Deceived 4 - The Wedding (6 page)

“My bag is over there,” I said pointing. We rushed over and Patrick grabbed
it from the belt.

“That’s strange they delivered it here.
The sign says ‘From JFK’ over there,” Patrick said pointing towards the belt where we had been standing.” And there’s my bag,” he continued. Confused, he rushed back to our previous location to claim his luggage.

Winded from my jog
between the suitcases, I caught up with him and with a laughed said, “Let’s get out of here. I can’t wait to learn Blackjack.”

Patrick flashed me a smile in agreement and said,
“It’s Vegas, baby!”

We
quickly left the terminal and hailed a cab. It was a short but congested ride to our destination, The Bellagio Hotel and Casino. Gazing out of the cab’s side window, I was in awe. Crowds of people walked the streets in t-shirts and shorts, carrying the biggest icy drinks I’d seen in my life. I gawked like a typical tourist from out of state.

“Check out that guy
’s drink, it’s huge,” I said. A group of young twenty-something guys passed our slow moving cab, carrying tall plastic drink cups filled with red and blue ice blended drinks. They were at least four feet tall and they were tethered to their necks with a strap to keep from…well, I wasn’t sure if the strap was because the drink was heavy, or maybe in case they fell down drunk. At least they wouldn’t lose it. Either way, they looked ridiculous walking down the street that way. “This place is wild, baby. Now I know how it got its reputation.”

Patrick laughed and said, “There’s more to come.
Las Vegas is craziness to the extreme. That’s why I love it.”

We arrived
at the main entrance of The Bellagio, where a porter took out luggage from the taxi. The lobby was grand, in both scale and design. The foyer was voluminous and expansive, with an 18-foot coffered ceiling filled with the most extraordinary glass sculpture - a unique kind of colorful glass made up the main chandelier above the waiting area. The dominant theme everywhere was Italian marble. There were columns of marble, arches of marble, ginormous vases of brightly colored flowers and marble. Everywhere there were marble floors, countertops, walls; everything was finished in polished marble. It was regal and grand, and unlike anything I had seen in a New York hotel, including The Plaza.

Check-in was
in a private executive suite, separate from the main desk where a long line of visitors waited for their keys. Wine and coffee were available in our check-in lounge, ready to soothe the tired traveler, or just get the party started for those who couldn’t wait. We were done in minutes and afterward we entered the elevator, followed by the porter who rolled a cart with our luggage.

P
atrick had booked us a premier penthouse suite on the thirty-sixth floor, with a supposedly breathtaking view of the famous Bellagio Fountains, which sprang to life every half hour, spraying water into the air, choreographed to music. Or at least that was what the website had said when I googled it.

As the porter open
ed the door and we walked in, I felt like Dorothy in the Land of Oz. The suite was magnificent. In the foyer, my shoes tapped on yet more marble as I walked over it. It opened into a spacious living area, with a dining area that could seat six to one side. My eyes swept the room until I saw the bedroom, separate from the living area.

I tossed my purse and tote bag to the side and went in
side. It was just as posh as the rest of the hotel. I noticed a switch next to the headboard of the bed and I ran over, bounding onto the bed and reaching for the switch.

“Look
, honey, it’s for the blinds.” I slid the lever and the curtains opened and closed at my command.

Patrick smiled as he stepped behind the granite counter top bar to fix himself a
Scotch on the rocks. “Check out the bathroom, sweetie.”

I jumped off the bed and darted into the bathroom to see what
The Bellagio could provide that could top what I had already seen.

There were his and hers Italian marble baths with a soaking whirlpool tub big enough for two and glass enclosed steam shower to the side. I went back to the doorway of the
bedroom and leaned my head out so Patrick could hear me. The suite was big as a house. “Hey, sweetie, there’s a TV mounted on the wall over the Jacuzzi tub. Why on Earth would anyone want to watch TV in the bathtub?”

He lowered his
glass from his lips and said, “Maybe to watch porn? I hear the have naughty movies on demand.”

I rolled my eyes. “
You are such a guy. I hear that the internet was invented by men, just so they could watch free porn.”

“H
ey, don’t knock it until you’ve tried it. Have you ever watched porn? I mean with someone, like a guy?” He raised his eyebrows and wiggled them.

I cocked my head sideways and contemplated the thought of doing it with Patrick. A little blush rose to my cheeks but the idea
was kind of a turn on.

Patrick chuckled as he noticed
my flush and took another sip of his Scotch. “Do you need to freshen up before we go down for dinner?”

“Give me
five minutes, babe, and I’ll be ready.”

