Why can't I be like everyone else and grab a hunkalicious guy for some serious, meaningless sex? After all, this is Vegas—the capital of superficial liaisons. The whole system is set up to marry you on Friday, cater to your every need through the weekend, then annul the whole thing in the harsh light of back-to-the-real-world Monday.
I've never made the leap myself. I'm a happy-ending kind of gal, the poster child for wishing on a star. And since most of the men in Sin City don't share my long-term view, I keep wishing and share my closet with a guy who looks better in my clothes than I do.
Let me explain. It's not really what it seems. Okay, it is what it seems; it's just not what you think. My name is Lucky and as the chief problem solver at the Babylon Casino and Resort, happy endings are my job—other people's happy endings.
The guy in question is Ted Kowalski. Most of the world knows him as The Great Teddie Divine, Las Vegas' Foremost Female Impersonator. And he's the closest thing to long-term I've allowed in my life, which has required adjustments I didn't know I was capable of. For instance, I have to overlook the fact that he stretches out my Jimmy Choos—which, I'm pretty sure is a capital offense in most jurisdictions. And he's chirpy in the morning, while I tend toward homicidal before my first cup of joe. Not to mention the fact that he has better legs than I do. I'm here to tell you, this can set a girl back. I expect that kind of thing from the women in my life, but not from my guy. It's a wee bit more of an issue than I thought, but I'm coping. But, to be honest, that's a lot of adjusting for someone like me.
Thankfully, Teddie gave me some time to deal with my issues. Much like he would a live Maine lobster, Teddie eased me into the pot before turning up the heat. We met casually enough when I booked his show into the small theatre at the Babylon. Like everybody else, I assumed he was gay. Please, he knew all the lyrics to every Rodgers and Hammerstein song—that's a dead give away? Right? Not to mention his fluency in all things Jimmy Choo and Chanel. I should have known that whole judging a book thing was true. Let's just chalk it up to momentary cliché amnesia.
That evening, much to my chagrin, I had an almost terminal case of foot-in-mouth disease—not at all like me. I should've known something about him was different. But, as my mother says, I don't do subtle. I need a two-by-four right between the eyes. That didn't come 'til later…much later.
Teddie was in the business of soft-selling. To someone less forgiving than myself, he was probably in the business of subterfuge—but I chose to overlook that part. Regardless of how you characterize it, I remained clueless.
Clueless even when he suggested the apartment below his penthouse in a new building called The Presidio would make a nice investment. Anxious to move out of my small digs behind the hotel into something more permanent, more adult, I was putty in his hands that morning when Teddie burst into my office.
"Lucky! Glad I caught you."
Standing by my desk scanning some of the endless paperwork my job entails, I turned at the sound of his voice. Despite my better judgment, and in spite of all I thought I knew about Teddie, my heart skipped a beat at the sight of him.
The very personification of boundless energy sparked by a wicked bit of mischief lurking in his baby blues, that day Teddie was cleverly disguised as Ted Kowalski in a pair of jeans just tight enough to fire the imagination and a ragged Harvard sweatshirt with the neck cut out. His blonde hair, short and spiky, begged for fingers to tame it. On many occasions I had wondered who Teddie might have in his life to do that. As near as I could figure, he spent all of his free time within my orbit, so it remained a mystery. Like I said, a two-by-four.
He grabbed my hand. "Come with me. You know how you've been yammering about getting your own place. Well, this is perfect! PERFECT!" I'm not even sure he took a breath as he pulled me toward the door. "You're gonna love it! Now it's a bit pricey, but you're getting in on the ground floor." He glanced at me as he tugged me past my assistant's desk. "Not the actual ground floor, you know. But you know what I mean."
I tossed the papers I had been reading on the desk and snagged my purse from its hook on the hat rack as I pretended to resist.
Teddie prattled on, not allowing me a word, as he pulled me out of the hotel, pushed me into my car, took my keys out of my purse, and steered us out of the garage. We had been friends for a while at that point and I had learned it was useless to resist once he had the bit in his teeth.
Five minutes later, he wheeled to a stop in front of a tall glass building. Teddie continued his pitch, but his words faded into the background as I took stock of my surroundings. The city had been buzzing about this project—it was coveted real estate by all accounts. The landscaping had yet to be finished—holes gaped in the dark black dirt awaiting a tree or a bush. The entry doors of wood and glass were tastefully done yet large and heavy enough to impress even the most jaded jet-setter.
Wood graced the walls and floor of the foyer giving it a warm, welcoming feel. We dodged a bunch of plants grouped in the middle of the floor awaiting disbursement. Rectangular crates leaned against the wall—presumably the artwork. Even without rugs and furniture, which I assumed would be the final touches, I liked the feel of the place.
Teddie punched the button for the penthouse once we both were inside the elevator. "I'll show you my place first."
The elevator deposited us in the middle of a cavernous room. Tape and bedding lined the walls, which had yet to be painted. Drips of spackle dotted the bare concrete floors.
Teddie, gesturing grandly, made his vision come alive. "Right here will be counter," he paced it out. "A few stools, but nothing to break the room up too much. I don't want to block the windows."
The windows. Like a beacon of light, the wall of floor-to-ceiling glass drew me. Being encased in the hermetically sealed casino world all day, everyday, I'm a big view kind of gal. Standing at the glass, the Strip stretched away to my left. To my right rose the Babylon. And behind it all stretched the Spring Mountains. The sunsets would be spectacular as the lights of the Strip gradually brightened as the sun faded.
"Where's my place?" I asked as Teddie stepped in next to me. "Would I have the same view?"
He nodded, his expression serious now. There was something in his eyes, some emotion, but I couldn't read it.
"Can I afford this?"
"Lucky, you're one of the big-wigs at the premier property in town. If you can't afford it, who can?"
Oh, scads of people leapt to mind, from professional athletes, to Hollywood types, to folks from obscure oil-rich nations, but, preferring to wallow in the dream a bit longer, I didn't mention any of that.
"It even has a back staircase down to your place," Teddie added casually. "I put some money down so they'd hold the place for you."
"It does?" I whirled on him. "You what?" What was he thinking? Didn't he know how much I hated to be backed into a corner? That at even the faintest whiff of manipulation, I was history?
He raised his hands in mock defense. "Don't get your dander up. It's refundable." He took one of my hands. "Come, I'll show you. I've worked it all out."
And he had.
Who knows, maybe I'll get my happy ending yet.
