Lindsey Kelk 5-Book 'I Heart...' Collection (116 page)

‘Yeah, I, uh, hmm.’ Jenny bit her lip. ‘Maybe we can switch rooms. This isn’t really what I was expecting. I’m pretty sure we’re supposed to be in a superior room, and this isn’t that superior.’

I stared down at a dark red stain on the carpet and looked up at my friend with wide eyes.

‘Jenny, someone died in this room.’

‘It’s wine,’ she said, rubbing a delicate hand firmly over her face. ‘I’m sure it’s just red wine. Why don’t you go down to the pool and I’ll go see if I can talk to someone.’

‘I’m too scared to go in the bathroom,’ I said, clutching my satchel to my chest. ‘What if there’s a body?’

‘Just get changed, OK?’ Jenny shoved her room key into the ass pocket of her spray-on James Jeans and strode back out into the great unknown. ‘I’ll see you down at the pool.’

The pool. The pool would make me feel better. As long as it wasn’t a skip with a hose pipe in it and judging by the state of the bedroom, that was quite possible. With great effort, I managed to slip out of my clothes without stepping on a single extra inch of carpet and put my Fifties-inspired one-piece on without even taking off my underwear. I knew wriggling in and out of my knickers in swimming class would come in useful one day. I pulled a pair of flip-flops out of my suitcase, slid them onto my feet, pulled a Victoria’s Secret cover-up over my bathing beauty ensemble and practically ran for the door.

It was with no small amount of joy that I discovered the pool was absolutely bloody beautiful. As soon as I stepped out of the lift, I felt myself smile. Calling what lay in front of me a pool was like calling the Atlantic Ocean a pond. There was sand, sun and more deep blue sea than I could shake a stick at. And in the true tradition of Vegas, none of it was real. It really put the art into artifice.

‘Can I help you, miss?’

A tiny but beautiful boy with thick brown hair and chocolate-drop eyes appeared at my side, alerting me to the fact that my mouth was opening and closing of its own accord.

‘Cabana? Cocktail?’ He gestured towards a bank of luxy looking banquettes lining the beach. Soft, squishy sofas were shielded from the sun by jewel-coloured fabrics, while lots of very happy-looking people lounged around drinking neon drinks through matching straws. Scratch ‘happy’ – on closer inspection, what I meant was very drunk people. They didn’t look like they were concerned about whether or not someone’s throat had been slit in their bedroom, and yet we were all staying in the same hotel. There was only one possible explanation … booze.

‘Cabana, please,’ I told the beautiful boy.

From the outside, De Lujo really was a beautiful hotel. Shining bright white in the sunshine, stretching up high into the sky, it was incredible – exactly what Jenny had promised. It was just a shame that the rooms inside looked like something from CSI. Checking in hadn’t been awful, but I’d been trying so hard not to throw up, all I could really remember was the shiny marble floor of the lobby reflecting my headache right back up at me, followed by the not nearly smooth enough lift. After that, it was just the shabby carpet of the sixth floor and then the crime scene of a bedroom. But this? This was magical. A light breeze passed over the water, and while the sky looked bright, blue and entirely as nature intended, I just knew there was nothing natural about the heat that warmed my skin but I couldn’t see a heater anywhere. Whether it was wind machine or witchcraft, I did not care to know. It was wonderful. I was a world away from my problems, a world away from my worries, and only ever two minutes away from a margarita. There was a lot to be said for that, hangover or no hangover.

After a quick jaunt down the shoreline, white sand seeping in between my toes, I was shown to my own private beachside booth. I smiled politely and ducked inside, collapsing onto the fluffy pillows that lined my cabana. Within seconds, I felt my shoulders relax for the first time since I’d boarded the plane. Was it really December? Had I really left a subzero New York City only hours earlier? I felt like I was in the Caribbean. If the Caribbean had the odd ten-foot, fully decorated Christmas tree placed in between the palm trees. Not weird at all.

The waiter took my room number and vamoosed, leaving me alone to pop two Advil and pull my laptop out of my bag. I settled into the giant sofa and waited for it to flicker into life. It couldn’t hurt just to check a couple of emails before I succumbed to a wanton weekend full of fun and frolics, could it? Well, regardless, I had to. I was riding high on the proposals I’d sent out earlier in the week and just wanted to see if I’d had any feedback. And I was desperately trying to ignore the topless sunbathing taking place in the cabana opposite, primarily because I had total boob envy. I logged into the interwebs. It was, of course, a mistake.

Dear Ms Clark,

Thank you for your interest in our magazine. At present we are not commissioning new writers …

Dear Miss Clark,

Many thanks for your pitch. However, we do not feel this idea is right for our publication.

