Divas Las Vegas (14 page)

First thing we saw, as we exited Mary's jalopy, was grandma's vase, staring achingly at us through the window of the
store. My stomach twisted, my heart sank, my brain fizzled.
Let's face it, I was a mess. I felt so helpless and depressed seeing it there, painfully out of reach and out of place in
the ancient store window, that I wanted to cry. And then
I wanted to turn and run back home. Actually, I wanted
to hurl a brick through the window and run off with the
damn thing, but, alas, there were no bricks in sight, just tiny
pebbles and small rocks. Not enough to do much damage.
So I gave in to my fate, and Justin and I followed Mary
and Honey into the store. The four of us in there made us
maximum capacity.

Mr. Hartwell came tottering out of his back office to
greet us. Seeing as he looked a few years older than most
of his relics, I'd say he was the original owner of most of
them.

"Well, howdy there, folks. What can I do you for?" he
asked, sounding a tad like Jed Clampett.

Mary and Honey took turns explaining the story to him.
I no longer had the energy. And when they were done, he
stood there and nodded.

Then he wheezed, "Well, now, you see, that there vase has
been attracting quite a bit of attention. Word's been getting
around about it, don't you know. So I'm afraid I couldn't
let it go for less than the asking price of forty-five thousand
dollars. Sorry, young feller, but I'm a businessman."

Judging from the merchandise and the piles of dust sitting
upon it all, I'm not sure how good a businessman Mr. Hartwell actually was. My guess was that he lived off his social
security more than his sales, and that he was eager to make a
grand deal off my vase and then probably retire. The fifteen
thousand he gave Mary was likely his life savings. Maybe
he knew his business better than I thought; it looked like
everyone was getting something from that vase but me.

"Tell you what I'll do," he continued. "As soon as anyone
makes me an offer of forty-five thousand, I'll call you fellers
and give you one last shot to come in and buy it from me.
How's that sound?"

Sounded like crap. Sounded God-awful. Sounded like...
Like... Well, it sounded like I had very little time to go raise
fifteen thousand dollars. So I said, "Thank you, Mr. Hartwell. That's very kind of you."

I wrote my name, our hotel name, and our phone
number on a piece of paper and handed it to him. At least
there was still a chance, however slim. And with that, we
left Mr. Hartwell, his raggedy store, and my dear, beloved
vase behind. (How very, very sad.) Then we piled back into
Mary's heap and crept on home.

"At least he was nice enough to do that for me," I said,
glumly.

To which Mary replied, "Don't count on it, Em. That
man ain't got a nice bone in his whole darn body. Oh, sure
as shootin' he'll call you, but only to jack up the price. He
just about owns the entire town. Don't you let that rickety
old shop fool you, son. He's rich as Rockefeller and twice
as sneaky."

Well, I sure was fooled. So much for his retiring off my
vase. Now I was faced with having to finagle even more
money than before, it seemed, to beat the next offer. I was
royally screwed, without the usual sticky benefits. And,
to add insult to injury, I still had the horse ride ahead of
me to get back to our hotel. I must have really fucked up
my karma in a past life to earn this kind of punishment
in this one-something akin to drop-kicking kittens,
I'd surmise.

After our car trip back to Mary's, we were offered sandwiches and iced tea, which we gladly accepted. Then we
thanked Mary for all her help and jumped back on our vile
horses. And to think, a week earlier I'd been happily straddling my comfortable chair at work. Now look at me. Just
goes to show you, anything can happen and frequently will.
Luckily, the horses were subdued for the return trek, and
we could sit back and enjoy the scenery once again. I let my mind go blank (no hard stretch there), as I didn't want
to contemplate how I was going to come up with all that
money. I would utilize Justin's devious brain for that. Meantime, I whistled a happy tune and counted the cacti.

After our grueling hour-long ride back, we piled into
Honey's truck and headed for our hotel. When we arrived
we thanked her for all her help.

"No problem, fellers. Anything else I can do, just ask,"
she replied.

"We will, thanks," Justin said as we waved our goodbyes and hobbled our way into the hotel.

But just before we made it inside, Justin tapped my
shoulder and whispered, "Look over there."

"God damn it, you know how I hate that game. Just tell
me what it is you want me to see," I whispered back to him,
irritably.

"Don't look now, but that black Mercedes is in the
parking lot again, and those same two guys are sitting
inside," he said.

