Lindsey Kelk 5-Book 'I Heart...' Collection (119 page)

‘Hey, it’s that girl from the plane,’ someone shouted from one of the card tables.

Surely most people qualified as ‘you from the plane’?

‘The one with the stick up her ass, with the super hot friend.’

That sounded a little bit more like me. I turned to see Brad and his gambling buddies two tables away. They looked like they hadn’t had an awful lot of sleep since they arrived. Or fresh air. Or non-alcoholic drinks.

‘Hey, blondie, what’s going on?’ Brad yelped over a very unpleasant-sounding cough. ‘You win a million yet?’

‘Not yet,’ I replied politely. ‘Give me time.’

‘I’d give you something,’ he snarked. ‘What room you in?’

‘Not yours.’ I had to eat before I could come up with a better comeback. ‘Good luck, Brad.’

‘Dude, she totally remembered your name.’ His friend sounded shocked. It made me sad.

Morning gamblers weren’t glamorous; there were no hot girls in cocktail dresses, no laughing, no glasses of champagne. Just hard liquor and occasional shouting. Even the sexy cocktail waitresses weren’t sexy. The outfit the De Lujo had them trussed up in made my recent waitressing uniform look more modest than K-Midd’s wedding dress. All I could think was, either they’ve been in those heels and that bum floss ensemble for hours, or they had to put them on at about six o’clock this morning and come to work. It was impossible to decide which was more depressing. At least they weren’t having to strip, I told myself, but then, they’d probably be in bed now if they were strippers. And at that point I realized there was almost definitely a morning shift for Las Vegas strippers, and that almost took away my appetite. Almost.

‘Table for one, madam?’

Words that should strike fear into the heart of any unmarried woman faced with enough food to put Comic Relief out of business for at least a decade.

I have always been a girl who likes her food. But nothing could have prepared me for what lay before me. There was not a sausage roll to be seen, and for the first time in my twenty-eight years, I could say this was a Good Thing. Led to my table, I passed a station full of seafood. Another full of cheeses. A salad bar that put every Pizza Hut in England to shame. There couldn’t be a cuisine that was not represented in that room, and when all the world’s foods come together, all the world’s foods smell good.

Two-thirds of the way through my second plate of deliciousness, my former roommate collapsed into the chair next to me and lay her face down on the table. The air conditioning made the hotel a bit chillier than I might have liked, but there was absolutely no need for Jenny’s giant mohair sweater teamed with what looked like the same leather leggings Sadie had been wearing the night before. Her lips were stained with day-old pink lipstick, and the rest of her face was hiding behind huge sunglasses. Her standard hangover hairdo was to bind it all out of the way in an enormous bun or ponytail to stop it irritating her, but today it seemed like she needed the extra camouflage. That or she didn’t have the energy to try to tame all the curls that bounced excitedly around her head. It was the only thing about her that seemed even faintly energetic.

‘Morning.’ I raised my cup of tea in solidarity. ‘Fun night, then?’

‘I don’t know yet.’ She waved over a waiter and begged for coffee. ‘What the fuck are you eating?’

‘Everything.’ I began to push a croissant towards her, but pulled it back hastily when she retched at the table. ‘Looks like a good night. Why are you awake?’

‘Because I said we would do something today,’ she reminded me, seemingly entirely against her will. ‘And we’re doing something.’

‘As much as I really want to hang out with you, I don’t really want you to puke on me, so do feel free to go back to bed.’

‘Two things.’ Jenny thanked the waiter for her coffee, then stared into the cup in silence for a few seconds. Then pushed it away. Too soon. ‘Firstly, I’m so hungover that when I lie down, the room spins and I puke. Secondly, I made an appointment for us with this stylist guy I met in LA. He’s going to give us a Vegas-over. I’m going to glitz the shit out of you.’

‘Two things,’ I replied. ‘Firstly, your Vegas-over looks to be complete already, my love, and secondly, if the room is spinning, it means you’re still drunk, not hungover.’

‘Yeah,’ Jenny nodded, taking a very slow sip of coffee. ‘Yeah, it does.’

I gave her a very judgemental look. It felt good.

‘Shopping should be fun, then.’

‘Shopping drunk is super fun. If I hadn’t ever stopped into Urban Outfitters tipsy, I wouldn’t have red jeans in my closet,’ she responded.

‘And I don’t know how the world would cope,’ I replied. ‘Where’s Sadie?’

