Getting Some (10 page)

Claudia

L
ishelle, Samera and I make the slow trek out of the theater with the rest of the crowd when the Thunder from Down Under finish their ninety-minute performance. The night is still young, only ten-thirty, and though I should be tired because of the time difference, I’m nowhere near ready to go to bed.

“You want to stay here and hit the slots?” Lishelle asks.

“We can do that back at the Venetian,” Samera says. “And be closer to our rooms if we want to freshen up. Or if we get bored.”

I dig my cell phone out of my purse. “You think we should call Annelise?”

Lishelle rolls her eyes. “Are you kidding? She went off to have phone sex.”

“Forty-five minutes ago,” I point out. “She’s got to be finished by now. Hell, this is Vegas. There’s no point sleeping the nights away. What do you think, Samera?”

“Sure,” she answers. “Tell her to meet us in the bar.”

Lishelle gets a cab while I make the call. Annelise doesn’t answer, so I tell her to meet us downstairs in the lobby in ten minutes, and that if she doesn’t show, we’ll go up and get her.

When we arrive at the hotel, there’s no sign of Annelise in the lobby. I take the time to ask the concierge about the entertainment options, and he tells me that the Venetian’s Tao Nightclub is the spot if we want high energy with a variety of music. It has the added feature of a large terrace that allows club-goers to view the Las Vegas strip.

I glance at my watch as I head back to Lishelle and Samera, who are both waiting near the bank of elevators. “The happening place here is the Tao Nightclub. So, do we go up and get Annelise?”

“I’ll just call her,” Samera volunteers. “The Tao Nightclub?”

“Yeah.”

Samera heads to the far edge of the front desk, where she uses a house phone to call upstairs. She returns in less than a minute, saying, “She said she just got out of the shower, but that she’d meet us there.”

“All right, then,” Lishelle says. “Let’s go.”

Five minutes later we’re in the club. The music is loud and pulses not only through the club, but through my body.

“I like,” Lishelle says.

“Yeah, this place is hip,” I agree. “Look—go-go dancers.”

“Should we head to the bar?” Lishelle asks.

“Yeah. I’d like a drink. Samera?”

“I can definitely use a drink.”

Lishelle leads the way, and we find a spot where two seats are available. I take one, and Samera gestures to Lishelle to take the other.

As soon as Samera gets her drink, she wanders off to the edge of the dance floor.

“She totally doesn’t want to hang with us,” Lishelle comments. “And I can’t say the feeling isn’t mutual.”

A funky old school tune starts to play, and I sway my upper body while I sip my cosmopolitan. Standing by herself, Samera also starts to dance.

Well, she’s not exactly alone. A small crowd formed around her the moment she started to twist her hips. Mostly guys, of course, and they’re brazenly ogling her as she moves her body in a way that screams she takes her clothes off for a living.

She’s moving far too slowly for the upbeat tune, gyrating her hips, slinking down onto her haunches and then back up again. The longer the song plays, the less inhibited she becomes. She runs a hand over her breast, through her hair, then down between her cleavage. Considering her breasts are so big and the dress doesn’t cover much of them, the guys surrounding her are probably hoping she’ll have a wardrobe malfunction any moment now.

I’m not frigid or anything, but I wonder why the girl’s got to show herself off like that.

I’m not sure I like her. Yeah, she’s Annelise’s sister, but that’s the only thing she’s got in common with her. Annelise is sweet. She’s vulnerable. She’s real. She cares about others, which I’m not sure I can say about her sister.

Annelise went to the trouble of planning this trip for all of us, and Samera hasn’t said much to Lishelle or me. The least Samera can do is crack a friggin’ smile.

I turn to Lishelle, asking, “You think she’s as much of a bitch as she looks?”

“She doesn’t give a shit about us, that’s for sure. Personally, I don’t care, but I’ll be damned if she ruins this trip for Annelise.”

“Yeah, I know. Annelise went all out. If her sister sulks for the whole trip, Annelise will be crushed.”

“Don’t worry. If she keeps up with that stand-offish routine, I’ll just have to kick some sense into her.”

At the sound of a collective gasp, I quickly whirl around. I’m shocked at the sight of Samera standing over a guy who’s flat on his back, one of her fists raised.

