My father always told me I could be anything I wanted.
I don't think this is quite what he had in mind when he relayed that sentiment.
"Look at the tits on that one."
He was the fourth drunken asshole in an hour to slur out his unrequested approval of my tits, my can or my legs.
"Can I get you gentleman anything this evening?" I asked suggestively, humoring their altered states and taking a moment to remind myself why I was standing here in a skimpy sequined hoochie dress and four inch heels.
Angela will lose her job. I kept repeating over and over in my head.
Angela will lose her job.
Angela will…
"How about a scotch with a slice of this sweetness?" The older gentleman, and I use the term loosely, hummed while pinching my left ass cheek. I had covered for Angela a few times over the last couple months because of her severe morning sickness and had grown accustomed to the crude comments, but not the ass pinching.
"Look, but don't touch" didn't seem to apply if you were wearing a dress a hooker would second guess.
A younger, blond, male companion snickered along and both continued to ogle me for far longer than I was comfortable with.
Three moves. I could kill you both in three moves.
A pseudo smile graced my overly red lips. "Maybe for desert if you play your cards right, Honey."
Vomit. Self-respect is optional as a cocktail waitress. This guy better leave a tip that puts the net worth Warren Buffet to shame.
Come to think of it, this asshole looked a little like Buffett.
"But I'm playing Craps, Darling." He pointed out like I hadn't noticed him hunched over the crowded table. The stickman, Ben, Angela's soon to be husband, thanked me with a half smile and sympathetic eyes as he pushed the dice over to the next roller.
"Looks like you're playing the wrong game." I took an order for a dirty martini and manhattan, before making my retort.
There was a pause and the table quieted slightly, but the rest of the floor was a constant drone of gaming pings, music and voices. "We're in Las Vegas. Every game is the right one."
I couldn't hold my tongue. It wasn't in my nature, especially not with a misogynistic asshole calling me out.
"Only if it pays."
He ran a bony finger down my arm and took a step closer. Our altercation forgotten by the crowd, as some other schmuck rolled the dice. "How much do you cost to play?"
"Exponentially more than you can afford," I sneered.
Though instead of taking my hint, he pursued me and gripped my bicep, ranting about how he's "not to be ignored" and how "rejecting him was the stupidest move I could've made." His raving and grasp on my arm were short lived however, because security had not so kindly, though ever so quickly, escorted him out.
It was people like him that occasionally made me wonder if I was doing the right thing with my life. Or if I had been wasting my time on a lost cause.
I pondered this for several more hours while walking and serving throngs of increasingly drunk gamblers. When the shift finally ended, I had a stack a tips for Angela, which she would undoubtedly use on her mother's diabetes medication. I understood why she wouldn't let me pay for it, but it didn't mean I had to like it. I meandered through the Bellagio's crowded lobby, passing the blown rainbow colored glass adorned ceiling and flower laden reservation desks, out the main front doors and into the oppressing heat of a desert night.
My black flip-flops, black tank and vintage blue jeans seemed to cling to me the second I stepped outside.
Maybe I should have stayed in the hoochie dress.
There were lines of limos, taxis and town cars waiting to drop people off, and the valets rushing to get the high rollers their rides quickly for a few dollars more. The entrance was swathed in travelers, business and tourists alike, taken aback with what they considered grandeur and beauty.
This is hells waiting room. How the fuck could anyone find this beautiful?
I ran a quick swipe of cherry Chapstick over my cracked lips and put my hair up to get it off my neck before starting off to the bus stop, when I spotted him. The graying, misogynistic asshole, was just outside the entrance looking around the swirling stream of people, when his blue eyes caught mine. I was so not in the mood for this, I reached in my bag and lit a smoke quickly, sizing up the situation. He was making a bee line for me and this time, I wasn't on the clock and no one's job was on the line.
His question echoed louder than it should have been for the amount of noise. "Tsk, you're such a beautiful woman. Why are you tainting your magnificent body?"