"First you say look, then you say don't look. Make up
your mind," I replied, looking anyway.

And, sure enough, there really was a black Mercedes
with two creepy-looking guys in it, sitting there, staring at
us. I had chills from top to bottom.

"Holy cow," I whispered as we hurried into the hotel.
"That is weird. Why would they be sitting out there like
that?"

"Beats me. Anyway, I'm sure it's a coincidence. They're
probably just waiting for someone to come out. Besides, we
have enough to worry about now without letting our imaginations get the best of us," he rationalized.

"Fuck!" I rationalized back. "Why us, dear God, why?"

But we were both too exhausted to start pondering that,
and decided to risk our health and take a long nap. It had
been an exhausting day, and maybe a good rest would set our mind juices flowing so we could figure out how to raise
all that cash. Of course, the thought of my date with Chris
set other juices flowing, and kept my mind off the vase and
the mysterious black car. Oh, well, judging from the lack of
customers in Mr. Hartwell's shop, I assumed I had plenty
of time to come up with the money; and the two men didn't
look all that menacing, really. (I know. I didn't believe it
either.)

We awoke to the pungent odor of chlorine and the racket
of screaming children playing out by the pool, but at least
we were refreshed after our long morning's journey. So,
we decided to raid the minibar and watch some TV before
my date with Chris. Our immediate problems could wait.
Remember our motto: Why do something today when you
can put it off until tomorrow? Words to live by.

I reached over and grabbed the remote and started
flicking through the channels.

"Oh, A&E. Let's watch Biography," I said, watching
scenes from Jane Fonda's life pass before us. Barbarella is
too fabulous, especially that lovely angel man.

"Nope," replied Justin, "too political." I assumed he
meant Jane, not the show.

"Oh, oh, MTV," I said as another repeat of the MTV
Video Music Awards flashed on the screen. Whatever
happened to music videos? I see they get awards, but I never
catch them on MTV anymore. That's what you call i-ron-y.

"Too straight," Justin said, and I couldn't agree more, so
I did some more channel surfing.

"Hey, Lifetime! The Golden Gir-"

"PASS!"

"That leaves the news, then," I said, pausing briefly to
wait for a negative response.

Instead, when I turned to look over at Justin, he was
gazing intently at the screen. Seeing as he never, ever watched the news, or anything remotely educational, I knew it must
have been something dramatically earth-shattering, so I
turned to watch as well.

"Holy shit!" I screamed, and jumped off the bed. "That's
Mr. Hartwell's store!"

I turned up the volume and we raced to the foot of our
beds to see what had happened: there was a huge, gaping
hole in the storefront, and my vase was noticeably missing.
My stomach sank to the ground. Then the newscaster came
on and told us the story. It was horrifying and short. Mr.
Hartwell had been shot and died on the way to the hospital.
Apparently, all that had been stolen was an antique vase
that had recently been on the PBS series Antiques Roadshow. No word yet on any suspects, but it seemed that it
had been a robbery gone sour.

"Poor Mr. Hartwell," I said. I was near tears.

"Poor us. Now how are we going to find that vase?" said
Justin, less overcome by Mr. Hartwell's death than myself.
Though I hated to admit it, that was the thought going
through my mind as well.

Just then, the phone rang. We both jumped.

"Em, have you seen the news yet?" It was Honey, and
she sounded flustered.

"Yes, Honey, we're watching it now. Do you know
anything else that they haven't mentioned?" I asked her.

"Not really. I just got off the phone with Ma. She said
that no one saw anything. But that's not surprisin'. In the
middle of the day, no one leaves their homes in them parts.
Too hot. So the police have no suspects, and the only motive
is your vase."

Hearing it said out loud like that did make me cry. Now
I had no options. No way to find the vase. No way to get it
back to my mother. Honey, hearing my whimper, assumed I
was crying for Mr. Hartwell.

"Sugar, don't you cry none. That old man didn't have too much longer on this planet anyway. He must've been
nearly ninety. And I hope the good Lord doesn't strike me
dead for sayin' this, but he was a cantankerous old coot.
Didn't have nearly a friend in the world and no family to
speak of. I suspect most of the town will be celebratin' his
death more than mournin' it. The man owned practically
everyone's homes and businesses, and he let you know it
every second you were with him. So you just stop your
cryin'. The police will find the man that did this, and then
you'll have your vase back."

