A Is for Alpha Male (24 page)

Waiting for her reaction was a little bit like waiting for the grenade to explode after you had pulled the pin. You knew the explosion was coming, but you prayed you were far enough out of the blast range to keep yourself from getting maimed.

Or in this case, I prayed that I was a valuable enough commodity as her only daughter to spare my life.

“I’m a YouTube sensation?!” she squeaked excitedly, reacting the complete opposite way I expected and leaving me at a loss for what to say. She beat her hands on the steering wheel like it was a bongo drum, apparently unable to keep her enthusiasm from trickling into her limbs.

Seriously, today must have been Opposite day. Twenty-seven years of life had primed me for the reaction I knew would come. And then...it didn’t.

“Um, you’re excited about this?” I asked, treading lightly. But really, how dumb of a question was that? The woman was beating the steering wheel like a fucking drum.

“Definitely!” she squealed, glancing away from the road and over at me and making her long hair flip over her shoulder.

“Um, you do know that everyone heard the details of your loss of virginity, right?” I asked and then tucked my limbs in tight to my body to protect myself from shrapnel.

“Pff,” she breathed, waving it off with her hand that was free of the steering wheel. “I’m
forty-nine
, and I have two kids.” She lifted two fingers in the peace symbol, just in case I needed clarification on the number two.

I was no mathematician, but I was fairly certain I knew what the number two was.

“I’m pretty sure everybody knows I’m not a virgin. And maybe the new advertising will be good for finding a man.”

Well, count on Allison, Miss Pure of Heart, to find the silver lining in every cloudy situation.

Sure, people would probably point and laugh, referring to us as “those crazy women” for the foreseeable future, but it was a no effort expelled method to get noticed by more men.

It must be a Win.

Six hours, two pit stops, a driver change, and
a lot
of complaining later, we were in Las Vegas.

Red, Blue, Gold, and just about every other color under the sun glinted off the blue metallic paint of my girl, Mustang Sally, flickering into my eyes and threatening to blind me. And you could practically smell the sex and debauchery in the air.

Needed to get drunk? This was the place to come.

Needed to get married? This was the place to come.

Needed to do things you prayed you would never remember and others would never find out? This was the place to come.

And if you needed to do all three at the same time, drunkenly marrying the nice, high priced hooker from the street corner...
this
was the place to come.

I personally hoped to do none of those things. Maybe I would get drunk, but the rest were definitely off the table.

No, mostly I just wanted to experience it. Las Vegas was the type of place that had its very own atmosphere. If you wanted to experience the feel of Las Vegas, you had to go
there
.

No second rate substitutions would do.

The thing I was noticing most about the atmosphere currently was that it was still as hot as balls, ones that were being unfairly constricted by vise-like underwear, even though it was ten o’clock at night.

Christ, it must have been well over eighty degrees still.

Everything was starting to make sense. The puzzle pieces were starting to click together, and they were forming a gargantuan shot glass.

Everyone was too drunk to notice the heat. Otherwise a huge city in the middle of the desert like this never would have been successful. It was the perfect tourism plan.

Make sure people get crazy enough that they remember absolutely nothing.

Something awful happened? They wouldn’t remember.

It seemed like they had a good time? They would have to come back for confirmation because why? They couldn’t remember.

“I know it’s late, but in Vegas time it’s like nine in the morning. When we get to the hotel, I’m throwing my stuff in the room and then parking myself in front of a slot machine with a nice glass of Moscato,” I informed Allison with a modest air of arrogance. Like I was the authority on all things Vegas, even though it was my first visit.

“I’m up for it,” she agreed, though she sounded a little on the tired side. Who could blame her, though? We had driven a ton of miles, and spent a lot of hours in the car with a view of nothing other than the desert. That much monotony tends to make the drive seem longer.

“But I’m not sure the time difference here in Vegas is that significant,” she teased.

My head tilted back and forth as my mouth opened wide with a mockingly silent laugh.

The one that says, “You’re hilaaaarious,” emphasis on the “air” and is unbelievably heavy on the sarcasm.

As I pulled my car up to the valet parking at the Bellagio, I started to get even more excited.

I had booked our rooms online from the hotel back in Moab. I wanted to make sure we could get a room on such short notice, and knowing that we probably wouldn’t be back to Vegas for awhile, we wanted to do it right.

And the Bellagio was right.

It had all the perks, fabulous service, and everything you could want encapsulated right there in one place. Including Cirque Du Soleil. And the big fountain display.

As I pulled up and shifted into park, gathering my tote, discarded candy wrappers, and what was left of my cup of Coke, the car hop (or whatever you call the valet people) came running over speedily, taking my keys and offering me a ticket and a big smile in return.

Come to think of it, he was pretty cute. A little Latin ancestry, perhaps, and a big, straight smile.

Leaving the Hispanic cutie behind and heading into the lobby with my arm linked with Allison’s, I immediately noticed the breathtakingly beautiful, multicolored, glass artwork inspired ceiling.

It was beyond obvious someone with a gifted creative eye, a lot of uncommon talent, and a large amount of time on their hands was the creator of something so uniquely eye-catching.

We stood in line for a few minutes to check in, and I passed the time by roving my eyes over everything in sight and singing Journey’s “Don’t Stop Believing” in my head.

When we finally had our key card in hand, we took the elevator up to the twenty-fifth floor to our Fountain View room.

I couldn’t wait to start experiencing the hotel, so I booked it down the hall, opened the door with world record setting speed, dropped my bags on the wall next to the TV, and ran into the bathroom to use it and do a mild freshening up.

