Chapter 8
Chapter
Eight
SHELBY
January 2013
“Pack your bags, bitch. We’re going to Vegas!” Kendra announced as she walked into my house on a bitterly cold Friday in late January.
“What? When?”
“We need to be at the airport in two hours. Darius got coverage for your clients through Tuesday, and Brody and your parents have our flight and hotel info. No excuses. Let’s get you packed!”
“I’m not sure why you think I’d be fighting you on this…a vacation that I didn’t have to plan, pay for, or stress about? Somewhere warmish and snow free? Yeah, this seems pretty fucking ideal to me.” I hugged my spontaneous, thoughtful, and generous friend and kissed her cheek.
“I was hoping you’d see it that way. Now, let’s get a move on.” She let me go, but not before giving me a playful slap on the ass.
After an uneventful day of travel, we rolled up to the Hard Rock Hotel in the late afternoon. I’d been nervous about packing so quickly—typically I am a fastidious list maker, but Kendra was helpful, giving me just enough hints about what she had planned for me to feel prepared. I did ask her to stop at CVS on the way to the airport because I told her I needed a few more travel size items, telling her I’d just quickly run in by myself. While she’d been helping me pack, she encouraged me to add at least one lingerie set, stockings and a garter, and I got to thinking about another item that might come in handy.
I’d been to Vegas twice with Ari, write off trips for “research and development” to check out how some of the famous chefs were doing multiple concepts. We’d go to Thomas Keller’s or Daniel Bouloud’s restaurants and while I’d thoroughly enjoy my experiences, he’d find a way to find fault with nearly everything. We’d gone to shows, which I loved, and we’d gambled, which I hated. Mostly because of how stressful it would be if Ari lost money.
I was beyond happy to be there with Kendra.
She planned dinner for us at Mon Ami Gabi, but she said we didn’t need to dress up too much—that would be the following night. We ate dinner, drinking and laughing until we ached. I couldn’t remember a time when I had felt so relaxed, so carefree. We spent the entire evening at the Paris, having cocktails at the bar, playing slots and giggling our fool heads off.
We were good and spent when we made our way back to the Hard Rock and up to our room. We got into our pajamas, and I looked at Kendra and our single king-sized bed. My eyes filled with tears.
“Shel! What’s wrong?”
I could hardly begin to articulate how hard it was hitting me that the thing my soul was needing more than anything was a sleepover with my best friend (my grief bed notwithstanding). And she was giving me that. “We…we haven’t done this in…” I stammered.
Kendra smiled. She knew where my head and my heart were. “Years. Years and years.”
“It’s my fault. All the times you wanted us to go away together, and I couldn’t make it work.”
“Not your fault. Never your fault, you know that. It was always him.”
Kendra could never abide by Ari’s name in her mouth. She always referred to“him,” or “your husband,” or even, when she was feeling particularly feisty, “the asshole.”
Kendra had planned a girls’ trip to Napa for her thirtieth birthday, but Ari had been in the midst of damage control for soon to be failed restaurant concept number one, and he had guilted me into staying home to support him.
Kendra and I climbed into the bed with just the nightlights on and lay facing each other. “I’m glad you didn’t get double beds. I like being close to you,” I told her.
“Me too.”
“Ken, I promise I am going to make it up to you. From now on, I’m going to be the friend I should have been all along.”
The truth was, I’d been horribly jealous of Kendra for years.
Craig, the boyfriend that she’d had when I met Ari, was not all that different from the dominating force that had swept me up in his riptide. We both were caught up with these magnetic men, consuming us, consuming most of our time, and keeping us from seeing each other very often. We never blamed one another, both deeply understanding our roles as the objects of these obsessions. When we would get together, it would be to fawn over and compare notes about how smitten we were with these men who seemed so ready and willing to burn the world for us.
When Ari and I got married a year after Brody was born, Craig proposed to Kendra at the end of our reception. He hadn’t had a ring. We both agreed years later that he’d just hated the thought of being outdone, so he’d performed the grand gesture spontaneously. And very publicly.
We didn’t do much together as a foursome. Ari and Craig, while similar in a lot of ways, were cut from different cloths. Craig resented Ari’s “silver spoon” upbringing, and Ari thought blue collar Craig crass and uncultured, especially after he’d gotten back from Greece.