Due to
the time difference between Las Vegas and New York, it was still early and the night was young. I walked over to where the porter had placed my suitcase on a stand next to the large dresser. I pressed the clasps but they didn’t open.
What was my code again?
I recited five, five, seven in my head. That had always been my code. I turned the numbers to 557 and pressed the clasps again. They still didn’t open, no matter how many times I spun the numbers to line up in the correct sequence.

“Honey!”
I yelled. “My suitcase won’t open. The clasps are stuck.”

Patrick ca
me into the bedroom and stood next to me, examining the locks. “You know, you’re not supposed to lock your suitcase on flights. In case the security needs to check it. Let me try.”

“I didn’t lock it.”
I sighed in defeat and threw my hands in the air in frustration. “It’s all yours.”

Patrick dialed
the code perfectly but still no luck, it didn’t open. “You’re sure the code is 557?”

“Absolutely.
It must be broken. Those baggage handlers probably did it when throwing my suitcase on the carts. You know how badly airport personnel treat luggage,” I said.

“Don’t worry. We
’ll get it open. Hand me that bottle opener over there.” He said and pointed to the bar.
Even the bedroom has a bar.

I tossed him the opener and he pressed it in between the clasp and suitcase
then twisted. With a pop, one of the clasps released and seconds later Patrick got the other one open too. “What would I do without you?” I said and gave him a big smile.

He opened the
lid for me and took a step back when he saw its contents. His eyebrows shot up. We were staring at a large suitcase filled with sex toys. Everything from dildos and vibrators, to cock rings, anal beads and a giant latex monstrosity - I had no idea what
that
was used for.

“Wow, you came prepare
d,” Patrick said with a teasing grin on his face.

“Funny,” I said and punched him on the shoulder.
“You grabbed the wrong bag.”

“
I
grabbed the wrong bag? You picked it out, remember.”

“Yeah, well.
What are we going to do now? I need my stuff.”

“Don’t worry. We
’ll call the airline and report it missing. Chances are they still have your bag. If not, someone who’s missing a lot of sex toys has it and is going to be disappointed when he opens your bag.”

I picked up one of the vibrators
, still in its package, and examined it. “Why would someone bring a suitcase with this many sex toys to Vegas? Are they counting on a wild weekend? I know that Vegas is over the top, but this much?”

Patrick swirled the last of his Scotch and the ice in the glass. “
It’s probably somebody attending one of those sex conventions. They have them all the time here.” He threw back the last of his drink. “They even host the annual Porn Star Awards or something like that.”

I tossed the package back into the suitcase and shut the lid. “You sure know a lot about this.” I gave him a sly smile and he patted me on the butt.

“Just go get ready, baby,” he said and waved his glass. The Scotch was gone now and only the ice clinked from side to side. “Maybe we should just buy you a dress down in one of the shops for tonight, just until we get your bag tomorrow. Hurry, hon. I’ll be waiting in the other room.”

“
I
s this your first time in Las Vegas?” the store clerk asked as she handed me another dress to try on.

“Yes, is it that obvious?” I said with a smile.

She took the other dress I had just removed through the half-open dressing room door. “No, a lucky guess,” she said handing me a very sexy looking dress on a hanger. “Here, try this one. It’ll look good on you. You young girls still have the figure for it.”

I took it off the hanger and rubbed my fingers over the sparkling
sequins on the fabric. “It’s very…sparkly. Do you think it’s too much? Too wild?”

“It’s Vegas
, dear. You’re allowed to be extra sparkly here. You’ll probably want to get some glittery heels to go with it.” She smiled. “When did you get here?”

“Today,
” I confessed. “I lost my suitcase so I need something to wear tonight.”

She gave me a sympathetic look and closed the
dressing room door to wait outside. I stepped out of the small dressing room to get a better view in the three-way mirror. It was located in an area with a couch and chair where others could wait and view the merchandise while you wore it.

“
How does that one fit you?” she asked.

“Wow, i
t looks…gorgeous on you.” I turned around and gazed into Patrick’s eyes. I hadn’t noticed him come into the store. “She’ll wear it now,” he continued and handed the clerk a credit card.

She took the
plastic and ran it through the cash register on a large counter. We followed her to the check out where a display rack of sparkling bracelets caught my eye. I liked this Vegas style with its go all out, over the top, get wild attitude.

“Are you staying here at the hotel?”
she asked.

“Yes, we are
staying in one of the suites,” Patrick said.

“If you like
…” She paused and read the name on Patrick’s credit card. “Mrs. Collins, I will have the clothes you were wearing sent to your room.”

“Oh, we’re not married, yet.”

“Sorry, I saw the ring…” Her face brightened. “Are you here in Vegas to get married?”