Dear Angela, thank you so much! We loved your idea but we have already published something similar recently.

Well. At least they had all spelled my name right.

I silenced The Voice before it could start to speak. This didn’t mean anything. If anything, it was good when rejections came back quickly; that meant editors were reading your pitches and taking you seriously. There were still five other proposals out there and they were good proposals. This wasn’t anything to worry about. I was sure of it.

Opening a new tab, I flicked over to my new website. The Adventures of Angela-dot-com. Since The Look had ‘retired’ my blog, I figured I might as well keep the same name. Make it easier for all my fans to find me. I only realized I had snorted out loud when the topless ladies opposite lowered their sunglasses to look at me. I waved and gave them a big smile. They looked away. Didn’t they know who I was? Here I was, eighteen months into my adventures, and I was right back to the beginning. Writing an online diary dealing with the ins and outs of daily life. But it had worked once, it could work again. Positive mental attitude would get me everywhere.

The Adventures of Angela: Viva Las Vegas

So here I am in fabulous Las Vegas, poolside in December. Across the street, I can see people walking around in parkas, I’m in a swimsuit. Clearly something isn’t right with this place.

When my BFF surprised me with a girls’ weekend away, I had no idea what to expect but I was excited. I dreamed of a glamorous world filled with sequins and showgirls, built around stories of the rat pack, Elvis movies and Siegfried & Roy fan tasies. But I was very aware of the other side of Vegas. Facebook photos of debauched hen nights – pink cowboy hats and all. E! Entertainment specials starring assorted Kardashians and twenty-four-seven debauchery. In all honesty, I had never recovered from watching Jessie from Saved by the Bell wearing pasties and I doubt I ever will. But I need my Vegas experience to be more Dita Von Teese than Showgirls.

In the interests of investigative journalism, I thought I would keep you updated on our adventures (if only because it’s the name of the blog), so here are the main players. Me, a twenty-something Vegas virgin, already hungover and petrified of the boob implants staring at me across the pool. Jenny, my best friend and glamour junkie, who is going to have to be kept in kiddie reins if I want to get back to NYC alive. And finally, Sadie the supermodel, aka Trouble with a capital T. I won’t lie. I’m worried.

So far we’re fifty-fifty with our hotel. The pool looks like a movie set but our bedroom looks like a crime scene. I’ll check in later when I’ve made my first million on the blackjack tables, lost it all again and married a stripper.

I paused, I perused and I posted. If we were going to be stuck in the Bates motel room of Las Vegas hotel rooms, I was likely to be spending a lot of time by this pool. I popped on my sunglasses so I could have a good stare at what was going on around me, but my view was suddenly blocked by a huge, bright green glass of frozen yumminess.

‘Your complimentary De Lujo cocktail, Ms Clark,’ said the beautiful boy who had shown me to my cabana, presenting the drink with a flourish.

‘Oh, I just wanted a Coke,’ I stammered, trying not to make eye contact with temptation. I didn’t need it and I didn’t want it.

‘The mini-fridge is fully stocked with sodas.’ He nodded towards a shiny silver box in the corner of the cabana. ‘This is on the house. Let me know if there’s anything else I can get you.’

I wondered if it was possible to sleep in the cabana instead of my room.

Since my mother had taught me never to look a gift horse in the mouth, and my father had taught me never to turn down a free drink, I took a cautious sip of the cocktail. Well, bugger me backwards, Bob, it was delicious. On closer inspection, the concoction inside the glass was a frozen medley of red and white stripes, and unless I was greatly mistaken, there was a lot of mint schnapps going on. It was like frozen candy cane. My dream cocktail.

Snapping the laptop shut, I rolled onto my back and smiled up at the red silk that lined my cabin. Alex would be in the air, winging his way over with the bachelor party. Jenny was somewhere, doing something that I hoped would result in a better bedroom. And, for the moment at least, I had no idea what Sadie was doing or where she was doing it. Thankfully. Very aware that these might be the last ten minutes I had to myself for the next three days, I sat up to take one more sip from my drink and let the schnapps wash away the remnants of my hangover before closing my eyes and letting it all go. Nothing better than a little nap with the lapping of the ocean in your ears. The fact that it was a fake ocean was neither here nor there.