While I was having my challenges with Ari, Kendra was beginning to see cracks in her own fairy tale. We stopped comparing notes, instead finding ourselves constantly making excuses. We canceled dinner with them at the last minute because Ari had an emergency at the restaurant. Kendra couldn’t come to the concert with me because Craig had hurt his back on the job that morning.
And then Kendra became uncharacteristically clumsy.
A slip on the ice blessing her with a black eye and cut across the bridge of her nose.
A fall down the stairs and a fractured wrist.
A broken rib she blamed on a bad cough.
I tried to intervene, to help, but she wouldn’t confide in me. Both her pride and her shame in equal measure had kept her closed off, and she assumed I had my hands full with Ari and my little son.
A few years later, my brave friend had had enough. She left Craig, got a restraining order, and began to move on. Luckily, Craig quickly found a new object for his obsession and left Kendra alone.
Once she was free, she came for me. Her eyes were wide open, and she saw how similar Ari was to Craig. I would insist over and over that Ari never hit me. That my situation was different. That we were happy. But she seethed for Ari. He couldn’t stand her either and he resented the rift she was trying to put between us. There came a point when Kendra and I didn’t speak for over a year.
She met Gary around the same time I started at Aspire. He’d convinced her to reach out to me and we began to repair our relationship, and slowly, over time, we managed to get back to the friendship we’d had. She let things go with Ari, for the most part, but always made sure to remind me that she’d be there for me no matter what. Anything I needed. Any decisions I was ready to make.
I was jealous of Kendra for being able to wake up from her nightmare and get out. And then I’d become even more jealous because she found Gary. Gary was the opposite of Craig. The opposite of Ari. He was cute, sweet, and one of the funniest people I’d ever met. He might not burn the world for her, but without question or hesitation he would wrap her in his arms and shield her from any and all fiery chaos surrounding her. I tried so hard to be happy for her, but it was a constant reminder of what I didn’t have.
She looked at me from across the bed. “You are a perfect friend. It’s not about a fifty-fifty balance for us. I haven’t needed you in these last ten years like you’ve needed me. And that’s okay. Maybe now we’ll be boring? Can you imagine?”
I laughed. “Maybe there will be less drama, but girl, it’s never gonna be boring.”
“True.” Kendra’s smile was wide and warm. “And tonight is proof. I haven’t seen you this happy and relaxed in, I can’t tell you how long. And oh my God, how long it’s been since I’ve heard you laugh this much.”
“I’m getting there. It’s not good all the time, but it’s much more good than bad. Kelly is giving me some good coping strategies.”
“How is therapy going?’
“Really well. She helped me to realize that the reason I was so exhausted after Ari died wasn’t necessarily grief. It was my nervous system getting the message that it was finally able to relax. That I didn’t have to be on such high alert all the time. Living with Ari wasn’t as much walking on eggshells as it was navigating an active minefield. I was absolutely fried.”
“Oh god, Shel. I’m sorry. He was absolutely exhausting. Not to make this about me, but when I realized that to be in your life, I’d have to play nice, it was so fucking ridiculous trying to deal with him. You never knew if he was going to take the simplest thing, twist it the wrong way, and make it a whole dramatic scene. And I was just someone on the outside. I can’t imagine what it was like living with him.”
“It took me a long time, but at some point, I realized that Ari was never going to change. He was the constant, and I had to learn how to manipulate the equation around him,” I admitted.
The next day after breakfast in our room, we made our way to Fremont Street, ducking in and out of casinos and shops. Kendra surprised me with spa appointments in the afternoon and it was such a treat for me to be pampered for a change. Most of the time I am way too analytical while having services done on myself—I always feel as though I’m conducting a practical interview for a new hire, and it’s hard for me to tune out. That afternoon during my massage, however, I fell asleep.
Walking back to our rooms in our blissed-out massage haze, Kendra asked, “How long does it take you to get ready? Like ready ready?”
“Full pinup, photoshoot ready? Maybe an hour and a half, give or take?”
“Perfect. We have seven o’clock reservations downstairs. You shower first.”
