What Stays in Vegas (14 page)

“
This
guy’s your boyfriend?”  he asked, flicking his finger up and down.

I arched an angry eyebrow at Tooth Model, and then I did it - I kissed him. 
Chris
, not Tooth Model.  Please, don’t make me sick.  It was a mixture of wanting to piss off Tooth Model and being protective of this person who had gone out of his way to show up tonight in order to rescue me.  So I leaned in and I kissed him.  And he kissed me back. Then I put my hand on the back of his neck, and Chris put his hand around my waist, and I was no longer kissing him to get rid of Tooth Model, but I was kissing him because I liked it.  By the time I looked up, Tooth Model was gone and Chris had turned as red as my BMW.

“Sorry.” I shrugged, staring down at the floor.  "I, uh, I just wanted to get rid of him.” 

When I looked back up, Chris had the same sheepish expression on his face that he gets every time he jams the photocopier.  

“Actually, um, making out with me is one thing you never need to apologize for," he said.  "I’ve kind of been wanting to do that ever since, well, ever since I met you.” 

My stomach did a swan dive off the Stratosphere and I smiled back at him.  Had he always been this cute close up?  I realized I still had my hand on the back of his neck.  My finger twisted around a piece of his hair - hair that he had tousled up special for tonight, the night that he came to my rescue because he had been wanting to kiss me ever since I set foot in Las Vegas.  I slid my hand from the back of his neck, down to his arm, and into his hand.

“Come on.”  I pulled him to his feet.  “Dance with me.”  We disappeared onto the dance floor, happily pushed close by the crowd.  He put his hand on my back and I leaned into his neck, the strobe lights turning everything into a slow motion dream.  It was one of those dreams that leave you heartbroken when you awaken to find out that it wasn't real - but there was no chance of that tonight.  Tonight it was me, Chris, and the dance floor, and everything, for the time being, was perfect.

***

It was nearly 1:00 a.m. before we saw Kendra and Bryce again.  Chris and I were still on the dance floor when somebody grabbed me around the shoulders from behind.  I had the horrible thought that it was Tooth Model coming back for more rejection, but it was only Kendra who looked much less perfectly done up than she had a few hours earlier.  Her long blonde curls had frizzed up from the heat and sweat inside the club.

“Hey girl!”  she screamed.  Apparently Kendra was now using the phrase "hey girl."   The look on her face when she noticed Chris standing there was that of a person seeing their dead grandfather rise up out of his coffin.  “Oh my God!  I’m so glad you’re here!”  She pulled him into an embrace and then tossed him off to the side.  “I’m leaving with Bryce, he’s got a suite upstairs," she whispered into my ear.  I knew there had to be a reason she was so happy to see Chris, she felt guilty about ditching me. 

“
Are you sure?”  I asked.  “Don’t do anything you’ll regret.”  But seriously, who was I kidding?  Nobody would regret sleeping with Bryce Storm.  Bryce grabbed somewhere that I couldn’t see, and Kendra started giggling like a mad woman as they headed for the exit. 

“Chris will make sure I get home safe!” I shouted uselessly at the back of their heads.  “Kendra’s got herself a rebound guy, huh?” asked Chris.

“One hell of a rebound,” I said, watching his salt and pepper head, and the smell of money, disappear out the door.  “You want to get out of here too?”

Chris and I chose to end our evening not in the fashion of Kendra and Bryce, but rather innocently with a walk down The Strip, just as far as my four inch heels would allow me.    We walked for what seemed like miles, and laughed when we looked up and saw that we were still in front of the MGM Grand.  I told you the place is enormous.

“That is one huge
hotel,” he said, staring up at it in awe.  We were standing underneath the M.

“Yep,” I said.  Sometimes I have a way with words.  Just then my phone started ringing from inside my purse and I pulled it out just to make sure it wasn’t Kendra, though that was highly unlikely.  This time it was Nick.

“Who’s that?” asked Chris. 

“Nobody,” I said, and for the moment I meant it.  I switched off the phone and put my arms around his neck. 