Because it wasn’t confusing enough to wake up wearing a swimsuit face down on a chaise longue that was not my own, the first thing I saw when I opened my eyes, not a foot away from my nose, was an inch of pure white snowy snow. I blinked once, twice. Nope, it was still there. And yet when I looked up, all I could see was beautiful clear blue sky, and across the way there were dozens of people splashing around in a swimming pool. Sunshine. Swimming pool. Snow. Oh, right. I was in Vegas. After marvelling at the madness for a moment longer, I gathered up my things and decided it was time to go on a Jenny-hunt. The battery on my mobile had died while I was napping and she hadn’t surfaced, which meant either she’d been murdered in our room or she just couldn’t find me. Taking my life into my own hands, I packed up my laptop, took a big slurp from my now melted but still delicious cocktail and ventured back inside to hunt her down. I was like Columbo but without the mac. And the cigars. And the catchy theme tune. But aside from that, just like Columbo.

My heart sank as I tiptoed out of the opulent lift and into the 1980s Travelodgeness of the sixth floor, but it soon speeded up again as I inserted my key card into the door of room six-nineteen. Nothing. I rubbed it on the arse of my cover-up and tried again. Nothing. Just a rude blinking red light refusing to give me access to my things. What was going on? Had I been roofied? Already? I’d assumed I’d at least make it to day two before I woke up sans tooth and avec tiger. Maybe even day three.

‘Oh, bloody hell,’ I muttered, knocking as subtly as possible on the door. ‘Jenny? Are you in there?’

Suddenly consumed with fear that whoever had offed the previous tenant of our room had come back for Jenny, I started banging harder. You might have even called it hammering. ‘It’s not like I even really want to go in,’ I shouted at the crappy wood veneered door. ‘You big wooden bastard.’

‘Excuse me, Ms Clark?’

A slightly scared-looking woman wearing the same outfit as the beautiful boy at the pool reluctantly interrupted my rant. It was times like these I was glad Alex wasn’t around me all the time.

I smoothed down my cover-up and cleared my throat. ‘Yes?’

‘Would you please follow me?’ The woman tried not to look alarmed as she led me to the lift. I wouldn’t want to be locked in a metal box with the crazy lady who was battering down a door while shouting abuse at it either.

Naturally, I assumed I was being chucked out, so I was a little confused when she reached across me in the lift to press the button for the twenty-sixth floor. And after the most awkward seventeen seconds of my entire life, when the doors opened into a plush white vision of a hallway with one grand golden door at the end of the corridor, I was very confused. And when she opened that grand golden door onto what can only be described as the most amazing room I had ever seen in my entire life, she had lost me completely. Or she wished she had. With a gentle shove, she kicked me into the thick, white carpeting of the suite. Not a single bloodstain to be seen.

‘Jesus, Angie, there you are!’

Jenny had not been murdered. Jenny had been upgraded. Significantly upgraded.

‘You have to teach me how to make a complaint,’ I whispered, almost too scared to take another step. Maybe I was still dreaming. Maybe this was Inception. Hopefully Leonardo DiCaprio would pop out in a second to confirm it. Or Joseph Gordon-Levitt. Or Tom Hardy. I didn’t mind really. Jenny was perfectly poised by a giant floor-to-ceiling window overlooking the Strip. It wasn’t really fair to call it a window as I couldn’t actually see any exterior walls that weren’t transparent. It looked like the whole suite was made of glass. Glass and peonies, my favourite flowers, were almost all I could see. I gave myself five minutes before I broke something, stained something or just started crying. It took twenty-five steps to cross the room to Jenny. Twenty-five steps down into a sunken lounging area full of overstuffed sofas, more peonies and low, crystal-clear coffee tables and back up again, past the bar, past the movie-screen-sized TV, past the DJ booth – the DJ booth! – and over to the window.

‘It’s a pretty nice view, right?’ She sipped from her glass of champagne and grinned with an undeniable smugness.

The sun was setting and a dark orange glow cast shadows over the Strip. As I stood and watched, utterly silent, it sprang into life. All the world seemed to be crammed into this little stretch of desert. To one side of us, I saw Venice and Rome. Appropriately close together. Paris lay opposite, the Eiffel tower sparkling in the sunset. I made a mental note to avoid it. Paris, France or Paris, USA, I wasn’t taking any chances. Following the Strip down, I spotted home sweet home. The Empire State Building and Statue of Liberty, wrapped up by a rollercoaster, winked at me as their lights came to life. I watched as, beyond them, a tower of light leapt from the point of a giant black pyramid and King Arthur’s castle offered Disneyfied japes and jaunts around merrie olde England. I made another mental note to avoid that bad boy. I hadn’t come all the way to Las Vegas to eat dodgy shepherd’s pie and giggle at spotted dick. Overhead, planes delivered fresh meat to be sacrificed on the Strip, and as the sun dipped low behind us, floor-level lighting illuminated the inside of the suite as the sky got darker. Outside, Vegas yawned, shook herself down, and, with a couple of blinks and one big yawn, was wide awake and ready for another night.