No need to look like a million bucks, but it wouldn’t hurt to have plaque free teeth and no mascara smudges under my eyes.

Allison followed suit, albeit at a much slower pace.

Once I got my face cleaned and my teeth brushed, I sat on the edge of the bed, leaning back with my palms flat on the comforter behind me and my feet eagerly rocking from heel to toe and back while waiting for my mom.

Half my energy went into my fidgeting and the other half went into keeping my fidgeting to a reasonable level. It was a delicate balance, and only the finest of artisans could manage the precarious situation.

Okay, that was crap. But I was trying to keep myself under wraps.

Allison meandered out of the bathroom, planted her hands on her hips, and announced, “Okay, I’m ready, Twitchy.”

I jumped to my feet in one swift movement, clapped my hands together in front of me, and grabbed the keycard off of the dresser, sliding it into the back pocket of my denim shorts.

My mom followed behind me, giggling softly at my theatrics.

The soft click of the door closing behind us was my only indication that she had also exited the room as I didn’t look back even once on my way to the elevators.

Thankfully, my mom was use to me, so she didn’t take any offense to my seemingly self-centered rudeness.

The truth was that I would lay down my life for her, put myself in pain if I could take away hers, and do everything in my power to make her the happiest she could be. And she knew it.

That’s why she put up with me. At least, that was my theory. I’d imagine I also offered up quite a bit of entertainment.

And every once in a while, there were glimpses that seemed to suggest she was just as crazy as I was. Or if she wasn’t anymore, she was when she was my age.

As the elevator dinged its arrival, I reached blindly behind me for Allison’s hand and laced her fingers together with mine. If the faces of the already present occupants of the elevator were an accurate indication of their assumptions, I would say that they thought we were the ultimate taboo couple. Lesbian lovers of startlingly different ages.

I even saw one very touristy looking woman reach for her camera from her fanny pack.

The wardrobe differences in the passengers of the elevator alone were abundant. Mrs. Fanny Pack had a Mr. Fanny Pack with her, but there was also a group of four women, giggling and crowding into the corner, who each had on dresses with cutouts of varying shapes and sizes strategically spread out over their bodies. Rounding out the group and landing squarely in the middle of the modesty scale were me and Allison.

The car coasted to a stop on the level of the casino smoothly, not even giving the slight jerk that was often present in cheaper elevators.

As we filed out and dispersed, I leaned over and whispered to Allison, my hand still securely in hers, “I’m fairly certain Mr. and Mrs. Fanny Pack thought we were lesbian lovers.”

Allison nodded, a small smile curving up her lips, the bright colors of the casino behind her. “Oh well, at least they think I have good taste.”

Aw, that was so nice.

“Little do they know looks don’t mean everything,” she added, ripping the compliment callously away and replacing it with a killer jab.

My lower lip protruded in an overly pronounced pout, and my mom took pity on me at the sight of it, a soft, graceful laugh filling in the gaps between her words like background music.

“Aw, honey, you know I think you’re fantastic. There is no one I would rather spend my time with than you. And if it adds to your healing and brings a smile to your face a little quicker, take heart in the knowledge that no matter how crazy you are, at least you don’t have a huge camel toe like Mrs. Fanny Pack did,” she consoled, even finishing her observations and feelings with a cute, little wink.

Laughter bubbled up from deep inside of me, filling the large space with the sound of my maniacal impression of a hyena.

Allison just pulled me forward, disregarding the looks I garnered with my outburst, and guided me to what seemed like an endless row of slot machines.

Breaking free from her hand and taking off on my mission, I perused each machine, making sure to note not only the theme of each game, but the denomination for which each played.

I ticked off machine after machine, slowly watching the credit amount change from a dollar, to fifty-cents, to a quarter, a nickel, and then finally hitting rock bottom at my preferred denomination.

The penny slots.

The glow of goodness was so strong, it was like the light of heaven shown down on them, and I could have sworn I even heard the melodic sound of the chorus of angels singing down from above.

They were calling me home.

Finding an empty machine and discovering that it was Wheel of Fortune themed, I settled my jean covered ass into the plush softness of the stool in front of it and unzipped the wristlet I had attached to my belt loop.

Starting big, I pulled out a ten dollar bill and put it into the machine, watching as the tally of credits rounded out at a thousand.

“I’m going to make this slot machine my bitch!” I told Allison excitedly.

Shaking her head, she sat down beside me and starting playing the Tickle Me Elmo slot machine in front of her.

Okay, so it wasn’t Tickle Me Elmo, but it was some weird pirate ship themed game.

I had my hand permanently attached to the “bet max” button even though that would be the worst possible decision if I wanted to stretch out my ten dollars.

Nevertheless, I hit it repeatedly, jumping excitedly every time the machine threw me a bone by paying out some small number of winnings.

“That’s right, pay me my fifty cents!” I yelled at the flashing inanimate object in front of me, my hands facing palms up with my fingers flexing in and out in a taunting motion.

Shockingly, once again, people were starting to stare at me.

It really was a good thing that I didn’t care what people thought of me. I might not like what I found if I did.

Just as my available credits were coming dangerously close to gone, my phone started to ring a tone I recognized as familiar.

I felt my heart rate pick up, and I could see Allison roll her eyes out of the corner of mine.

Biting my lip, pulling my phone out of my pocket, and sliding my finger across the screen, I hit the “bet max” button once more as I answered.

The reels spun furiously and stopped, one by one, starting with the left and moving to the right.