“You know,” he said, “I’ve lived here for years now.  I hate the club scene, I never desired to go to the Bunny Ranch, and I never once wished to see Wayne Newton in concert.  But ever since you came here,” he leaned down and kissed me, “it kind of feels like home.” 

- 15 -

Shut up.  Shut up!  Oh dear God.
  

My phone was ringing and it needed to stop.  I grabbed it off the nightstand and threw it across the room, then buried my face back into the pillows.  The realization that I had a massive hangover became clearer the closer I came to consciousness, so fighting off consciousness was clearly the key to my survival.  But my phone did not seem to agree, it just kept ringing.  Whoever it was really
really
wanted to talk to me. 

Thoughts of Kendra stranded on the side of the road drifted through my head, but they weren't enough to make me budge.  I doubted Bryce Storm left women stranded on the sides of roads anyway.  But what if it was Chris?  I didn't want him to think there was any weirdness between us, so I heaved myself out of bed and turned on the lamp. 

"Aw come on!" I yelled when it wasn't Chris's name that I saw on the screen.  It was Kendra's, and it was only 8:40 a.m. 

“Mmmmph,” I answered.

“Hi!” she said, sounding awfully chipper and not at all like somebody stranded on the side of a road.  I guess a night with Bryce Storm is enough to keep the hangover away.  “Whatcha doing?”

“Shucking corn.  What do you
think
I’m doing?”  I headed into the bathroom just in case I threw up on the carpet.  I enjoyed having a maid and everything, but I didn’t really want to test the bounds of our relationship.

“Oh, yeah, I guess it is pretty early.   Bryce got paged with an emergency and had to head out.”

“Cosmetic dentists have emergencies?” I asked.  I looked at myself in the mirror.  My hair stood up in six directions and I had glitter on my neck.  Had Chris been wearing glitter?  I brushed it off with a tissue and sat down on the lid of the toilet.

“Sure they do.  What do you think happens if an actor breaks a tooth and has to do a photo shoot?  Anyway, that’s not why I called.  I thought we could go to the art museum today.”

“Las Vegas has an art museum?”  I asked. 

“Las Vegas has a great art museum, we’ll go check it out and annoy all the other people by gossiping loudly about our night, sound good?”

“Sure,” I said. 
This woman is fucking insane. 
“Come get me in an hour.”  I flipped open the lid of the toilet, knelt down on the floor, and ended the conversation.

***

The car ride to the museum was mostly filled with Kendra talking about her night with Bryce in more detail than I ever needed to know.  When her story about eating hot fudge sundaes in the Jacuzzi threatened to make its second appearance, I changed the subject to me and Chris.  I told her about how Chris had come to my rescue, and how I'd kissed him only to get rid of Tooth Model but then didn't end up stopping until the wee hours of the morning.  I told her that for the first time in three years Nick Trask wasn't the person I thought about as I drifted off to sleep.  I half expected her to be shocked at my revelation, or to lecture me about the perils of office romance, but all she did was glance over at me and smile. 

"You two work," she said with an approving nod.  "I like it."

One fast food stop and one iced coffee later, we found ourselves wandering the halls of the Las Vegas Art Museum.  The museum was larger than I had expected, and filled with mostly contemporary artwork.  Several touristy looking women,  who I imagined had lost their husbands to the casinos, were milling around.  There were also a few parents with small children trying to force an appreciation for art on them that would need at least a few more years to develop, if ever.  I hated art museums as a kid, and my parents brought me to them relentlessly.  Perhaps subconsciously that is why I turned out to be an artist, but at the time they bored me to tears. 

I smiled sympathetically at two kids sitting on a bench playing with a matchbox car that one of them had the foresight to smuggle in.  With one exuberant push the little boy shot the matchbox car past his sister, off the end of the bench, and into the leg of an elderly woman.  I laughed as their mother's threat of never taking them to a museum again was met with a joyful "Yes!" from both of the kids.  I high-fived the little boy as he skipped out of the room.