I
nervously twisted my engagement ring as I spoke, “Um, well no. We’re here for one of us to kind of get…unmarried.” She looked puzzled. “It’s a long story. Anyway, that would be great if you could send my clothes to the room.”

“Perfect,” she said. “If you will just sign here
, sir, and write down your room number, I’ll make sure they get sent up.”

Patrick
had an unfamiliar look on his face as he signed the slip. A look that made me regret what I had said to the sales clerk. This weekend was supposed to be fun; there was no need to bring up stuff that created negative energy.

I took Patrick’s arm and
we walked through the casino floor toward the restaurant. As we went, I sensed Patrick’s mood lighten.

“I hope you
fancy some great Italian food,” Patrick said as we strolled between the ringing slot machines. The constant repetitive sound gave the illusion that at that very moment, everyone was winning jackpots. The sound excited me and made me want to try my hand at gambling. My impatient fingers itched to try the slots. But first we had to eat. Even though it was only seven in the evening here, it was actually ten o’clock in New York. No wonder I was hungry.

“Right now I
could eat anything. I’m starving.”

We enjoyed a delicious dinner at Rao’s Italian
restaurant at the next door hotel, Cesar’s Palace. The waiters were dressed in black vests and white linen shirts, which made a dish as simple as spaghetti seem like an elaborate affair. They rolled the food to the table side on a cart and revealed the spaghetti, which sat under a silver domed lid until a waiter served it. He scooped it up and swirled it dramatically onto my plate, like an artist creating a masterpiece right in front of me. This, the old world ambiance of the place and being with Patrick, made it a wonderful experience.

One good
thing I learned about The Strip was that many of the hotels and casinos were connected by long corridors equipped with moving sidewalks and shopping areas. It made for a pleasant way to get from one hotel to the next without enduring the blistering Vegas heat outside. The only downside was that I had to steer away from the tempting designer boutiques along the way. Several major designers, like Gucci and Versace, also had stores there. Of course, many of those would also be in Manhattan but there they were located blocks from each other. Here in Vegas they were lined up, one after the other, like ducks in a row.

Passing these store fronts was easy for Patrick. They held no lure for him. He zipped right past them without a glance, at his typical New York City pace, eager to
try his luck at the Blackjack tables. Continuously I begged him to slow down, as my new shoes were an obstruction for me and I had a hard time keeping up with his stride. I had grabbed a pair of glittery hot pink heels after all, right before we left the clothing store. I was going Vegas style all the way.

Patrick
had explained the ins and outs of the rules of playing Blackjack during dinner. There was a basic strategy that I was to follow, he had explained earlier, and as we headed toward the tables he gave me a quick recap.

“Don’t worry, I’ll be sitting right next to you and can guide you. Remember, you should hit on anything under seventeen
, if the dealer shows a card higher than a six,” he explained. He finally stopped walking and turned to face me. “Don’t worry. It sounds a lot more complicated than it is.”

Huffing and puffing,
from my trot to keep up with him, I held onto his arm for support as I reached down and adjusted my new shoe, muttering. “I think I’m getting a blister.” I straightened up and gave him a distressed expression. “Really, you want me to hit anyone under seventeen? I usually don’t hit kids,” I said with a straight face.

There was a slight pause. He narrowed his eyes, like he was choosing his words carefully. Then he
smiled. “We need to get you that audition for The Laugh Factory. You would kill the crowd…literally,” he chuckled and took me by the arm. “Come on, I’ll walk a little slower. We’re almost there.”

Back at the casino in
The Bellagio, we entered a private gambling area with a sign above the entrance that said, “High Limits.”

“Are you sure we should play
in here?” It was quieter here. No ringing and dinging of slot machines and the card dealers at the tables were elegantly dressed women with stylish makeup and manicured nails. There were no fish net clad girls bending from poles like I saw as we walked through some of the other casinos.

“
How much is each bet?”

“Minimum
of a hundred dollars, but I usually play a bit higher.”

M
y stomach fluttered with excitement as we sat down on the comfortable red velvet cushions of the chairs. That was a lot of money. A lot people made less per day. I hoped I could keep up with the rigors of the game and not make a fool of myself and embarrass Patrick.

With the smoothness of a man who ha
d done it a hundred times before, Patrick laid one orange and one white chip in front the dealer and said, “Yellow.”

