Divas Las Vegas (8 page)

And then we just danced, safe in the knowledge that we'd
be in love's warm embrace sometime later in the evening.
There's something about a sure thing that puts me in a gloriously relaxed mood. Well, that and the drink. The sucker
was wicked-strong.

And Marvin was a great dancer. Arms in the air, hips
swiveling, feet gliding and hopping-and all to the music,
which isn't always the case. Doesn't it suck when you pick
up a guy at a club and he's cute and sexy and eager (and
easy), then you go to dance, and he's clumsy and spastic
and completely out of sync with the music? I never go home
with a guy like that. Stands to reason, if he's got no rhythm
on the dance floor, then he's probably got no rhythm in the
sack. Why take the chance, right?

But not Marvin. He was smooth and self-assured.
I could just picture him line-dancing on Soul Train. Too
bad you never see people doing that anymore. It always looked like so much fun on TV.

Speaking of self-assured, a minute later, Justin and Ahmed
joined us on the dance floor and interrupted my Soul Train
revelry. Thankfully, they arrived with fresh drinks. Introductions were made all around, and the four of us danced
happily en masse. Ahmed was still in his work outfit, which
was highly distracting as he obviously had on no underwear.
Needless to say, silk slacks hide very little. And Ahmed had
very much. This was not lost on Justin, either. His eyes were
riveted below Ahmed's belt. And Ahmed was all too happy
to put on a show. Much to my delight, Marvin kept his eyes
on me and me alone. Oh, happy day.

When we had worked up a sweat, the four of us left the
dance floor and found an empty pink couch to sit on. We
practically melted into the thing. Well, that and the second
drink had really done a number on me. Between the lights
and the music and the generous amount of alcohol, my
head was spinning. But I was on cloud nine. No job, no
income, and no vase were quickly fading from my mind and
were being replaced by one man: Marvin. It just felt so...
comfortable.

Of course, as most lives go, my life never stayed on a
comfortable track for very long. And I suppose, as I've said
before, that's what makes life so interesting in the first place.
Why does there always have to be such turmoil?

The four of us were nicely paired on our cozy couch,
snuggling up to our new beaus, chatting aimlessly, kissing
frequently, and thoroughly enjoying ourselves, when-

"Em," Justin leaned over and said, "care to join me in
the little boy's room?"

I did have to pee, since he had mentioned it, and politely
accepted his offer, though I hated to leave Marvin even for
a second.

"You'll be all right?" I asked Marvin, after I gave him a
kiss on his bumpy nose.

"Right as rain," he replied, and blew me a kiss. Too
bad the rain would soon be a torrential downpour. (Okay,
enough foreshadowing. Here comes the bad shit.)

Justin and I peed, exchanged passing comments about
each other's man, and hurried back to them. Halfway there,
we noticed a commotion at approximately the same location as our comfy pink couch.

"Uh-oh," we both exclaimed, and ran over.

Once we had managed to push through the crush
of onlookers, we were horrified to find both of our men
punching and kicking-and yes, slapping-at each other. It
was a nasty thing to behold. I ran for Marvin and Justin ran
for Ahmed in the hope of pulling them apart. That's when
we figured out what caused the fracas in the first place.

Ahmed, from what I could gather from Marvin's rantings, was Palestinian, and Marvin had relatives in Israel. I
guess, even thousands of miles away, the relations between
the two are still strained. Ahmed was yelling and screaming
in some Arabic tongue, and I had no idea what he was
saying. Though it sounded pretty bad judging from the
tone. That and the amount of spittle that was hitting us
from his side of the fight. And Marvin was shouting out
every Arab-related insult he could think of. I was ashamed
for the both of them. You'd think that being gay would've
taught them to respect each other's differences or at least to
tolerate them. No such luck. It took Justin and me several
minutes to pry them apart.

I tried to calm Marvin down once I had managed to pull
him to a quiet corner of the bar, but he was beyond my
soothing influences. He kept cursing and raving and pacing
around like a caged tiger. Needless to say, it was none too
arousing for me. I kept thinking, Aren't there any nice,
normal guys out there? (Funny thing, that. I guess anyone
who hangs around with Justin and me long enough thinks
the exact same thing.)

But nothing I could say or do would relax him, and he
finally just stormed out of the disco and away from me.
That was upsetting for two reasons. The obvious one, at
that moment, was no nookie. I had my heart, and certain
other body parts, set on a night of passion. Now the prospects looked dim. Second, and more important in the larger
scheme of things, we were back to square one with the whole
Mary thing. Marvin was our only hope for a quick solution.
And yes, we had that picture of her from the show, but the
thought of circulating that around Vegas seemed an awfully
large and impossible task.

I was pondering the awfulness of it all when Justin came
over and sat down with me. He too looked miserable.

"Where's Ahmed?" I asked.

"Gone. He left, gold lame jammies flapping in the breeze.
Men suck, dude."

"Though not on us. At least not tonight."

"Hey now, the night is young. Let's hear none of that."

"The night may be young, but I'm not. Let's just go back
to our hotel and start fresh in the morning, okay?"

"Hmm, I suppose. I guess I'm getting kinda tired,
anyway. How about one more drink in the casino and then
we can go."

I only had to think about that for a split second. A drink
sounded perfect right about then. The evening's upheaval
had totally ruined my nice buzz. And some slot action
seemed like a great way to help me forget my woes.

"Well, just one drink," I agreed, pulling myself up,
dusting myself off, and starting all over again.

