Ace. The McKinley.
Brittany looked down at the writing on the crumpled napkin in her hand and back up at the grand casino hotel. The sweltering heat of the Vegas sun was causing sweat to bead between her shoulder blades. Humid summers in Ohio were nothing compared to this aridness; simply taking a breath left her mouth dry and her throat scratchy. But it was a fresh start, a new beginning. The chance to pursue her dreams without the weight of naysayers and pessimists. This had to be right. Brittany hadn't even been in town twenty-four hours and yet she already had a lead on a job. Maybe leaving Lima, and Artie, behind wasn't such a bad idea after all. Dancing was her passion and Vegas seemed to have endless opportunities.
With a deep breath, Brittany straightened her shoulders and strode forward.
The revolving door made her stomach flip, but the cool air greeting her in the lobby was satisfying. Brittany could literally feel the energy around her. Excitement, regret, guilt, elation; it was like the hotel was pulsing with its own odd aura. But that was to be expected from Sin City, home to all of the secrets tourists leave behind.
"Welcome to The McKinley."
Brittany jumped at the unexpected greeting. She had been swept up by the grandeur of the hotel, her daydream of galas and sold out performances blinding her from the polite bellhop.
"My apologies, Miss. I didn't mean to startle you," he amended, stepping forward with an apologetic smile. His eyes were the color of seafoam and his hair, though hidden beneath a small cap, was flaxen.
"This place is amazing," Brittany gushed, a beaming smile making her eyes light up. "I could probably fit my entire neighborhood in this one room." She spun on her heel slowly, drinking in the immense space.
"There's nothing quite like it," he agreed, though his focus was on Brittany, not the mahogany staircase and crystal chandeliers.
"Definitely." Brittany's voice had dropped to an awed whisper. She wandered forward, adjusting her grip on the tattered suitcase she carried.
"May I help you with your bag?" The bellhop offered, following Brittany's path toward the casino floor. He was smitten by her graceful gait and the innocent wonder that sparkled in her eyes. It wasn't often that he met a guest with such likeableness.
Brittany set her bag on the floor, turning to face her kind shadow. "That's really sweet of you," she started, "but I'm really just looking for the performance hall. Could you point me in the right direction?"
"I'll do you one better. I'll take you there myself," he declared, squaring his shoulders with pride. This garnered him a bright smile that made his heart flutter. "By the way," he added, picking up her luggage, "I'm Sam."
"I'm Brittany. Brittany S. Pierce" she beamed, sticking out her hand in introduction. "Nice to meet you, Sam."
He shook her hand lightly, a smile still blossoming on his lips. "Right this way, Mrs. Pierce." Sam motioned down a hall to their left. He took the lead, never being more than one step ahead of her.
"Mrs. Pierce is my mom," Brittany sighed, her eyes rolling just the tiniest bit. "Just call me Brittany. Britt works too."
"Will do, Brittany." Sam's shyness was evident, a complete contrast to Brittany's natural effervescence .
They walked in comfortable silence, Brittany admiring the décor of the hotel and Sam trying to find the right words to form a non-embarrassing sentence.
When they reached the glass double doors to the bar and stage, Brittany bit her lip. She was nervous and excited, everything from this moment on could lead to her dream. She imagined herself on stage, her movements choreographed perfectly to the beat of heart-pounding music. Every seat would be taken and there would be a crowd of people lining the back wall. Standing room only.
"Hey, Sammy boy!"
Brittany was once again snapped from her reverie.
The bartender was waving them over; the lounge surprisingly full for being so early in the day. But, then again, this was Vegas. Sam cupped her elbow and guided her across the room.
"What have we got here?" the bartender inquired, his eyes raking up and down Brittany's body. "Looks like an All-American girl to me."
"Watch it, Puck," Sam warned, setting Brittany's bag on the floor.
"Puck," Brittany repeated, her excitement dimming. "So I guess you're not Ace," she surmised.
"Baby, I can be whoever you want me to be." Puck winked at her, a naughty smirk twisting his lips.
"Oh give it a rest, Puckerman." A waitress clad in a black mini-dress and frighteningly tall heels gave the back of Puck's head a quick slap.
