Vanity, Vengeance And A Weekend In Vegas (A Sophie Katz Novel) (4 page)

“HE HAD HIS ARM AROUND HER?”

Marcus looked miserable. He
flagged down the bartender and ordered another drink, steadfastly refusing to
meet my eyes.

“What does she look like?” I
asked desperately. “Is she cute? Hot? If you were straight would you do her?”

“I’m not straight.”

“No shit, Marcus. If you
were
straight
would you want to have sex with this woman?”

Marcus hesitated. The music in
the bar seemed to have gotten louder. Or maybe the ringing in my ears was being
caused by something else, like the little voice in my head that was screaming.

“I don’t think I’d be into her if
I was straight.” He said slowly as his drink arrived.

I sighed feeling the tiniest bit
of relief.
 
“So she’s ugly?” I
asked.

“No, I just don’t think that as a
straight man I’d be into the bleach blonde bunny type. I see myself more with a
Hillary Swank kind of girl.”

And then even
that
mild sense of relief
disappeared.
 
“Double D?”

“Maybe,” Marcus said cautiously.
“Maybe triple, but they have to be fake. There’s no way boobs that big could
stay up on their own if they were real and there’s no way she could have been
wearing a bra considering the skimpiness of that top.”

“Oh
hell
no.” I slammed my drink and got to
my feet.

“Where are you going?”

“Where do you think I’m going?
I’m going to the lobby and I’m going to rip Anatoly’s head off!”

“Honey, this is not a good plan.”

“This isn’t a plan! This is blind
rage that needs an outlet!”

The few patrons who were close
enough to hear me over the music threw bemused smiles in our direction.

“Yes,” Marcus said, “well that’s
not so good either.”

“Marcus, there’s no way any of
this can be good!” I heard the faint edge of hysteria in my voice and I
struggled to contain it. “At this point all I can do is aim for bearable! If I
can hurt him now and then chill out by watching people being murdered in a film
noir then I might be able to bear this…this mess!”

“Ooh,” Marcus said slowly, ”You
still want to see The Maltese Falcon? I didn’t think you would so—“

“Wait, are you telling me that my
ex-boyfriend has moved on in less than a week AND you didn’t get us tickets to
The Maltese Falcon? Are you serious? Are you trying to make me suicidal?” Yes,
I was definitely hysterical. Obviously the movie wasn’t important but
something
had
to go according to plan.

“Okay,” Marcus put a firm hand on
my shoulder. “Tell you what, I’ll go get the tickets now and you sit here and
have another cocktail. If by the time I get back you still want to decapitate
Anatoly I’ll lead you to him.”

“The only reason you’d be going
with me would be to stop me from actually committing assault.”

“There are worse motives to
have.”
 
He waved at the bartender
again who was by his side in lightning speed.
 
“Get my friend another drink, darling. You have my card.”
Marcus then turned and gave me a light kiss on the cheek before pushing me back
down on the barstool. “Stay,” he said sternly before giving me another kiss,
this one on the top of my head, and walking away.

I waited for him to be out of
sight before finishing off what remained of Marcus’ drink, leaping back up onto
my feet and pushing my way through the crowd toward the lobby.
 
My balance wasn’t all that it should
have been. I shouldn’t have slammed two cocktails in the space of five minutes.
I
should
have downed three. Right now I was just drunk enough to be overly emotional but
not drunk enough to forget. Not a good place to be.

When I got to the lobby I spotted
him immediately. He was still on the sofa, his back toward me and his arm still
draped over a blonde woman’s shoulders.
 
I took three steps toward them and then lost my nerve.
 
I skirted behind a corner and flattened
myself against the wall.
 
I wanted
to yell at him, scream at him even, but you can’t scream when you can’t
breathe. I opened my mouth hoping the air would just float on in but my throat
was completely constricted.
 
I
tried again to suck in a steady breath but I only managed a gasp.
 
When I exhaled it came out as a moan.

“Are you all right?”

I glanced up to see a man with
impossibly green eyes looking down at me.
 
He had strawberry blond hair. I don’t like guys with strawberry blond
hair but those eyes….they had to be colored contacts, right?

“Are you all right?” he asked
again.

I realized then that I was
trembling.
 
“No,” I whispered.
 
And then a little louder, “No!”

He tilted his head slightly to
one side.
 
“Can I help?”

Help me, yes, yes please help me!
But how could anyone help me with
this?
I
peeked around the corner.
 