I styled my hair half up half down with a few victory rolls, and a red rose off to the side that matched my lipstick. I put on a black lace thong, my stockings and garter, and an off the shoulder body contouring dress in a bright blue that complimented the color of my hair while bringing out a more vibrant blue in my eyes. Kendra wore a dress with a vintage vibe and let me pin a flower in her shoulder length blonde hair she’d styled in loose waves. I was touched that she was game for this style solidarity a little outside of her comfort zone.
“I’m so jealous you don’t have to wear a bra. I should just do it. Get my boobs done,” Kendra said looking at my chest while cupping her own.
“Just let me know if you decide to do it. Dr. Sonders is amazing.”
I’d gotten my augmentation a few years after Brody was born. I was self-conscious about how my breasts had changed after pregnancy and nursing, especially since Ari didn’t seem as nearly obsessed with them as he had once been. Watching him pay more attention than ever to other, more perky chested women, I began to worry. As soon as I’d floated the idea of surgery to him, he was thrilled, and afterwards it was like an X-rated Christmas morning every day, with Ari enjoying the hell out of his new toys.
Before we left our room, I stared at the cashmere wrap I held in my hand. I’d packed it knowing I might need it since January nights in Vegas can still be chilly. But I used to have to have it on hand for another reason. When I would go out with Ari completely dressed up, in the beginning of the evening he would want me uncovered. He’d want to parade me around in a dress, sometimes clingy, sometimes a high thigh slit or showing abundant cleavage, with him so proud of his trophy. And then, as attention toward us would increase, whether real or imaginary, I would keep close watch until his pride turned to something else. His jaw would set, his eyes would dart around the room, almost throwing out a challenge to anyone who might dare try to take a stab at his prize. That would be my cue to put on my wrap and defuse the situation as best as I could.
I would not need it tonight. The realization made me smile and stand up straighter, augmented chest held high.
Kendra decided we had time for one drink at one of the casino bars downstairs before we went to dinner. “Hey, hang out here for a minute. I just want to run over to the restaurant to make sure they’re running on time,” she said.
“Sounds good.” I sat on a stool, put my clutch on the bar and swiveled around a bit to people watch. When I swung back around to face the bar, a pair of hazel eyes stared at me under a retro-style fade haircut, with a perfectly groomed auburn beard framing a full set of lips.
“Good evening. I’m Bryce. What can I get for you?”
I tilted my head and smiled, “Hi there, Bryce. What do you recommend?
“Well, it would need to be a drink as lovely as you are. How about a lavender martini?”
“Ooh, cheesy line, Bryce. Be careful.” I grinned at him.
“Hey, I’m a bartender in Vegas. Several chapters of the employee handbook are dedicated to cheesy lines. There was even a quiz.” He winked.
I smiled. “Which you passed with flying colors, I’m sure. Fair enough. And yes, that martini sounds perfect.”
Not two seconds after Bryce put my lovely, light purple drink in front of me, I heard a gravelly voice in my right ear. I jumped at the sudden invasion of my personal space.
“Well, well. Look at you.”
I slid as far to the left as I could on my small barstool and turned to see the source of the intrusion. I jumped again.
He was a huge hulk of a man, shiny, shaved head with a jet-black beard. Comically black, the color of shoe polish. Obscenely orange-y tan. He was wearing a tight mock turtleneck showcasing every bulging muscle in his shoulders, chest and arms. Likely having spent hours every day coaxing them to full bulk and they then becoming the whole of his personality. He had a tiny waist and his poor, neglected legs seemed to wither beneath his massive upper body. I’d wondered how he just didn’t topple over from being so top heavy. I had the image of a cartoon circus strong man come to life and I had to stifle a giggle.
“Can I buy you a drink?”
“Just got one. I’m all set, thanks.” I was trying not to encourage him in any way.
“Mind if I just join you then?” He sat down without an invitation. “I hate the thought of someone so beautiful sitting here by her lonesome.”
“Just because I’m alone, doesn’t mean I’m lonely. I’m just fine by myself.”
The Strongman was clearly not getting the hint.
“Tell me, Beautiful, which would you prefer? The two of us at a jumping nightclub at a private VIP table with bottle service, or a quiet dinner in my penthouse suite?”