"Ow! Hey. I can sue for harassment," Puck grumbled, running his hand over his Mohawk while glaring at his attacker.
"You could try. But then again I've lost count of the number of times you've accidentally groped my ass. So let's see who'd win that battle." The waitress turned to face Brittany, a satisfied grin on her face. "If you're looking for Ace, you're headed in the wrong direction. It's high stakes poker time. Off the grid." She paused a moment to look at Sam. "Evans has to get back to his post or Sylvester will can his ass. I'll take you to Ace."
"Who's Evan Sylvester?" Brittany asked, the unfamiliar names confusing her.
"You'll get used to it, Sweetness," Puck soothed. "Quinn here prefers to call everyone by their last name. Sammy Boy Evans, Sue Sylvester. Something she picked up from the head honcho, herself," he explained.
Brittany nodded in acknowledgment.
"Well, better to follow Sylvester's lead than yours. You don't see her down here with Puckzilla slinging beers now, do you?" Quinn held her ground with an air of unwavering confidence. She was strong willed and didn't take anyone's shit. "You better get back, Evans. You know that new 'hop doesn't know his ass from his hat."
Brittany's brows arched, the comical image taking form in her mind. Her face broke into a wide smile and a soft giggle filtered past her lips. She silently wondered if Quinn performed a stand-up act between shifts.
"Yeah, you're right," Sam sighed, offering his hand out to Brittany once more. "It was a pleasure meeting you Brittany. And remember," he added, his cheeks warming with a pink hue, "if you need anything, just give me a holler." He reluctantly straightened his cap and retraced their trek from the hotel entrance.
Brittany watched Sam leave, his quirky step making her smile.
"We never caught your name, Sweetness," Puck interjected, leaning his elbows on the bar.
"Oh," Brittany chirped, tucking her hair behind her ear. "I'm Brittany." She smiled and picked up her suitcase. "And I'm looking for Ace."
"Shot down again, Puckerman," Quinn chimed. "Come with me, Brittany. It's time for Ace's hourly Scotch anyway." Quinn picked up a tumbler half full of amber liquid and expertly managed to cross the room without spilling its contents or tripping on her heels. Brittany followed in Quinn's wake, casting a quick smiled over her shoulder to Puck.
"I'll be here all night, Sweetness!" Puck called after them, causing Quinn to shake her head in annoyance.
"Tip number one, Brittany… memorize this rhyme. 'Don't be a sucker, man. Avoid Noah Puckerman.'" Quinn snickered as she held the door open for Brittany.
Brittany repeated the rhyme over and over in her head, her smile widening as it sunk in. She mouthed the words silently as she followed Quinn through the casino. They passed groups of raucous machines, each promising a hefty payout to a lucky gambler. Craps tables were crowded with drunks crossing their fingers and blowing on dice, hollering about some kind of lucky lady.
"I thought we were going to the high stakes room," Brittany commented as they passed the large venue for high rollers.
"Oh honey," Quinn stated, not slowing her pace. "Ace doesn't do public gammes. Plus, the bets in that room would be like…pennies." Quinn's smile was smug, as if being Ace's personal waitress was cause for a superiority complex. "Ace prefers to be…privately entertained," she added with a coy smile, opening a door into a dimly lit hall.
Brittany swallowed thickly. She was aiming for Showgirl, not personal exotic dancer. Still, Brittany was intrigued by her company and the possibility of becoming the next big thing to hit the Vegas stage.
"Makes sense," Brittany agreed, blindly following Quinn down the corridor.
The hush of muted voices and chattering chips grew louder as the doorway came into view. Thick smoke made the air a hazy gray and Brittany swallowed a cough. Her lungs burned in protest, but she fought the urge to gasp and blinked away the tears in her eyes.
"Right on time." A warm, raspy voice cut clearly through the low din of the room.
Brittany watched as Quinn set the drink on the green mat of the poker table. A bronzed hand, with cherry red nails, smoothed over Quinn's backside. Brittany's pale brows rose again as her mind clicked with recognition.
"You know it." Quinn reached forward and sparked a lighter. The flame jumped to life, searing the end of a cigar perched between dark lips. "You have a visitor, Ace" she added, stepping away to present Brittany.