I took a deep drag and blew a couple of smoke rings. "Because I can."
"I hope you'll forget our disagreement earlier. " He appeared anything but ashamed. "It's simply not in my nature to accept rejection, but then I realized that you would have to appear disinterested to keep up your employment here. No fraternizing with the customers and whatever cockamamie regulations they made you agree to."
Cockamamie? Do people even still use that word?
"Our secret would be safe with me." He was attempting to pour on charm that he couldn't have channeled with a crystal ball and a third eye. Then proceeded to ask if I would like to have a nightcap across the street at the Venetian as it was clearly a higher brow establishment and he thought a "sophisticated" woman, such as myself, would appreciate a taste of luxury.
I don't think he had the first clue what any woman wanted, let alone me. As I would have preferred to be getting my eat on at a food truck, than standing there talking to a self-absorbed loser like him.
"Luxury is where you find it, and I don't drink." My tone was final and I snuffed my smoke out with my shoe as my eyes challenged him to continue.
"I don't think you understand. The pretense is over." And it certainly was. He grasped my wrist and squeezed. The anger rising steadily in his voice, but the tenor was unwavering as he spoke gruffly in my ear.
"I'm going to fuck you. Either you can take it, like the good little slut you are or you can scream, but you are coming with me."
My mother always told me my body was my temple.
And to kick the shit out of anyone who attempted to take it over by force.
A twist of his wrist, a quick elbow to his ribcage and a heel stomp had him on the ground gasping for breath.
I hated doing that, especially to an older person, but the asshole had it coming. I guess age didn't denote dignity or manners.
And they bitch about our generation.
The next thing I knew I was pushed into a patch of people, and clipped one of them pretty good. I heard a grunt as my arm was grasped and my balance was restored.
"Little bitch! What did you do to him?" The blond companion was at the misogynist's side, checking him over as he helped him off the ground. He must have pushed me as he strode through the crowd. "He has a heart condition!"
"You mean he lacks one!" I corrected. "Maybe he'll think about that the next time he tries to take someone against their will! There's nothing more educational than a practical lesson in humility!"
The misogynist was clutching his chest and groaning, and the blond was yelling for help and ushering him over to a bench. People were starting to stare, but no one was calling an ambulance and security was just now emerging out of the doors.
The blonde was getting hysterical. "Was it worth killing him!"
He deserved it.
He deserved it.
Dammit. The last thing I need is for the sleazy moron to kneel over.
The bastard took that moment to completely slump over and stop moving and I ran over to both of them. I couldn't be responsible for someone's death, even if he was a potential rapist.
After laying him flat on his back and checking his vitals, I questioned the companion as calmly and impartially as I could. "He has no pulse and he's not breathing. Do you know CPR?"
The blond jackass was horrified. "Don't touch him!"
I ignored the idiot and immediately started doing rescue breaths and chest compressions.
One.
Two.
Come on asshole.
Six.
Seven.
Dammit.
The crowd was gasping and panicking as security arrived with the defibrillator. Using very practiced procedures, the security and hotel staff alike, speedily cleared people away, including me.
Time froze as they worked on him.
Seconds turned into minutes, and I knew I was holding my breath.
"Got a heartbeat!" one of the security officers called as the siren of the ambulance came closer.
And I could breathe again.
I gave my statement to the police as the misogynist was loaded in the back of the ambulance and the crowd slowly dispersed. The officer was confused by my behavior of course, and asked me why I would attempt to save someone who's obviously a "sick individual" and had accosted me not once, but twice. I simply told him, "Good Samaritan. It's not my job to punish the wicked."
I only wanted to protect myself. I'm not a vigilante.
I needed to get the hell out of there and end this God forsaken night before the media showed up. This wasn't going to be an easy one to explain and I simply didn't have the energy.
