimination, then we can take off.” His eyes were down on his clipboard as he spoke. “There are only five rooms in Vegas and there are six of you.”
“That’s so cruel. Everyone is already packed.”
“Please don’t act like you’re starting to care now,” he retorted, his gaze finally meeting mine.
“What does that mean?” I asked, my heart soaring up and choking me, pinpricks of clammy sweat marking my face.
Did he know?
Scott was still here, so he couldn’t totally know, but he could suspect. He could wonder. He might have been a jerk, he might have epitomized Gag-ett, but he wasn’t stupid.
“Just hurry up so we can be on our way; we’re renting this plane by the hour.”
Scott trained the camera on me as I made the fateful announcement. Since I had no choice but to let someone go, I figured it was best to put poor MD out of his misery now. It was wrong to keep leading him on. Somehow, I still felt okay about doing that to the other Gasms.
I knew how backward that seemed.
The camera still filming, MD gave me a kiss on the cheek, trying to hide the shock on his face as he walked down the tarmac, rolling his little suitcase beside him. He wasn’t heartbroken, I mean we weren’t in love or anything, but he was baffled, and I got it. I was letting him go and keep the Three Buttsketeers.
Well, Tongue and Cowboy weren’t as bad as Kappa, but MD knew—much to MTV’s continued chagrin—I wasn’t gay, and I think he also understood that if Cowboy ended up making it all the way, the Country Gentleman in him wouldn’t ever allow him to go all the way.
Once MD’s farewell was complete, Cowboy, Tongue, Kappa, Allie, Garrett, Scott, a small crew, and I boarded the plane. If there were only five rooms in Vegas, where the hell were they all staying?
Maybe Scott could bunk with me.
After all the requisite oohhs and aahhs over the lustrous leather and wood-accent interior, the pilot announced we were ready for takeoff.
Just for the record, I kept my gaping to a minimum and let the Gasms take the roles of the impressed bumpkins, but inside I was golly-geeing it with the best of ’em.
“How am I going to go back to the local news van after traveling this way?” Allie asked, sinking into her leather seat.
I took the seat next to her. Her question echoing in my head, I wanted to go back. I longed to stack and catalog books, suggest a great read to a patron. I hoped I would have that choice. Once the show aired I might never be able to do that again.
Scott turned his handheld on us after the plane reached cruising altitude.
“Just get some shots of them interacting and save the rest for when we touch down,” Garrett said, leaning back in his seat and closing his eyes.
“I hope we’ll be able to hit up some strip clubs while we’re there,” Tongue said.
“A girl after my own heart,” Kappa replied, cheering her with a non-existent drink.
“Why would you need a strip club? Chris is right here,” Cowboy said.
“Um, thanks,” I couldn’t help but glance at Scott behind the camera. A tight-lipped smile punctuated his face. He had seen more of me than men at strip clubs ever saw of the women who danced for them.
He’d tasted more, too.
“I don’t mean you’re a stripper,” Cowboy stammered. “I just mean we should be focusing our attention on you.”
“Yeah, Chris is right here,” Tongue said, “but it’s not like she’s been particularly forthcoming with her rack.”
Garrett opened his eyes to make sure Scott was still filming.
“I was kind of saving them for the last episode. Give the viewers something to look forward to.”
Allie’s eyes widened. She smirked her high five.
The old Chris would have wished she could dissolve into her seat, but my time with Scott had brought me confidence along with an intimate knowledge of every taste bud on his tongue.
“Then you won’t mind if we go look at some strippers,” Tongue responded, not missing a beat. Her confidence was never in question. “I don’t know about you guys, but I could use some tits in my face.”
“Here, here,” Kappa said, lifting an actual beer. I don’t even know where he got it from.
“We’ll come with you guys,” Allie said, launching a smile in Garrett’s direction. “You know what they say: what happens in Vegas, stays in Vegas.”
“You want to go to a strip club with them?” I whispered. Allie was wild, but the way she looked at Garrett made me wonder if she had different motives.
“It’s a good idea,” Garrett said, furthering my suspicions. “Better than filming you at slot machines or the blackjack table. Get Spearmint Rhino on the phone and tell them we need a VIP room.”
One of the crew members picked up his phone before he’d even finished his directive.
Allie and I were best friends, but that kind of changed when there was a man between us. Scratch that, men between us.
Though I still didn’t have proof, I was pretty sure she and Garrett had partaken in every sensually wicked pleasure the Gasms had described as waiting for me during that first episode.
“Great,” I sighed, “a strip club, can’t wait.”
“You’re on a show about finding someone to give you an orgasm,” Garrett said, his voice hoarse with frustration. “Maybe a little less of the high and mighty act.”
How the hell did I keep forgetting?
We pulled up to the majestic entrance of Caesar’s Palace. It looked like the Coliseum on acid, the faux marble and real neon fighting with each other for dominance.
