Lindsey Kelk 5-Book 'I Heart...' Collection (122 page)

Leaving the lift and walking side by side with someone who was dressed to ruin the life of every man she met gave me enough borrowed confidence to hold my head up high and work my own ensemble. We were almost through the lobby when I spotted the same family we’d met earlier in the lift. The boy Jenny had scared so effectively did a double-take. This time he looked terrified. Jenny threw him a wink. He paled visibly, and I was fairly certain we had witnessed his transition from boy to man. Someone would be having funny feelings in the night tonight.

‘Glad you got dressed up?’ Jenny asked quietly as we arrived at the Wynn. I nodded. Glad was an understatement.

Immediately I understood Jenny’s commitment to turning out. This was the only place on earth where it was impossible to be overdressed. Every lily was gilded. And then studded with diamonds. And then gilded again. Velvet ropes vanished from view as we made our way into Tryst, and in mere moments we were seated at a table and supplied with a bottle of Grey Goose and various mixers. I sat back and tried to take everything in. Without flashing my knickers. At least tonight they weren’t giant, pink or cotton. I had totally committed to my outfit and gone the full Agent Provocateur. Sadie would be proud.

‘Oh my God, you actually look, like, good.’

Speak of the devil and see his horns.

The look of surprise on Sadie’s face was softened slightly by the level of drunk in her eyes. Someone had been pre-partying. For some time.

She pulled me upright, span me around and cackled with laughter.

‘Is that D&G? Jesus, Angela, who dressed you?’

‘I did.’ An arm swept around my waist and dipped me backwards into a theatrical welcome. I didn’t get a chance to stop him before I felt Ben’s lips graze mine. Before I knew what was happening, I was upright again and he was repeating his hello on Sadie. Well, that wasn’t unpleasant. Jenny, on the other hand, looked like someone was about to slap her around the face with a kipper. Ben swooped in on her before she could run, but this time, instead of a peck on the lips, Jenny was on the receiving end of a smacker of old Hollywood proportions. I stood goldfishing as Sadie clapped her hands together in delight.

‘Right.’ Jenny wiped her mouth with the back of her hand as soon as she was upright and turned her back on Ben. ‘Shots?’

‘I’ll be right back,’ Ben whispered. A promise and a threat, according to the look on Jenny’s face.

‘I didn’t know you knew Ben?’ Sadie cried, turning to our table and popping a bottle of bubbly. A bottle that hadn’t been there two minutes earlier. I scanned the room for the booze fairy but couldn’t see anyone. Shit, this was a classy joint.

‘Just from when I was styling,’ Jenny said. ‘You guys worked together?’

‘When he used to shoot, yeah.’ Sadie handed me a glass of champagne without actually looking at me. Still. Baby steps. ‘And he’s just one of those guys who is always out in Vegas, you know?’

I did not know.

‘Anyway, you guys look smoking.’ Sadie looked back at me again, the shock melting into approval. ‘We should dance.’

‘We should dance,’ Jenny agreed, pouring out generous shots of vodka. ‘Here. To Vegas.’

‘To Vegas,’ Sadie and I repeated together.

The afternoon’s martinifest was a distant memory, and so with a glass of champagne in one hand and a vodka in the other, I did the shot and promised myself a night worthy of my outfit.

It is a truth universally acknowledged that a club full of drunken women must have many and plentiful toilets. But as soon as I started looking for them, there was of course no loo to be found. At least not a ladies’. After three laps of the club and no better option in sight, I knocked on the door of the gents, poked my head around and bolted inside. This was a classy joint – surely I’d be safe using the gents just this once? As soon as I was safely in a stall, I really didn’t care. But Sod’s Law was applicable even in Vegas, and the second I started to relax, the door to my stall swung wide open and two bodies fell directly into my lap.

‘Shitshit-shit, haven’t you heard of locking the door?’

In the scrum of pushing two men off my lap while simultaneously trying to pull up my pants, I recognized that voice. British accent, snogging another man in a public bathroom, causing me physical and emotional injuries? It could only be one man.

‘James?’

‘Angela?’

Dress up around my waist, pants on full display and eyes wide open, I threw my arms around James Jacobs’ neck as though he was my long-lost fairy godfather. Well, it had been almost a year and he most certainly was a fairy, if you didn’t mind the most politically incorrect 1980s’ term-your-nan-might-use definition of the word.

‘Shagging in the toilets again? Jesus, was George Michael a lesson to no one?’

‘I’m not ram-raiding Snappy Snaps, am I?’

To the best of my knowledge, he wasn’t.