“Neither. Which do you prefer? Bench pressing Barnum, or bicep curls with Bailey? Because clearly, squat thrusts are not part of your repertoire.”
A loud chuckle came from behind the bar, and I turned to see Bryce polishing glassware just a foot away, trying to make it seem like he wasn’t paying attention.
“I don’t know what that means, but I like you. You’re spunky.” Strongman said, showing no signs of backing off.
“I just want to sit here and enjoy my drink, so I think you better go. Besides, I’d hate for you to be late for your next show at Circus Circus. Wouldn’t want to disappoint the kids.” Another laugh of approval from Bryce. I liked that he was getting my references to this guy’s comical appearance.
The Strongman looked at me more perplexed than ever. Seconds later I watched his eyebrowsfurrow and his lips become tight as my rejection was finally getting through his bald, orange skull. “Okay, wow. A bitch hidden in a pretty wrapper. What a surprise.”
“Listen,” Bryce said as he came to my rescue, “I let this go on long enough. The lady clearly wants you to leave. If you don’t, I’ll call security. And maybe the ringmaster, too.”
I started to giggle uncontrollably even while the Strongman was still standing next to me. I didn’t care about being polite. Everything about him was hilarious to me by that point. Bryce laughed along with me, and the Strongman finally stormed off in a huff, no doubt in search of another poor woman to annoy. Or unintentionally amuse.
“Oh my God. That was awesome!” Bryce said, wiping a tear from his eye. “He was ridiculous!” Once he composed himself, he stood in square front of me. Considering me. He put his tattooed forearms on the bar and leaned closer, eyes trained on mine, “And you? Youare magnificent.”
My stomach did a somersault. It was the perfect mix of cockiness and reverence. He wasn’t overbearing or making me nervous in any way. Well maybe in a very good way. And he was really cute. “How old are you?” I asked him as I tilted my head.
“Twenty-eight.”
“Oh Lord.” I rolled my eyes. He was a baby.
“Why do you say that? You can’t be much older than me.”
“I’m thirteen years older than you. That’s like ‘I could have been your babysitter’ years older than you.”
“Are you offering? Because I could really be into that,” Bryce said, his mouth mischievously turning up at the corners.
I laughed. It felt so good for someone to be flirting with me, and for once I wasn’t worried about any consequences. My mind started to wander. Maybe that impulse condom purchase hadn’t been so silly after all.
“What’s your name?”
“Shelby.”
“Beautiful. What are your plans for the evening, Shelby?”
I loved hearing my name come out of his mouth. I thought about how it might sound even better later, all breathless and sexy, when we’d be all sweaty and tangled up with each other.
“My friend and I have dinner reservations at 35 Steaks at seven, but after that I don’t know.”
“Ooh, carnivores, I love it. Why don’t you come back here after dinner? I get done at eleven.”
Kendra strode up quickly to the bar next to me and immediately began assessing the situation. She didn’t seem as pleased as I would have thought. “Hey. What’s going on?”
“Well, this is Bryce and he’s made me a delightful martini. Here try.”
She took the glass from my hand and slammed my drink in two gulps. My eyes got wide as I stared at her for doing something so out of character. She seemed squirrelly, like she was up to something.
“What the hell?” I asked.
“Mmm, that was a good drink. Now we have to go.” Kendra grabbed my hand and dragged me off the stool.
I apologized awkwardly to the cute bartender as I threw some cash on the bar. I hoped I’d be able to convince Kendra to come back after dinner. I did not want to be done with Bryce.
We walked over to the restaurant and made our way to the hostess stand. I glanced over at the crowded bar and my heart skidded to a stop. I blinked several times to make sure I wasn’t imagining what I was seeing.
There, on the third bar stool from the left, was Jake Ford.
I turned to Kendra and grabbed her arm. “Oh my God! Oh my God! Jake Ford is here! He is actually here!” I tried to whisper but I doubt I’d been successful.
She looked behind me toward the bar and smiled. Her expression was all wrong. I fully expected her to revert to thirteen-years-old with me and be freaking the fuck out like I was.
Instead, she had this warm, benevolent expression in her eyes as they came back to meet mine.
She put her hands on my face and said, “I know, my love. He’s here for you.”