‘Don’t know. I do know we switched outfits in the club, and I know there was dancing, and I’m pretty sure there was some dude from that show about those guys, but then she wasn’t there any more and I came home. Without the guy from that show, before you ask.’

‘Well, who can resist some dude from that show about those guys?’ I asked. ‘And I absolutely wasn’t going to ask. I know you’re all smitten kitten for the Sigster.’

‘Don’t call him that,’ she said, pushing herself up from the table and trying to focus on the food while keeping her coffee down. ‘Which way to the toast?’

‘Right over there.’ I pointed towards the bakery station and paused. No. Shopping. Must not be full of bagel. Am already full of Everything Else.

I was very excited. Not working regularly had limited my shopping excursions, and I’d been very, very sensible with my last few pay cheques. Meaning I was probably about to be very unsensible with whatever was left in my bank account. I still had a ton of Christmas shopping to do, but I told myself this was vital research. How was I going to write for fashion magazines if I didn’t set foot inside a department store? You can’t write about clothes you haven’t seen. Or touched. Or tried on. Or murdered your credit limit for.

‘The limo’s waiting,’ Jenny said as we attempted to navigate the casino floor without bumping into Brad. ‘I am so not going to want to get on the subway on Monday morning.’

‘I think I probably do prefer the limo,’ I agreed. ‘Although if it was a toss-up between the limo and Sadie or taking the bus and no Sadie, I’d be on a double-decker by now.’

‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’ Jenny pressed a hand to her forehead as she clambered into the big black car with significantly less elegance than she had displayed the night before. ‘But I would guess you’re right.’

The limo slid away from the hotel, leaving a towering white palace behind us, glittering in the crisp winter sunshine. Shame I knew Jenny had puked in the toilet just before we left. Took the shine right off it.

The Strip was still pretty quiet as we swept along past the casinos. Some of them looked magnificent in the daylight. The Wynn stood tall, commanding respect by refusing to subscribe to a silly theme, but then the Venetian actually took my breath away. I’d never been to Venice, and while I was quite aware that this wasn’t the same thing, I couldn’t wait to get inside that hotel. Plus there were huge billboards for Phantom, and oh to the em to the gee, I loved me a musical. It was no Les Mis, but still. I wondered if I would be able to sneak away for a matinee, knowing full well I’d be on my own for it and not caring in the slightest.

A couple of minutes later we were pulling into what looked like giant chunks of glass sprouting up from the ground. It was as though Superman had fallen on hard times and flogged the Fortress of Solitude to a Las Vegas developer and said developer had filled the fortress with everything that was great and good in the world. And by that, I meant shops. Wonderful, wonderful shops.

‘So this is the Crystals,’ Jenny explained, taking my hand and patting it reassuringly. ‘You should prepare yourself. Shit’s about to get real.’

‘How did you know about this?’ I asked, trying not to give myself whiplash as we entered the complex. Gucci, Lanvin, Tom Ford, Marni. ‘This is insane.’

‘I came here a couple of times when I was in LA. Heaps of styling work in Vegas.’ Bulgari, Dior, Versace, Bottega Veneta. ‘Damn city is full of reality TV girls who don’t know how to dress themselves. And Erin is talking to some guy who is opening a boutique here, so really we’re working today.’

‘Amazing.’ I held my battered Marc Jacobs satchel close to my body to shield its eyes from all the pretty things in the windows. At least I didn’t need to worry about my credit limit. There wasn’t a single thing in a single store I could afford. ‘Only, I daren’t touch anything.’

‘And that’s why we have a personal shopper.’ She took my arm and led me through the beautiful, beautiful window displays and through a frosted glass door until the Beautiful Things were safely behind us.

And in front of us was a man. A man so pretty I had to wipe my palms on the arse of my jeans before I even stepped towards him. It was impossible to process how beautiful he actually was without looking away to clear out your eyes and then looking back, just to confirm it. Easily over six foot, broad shoulders, thick sandy blond hair styled into the perfect Don Draper and clad in an exquisite suit I assumed he had sold his soul for, he did a double-take and sparked into life. His perfect features broke into a wide crooked smile and his suit ruched up as he opened his arms into what would become an all-consuming hug. For Jenny.

‘Jenny Lopez! I saw your name in the diary and I thought it was the other one! Why didn’t you tell me you were coming? What the hell?’

Apparently, Jenny knew this gentleman.

‘It was all kind of last minute.’ Jenny untangled herself from the hug and took several steps back until she was parallel with my jaw. Which was on the floor. She wrapped her own slender arms around herself and gave him her biggest, fakest smile.