I took off towards the fountain, so I could disappear in the people waiting for the show. I blended in seamlessly, walking with my bag and tightening my ponytail, just like any other tourist. Though my thoughts weren't on the arching water or soft spray that was coming off the breeze. My thoughts were on what the fuck I was doing with myself. How much longer was I going to continue this? Until I was in a walker? Until I was dead? Until I made a decision that ultimately cost someone their life? There were a ton of people around and not one of them lifted a finger to help that man, and no one even heard him threaten me. We are all just nameless faces to one another, someone else's concern.
Someone else's problem.
I just need a fucking sign. Anything.
I charged myself with this crusade and helped multiple people, but I'm not infallible and in some instances, I didn't know if I was doing more harm or good.
At least misogynist got his wish and got to fuck me. Even if it was only a mindfuck.
I looked briefly at the dancing streams, in an attempt at clearing my head of the negativity. Jake dragged me over to those damn fountain shows so many times I had lost count. He said it reminded him of when he was a kid and would dance in the spray of his front yard sprinklers. We knew every song that they paired the show with now. I won't lie, I might have had to pull him back from jumping in when it was paired with "My Heart Will Go On."
Jake.
I smiled. I always thought of him when I had any doubts about what I was doing. Every time I was dumped by a man who didn't understand it, or slammed by a journalist that didn't get it, he was there. He was my rock and I thanked God every day he came into my life, though I wish it could have happened differently. It was because of him and so many others, a few of which I couldn't think of too often, that I would keep fighting the good fight.
That, and I'm certifiable.
Noticing I was halfway passed the wall of people surrounding the manmade lake, I stopped to dig through my bag and find my Chapstick. I needed the nasty taste of pervert lips off of mine, but it was like the Houdini of lip balm and was no where to be found. I kept rifling through my bag and patting down my pockets searching for it, when I felt someone's eyes on me. Turning quickly, and catching his gaze with my own I was met with the greenest, yet the most discontented set of eyes I had ever seen. They belonged to a younger man, with dark brown hair and copper highlights who was wearing a gray Oasis tee and blue jeans. He appeared irked and disjointed while he stood staring at me with an unapparent presumption. I didn't know what I expected to come out of his mouth, but it certainly wasn't what he said.
"I've been trying to get your attention since your Q and A with the police." The edge of upset in his voice evident. "The roulette of shit kicking and CPR and must've deafened you."
My response was a look of disbelief and molding my body into a protective stance. I already dealt with one overbearing chauvinist. My patience was worn thread thin and shredding by the microfiber in the passing seconds.
"And rendered you mute." He bobbed his head minutely as his eyes darted around my face, like he was trying to ascertain if this was true.
I stayed quiet, listening to the blaring music and watching him shift on his feet. Again, I was sizing up the situation. He was alone and his stance was more defensive than mine, as he stood there waiting for me to speak.
"Unless you actually are mute and deaf, which would make you shouting at the two blowhards a temporary miracle, and myself a witness."
"I'm not a mute." I didn't want to be rude, but my defenses were in overdrive and didn't really feel like discussing what happened.
"Hallelujah. She speaks." His voice was flatter and more irritated.
His attitude was upsetting to me to say the least. The hostility and biting sarcasm was vaguely familiar and left me wondering if I had given classes at one point and forgotten. The sounds of spouting water, trying repeatedly to defy gravity, crashing and rippling the unsettled lake again and again was drowning out the steady conversation of the crowd around us.
"Yes. It's a miracle of Jesus-like proportions," I responded in kind, my remark louder than I meant it. "Did you have an objective in following me?"
A challenging look crept into his eyes. "Well, as I can't walk on water and can only perform garden variety miracles, I'm going to make something of yours appear out of thin air."
"That's not a miracle. That's magic."
"Not quite." He reached into his pocket, but his big reveal was short lived because a huge baggie
of different sized and multicolored pills dislodged. A few scattered on the ground.
I pinched my eyes shut as I saw him dive to the ground to presumably pick them up. I blew out a breath and wondered what my next move was. His demeanor was incredibility hard to read. The pills and the harshness were somewhat of an indicator, but I didn't want to assume the worst. I'd handled addicts and dealers before, but he wasn't fitting the description of either.
