Vanity, Vengeance And A Weekend In Vegas Part 3
"How close?"
"Last I saw them they were sitting on a sofa in the main lobby." Marcus paused long enough to down the rest of his drink. "He had his arm around her."
"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 s.h.i.t, Marcus. If you were straight would you want to have s.e.x 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 Sw.a.n.k 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 b.o.o.bs 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 h.e.l.l 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 c.o.c.ktail. 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 a.s.sault."
"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 c.o.c.ktails in the s.p.a.ce 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 ident.i.ty theft scheme? Now this guy had my name and account number...what could a really skilled ident.i.ty 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.
Chapter 4.
"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 pa.s.s. 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 could feel Alex Kinsky's eyes on me as I wandered back into the bar. I b.u.mped into a tall Latino man sporting a black t-shirt and an arm full of tattoos. Anatoly had been thinking of getting a tattoo...I had been helping him decide on a design. But I wouldn't be helping with those kinds of decisions any more.
And yes, Alex was still watching me...watching me until I finally managed to lose myself in the crowd of jubilant people, many of whom would spend the weekend gambling everything they had on games of chance that they would almost certainly lose. When I finally got back to the bar I spotted Marcus looking around for me. By his side was Dena. Dena noticed me first and reached out her hand. The gesture itself almost broke me. But then again this moment felt too big for tears. What I really wanted to do was scream.
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 s.k.a.n.ky. He even took it a step further by insisting that Anatoly was an a.s.shole 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 p.i.s.s you off?"
"It's what you're thinking right now," I slurred. "Your thoughts are p.i.s.sing 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 gla.s.s 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, "una.s.sisted, 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 rea.s.suringly 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...