Anatoly
still had his back to me and I watched as he stood up and reached down to pull
her to her feet. He didn’t let go of her hand once they were standing. Instead
he draped a small duffle bag that I hadn’t noticed before over his shoulder and
started leading her toward the elevator. I recognized the duffle bag. Anatoly
always used it for short trips, so perhaps he had just checked in and was going
to his room for the first time…with her. I ducked back behind the wall and
grabbed Mr. Green-eyes’ arm.
 
“Yes,
yes you can help me.
 
Do you see that
tall guy in the black t-shirt and dark jeans talking to that bleach-blonde
bimbo in the bright red, low-back top?”

 
The man looked at me quizzically before looking to see if he
could spot the couple in question. “Yes,” he said slowly, dragging the word out
so the
s
turned into a hiss.

“That’s my boyfriend and he’s
about to go upstairs.
 
I need to
know if he takes that…that woman into his room with him.
 
Or her room…maybe it’s her room.
Anyway, I need you to get on the elevator with them, get off on the same floor
as him, give me their room number and tell me if they went in together.”

 
“I think I may be changing my mind about wanting to help
you.”

“No, you can’t change your mind!
This is life or death!”

“Someone’s going to die if I
don’t spy on your boyfriend for you?”

“Umm, maybe? I mean yes.
 
Sure, someone will die.”
Like Anatoly
right after I bludgeon him with a copy of He’s Just Not That Into You.
 

“I still think I should stay out
of it.”

Again, I glanced around the
corner.
 
The elevator hadn’t
arrived yet but it would in a moment.
 
“I’ll pay you,” I said quickly.
 
“I have…” I dug around in my purse and pulled out my wallet, “$185 on
me.
 
You can have all of it.
 
All I need is a room number.”

“I’ll do it for $250.”

“But I don’t have $250!”

“I take checks.”

“What? What! You’re
shaking me down
?”

“Not at all. I’d be happy to walk
away from this whole thing but if you want me to spy on my fellow man I’m going
to require fair payment.”

“You’re unbelievable!”

The elevator arrived but now
there were too many people waiting for it.
 
Anatoly stepped aside and allowed a woman in a wheelchair to
take what would have been his spot.

“Fine!” I hissed.
 
I pulled my checkbook out of my purse
and scrawled two- hundred and fifty dollars across it in blue pen.
 
“What’s your name?”

“Alex Kinsky.”

“Alex Kinky?”

Mr. Green Eyes smiled.
 
“Kinsky.”

“Polish?”

“Russian.” He took the check from
my hand before I had a chance to remark on that.
 
“The elevator’s here.
 
Don’t move from this spot. I’ll be back with a room number.”

I nodded and watched as the
kinky, Russian, green-eyed guy strode across the room and slipped into the
elevator with Anatoly and his bimbo just before the door closed. What if he
didn’t come back? What if I had just paid some guy Two hundred and fifty
dollars for nothing?

Well then I’d cancel the check of
course.
 
That was the benefit of
not paying cash.

But what if this was some kind of
identity theft scheme?
 
Now this
guy had my name and account number…what could a really skilled identity thief
do with that?
 

What if Anatoly really was taking that woman up to his hotel room
to make love to her?

Breathing was becoming hard
again.
 
I closed my eyes.
 
Everything was going to be fine.
 
Maybe they wouldn’t even go into the
same hotel room.
 
Maybe they’d get
off on different floors.
 
Maybe…maybe…

Maybe my heart was breaking.

“The best thing about alcohol is
that it makes your bad judgment more socially acceptable.”

--Death Of The Party

I couldn’t have been in that
hallway for more than ten minutes…probably considerably less. But it felt like
an eternity.
 
All of a sudden
nothing seemed to make sense.
 
Why
did I need to know Anatoly’s room number?
 
Was I really going to go up there and confront him in front of a woman?
Perhaps a naked woman
in his bed
?
 
Did I
really want to have her lying there smugly listening to my hysterics?
 

I was acting on instinct and raw
emotion, which is exactly what had brought me to Anatoly to begin with.
 
What kind of idiot was I to trust in
those things again?

The anger began to slip away and
I started to feel just…empty.
 
I
shouldn’t have come to Vegas. What was the point? What was the point of doing
anything?

I stepped into the lobby just as
the Kinky green-eyed man stepped off the elevator.
 
He walked over to me and his eyes were sympathetic.
 
His sympathy made me want to cry.

“Room 608,” he said softly.

“Together?” I asked and he
answered me with a nod.
 

“Right, well now I know,
right?
 