The dealer accepte
d the chips and counted out several yellow poker chips from her tray. Her hands moved quickly and automatically, almost gracefully, in a theatrical way, and each movement of her hand was embellished with dramatic flourish. At the end of her counting ritual, she pushed three stacks of yellow poker chips across the felt in Patrick’s direction. Patrick gave me half and I counted fifteen. I picked up a chip and studied it. The nomination was printed on the face, one thousand dollars. I had fifteen thousand dollars in chips now sitting in front of me. They looked glorious and I lined them up into equally divided stacks. The table had a leather padded edge that rose up higher than the playing surface so I could neatly stack my chips up against it.

Patrick placed a thousand
dollar chip into a circle in front of him. Each player had such a circle and I placed a chip in mine. The dealer dealt each of us two cards face up. I had a three and a seven, adding up to a total of ten. According to what Patrick had said earlier, that was a good starting hand. And it was a hand I should double my bet on, so I laid out another chip. Suddenly, everybody looked at me like I was crazy and Patrick whispered, “You don’t double down when the dealer has an ace.”

Oops, I had forgotten to look at the dealers’ hand. She gave me another card, a seven. Now I had seventeen in total. Pretty close to twenty one
, which was the best hand possible. The dealer turned a five with her ace and turned another five, making twenty one. I just lost two thousand dollars in less than two minutes.

Damn, this
is not as easy as it looks.

I looked over at Patrick with a grimace on my face as the dealer swept up my chips with her dainty hands, collecting the money I had just lost.

“Don’t feel bad. That’s how the game goes, sometimes. Just keep playing,” Patrick said with an encouraging smile.

Within half an hour I had lost almost every hand and was down to two chips.
I slumped in my chair. “I think the dealer is cheating,” I whispered to Patrick.

He
looked cool as a cucumber in the face of losing all this money and chuckled. “Nah, she’s just lucky.” He leaned back away from the table and signaled the waitress with two fingers for another Scotch on the rocks.

Lucky the dealer
was indeed. I lost the next two hands and it was all over. I was all out of chips. The space on the table where I had so proudly stacked my chips was now empty. Patrick, who still had most of his chips left, handed me three more yellow chips. “I have a feeling your luck is going to change. Here, play all three at once on the next hand.”

I shook my head. “You
’re crazy. That’s three thousand dollars.”

He
smiled and took the Scotch that the waitress handed him. “This is a winner. I just know it.”

“
Okaaay…” I said and placed the bet.

I nervously waited.
Would I have the luck of the draw and get good cards? The dealer snatched the cards out of the black box which held several decks of cards just waiting to be dealt. On the first pass, I was dealt a face card worth ten. My mood perked up. On the second pass, another face card. Bam. I had two tens. Twenty, a great hand, the second best hand in the game. I held my breath and crossed my fingers under the table that it would hold up. I sat up straight in my chair and Patrick gave me an approving nod.

It was the dealer
’s turn. The two cards of her hand were lying on the table in front of her. The five was face up and the other card was face down. It was time to flip it over and she turned a queen. Fifteen.
Yes!
My odds of winning had just improved. If she turned higher than a six, she would bust and any lower I would have the highest hand or break even. The only card that could beat me would be a six.

She hesitated, looked at me and smiled
. Then she turned the card. Six of hearts. There was a gasp all around the table. I hated the way she scooped up her winnings with her well-manicured nails. It was as if she knew.

I couldn’t believe it. How could she beat me? She had to be cheating.

Patrick was now down to four chips. He handed me two of them with a smile. “Here goes. All or nothing.”

We both placed our
bet with our last chips. I couldn’t get excited about it, this time. I felt defeated already. I felt like a rookie who was being taken to the cleaners. I sat back and waited for the inevitable, but this time the dealer busted, and we both doubled our money.
Woohoo! Do the happy dance, do the happy dance.
I reached out my hand to grab the chips but Patrick stopped me. “Let it ride.”

“But that’
s four thousand dollars. I just lost everything and now I finally won some back…”

“Trust me.
It’s just a game. Don’t take it so personally, just trust me.”

As the cards came out of
the little black box for another round, the dealer handed me a seven and an eight. Only fifteen. Patrick had told me to keep “hitting” until I made seventeen.

“Stay,” Patrick said and pointed to the dealers’ card. It was a six. “You stay when the dealer is showing a six, remember?”

I nodded. My heart was racing. The dealer turned her other card. It was another six so she drew another card from the box; a ten. That made twenty two. She went over twenty-one. She busted.

She bowed her head to us all and
smiled. “Everybody wins,” she said. She appeared more pleasant to me now, and to think I hated her only a moment ago. After all, she didn’t really have any control over those cards coming out of the box. There were cheers all around the table and I now had eight thousand dollars in front of me.

“One more time,” Patrick said and nodded towards the stacks.
“If we win this time, we will be ahead.”