She allowed her focus to be pulled from one sight to another as she ate her ham and cheese baguette, unwilling to think about anything serious until the coffee had kicked in and her stomach had been sated. But once the feeling of hunger had passed and her mind finally felt alert, she settled her thoughts on Daphne’s proposition from the night before.
Chicago. She knew next to nothing about it, just whatever tidbits Daphne had mentioned since moving there four years ago. There was a lake and a few beaches—not that she could use them more than a few months out of the year. But it was better than being landlocked. They got snow in the winter, lots of it. That would be a new experience, but nothing she couldn’t handle. She may be a California girl, but she wasn’t a wimp. Daphne lived near a university, though Rachel couldn’t remember which one, but there was one thing almost all college students shared, and that was a love of coffee shops. Surely she’d be able to find a job somewhere. It might mean starting back at the bottom, but since she’d be a full-timer in a sea of part-time student workers, she’d easily work back up to manager, probably in less than a year.
She reached the bottom of the coffee cup, tossed it into a nearby trash can, and started back for the room. A smile tugged at her mouth as she reentered the casino area. It would be fun, plain and simple, to live with Daphne. Especially now, when the pressure to convert her wasn’t heavy on Rachel’s shoulders. A sliver of her had always been a little jealous of Daphne’s freedom—her spontaneity, her non-judgmental fearlessness in the face of the weird and freaky. Daphne’s free-form morality might still give Rachel pause, but she didn’t feel quite as bothered by it as she once had. To each her own, right?
Rachel’s smile grew and a lightness began to bubble up inside her. She would do it. So long California, hello Windy City. She had a past to forget and memories to bury, and more important, a new life to live. Time to get the show on the road.
She made her way back to the elevators, eager to tell Daphne she’d made up her mind. Halfway down the hall to their room she heard yelling, a woman’s voice carrying on a one-sided conversation that painted a picture of domestic unrest. She was about to slot her key card when she realized it was Daphne.
She froze, unsure whether or not to enter. She didn’t want to interrupt, but she didn’t want to just sit and listen without Daphne knowing she had an audience. Biting her lip, she scanned the key and eased open the door.
Daphne stood in the center of the room, pink cell to her ear as she stared out the window. Her voice was sharp with sarcasm. “You take one psychology class and think you know the root of all my problems, is that it?” Rachel cleared her throat and Daphne spun, eyes wide and bright with tears. She paused in her rant, then shook her head and turned back to the window. When she spoke again her voice was considerably quieter, though a bitter edge still barbed each word. “Whatever. Fine. I appreciate your concern.” She signed off with a sharp obscenity, then jabbed a finger at the cell’s buttons and threw it onto the bed, where it tumbled into the sheets. She huffed and shook her head again as she sank into one of the armchairs against the wall. “That’s one of the problems with cell phones. There’s just no satisfaction in ending a conversation with the press of a button. That really required a good slamming of a receiver.”
Rachel nodded and moved to the other chair. “I agree.”
Daphne streaked the tears away with the heel of her hand. “Men.”
“You’re telling me.”
She snorted in agreement and sighed. “I take it back—he’s not a man. He’s a child. And a coward. Waits till I’m a few thousand miles away before dumping me.”
“Marc dumped you? What happened?”
Daphne waved a hand, eyes sliding from Rachel to the view and focusing on something beyond the glass. “He decided to get all judgmental and—know what? Never mind. It doesn’t matter.” She sniffed and stood, then bent over her suitcase, tossing clothes about and pulling out an item now and then to examine. “It’s just as well.” She straightened, shaking out a sundress. “I can only put up with younger men for so long.”
She stripped off the T-shirt she’d slept in and pulled the dress over her head, then twisted the upper layer of her thick dark hair into a bun and secured it with a rubber band. Approximately fifteen seconds of prep time and she looked like Aphrodite, another thing that had always made Rachel jealous.