I wanted to keep him talking long enough to understand why he was carrying the contents of Walgreens in his pocket. "What are you? An apothecary?"
"Apothecary? You have one of those word a day calendars at home don't you?" The wayward pills were back in their clear home and being quickly reinserted into his pocket. He shifted nervously and smoothed back over a mask that until then, I didn't realize he had in place. "I actually wanted to return this."
I gasped when he held out my Chapstick.
"Cherry. Very Katy Perry of you. Kiss many girls?" He dropped the joke as the tube hit my hand. I rolled my eyes. "I was rockin' Chapstick before Katy made it cool." I uncapped and started running it over my lips, while he continued to stare at me. I picked apart the reasons for the pills in my head as I pressed my lips together.
Terminally ill. Too healthy looking.
Novice dealer or user. Not even the same MO.
Suicidal.
"Just so you know, I used it. My lips were pretty dry."
At least he's honest, if not a little creepy for using a stranger's Chapstick.
I snickered. "If the price of moist lips is sharing it with a stranger who was nice enough to return it, then it's worth the germs."
He smirked. "Are you implying I'm dirty?"
"I'm sure you could be, if you were so inclined." It was nice to talk to someone who actually had more wits than a wilted plant. Which made the curiosity over the collection of pills in his pocket all the more unnerving.
A slight bow of his head and a peek of a mischievous smile told me I was right. He was painted shades of heartbreaker and outlined in bad boy, but there was a vulnerability and a sadness that overshadowed it.
Suicidal.
My heart sank a little. It was unconscionable to me how someone so bright and charming, could be considering something entirely heinous and wasteful. My instincts were screaming at me to keep him talking while my brain slowly devised a plan, and my hormones noticed he wasn't exactly hard on the eyes.
He's fucking gorgeous, but why split hairs?
"Thanks for this." I held up the Chaptstick with a small grin and pocketed it. I pursed my lips so as not to stumble over what I was going to say. He couldn't expect me to believe that he followed me solely for an insignificant tube of moisturizer. "I don't know if I would have survived without it. What would I have done without you?"
My words were purposefully chosen, inviting him in.
He shrugged and shook his head, thinking I was being disingenuous. "Probably, bought another stick and gotten the fuck on with your night."
He went to leave and I took two steps forward, determined not to let him get any further, but he turned abruptly and almost bumped into me. He was somewhat startled turning around to see me right on his heels, but he looked more focused and determined.
"I have to know why you did that?" His strong hands were on my shoulders, weighting me to the ground. He quickly let go, realizing that what he was doing wasn't particularly appropriate, his arms falling to his sides. "Why did you try to save him after...?"
Finally some clarity. The altercation and subsequent events must have sparked a curiosity in him. Enough for him to follow me instead of immediately following through with his intentions. I gave him the most basic answer I could.
"It was the right thing to do."
He nodded in understanding after a second or two of mulling over what I said. "Just like keeping you from falling."
"That was you?" I was surprised at myself. Normally, I would have taken the time to thank whoever it was that had saved me from falling on my face, but I was amped up on so much adrenaline, I had forgotten. He smiled sadly. "I could have moved and let you land on your ass, but even I'm not that much of a jerkoff."
The self-depreciating comment solidified my worries about his state of mind. "Thanks for not being a jerkoff."
"Thanks for the smooth lips." The lighthearted atmosphere was becoming shadowed by my worrisome thoughts. The lights that formally illuminated the nearby water, dimmed as the streams crashed in eccentric succession.
"Will smooth lips matter much after downing that many pills?" I was never really one for subtly anyway and I felt any minute could be my last with him. I rather him tell me I was out of my mind, then have him walk away wondering. If I could help him in any way, I was going to try.
His body tensed and he appeared to be trying to contain himself. "What the fuck difference is it to you?"