“Oh my God, you’re going to have your first real orgasm where The Hangover was filmed,” Allie laughed.
I eyed the Gasms. Unfortunately none of them came anywhere near the remarkable panty-dropping ability of Bradley Cooper.
Kappa and Tongue slapped each other five. Cowboy took off his hat and put it on his heart like the fucking national anthem was playing.
Forget Bradley Cooper, these three didn’t even have the charm of Zach Galifianakis.
I’d never been to Vegas. I’d seen it in The Hangover, which I’m not ashamed to admit I watched way more than once. I guess it made sense it would all end here, considering the amount of self-induced orgasms in which Bradley Cooper had a starring role.
My skin went cold, my breath slowed, my brain was on overload: the cacophony of people, sounds, smells, lights, and the realization that, now that we were here, there was no escape.
“Why aren’t you more excited?” Allie asked.
“I’m saving it for the strip club,” I managed to joke.
“Hey,” Allie said, turning to Garrett, “I can do some shots later at the tables you can use for promo. Maybe I could say Who will be the l
ucky winner or something like that?”
“Great idea,” he smiled.
I felt like I was going to throw up.
“Who is going to be the lucky winner?” Allie whispered, knocking my knee with hers.
Scott kept his camera trained on me like I might actually give an answer, even though he already knew it.
“This place is awesome,” Kappa said, jumping out of the limo first. “I’m totally getting a tattoo while we’re here.”
“Not bad,” Tongue said, exiting next, “not bad at all.” Her head swung around to take it all in.
Cowboy still had his hat in his hand when he stumbled out of the limo. Garrett exited next and offered his hand to Allie to help her. “I’m heading to the spa first,” she said, the neon from the Caesars sign tinting her skin.
Scott turned off the camera and put his hand on my arm, his fingers hot on my skin. “I wish we were alone, so I could make you the lucky winner, V,” he said clandestinely, before he climbed out of the limo.
I know they said what happened in Vegas stayed in Vegas, but what if you didn’t want to stay in Vegas?
What if what was waiting for you afterward seemed like all you’d ever been waiting for?
Episode Ten: Las Vegas Strip
Wardrobe hadn’t come with us for the trip. Of course, the one time I actually needed them, they were absent. I stared at the bag they packed for me. I had no idea what to wear to a strip club. I picked up one of the seven phones in my suite and called Allie for advice.
“Everyone is looking at the girls not wearing anything. No one cares about your clothes,” she’d said over the line.
It was a good point so I didn’t worry about it, just pulled on a short ruffled yellow and red plaid skirt and a white tank top.
I kind of wished I had one of the long billowy skirts I loved wearing at home. Even though MTV thought differently, I really didn’t always dress like I was an extra in a schoolgirl porn video.
I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror as I left my suite. The skirt hit right at the middle of my thigh, the tank top was see-through and showed off the red bra I’d chosen to highlight the red in the plaid and my glasses. I stopped and turned, admiring myself. I looked damn good. My legs were toned and tanner than I expected. My ass as tight as it had ever been. My breasts like two plump cherries under the sheer fabric of the tank top.
Maybe dressing like I was an extra in a schoolgirl porn video was what I should have been doing all along.
I found Allie in the lobby of the hotel with the leftover Gasms. Fake marble and real tourists as far as the eye could see.
She was wearing tight black pants and a tight white T-shirt that said VEGAS BABY in rhinestones. Kappa, Tongue, and Cowboy were in their MTV uniforms, though Cowboy’s hat appeared even bigger, if that were possible. It was Yosemite Sam size on his head.
“Are you afraid no one will know you like horses?” I asked.
“I love naked women,” he said, “but only when I know them. A larger brim keeps them back.”
“You could just say no. It works for lap dances just as well as it does for drugs,” Allie said.
“I knew it,” Tongue said. “Brokeback Mountain, Brokeback Mountain,” she chanted.
“No,” Cowboy replied, “I just prefer to be with ladies.”
“You’re definitely in the wrong place, then,” Kappa laughed, heavy on the hyena. He was already drunk.
Garrett and Scott walked up, camera bags in tow, taking in our exchange.
Tongue eyed me, her gaze traveling up and down, up and down, not missing a spot. “You’re looking good, baby. You gonna dance tonight?”
“No, just watching.”
“I like watching, too,” she said, cupping my shoulder and teasing it with her thumb.
My face singed. I turned involuntarily to Scott to save me but, with Garrett so close, he couldn’t respond.
He did shrug, though. I couldn’t tell what that meant. Maybe that he wouldn’t mind watching Tongue and me, either. Hell, I didn’t blame him.
“Save it for the club,” Garrett said, shooing her away from me.
“At least the girls there might actually be on my team,” she replied, stepping back from me.
“Spearmint Rhino is very excited we’re coming,” Garrett announced to the group.
“As far as I know,” Tongue whispered, “no one has come yet, but hopefully I can change that tonight with a very special stripper.” She knocked Kappa’s arm conspiratorially.