Actually, just being in the casino had a surprisingly
calming effect on me. The hum of the slots was hypnotic.
And the casino in the Aladdin was stunning. The Arabian
Nights theme was played out in every nook and cranny, and
the murals above the casino were breathtaking. My hands
were pulling on the slot arms in mere moments. Yes, I still like to pull the arms even though you can just press the
button if you want to spin the reels. Makes me feel more in
tune with the machine. It's a Zen thing. Go figure.

A genie-clad waitress was upon us for our free drink
orders within minutes, so all was balancing out in the
universe once again. The tension in my shoulders was
quickly abating, though the one in my pants was reluctantly
staying put. And after a nice win of eighty quarters, the
smile on my face had again returned. Who needs a man
when you have a one-armed bandit to keep you company?
(Don't answer that. I know it's pathetic. We all have our
own ways of coping.)

Justin, hearing the win coming from my vicinity, came
back over from the dollar slot section and took a stool next
to mine.

"Feeling better?" he asked, sipping from his drink and
grinning.

"Not worse," I answered, suspicious of his grin. (As well
I should have been.)

"Want to feel even better?" he asked, setting his drink
down.

"Do I?" I asked, preparing myself for what he had
planned. "You tell me."

To which he replied, pointing somewhere in the distance,
"Look over there."

I had had enough of that game back in the airport. "Just
tell me, please."

"Okay, look straight ahead to the first Blackjack table
and tell me what you see."

I had to squint to see that far, but it didn't take long to
figure out what he was pointing at. "Holy shit," I squealed.

"Is that a good holy shit or a bad holy shit?" he asked.

"I suppose you knew he worked here, then."

"Duh, dude."

"And I suppose that we came to this hotel to dance so that we'd run into him and you could have Marvin all to
yourself?"

"Oh, please, now, does that sound like me?"

"It sounds exactly like you."

"Okay, then, yes, that's what I had planned. But look
how well it worked out."

In case you hadn't figured it out yet, it was Chris, my studly
Blackjack dealer from the farewell party, standing some twenty
feet away and dealing cards. I had to admit, it was good to
see him, even under such underhanded circumstances. It was
hard to be mad at Justin, all things considered.

"Go talk to him," he said, shooing me over.

And that I did. I walked over and sat down at a vacant seat
at his table. He didn't look up at me right away. And when
he did, he didn't place me at first. But once he realized who I
was, he allowed himself a bright though professional smile.
I knew that the dealers had strict rules against fraternizing
with the patrons, so I wasn't disappointed that he didn't run
around the table to swoop me up in his muscular arms. I
nodded at him, placed my bet, and accepted my cards. He
took everyone's bets and then raised his arm in a "come here"
motion. My fellow gamblers and I played out our hands and
noticed another dealer that had come up from behind.

I lost, Chris was replaced with the new dealer, and we
both walked off. I allowed him a short head start so as not
to call attention to our meeting up, then noticed he was
headed for the restroom. So that's where I went as well. I
walked up the aisle of stalls and found him waiting for me
in the last one. Naturally, I entered.

"I lost the hand," I whined.

"Can't cheat in Vegas, you know," he explained, wrapping his arms around me.

"Well, I think you'll have to make it up to me, then," I
replied, firmly embracing him and rubbing my cheek on his
neck.

"Guess I will," he moaned, moving his face so our lips
could meet.

He tasted minty fresh. I forgot how great he felt to hold
and to kiss. And I had to admit, making out in a casino
bathroom felt just naughty enough to be highly erotic. It was
all I could do to not strip him bare and have my way with
him over the toilet. But he held me back, explaining that he
only had a few minutes to take a bathroom break, and that
he had to get back. By then, though, after the whole Marvin
thing and now the not-so-chance encounter with Chris, I
was hornier than a priest in an all-boy's school.

"I have to work for another three hours, but I'll give you
a call tomorrow, okay?"

"Okay," I replied, sad that we had to separate so soon. I
told him where Justin and I were staying and gave him our
room number.

He whipped out his prick for me, for old time's sake, and
gave it the familiar shake and slap. "Just to keep you interested," he said, then added, "Man, you guys must have been
desperate for a room." He smirked, put his thickening dick
away, and gave me a farewell kiss. "Say hello to Jacques for
me," he said, leaving the stall. I guessed Vegas was just such
a small town that all the queer boys knew each other. Then
he waved and was off. I stayed there for a few minutes so
as not to call attention to our little dalliance-or the raging
boner in my pants.

Man, we'd only been in Vegas less than a day and I had
already lost out on sex with two different men. I prayed the
rest of our journey would run smoother. And, as if the good
Lord had heard my prayer, there came a knock on the stall
door.

"Yes?" I asked.

"Are you coming out anytime soon?" It was Justin.

"Maybe, maybe not." I said through the door. "Things
haven't been going so great out there for me, you know.

Maybe I should just stay right here for the rest of our trip."

"Suit yourself," he said. "But I think you might want to
take a peek out here. I have something to show you."

"Man, every time you say that, my life gets turned upside
down."

"Just a peek, please."

So I unlatched the door and poked my head outside the
stall. And there, standing before me, was Justin, and he had
a receipt in his hand.

"I was only gone for ten minutes," I said in astonishment.

"Only takes one," he replied.

"How much?" I asked.

"Eight hundred and sixty-four dollars. Not bad for one
night's work. Are we still having just that one drink?"

"Fuck, no, you're buying me a double," I ordered, and
marched on out of the stall, grabbing a twenty he was
holding in his hand for me.

"Good night for gambling," he said as we sat down in
front of two machines.

"Better than for loving, that's for sure." I added.

"Isn't love always a gamble?" he quipped.

"Shut up and play, Justin. I've had enough talking for
one evening."