‘Cover yourself up, woman – don’t you read the papers?’ James hugged me back with the strength of someone who worked out by lifting combine harvesters for shits and giggles. ‘I’m a total homo. Flashing your vajayjay this way won’t help you in the slightest.’

‘Really?’ I gave him one last squeeze and pushed him away.

‘Absolutely. They frighten the life out of me.’

‘I forget what a good actor you used to be.’

‘Not loving the use of the past tense there.’

James Jacobs was an actor I’d interviewed back in the heady days of actually having a job. And when I say interviewed, I do mean accidentally dragged kicking and screaming out of the closet. Something that apparently wasn’t a problem now. I looked at his friend, aka the dark-haired, dark-eyed man standing staring at the floor and trying to surreptitiously fasten his fly. I couldn’t help but notice it wasn’t his beloved boyfriend Blake. Which I was fine with, because Blake hated me and, to be fair, I wasn’t that keen either.

‘What are you doing in Vegas? Reporting? Are you following me?’ He shoved his shirt back into the waistband of his trousers with none of the subterfuge of his friend. ‘Because I’m not a very exciting story any more, I’m afraid.’

‘Not quite.’ I held a hand out to the fly fiddler. It was always nice to be nice. ‘Hi, I’m Angela.’

‘Are you a man?’

And sometimes it wasn’t necessary to be nice at all.

‘No, I am not a man,’ I spluttered, pointing directly at my boobs. And then remembering my knickers were still on public display. Bugger, I’d almost kept them covered for a whole day. Ish. ‘Jesus.’

‘Just … because you’re in the men’s bathroom, and, you know …’ He shrugged and looked away again. This one was not the sharpest pencil in the box. ‘You could be a man.’

‘Do you want to wait outside for a minute?’ James interrupted before I broke my duck on decking a man. ‘I won’t be long. Get me a drink?’

My new least favourite man on the planet exited the bathroom with a sulky expression. At least he didn’t have a black eye to go with it.

‘I can’t believe you’re here.’ I gave him another big hug. Cliché or not, gay-friend hugs were the best. He was like a big, camp bear. Except not a bear. Too well groomed. ‘How are you here?’

‘I’m here all the time,’ he said. ‘Which you would know if you ever checked your Facebook messages. I’ve been telling you to get your arse out here for months. I thought you were ignoring me.’

‘Oh, yeah,’ I clucked. ‘I don’t do that. Like, ever. I can’t cope with people posting about buying a new hoover. That and the fact that my mum friended me. Not OK. But what’s with the new model? Where’s Blake?’

‘Blake dumped me.’ He hopped up onto the sink unit and pouted. ‘Last month. Hence the “I’m here all the time”.’

‘Shit, I’m sorry.’ I scrabbled up to sit beside him. ‘I didn’t know.’

‘But you would,’ he said, ‘if you ever checked your Facebook messages.’

He made a good point.

‘I did email,’ I said feebly, trying to defend myself. ‘But you were far more interested in talking to my boyfriend than to me.’

‘I did mention I’m gay?’ he replied. ‘Anyway, I’m fine. It’s fine. I’ve been busy, you’ve been busy. And to tell the truth, it was just too much, the Blake stuff. He wanted to stay in every night and stroke kittens and knit. I missed my life.’

‘Is stroking kittens a new euphemism I don’t know about?’ Trust me to sit on the bit of the sink that was piss-wet. The dress might not show a damp spot, but it is never fun feeling like you’ve pissed yourself. ‘Anyway, I’m sorry. And next time, call me.’

‘There won’t be a next time for a very long time.’ He shook his curly head slowly. ‘No more boyfriends for me for a while.’

‘Does the offer to be your beard still stand then?’ I hopped down from the vanity. As much as anyone can hop in three-inch-heeled thigh-high boots. ‘It might work out for me about now, but we’d have to upgrade to marriage.’

He pretended to weigh up the option for a moment. ‘Have you seen Indecent Proposal? How about I marry you if I can have a night with your bloke?’

‘To play video games and eat pizza?’

‘Let’s say yes.’

‘Done.’ I leaned in for another, shorter hug. ‘Speaking of whom, I’m supposed to be meeting him.’

‘How long are you in Vegas for?’ He dropped to the floor with far more grace than I would ever achieve. ‘Can we hang out tomorrow?’

‘Yes,’ I promised, without having a clue what we were supposed to be doing tomorrow. ‘Let’s get a drink tomorrow night. I’m at the De Lujo – shall we meet in the bar?’