“But if hell hath no fury like a woman scorned,” she said she tied a silk scarf around her throat, “then two scorned women are a force that can flatten a city. C’mon, sister—it’s time to avenge our wounded souls.” Her eyes glinted, then she cocked her head, squinting at Rachel. “Is that my shirt? You’re smokin’, by the way.” Without waiting for an answer, she scooped up her shoes and purse and walked barefoot into the hall.
o
Rachel was afraid to know what two scorned women did to avenge their wounded souls, so she didn’t bother to ask as they sliced through the casino and headed out the doors to the Strip. Daphne didn’t look upset, though she did look a bit intense—chin up, strides long but with a sway to her hips that made her look like a runway model on the verge of power-walking. Her long legs carried her through the casino at a speed that required Rachel to nearly jog. Once they hit the sidewalk she was forced to slow down by the sheer number of people already there, and Rachel groaned at the heat.
“I’m guessing you already ate?” Daphne asked as they waited for a stoplight to change.
“Yes, but I don’t mind eating some more,” Rachel said with a grin. “I was so hungry this morning, the first meal pretty much just calmed the fire. I’m ready for another one to actually fill me up.”
Daphne laughed, and it dulled the edge she’d had since they’d left the hotel room. “Pauvre bébé. I hear there are a ton of places to eat at Caesars. Would that be all right?”
Rachel assured her anything was fine, so long as it was edible. They crossed the street in front of the Bellagio, where the water show was in full swing against the musical backdrop of Sinatra’s “Fly Me to the Moon.” Swept along with the masses, they ascended to the elevated and blessedly shaded crosswalk that connects the Bellagio with Caesars. A few minutes later they were greeted by an arctic blast of air-conditioning when they entered the casino. They followed the signs to the Augustus Café, the ubiquitous twenty-four-hour Vegas eatery: cheap eats, Denny’s-like menu selections, and a mix of families and clusters of hangover-dazed patrons. Daphne ordered a plate of mozzarella sticks to start.
“Well, Daph, I’m really sorry,” Rachel said as they sipped their water. “You seem to be doing pretty well, considering.”
Daphne shrugged. “We were just killing time, and I knew it. He wasn’t long-term material. Still, getting dumped sucks.”
Rachel nodded, thinking. “So … explain something for me. You knew you wouldn’t be with him long term, so why didn’t you break it off sooner? What’s the point in staying in a relationship that isn’t working?”
“It’s not that it wasn’t working. It was working just fine, for what it was. I was bored, I was lonely, I wanted someone to be with—enter Marc. I wasn’t looking for Mr. Long-Term. I’m not ready to settle down yet.”
Rachel pondered this. “Huh.”
Daphne grinned. “It’s different from the way you think about relationships, I know. But think of it this way: Aren’t you going to miss having someone hold you, hold your hand, kiss you? Someone to just hang out with when you’re bored? Someone you look forward to seeing, and someone who’s looking forward to seeing you? It might be easier to do without if you’ve never experienced it before, but if you’re used to it and then suddenly it’s gone …”
“Yeah,” Rachel said. “That makes sense.”
Daphne leaned in, swirling her straw in her water. “And think about your situation. After being in a relationship like you and Patrick had, that was so committed and had so much expectation, would you really want to jump into another hard-core relationship right away? You might need to deto
x, give yourself time to get him out of your system … with no pressure about long term, no worrying about whether or not you’re ready to commit like that again. So it’s a two-fold benefit: You get someone to snuggle and someone to de-Patrick-ize you so you’re primed and ready for Mr. Right.”
Rachel quirked a half-smile. “It seems logical, but I feel like it shouldn’t be.”
“That’s years of courtship indoctrination talking.”
“Ha, you’re probably right.”
Rachel waved away the conversation. “Anyway, I have big news to share.” She mimicked Daphne’s secret-sharing posture from the night before. “I think I want to move to Chicago.”
Daphne let out a squeal that turned heads at the neighboring tables. “Yes! I knew you’d come around.” Her eyes sparkled and she bobbed in her seat like a preschooler hyped up on sugar. “I am so excited. When do you think you can come out?”