I mean I had to know
otherwise…otherwise I wouldn’t know and that would be bad.” I knew I was
babbling but if I stopped talking I’d have to think and…and
feel
this.
 
“You should cash that check soon,” I
continued.
 
“Who knows, maybe you
can turn that $250 into $2000, right?
 
I mean this is Vegas!
 
Anything can happen in Vegas!”

I could feel the strain of the
smile on my face, all big and fake.
 
I could feel Anatoly’s arms around me, hear his laughter, feel the way
he used to brush my hair from my face.

 
“Don’t use it on the slot machines, worst odds in the
casino.”
Just
keep talking
.
 
Talk so you don’t
cry
.

“Can I get you a cup of coffee?”
he asked.
 
“A little conversation
over mochas? I’ve been told I’m a good listener.”

“Mochas, I don’t’ usually drink
mochas.” I looked up at the overhead lights.
 
They were too bright for the theme of the hotel and way too
bright for my mood.
 
“I don’t think
I can carry on a coherent conversation right now either.”

“I didn’t say you had to be
coherent,” Mr. Green eyes said…what was his real name again? Andy? No
Alex.
 
Alex Kinsky.
 
Should be easy to remember…but there
was no need to.
 

I kept my smile plastered across
my face but looked away.
 
“Thank
you, Alex, but I’m gonna pass. Enjoy the rest of your night and, um, thank you
for…for telling me.”
Thank you for confirming my worst fears, thank you for letting me know
my entire love affair with Anatoly was a lie.

I relayed the brief story in its
entirety, stopping only long enough to consume large gulps of alcohol.
 
Dena and Marcus exchanged looks when I
got to the part about the check but neither of them chastised me for it.
 
Instead they just bought me another
drink. Marcus placated me by noting that the busty-blonde girl looked skanky.
He even took it a step further by insisting that Anatoly was an asshole who
didn’t deserve me.
 
Dena remained
noticeably silent.

 
“If we want good seats we should probably go up to the movie
theater,” Marcus said, glancing at his watch.

 
“I’ll meet you there,” I mumbled. “I have to go to the ladies
room.”

“I’ll go with you,” Dena said as
she tried to link her arm through mine.

I jerked away from her. “I don’t
need your help.”

Dena narrowed her eyes. “Excuse
me, but did I do something to piss you off?”

“It’s what you’re thinking right
now,” I slurred. “Your thoughts are pissing me off.”

“So you’re a mind reader now?”

“You’re thinking that Anatoly
didn’t do anything wrong this time.
 
You’re thinking that I broke it off with him and he’s a free agent!” I
slammed the rest of my drink before adding, “You’re thinking that anything goes
in Vegas, especially if you’re newly single! Go ahead, tell me where I’m
wrong.”

Dena’s eyes were now so narrow I
could barely see them through her eyelashes. Marcus kept his face as blank as
possible as he looked around the room, studying the light fixtures, his glass
and various other inanimate objects.

“I don’t think it matters if I
was thinking that or not,” Dena said coolly, “because clearly you were.”

“I’m going to the ladies room,” I
growled, “unassisted, thank you. I’ll meet you at the theater.”

Dena opened her mouth to protest
but Marcus, finally bringing his eyes back to his present company, patted her
reassuringly on the shoulder.

“Sophie’s a high functioning
drunk.
 
She’ll make it to the
bathroom and the theater by herself.”

It was a small triumph that
Marcus thought I was a high functioning anything at that moment and I spared
him a small smile before spinning on my heel and walking off. My phone vibrated
in my bag. A text from my friend, and Dena’s cousin, Mary Ann. I didn’t even
bother to read it. I didn’t want to deal with her or anyone else right now. I
didn’t even want to go to the ladies room.
 
I had just wanted a moment to myself to catch my breath.
Everything had taken on a hazy quality.
 
The colored lights of the slot machines seemed a little softer and…well,
fuzzier.
 
And the laughter of the
gamblers, the ringing of the bells…it all took on an almost meditative
quality.
 
So much noise and
stimulation all designed to keep you from thinking anything through.
 
No wonder I had acted on impulse,
recklessly signing a $250 check to a stranger just so he could confirm some bad
news.
 
Reckless impulsivity was
what Vegas was all about. It all made sense…particularly after five cosmos.

Abruptly I changed course and
went to the elevators that would take me up to the sixth floor.

As I rode up I tried to find some
level of clarity despite the intoxication.
 