‘Very fancy,’ James said approvingly. ‘Bar it is. Midnight?’

‘Midnight?’ I baulked. ‘Bit late? I’m very lazy.’

‘Angela, it’s after two now,’ he replied. ‘And the night is very young.’

I looked at my watch. Bloody hell, it was. No wonder I was tired. And hungry. What time did the breakfast buffet open again?

‘Midnight, then. I’ll text you if anything changes. And you should come and have a drink with me now, save me from my friends.’

‘I think I’m going to head out to Marquee,’ James replied with a firm slap on my arse. ‘Bloody hell, did you piss yourself?’

‘Couldn’t help myself,’ I shrugged. ‘I just met the James Jacobs.’

‘Shut up, you cow.’ He headed into one of the stalls. Alone for a change. ‘See you tomorrow. Give Alex a big filthy snog for me.’

‘Oh, I will,’ I promised. ‘In fact, I’ll give him two.’

Tryst was beautiful. After one more glass of champagne and an hour of dancing with Jenny and Sadie, I decided to sit one out and take in the scenery. Half of the club was out in the open, and a huge golden waterfall tumbled down by the dance floor, backing the beat of the DJ with a rush of water. Aside from making me constantly need a wee, I thought it was amazing. I leaned back in my booth, curling my boots up underneath me, the leather soft and supple against my skin.

Despite Sadie’s presence, we were having a great night. When the music was loud and her mouth was shut, she was almost fun to have around. Ben’s concept of ‘be right back’ was apparently very different from everyone else’s – he hadn’t been seen since we walked in. His absence meant that Jenny relaxed a little, and relaxed Jenny was fun Jenny. I watched her throwing herself around the dance floor, busting out moves that Lady Gaga might think were crossing the line, and smiled. She needed to cut loose. I needed to cut loose.

I sipped what I promised myself was my last glass of champagne and waited for the buzz. I was already tippish, but was really pitching for pleasantly pissed. Much more pleasantly than I had been earlier in the day. Thank God I’d pigged myself stupid on the buffet: my stomach was adequately lined, even if my dress wasn’t. It was hard trying to reach the perfect level of drunkenness in a noisy nightclub; far too easy to slip over the edge.

‘Angie, get your ass up here,’ Jenny yelled from across the dance floor. ‘I want to dance with you.’

It seemed like a perfectly reasonable request so I uncurled and made my way towards her, but before I could reach my destination, I felt someone grab me under the arms and sweep me up off the floor. Was I being abducted? Was this an alien-themed hotel and I didn’t know? Was the Wynn owned by Scientologists? I had seen someone who looked a bit like Tom Cruise earlier on. But no, once set safely on a firm surface, I turned to see that my abductor was just a very big man surrounded by several other very big men.

‘Dance, honey.’ Very Big Man Number One pointed at something behind me. That something was a pole. Oh. ‘Come on, you don’t got no moves?’

‘Wuh?’ I seemed to be ever so high up off the floor.

‘Your girl ain’t got no moves!’ Very Big Man Number Two slapped Number One on the back and laughed. ‘My girl, she’s gonna dance your girl into the ground.’

I spun quickly, too quickly, to see just who this allegedly stellar pole dancer was. Of course it was Sadie. Of course it was.

‘Oh, Angela, just get down.’ She reached one hand towards the pole and kicked her leg up high above her head to a hollering crowd down below. ‘Just don’t do it.’

‘If I could get down, I would get down,’ I said, dipping a toe over the edge of the platform to try and find the floor. Nope. No floor. Here I was, four feet up in the air on a six-foot-square platform being cackled at by fifteen hundred stag parties and a snarky supermodel. Who wasn’t that super. Supermodels didn’t advertise sanitary towels as far as I knew.

‘Oh my God.’ She could barely stay on the pole for laughing. ‘Oh my God, you can’t even get down.’

‘Do it, Angie!’ Jenny bellowed, pushing her way to the front of the crowd. ‘Do it!’

Now, it was true that I did not know how to do this, but that did not mean I was not going to do it. I had seen Striptease and what had been seen could not be unseen. And who said I didn’t know how? I didn’t know how to do a lot of things, but I’d learned how to do them. Admittedly sometimes I learned by falling flat on my face. I hoped and prayed this wasn’t going to be one of those times.

‘Angela, don’t embarrass yourself,’ Sadie laughed, spinning gracefully around the pole, landing on her toes and pushing her backside up into the air to the whoops of a very receptive audience. ‘I know I make it look easy.’

‘You mean slutty,’ I called back. ‘You make it look slutty.’