Rachel couldn’t help but be swept up by Daphne’s excitement. “I don’t know—I haven’t thought that far ahead yet.” She laughed. “I’m still too caught up with the idea of just … getting away, getting out of the bubble I’ve been in my whole life.”
“It’s going to be a heck of a shock, you know.”
“Yeah, I know. But you’ll help me, right?”
Daphne’s eyes gleamed. “Oh baby, you know I will.”
They hashed out details as they ate their diner lunches, and by the time they paid the bill, Rachel was fully committed to the move and itching to start packing. She was tired of the routine her life had become, tired of self-sacrifice and getting walked all over. “Do unto others” was a good mantra, but it didn’t work as well when all the people around you lived by, “Look out for number one.” And she was looking forward to adopting a new motto. She had never put herself first before. It was time to pay herself some well-deserved attention.
After lunch the two women ventured out to the Forum Shops. Daphne was looking for what she called a consolation prize: a purchase that would let her say, “I might not be dating Marc anymore, but at least I have this!” From what Rachel could tell, “this” could apparently be anything—the more expensive the better. Dissatisfied with the merchandise they’d seen so far, they were about to leave when Daphne spotted the Corella Boutique. Rachel followed Daphne as she waltzed in and began looking in earnest at a mannequin clothed in jewelry and not much else. After a moment’s deliberation, Daphne looked to the lone saleswoman and asked, “Is this a 34B?”
Rachel spun from the display of earrings she’d been inspecting. Daphne was pointing to the boustier that served as the mannequin’s only clothing. It appeared to be made entirely of black crystals. Rachel could easily picture how stunning it would look against Daphne’s alabaster skin, but she didn’t relish the gawking it would draw when she wore it—and Rachel knew Daphne would definitely wear it. Most likely that night when they went dancing.
Daphne saw Rachel’s stare and grinned. “I think Marc would be the consolation prize compared to this, don’t you?”
The saleswoman removed the item from the mannequin and led Daphne to the dressing room, holding the sparkly lingerie like a holy relic. “You have the body to pull this off,” she said, her tone coated in kiss-up. “Let me get you something to try it on with so you get the full impact of a whole outfit.” She enclosed Daphne in the cubicle, then shuffled through a rack of slacks for a moment before choosing a black pair.
Rachel wandered the store while Daphne changed, feigning interest in cruise wear and overpriced accessories while she mulled over Daphne’s selection. It was unique, it was gorgeous—and it was shockingly expensive. She might be good at her job, but that didn’t mean she was rich. How could she afford to shop the way she did?
Daphne’s conversation with Marc came back to her. What had he witnessed to make him think Daphne had a problem—and what kind of problem did he think she had?
Her ruminations were cut short when Daphne swept back the curtain and stepped out into the room like she owned the place. And rightfully so—she was gorgeous. The black slacks were slightly flared and rested snugly on her hips, though Rachel didn’t even notice them until she’d stared at Daphne’s chest for five solid seconds. Rachel had expected her to look like a showgirl on her way to the theater, but she didn’t. She looked glamorous, self-possessed, and unabashedly sexy. Rachel could just picture the commotion she would cause when they went out that night—and was embarrassed to realize she was ever-so-slightly jealous.
o
Before Rachel was willing to shop any more, she insisted on coffee. They stopped at a small café, where a barista took their order, then returned minutes later with a blended latte for Rachel and an Americano for Daphne. For the first time since she began drinking coffee, Rachel found herself wishing she had something else in her hand—like another one of those yellow submarines. Or maybe another Baileys, which Daphne had gotten her in the casino late last night. But this is definitely better than nothing. Rachel took a long pull at the frosty drink, then sank back in her seat and sighed. “That hits the spot.”
“You’re such an addict.”
Rachel grinned, though for the first time the label rubbed her the wrong way.
They sipped their drinks in silence for a few minutes until Daphne sat up straight and pointed across the way. “I think I’ve found your dress.”