Huh.

‘This is my friend, Angie.’ She cocked her head towards me. ‘And she needs the full Vegas.’

‘The famous Angie.’ He was on me in one stride. Jenny leapt away and coiled up on a couch quicker than a scalded cat. Double-huh. ‘I’m Ben, and it looks like I am your stylist for the day.’

‘Hello, Ben.’ I reciprocated his double kisses. It wouldn’t do to be impolite, would it? ‘So, you know Jenny?’

‘We worked together,’ she explained before he could, although I could tell by his raised eyebrow that ‘worked together’ was apparently a fun new euphemism Jenny was using for ‘we shagged each other senseless on at least one occasion’.

‘We did,’ he confirmed, hands on my shoulders. ‘Now, let me take a look at you.’

I was perfectly happy for him to look all day long. And if he needed to touch a little bit, that was fine. Alex would completely understand. This man was so beautiful, I dare say he might even want a quick touch himself. He could make any man alive ask himself some questions. I actually couldn’t think of a man straight enough to turn him down.

‘And I get to give you a Vegas makeover? Oh, this is going to be fun,’ he promised. ‘Let’s go into the dressing room.’

I followed him happily while Jenny lagged behind. I wasn’t too carried away to notice the moment between the two of them when she passed by as Ben held the door open. It was exciting to see sexual tension between pretty people. Like watching a live action movie. As long as it didn’t turn into a live action porno, we were good. Although I did have a credit card and some time to kill if Ben ever decided to go into adult entertainment.

The dressing room was, like everything else, super-plush. Giant cream couches, champagne on ice, fizzy pop, olives, cheese, everything. A giant TV showed E! entertainment, there was a Mac connected to Facebook in one corner of the room, and in the other corner a frosted-glass shower stall. Clearly some people were spending a lot of time in here.

‘So, I have my brief, I have your measurements, you ladies relax in your dressing room and I’m gonna go pick out some pieces. You know the drill, Lopez. Don’t cause me any trouble.’ Ben gave us a stern look that elicited the girliest giggle I have ever had the shame to produce. I coughed, blushed and looked at my feet.

I waited the requisite fifteen seconds after the door had closed before spinning around to demand answers. Plus details.

‘Before you even start –’ Jenny pushed the sunglasses she had been wearing throughout onto the top of her head and glared at me – ‘Yes, we did. But it was for like five seconds when I was out here one weekend, and then nothing happened.’

I pressed my lips into a thin line and tried to ratchet my eyebrows back down my forehead.

‘We’re not even Facebook friends.’

So she was serious.

‘Jenny, he’s beautiful.’ I picked up a silver cocktail ring and twisted it onto my right hand.

‘And he’s effed every girl in Vegas. This is not something I’m proud of. Let’s just not, OK?’

I would have been proud. I would have put it on a T-shirt.

‘How does he have my sizes?’ I asked. ‘Is he sure he doesn’t need to measure me?’

‘He has your measurements because he’s effed every girl in Vegas,’ Jenny repeated. ‘That’s his party piece, guessing bra sizes. He’s pretty good.’

‘Fine, I believe you, he’s an arsehole.’ I plopped onto the sofa beside her. ‘Besides, he’s still not as good looking as Sigge. Or as nice.’

‘No.’ She stretched her arms over her head, shaking the last of her hangover away. ‘He’s not. It’s all surface. All smoke and mirrors.’

I stretched my legs and shook off the thought of smoke and mirrored ceilings. ‘But he’s such a good stylist, we had to come and see him?’

‘He’s good,’ she said. ‘But the other girl who works here is a bitch. And you know, he’s super-hot. So, happy Christmas.’

‘I love you.’

‘I know.’

‘It’s very nice.’ I stood on a raised dais in the middle of a room of mirrors, examining myself from every angle in a very, very tight black Bottega Veneta leather shift dress. I was regretting eating all of the food now. ‘I just don’t know if it’s me?’

‘It’s so you.’ Ben ran his hands down my silhouette. ‘It’s the autumn-winter–eleven-fetish you. It’s the high-fashion you.’

Hmm. I was far more comfortable with the Forever 21 me. And much more comfortable when he didn’t have his hands on me. Turns out Jenny was right, Ben was a bit of a sleaze. And no matter how pretty a man was, if he couldn’t keep his hands off your arse when they hadn’t been invited, it was off-putting.