“So I’ve always had this idea,” said Kendra, as we strolled slowly from painting to painting,  "there are all kinds of companies that cater to children, making pottery and building teddy bears and stuff.  But why should they have all the fun?”  She stopped in front of a painting of a man with no head who was playing darts.  To the right of the painting was a blank canvas.  To the right of the blank canvas was a third canvas depicting the dartboard with the headless man’s head nailed to it by a dart. 

“What on
earth was this guy thinking?”  asked Kendra, moving down the line.  “Anyway, I always thought it would be cool to own my own business hosting art parties for adults.  I could do bachelorette parties where everyone makes their own jewelry, or bridal showers, or even corporate events.  Don't you think it would be fabulous if somebody came into Flamhauser-Geist with some supplies and taught us how to make something cool?  It'd be a way better morale booster than those stupid trust falls Sharon made us do in the parking lot last year."  I followed Kendra around as she spoke.  She seemed so caught up in her speech that I wasn't even sure if she noticed I was still there.

"There are just so many people out there that would benefit from a little art in their lives, they’re just never given the opportunity.  I mean, I could even host events at nursing homes and hospitals, and give those people something to look forward to.  We could do watercolors, or collages, or even - "  She finally stopped walking and looked me in the eye.  "Or even sculptures made out of paperclips.  You know what I mean, Tessa?"

I actually did know.  I knew a
lot
.

“That’s not a bad idea,” I said.  I thought of my office supply sculptures and the enjoyment I got out of them.  Perhaps Tom Skeeter had not enjoyed the time I spent building them when I should have been working, but they kept me sane and you can’t argue with that. 

“You know, Kendra, maybe we could do this.  I mean, what are the odds that two artists would find each other the way we did?  Maybe we're meant to kiss Flamhauser-Geist goodbye and just go for it!"  Within two minutes I had latched onto the idea and for once saw myself becoming something more than an office drone.  I saw myself happy and in my element.  And then, at the sound of Kendra's laughter, I saw my bubble burst.

“Are you forgetting that I’m a Flamhauser?” she asked.  “I hate to say it, but I’m in this for the long haul.  I would need to publicly disgrace the entire company before my family ever let me off the engineering hook.”  She shook her head, some of the fire going out of her eyes.  “It is a nice idea though.  Maybe in another life.”

“But that’s not fair,” I said.  I wasn’t letting this go so easily. “I mean, shouldn’t you be doing what would make you happy?  God, if I had the means to get out of this job I would in a second.  No offense.” 

“None taken.  But that’s the thing, Tess.  If I bail on the family company, I won’t have the means either.  Especially with Todd gone.  You think my parents would support me if I decide to start dressing like a hippie and laying around in the grass painting rainbows?”

“Is that what you did in college?” I asked.  I was having some trouble picturing Kendra dressed as a hippie, or even laying in grass.

“No,” she said.  “But that’s the image my parents have of artists.”

“Well that wouldn’t be us,” I said.  "We would be businesswomen with clients, and a website, and some kind of van with our company logo on the side.  There’d be no lounging around or smoking drugs, or whatever the heck your parents think artists do.  And if we're a success, we wouldn’t even need your parents help.  Not for long.”

“If we were successful, yes,” said Kendra.  “But what if we fail?  We’d have no jobs, no money, and who knows if my family would even let me back into the business.  We’d end up stripping at The Jiggly Kitty to make ends meet.  And I for one do not want to give Rob Dorfman the satisfaction of seeing
that
.”

“Okay," I said.  “But if nobody ever took chances, then nothing would ever get accomplished would it?  I mean, what if the guy who invented the Internet decided that it was too much of a risk?”

“Then we would never have known what we were missing out on, would we?” asked Kendra. 

“That’s a terrible attitude."

“Hey, don’t think I haven’t had this argument with myself plenty of times over the years,” she said, raising her voice.  I seemed to have struck a nerve.  “It’s just how it is.  Luckily I actually do like being an engineer most of the time.”

“You like building strip clubs?”  I asked.  “You like the fact that because of us some poor girl can now find a job as a stripper instead of at McDonald’s?  Or that because of us some guy with a wife and kids can travel less than ten minutes to the nearest Jiggly Kitty instead of going home to his family?  Do you really like that?  Because for me, it makes me feel kind of sick.”