Cups drained, they went into the boutique, where Daphne hunted down the dress in Rachel’s size. She held the midnight blue sheath against Rachel and smiled. “Sacré bleu, it’s perfect!”
Rachel flicked the price tag around. “Sacré bleu is right. That’s one month’s rent right there. Forget it.”
Daphne sighed and returned it to the rack. “You’ve got to let that go.”
“What, frugality? That’s not an exclusively religious trait. Besides, I can’t afford to let it go, given what I make. You do want me to pay my share of the utilities, right?”
She smiled. “Yeah, I suppose so.” She slid hangers along the rack, then pulled out a halter dress. “Ah, we have a contender!” The thin black material was accented with three interweaving lines of crystals that swept down on a wavy diagonal from the neck to the hem. “That is slinky, sexy, and sparkly—the fashion trifecta. Can’t go wrong with that.” She found the price tag and let out an unsophisticated whoop. “Bingo!”
Rachel conceded with a nod. “And surprisingly, not too over the top—I could actually wear that again. Okay, I’ll try it on.”
Rachel entered the changing room while Daphne leaned against the wall outside. “Tell me it’s okay for me to wear something like this,” Rachel called out to Daphne after pulling on the dress.
Daphne chuckled. “It’s totally okay for you to wear that.”
“I mean, tell me guys aren’t going to think I’m begging for … something.”
“Well, they might.”
Rachel froze. “What?”
“But it doesn’t matter what they think. You dress for you, not for other people. You dress for how your clothes make you feel.”
Rachel zipped up the back and examined herself in the mirror. She certainly liked how it made her feel—and look. Not that it meant it was okay, regardless of what Daphne said. She opened the door and Daphne let out a hoot. “Hold your horses, cowgirl,” Rachel said. “I don’t want to get myself in any trouble.”
“What do you mean?”
“You just said guys might think this is some kind of invitation.”
Daphne waved a hand. “Well, maybe, but your attitude will go a long way in sending that invitation too—or not. Act like a tramp, you’ll get treated like a tramp. Act like a lady, you’ll get treated like a lady. Most of the time, anyway. And I can’t imagine you ever acting any way but ladylike, so I wouldn’t worry. Plus, you know I’ll totally have your back.”
“You’d better.”
“You know I will.” Daphne smiled. “Have I ever steered you wrong?” Rachel admitted she hadn’t. Though there’s a first time for everyth
ing.
o
The evening air as they walked toward the Mirage felt only slightly cooler than it had earlier that afternoon. Despite the time of night, the sidewalk was still bustling and the traffic still bumper to bumper. “This really ought to be labeled the city that never sleeps.”
Daphne laughed. “Seriously. What could New York possibly have over Vegas?”
Rachel shied away from yet another person shoving advertisements for escort services in her face. “Class, perhaps.”
Catcalls and wolf whistles followed them to the casino, and while each one made Rachel flush again with embarrassment, Daphne seemed to neither care nor even notice. Rachel made a mental note to ask her later how she managed to cultivate such cool confidence. She could use some of that.
They reached the entrance to the JET Nightclub, and Daphne handed over her two VIP tickets. They were directed to the velvet rope and ushered past the long line of those waiting to get in. Rachel followed close behind Daphne as they entered the first of JET’s three dance rooms. “Let’s stay here,” Daphne said over the thumping bass. “Good dance music, and I hear it’s a lot more crowded in the main room.”
Rachel kept an eye on her, trying to mimic her careless posture and easy confidence. They skirted the dance floor and headed to the bar, where Daphne ordered drinks.
“Cosmopolitans,” Daphne explained as Rachel sipped the fruity cocktail. “I’ll get some waters later on too—don’t want to get dehydrated, and alcohol just makes that worse.”
They scoped out the room for a place to park themselves, then Daphne hooked her arm through Rachel’s and led her to a place against a far wall. Even after spending a few minutes studying how others were dancing, Rachel still found herself doubting her ability to not stick out like a sore thumb. “Here we go,” Daphne said close to her ear, a minute later. “Are you ready to dance?”
Reinventing Rachel Page 6