Would I really hit him? What about her? She hadn’t really
done anything wrong. It was all him!

And yet it really would be fun to
slap her.

I found room 608 easily.
 
I’ll listen first,
I thought.
 
Find out if they’re…in the middle of anything.
 
The thought made me nauseous,
although the vodka was probably partially to blame for that.
 
I leaned forward and pressed my ear
against the door…

…and stumbled forward as the door
opened with the slight pressure of my body.

It had of course been open the
whole time.
 
The deadbolt had been
pushed out so that the door wouldn’t automatically lock.
 
If I had been sober I probably would
have noticed that before pressing my head against it.

Yet I wasn’t quite so drunk as to
miss the fact that I was the only one in the room. Just me and a bed that
clearly hadn’t been touched since it had been made up earlier in the day.

But it was Anatoly’s room. That
was his jacket draped over the chair by the window.

If this was his room and the bed
was still made then he hadn’t slept with her after all!
 
I half skipped, half stumbled over to
that jacket and took it up in my arms.
 
He hadn’t even taken her anywhere because if he had he wouldn’t have
left his jacket…

Wait a minute.

I sat down on the chair and
stared at the door that was still being forced slightly open by that
deadbolt.
 
Why had he left the door
open when his stuff was in here?
 
That didn’t make sense.
 
I
squeezed the jacket closer to my body.
 
It smelled like him and it felt…lumpy.
 
Why did it feel lumpy?

I reached into the inside pocket
and pulled out his iPhone.
 
He left
the room without his iPhone? That wasn’t like him.
 
I sat there for a moment staring at the device.
 
This would be a confusing situation
even if I weren’t intoxicated. As it was I was completely stupefied.

“Okay, think about this,” I said
aloud.
 
“He left the room. He also
purposely left the door open and he left his jacket and iPhone here. Those are
the facts.”

I was quiet for a moment. Listing
off the facts hadn’t been as helpful as I had anticipated.
 
Maybe I needed to list even
more
facts.
 
“I’m in Anatoly’s room and
there are no bimbos in it and the bed hasn’t been slept or fucked in recently.”

These facts weren’t any more
helpful but they were much more fun to say.
 
I closed my eyes and enjoyed the mild dizziness.
 
Things didn’t always need to make
sense. As long as he wasn’t letting Mr. Happy go spelunking everything was
okay.
 
I opened my eyes and let my
gaze lazily move around the room.

And then I saw something on the
desk. I stood up and went over to it.
 
Carefully, I touched the cool silver metal of the money clip I had given
Anatoly last year, his initials clearly engraved on the front of it. Inside the
clip were five $10 bills.

He left $50 in the room.

He left the door purposely open

He was nowhere to be found.

These were not fun facts.

I was beginning to feel more
sober.
 
Now clutching both the
money clip and the jacket I checked the bathroom.
 
No one there. The towels were still perfectly folded which
meant the shower hadn’t gotten any more use than the bed.
 
There was a travel toothbrush and
toothpaste set next to the sink that were still in their original packaging
and...a small bottle of Aveeno Positively Radiant Daily Moisturizer cream.

Anatoly didn’t use Positively
Radiant Daily Moisturizer.
 
Of
course he
should
use it.
 
I loved that
particular product and had tried to get Anatoly to use it as well.
 
I was of the firm belief that
everyone
should
have a strong skincare regiment, regardless of their sex.
 
But Anatoly never listened to me about
that kind of stuff and when you considered why I threw him out it seemed
unlikely that he would try to win me back with newly radiant skin.
 
And yet
someone
had to bring the Aveeno here and
that someone obviously wasn’t me.

I backed out of the bathroom and
then turned to examine the room again.
 
I spotted Anatoly’s duffle bag on the floor.
 
Hesitantly I opened it up.
 
On top were a couple of his t-shirts, some jeans, under that
a few pairs of boxer briefs and under that…

Under that were two rounds of
ammunition.
 
The ammunition Anatoly
used for his snub-nose revolver.

With a new sense of urgency I
started rifling through the bag and running my hands along the lining. His gun
wasn’t in there.
 
It’s fairly rare
that someone packs ammunition without packing their gun. So he had left his
iPhone and $50 behind but taken his gun?
 
That suggested he wasn’t out filling an ice bucket.

Why would he have brought his gun
to Vegas anyway? And if he had his gun on him now it was undoubtedly loaded;
Anatoly never carried an unloaded weapon. So that was at least three rounds of
ammunition. For God’s sake, how many things had he planned on shooting?