"It might affect my mood tomorrow to know that a decent guy is lying in permanent cold storage, instead of returning Chapstick and keeping another girl from falling on her ass." I swallowed, as the confirmation hit me hard. "What kind of person would I be if I didn't demand those pills and tell you what a mistake I think you're going to make?"
"At least I wouldn't have to live with it." His short laugh was grave, but it was definitely a starting point.
"But I would." The reminder seemed daunting to him, as he ran his hand over his neck and huffed. "I'd know this really nice guy who was standing in front of me is now gone because I didn't do something."
"I could be a total dick, you know?" His resolve was lessening, if only slightly. He took a short step backward.
"Better to have a live dick then a dead one. Don't you think?" I waited a few seconds, making eye contact several times, seeing nothing but interest and confusion. I gauged his reaction as I took a step forward and held my hand out for the pills. "Give them to me."
He proceeded to laugh at me. The smile that accompanied it caught me off guard, it was infectious and alluring concurrently. Even though he was laughing at me, and the severity of the situation wasn't lost on me, I couldn't help but smile too. I waited patiently for him to finish, as the people around as "oohed" and "awed" over the dancing water.
"I'm sorry. Really. But I think that's the most motherly anyone has ever acted with me." His laughter trailed off as the show reached its crescendo. "First you make me question my decision to get off this dirt ball, now you're trying to take my pills away. Fortunately, I'm toilet trained, but I'm sure I could discover a few owies you can kiss. Don't expect me to call you mommy though. "
"Are you finished?" I wasn't going to let him continue to have a hold on the pills any longer than necessary. I knew from experience that it wouldn't really stop him from killing himself if that's what he was intent on doing, but it was a step in the right direction. "Don't make me take them by force."
His brow raised, and a pandering smile gripped his lips. "I'm suicidal. You threatening to go Layla Ali on me, isn't exactly intimidating." He shoved the baggie back in his pocket and popped his neck. "Could you watch my face though? I'm hoping for an open casket."
"Those that talk about it rarely ever do it," I challenged, still thinking of a way to wrestle the pills from him.
He cleared his throat and took a step closer. "You want to make a bet?"
I couldn't legitimately make it. I doubt he knew that though. I'm sure he thought my actions with the misogynist earlier were based on a guilty conscious rather than a personal calling. I needed some time to gain his trust. Clearly this was a cry for help, if he truly wanted to die, he would have been dead by now. I had to break him out of whatever funk he was in and validate him somehow.
And get those fucking pills away from him.
"When in Rome."
He scoffed and lowered his arms. "The City of Sin is hardly Rome."
"The Roman columns of the casino next door beg to differ."
"You're one of those people? Aren't you?"
"If you mean extremely intelligent and engaging, then yes."
"I meant always having the last word," he corrected. I determined right then that he wasn't wholly depressed, but maybe more disenchanted and depreciative of his life. He saw no value to being here, and I couldn't imagine why someone as clever and entertaining as he was, would ever have that problem.
His CK model looks probably weren't hurting his cause either.
"What are we, but our words? And yes." Another genuine smile lit up his face and coincided with a crash of water.
"Well, I'm a man of action. And as enlightening as this all has been, I'm late for a date with a table, a hooker with a huge rack and final lullaby sung by my friends Jack and Ambien." As he spoke, his arm crossed over his chest and scratched his left bicep, raising the sleeve and exposing his skin.
I could practically hear Bill Engvall saying "Here's your sign"
There was a back of a girl with her long dark hair draped over her shoulder and words written all over her skin. I'd drawn that six years ago now, and had been looking at it every day for the same amount of time. There were no words to describe how my one-of-a-kind tattoo, was on the arm of a stranger.
I wondered if anyone around us noticed the finger of God pointing at me or heard him laughing about how I had just been Punk'd.
In a moment of pure compulsion, I grabbed his arm and wrenched up the sleeve of his shirt again. My eyes scanning and rescanning in the yellow glow of the lights. The tattoo signaling me like a beacon.
"If you're going to get rough, can you tie me up first?"