I guess even she had given up on me. Her flirting had been for show just like all of this. Kappa laughed at her comment which I suppose meant he pretty much had given up, too.
Cowboy was the only one who still wanted to win The Orgasm Virgin for the right reasons, and he was dressed like a sports team’s mascot.
We headed out of the casino and into the limo. The interior was lit up pink and purple, lights running like veins along the doors. Once we were on our way, Tongue suggested shots of vodka. Unlike my careful attitude of the past, I partook.
How the hell else was I going to survive a night in a strip club unless I was falling over drunk?
At least then I wouldn’t do anything but sit there and sway to the music like a good reality show participant. Be too drunk to feel shame and wonder at the beautiful women dancing like robots on the stage.
I’d been to a strip club once before with a boyfriend on his birthday. I was trying to be cool and had purchased him a lap dance in a private room behind a black velvet curtain. Unfortunately, I couldn’t help spending the time before the music started interrogating the girl I’d bought about her life choices.
Why she was doing this, and why she’d ever started, and when she thought she might be able to stop?
Definitely not cool, and definitely not hot. My investigative reporter routine had gotten me dumped the next day.
I understood her reasoning now. Understood that sometimes things happened and there was no choice. You just do. You just live. Even when your life is nothing like you imagined—even though the rules tell you to act differently—you just keep going.
“Another,” I said, handing my glass back to Tongue.
“Well.” She filled it and held up her own. “You’ve suddenly become a lot more fun.”
I pointed my thumb at Allie. “Like she said, what happens in Vegas stays in Vegas.”
Tongue put her hand on my knee, “I’m great at keeping secrets.”
“She’s not interested,” Kappa said.
“How the fuck do you know?” she replied.
“Because she would have been with you already; she would have been with one of us,” he said, drunkenly flailing his arms in exasperation. “This is like the least sexy show about the sexiest thing ever. I think the people on Undercover Boss get more action.”
“Chris is allowed to go at any pace she likes,” Scott said suddenly from behind the camera.
Garrett turned to him.
Scott lowered the camera. “I mean, isn’t she?”
“Of course, of course,” Garrett replied, “but let’s not forget there are only two days left.”
I tried to ignore them and took another shot. I could have said I am here. I can hear you talking about me, but I was too done with all of this to even bother.
“She was with me,” Tongue said, sitting up straighter. “She kissed me. It’s further than the two of you have gotten. Maybe I can just be the winner by default.”
“She kissed me, too, “Cowboy said.
“No, you threw up on her,” Scott replied, his camera still filming.
Garrett glared at him.
“Sorry, we can cut that,” Scott murmured. “Does someone else want to say it?”
Allie smiled. Maybe realizing something, maybe just wanting to be noticed for a minute. “No, you threw up on her,” she said.
I took another shot.
You know those scenes in movies where a hayseed is being driven around in a city at night that he has nev
er visited before and his mouth is hanging open and his eyes are wide and he stands up so he can pop his head out of the sun roof of a limo to hoot and holler?
Well, I get that person, because I did it. Maybe I needed to get the hell out of that limo, or maybe I just needed to be like someone else for a while, because being me was getting way too complicated.
I stood, warm air like sugar on my skin. The neon signs flew by like electric birds, pterodactyls, Pegasus, and I flew with them.
I screamed at the top of my lungs, expelling at least one thing that had been pent up all this time.
“Someone never went to her prom,” I heard Tongue say.
“She’s just having fun,” Cowboy replied.
“Finally,” Kappa mumbled.
“It’s a good shot anyway,” Garrett added.
Scott didn’t say anything, so I guess he just kept rolling.
Allie came up and joined me. Threw her arms in the air and screamed, “Someone give this girl an orgasm.”
I laughed, drunk enough to find her declaration hilarious instead of horrifying. “Yes,” I yelled, “someone give me an orgasm.” I was drunk enough to repeat her words, drunk enough to hope that Scott knew I meant him.
Give me the one I’ve been waiting for, I thought, as Vegas flew by me.
The limo pulled in at Spearmint Rhino and we headed into the club. It smelled like cigarette smoke, sweat, and vanilla.
“Are you providing one dollar bills, or do we need to pay for this endeavor ourselves?” Tongue asked, wiggling her fingers at Garrett as we waited in the lobby.
“Here,” Garrett said, handing her a stack.
“Twenty bucks, wow, thanks Dad,” she said, rolling her eyes.
“They have a whole room set up for us in the back,” Garrett said. “You shouldn’t need much more than that. Everything is paid for.”
“Everything?” Tongue asked, wiggling her eyebrows.
“Just try and remember why you’re here,” Garrett scolded.
I snuck a look at Scott. He had one eye in his lens, the other on me. I hoped I’d be able to give him a show of my own later to rival whatever we were about to see. But that might have just been the shots talking.