That did stop my crying and got my mind reeling. Now
how long would we be in Vegas? Should we wait here for
them to catch the thief or should we go back to San Francisco and wait? What if they did find the thief and my vase?
Then what? Would I be able to get it back from the police?
Should we be scared for our own lives, seeing as we were
connected to the vase as well? Or was it a random act of
violence? Or maybe it was one of the townsfolk? If everyone
really hated Mr. Hartwell like Honey said, it could have
been one of them. Certainly everyone there knew how valuable the vase was. My head was full of questions that I had
no answers to.

"You there, Em?" Honey asked, concerned by the long
pause.

"Oh, sorry, Honey, yes, I'm still here. Please let me know
if you hear anything else, okay?"

"Okay, sugar. Don't you worry. The Las Vegas police
are a good bunch. They'll have your vase back in no time,
and that murderin' thief will be behind bars. And if I hear
anything, anything at all, I'll give you boys a ring. Bye for
now." Click.

My heart was racing and my hands were trembling. I
even had a hard time holding on to the drink that Justin had
prepared for me.

"Now what?" I asked.

"Now we wait. It's too soon to go home. Let's give it a
week. If they find the person before then, we'll go down and
claim the vase. Do you have pictures of it in your grandmother's house?" Justin asked.

"Yes, why?"

"Because then we can show it to the police to prove that
it was yours. If Mr. Hartwell really did have no family,
they'd probably give you the vase back. At least I would
think so, anyway."

"Oh, okay. I'll call my brother and have him go through
the family albums. I'm sure the vase is in there, somewhere."

"Then we wait it out. In a week, if no thief, we go home.
Fair enough?"

"Why not? At least here I'm getting laid."

"There you go. That's the way to be, Em. Always look
on the bright side."

And since the bright side was due to arrive in about half
an hour, I had to hurry up to shower and get ready. Between
the morning's expedition and the afternoon's robbery and
murder, I surely needed my date with Chris to lighten my
load, so to speak.

He arrived right on time, looking sexy as ever, with
a single red rose in his hand. Not exactly the bouquet I
received from Marvin, but just as sweet. (Well, maybe not
just as.) Without delay, he placed a warm, tender kiss on my
lips and gave me a great big bear hug. It felt wonderful. He
felt wonderful. My cares were melting away. Aahhh.

"Get a room," said Justin, from his bed.

"Got one. Why don't you go get ready in the bathroom,"
I replied, not letting go of Chris for a second.

"Nah, I think I'll stay for the show," he replied.

Chris rescued the conversation. "Never mind. We were
just leaving, anyway. I have dinner reservations for us, and
we need to get a move on."

"You do?" I asked, glad to hear that I was being pampered
for a change.

He nodded a yes, then added, "Man, what is that
stink?"

Should have seen that one coming. We answered with
the requisite pool-point and he nodded that he understood.
Funny, we had gotten used to the smell already. But the
sound of screaming children you never get used to. It's like
a dagger plunged into your chest, repeatedly.

"What are you going to do tonight, dear one?" I asked
Justin as we opened the door to leave.

"It's a surprise," he answered.

"A good surprise or a bad surprise?" I asked, pausing at
the door, afraid of the answer. Experience had taught me
well never to trust Justin's surprises.

"Oh, sweetie, they're all good." But before I could interject, he added, "Check at the front desk for a message from
me before you come back up to the room, whenever that
may be." I blushed, knowing what he was getting at. Odds
were good that I'd be waking up at Chris's. Too bad you
can't bet on things like that in Vegas. I might have actually
won some money then.

We left for our date. In Chris's Honda, on the way, I filled
him in on the details of the past couple of days, excluding
the whole Marvin episode. Why spoil a good thing? Chris
was extremely understanding and nurturing. He told me
that everything would be okay. He rubbed my neck when I
got tense at the recounting. He said that he'd be there for me
when and if I needed him. Basically, he was saying all the
right things. Did this make me feel good? Hmm, good question. Yes and no. I mean, it was nice to hear all those things,
but I felt instantly guilty. Chris was wonderful, yet I was
seeing Marvin behind his back. Plus, I felt guilty for Marvin
as well, seeing Chris behind his back. Oh, what a tangled
web we weave when we sleep with two dudes at once. That, coupled with the vase crap, made me feel decidedly on edge.
What I needed was-