"Where…where did you get that?" I stuttered.
He tensed a little, but let me continue to hang on to his arm and marvel. "I got this in San Francisco at Omen Ink. It was done by an artist who was," he chuckled and continued, "horrified by body piercings."
"Which is ironic because his name is Pierce," I interrupted, completely perplexed as my eyes met his. Pierce professed that tattooing was his passion and foretelling the future was his forte. The last thing he told me before I left San Francisco was now burning a hole in the forefront of my brain.
He looked alarmed, and pulled his arm away. "How the hell did you know what?"
"Because this is the original I drew in 2005," I responded, pulling back the fabric of my shirt by my right shoulder and turning around. I didn't hear him move but I could feel him next to me, as I tried to douse the flaming words to embers.
"Holy shit." The warm breath of his exclamation brushed my shoulder and the back of my neck. My skin exploded, it was like the first chord of my favorite song had just hit my ears and brought a smile to my face.
"Actually they're different. You have doves." His words danced across my sensitive skin again. "I have stars."
"I asked him for swans," I cleared my throat and head, readjusting my shirt. "But he had already done the three doves by the time I looked. I didn't have the heart to correct him, or the pain tolerance for getting it fixed." This wasn't entirely true, though going into the actual explanation didn't seem prudent.
He laughed genuinely. "You can bring a man to his knees, but making doves into swans was too painful?"
"You'll notice, I didn't incur any pain from that exchange."
"Lucky I was there to keep your pretty face from making intimate friends with the sidewalk."
It was past time to change the direction of the conversation. "How did you decide on that? Was Pierce offering a two for one special?"
I knew this wasn't the case, but I wanted to hear his explanation.
He shook his head slightly. "I couldn't decide what I wanted. I knew I wanted something meaningful, but the Chinese characters, animals and Celtic stuff seemed too mainstream." He took a deliberate pause and kept his eyes on the fountain. "Pierce said a special woman in his life had drawn it and she'd given him something that meant everything. Since the women in my life had only ever given me grief, I thought it might change my luck."
"And why the stars if you don't mind my asking?"
"Personal preference," he skirted. "Who knew I was I was desecrating a masterpiece of his ex."
I scoffed. "That sounded almost unassuming. Pierce and I were never involved."
"Unrequited," he surmised. "Poor idiot. Poor unskilled idiot."
I felt the need to clarify. "No, that tattoo parlor, I gave him the down payment and helped him get his license."
"In exchange for?" The questioned lingered, his shock evident.
"The tattoo."
"And?"
"And a promise to keep in touch. Apparently, I should have also made him promise not to go around using my design." I did my best to roll my eyes and shrug, in an attempt to play it off as nothing. My thoughts were rampant, but I did my best to hush them all. As amazing an artist as Pierce was, I doubted his insight into my future was nearly as flawless.
The still unknown man appeared unsure as he stood there looking me over. It wasn't objectifying, but probing none the less. The way his eyes roved over me, trying to fit pieces of coded information in the correct slots. People generally couldn't figure me out. It wasn't something I wanted anyway.
Removing the pills from his pocket and taking a swift breath, he handed them to me, but kept his fingers wrapped around them. "I'll only give you these, if you promise to spend the night with me."
The bag in my hand and the prospect of spending time with him, sparked a second wind. "I charge by the hour."
He laughed and released the bag into my hand. "We'll do whatever you want. If sex happens to be a part of the equation, I'll consider it a bonus."
"Alright Oasis, you've got yourself a date."
"It's Edward actually," he informed with a grin. "Should I call you Layla? Or do you prefer Chapstick Girl?"
My head started playing How to Save a Life and Over My Head in a roundabout. "Bella will be just fine."
The chatter started up in earnest after the final note and last splash. The former audience broke apart and began to walk on to their next distraction. As we found our niche in the river of people, I heard a woman ask her friend what music had been playing. I leaned over and with a triumphant smile and informed her of the title.
Small Gifts.