“Keep your fucking hands off me, you creep!”

I turn back to Lishelle. “Did you see what happened?”

“No. But my guess is, she decked him. Something good.”

“Maybe we should go over there.”

Lishelle shrugs, but the next second gets off her barstool.

We meet up with Samera as she’s storming toward us. “Hey, girl.” I hold up a hand to block her path. “What the hell happened?”

“That asshole stuck his hand up my dress. Fucking pervert!” she yells in his direction as the guy is getting to his feet.

I share a look with Lishelle, and I read in her eyes what I’m thinking. What did Samera expect, dancing the way she was?

But there was something else that struck me, and it doesn’t take long for my own thought to disgust me. There was a part of me that figured because she was dancing so suggestively, and because she takes her clothes off for a living, that she wouldn’t mind if some guy felt her up. In fact, I’d have figured that she’d like it. Especially considering the guy she flattened is seriously cute.

But not only is that stupid, it’s highly judgmental. So what if Samera was dancing in a very sexual way? Does that mean she wanted some stranger to touch her body?

Yeah, I think I’ve judged Samera unjustly. Lishelle and I both. I know that a guy should never put his hands on you, no matter how hot he is, but if I hadn’t seen how Samera handled him with my own eyes, I would think she’s the kind of girl who gets off fucking strange men.

And lots of them.

“You want to leave?” I ask her.

“Yeah, I’m tired of this place. Where the fuck is Annelise?”

“She didn’t show,” I explain.

“We can call her,” Lishelle offers. “Tell her we’re leaving in case she’s on her way here.”

“I doubt she’s on her way,” Samera says, “but I guess leaving a message can’t hurt.”

“So, what now?” I ask.

“I’m kind of tired,” Samera says. “I’m ready for bed. But you two feel free to hang here.”

“No, we’ll leave with you,” I tell her.

We all head out of the club, none of us speaking. By the time we reach the lobby, I’m starting to wonder if Samera is ever going to try to get to know me and Lishelle on this trip, or if she’ll stay in her shell the entire time.

Samera heads for the elevators without looking back. I’m debating what to say when Lishelle speaks. “So, that’s it? You’re not even going to try and get along with us on this trip?”

Samera turns. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me,” Lishelle continues. “Okay, so you don’t really know us well, and maybe you don’t like the idea of being on a trip with us since we’re your sister’s friends, but we’re here, and we may as well make the most of it. Don’t you agree?”

“You think I’m lying about being tired?”

“Yeah, I do,” Lishelle says, not even bothering to sugar-coat her answer. “But I understand why.” She pauses. “There was a place called the V Bar that we passed on the way to the lobby. It looked quiet and intimate. A good place to talk. Why don’t we go there for a drink? My treat. We can just shoot the shit. Break the ice, ya know?”

“Great idea,” I say. “We can call Annelise, tell her to meet us there.”

“Annelise is probably sleeping,” Lishelle says. “No, it’ll be just the three of us.”

My eyes volley back and forth between Samera and Lishelle. For a minute, I think Samera is going to say no. Tell us that we’re wasting our time trying to get to know her. But then she begins to bob her head up and down.

“All right. No point heading up to the room to mope. This is Vegas, after all.”

“Exactly,” Lishelle says.

And I think,
Maybe Samera isn’t all that bad.

“So why would you say ‘go upstairs and mope’?” I ask Samera when we’re seated in the V Bar. The place is sophisticated, with sleek lines, warm colors and subdued lighting that adds to its intimate appeal. Lishelle, Samera and I have gotten comfortable on one side of a double-sided leather lounge chair, our drinks resting on the table before us.

I reach for my cosmopolitan before speaking again. “Of all the things you can do in Vegas, moping isn’t what typically comes to mind. I’m just curious.”

Samera shrugs. “I don’t know why I said that.”

“Okay,” Lishelle begins in a frank tone. “I’ll start. Just in case your sister didn’t tell you all about the sleazeball I almost married.”

“I know some vague details,” Samera admits.

“My guy’s name was Glenn,” Lishelle goes on. “And let me tell you, this guy rocked my world in every way possible.”

“Good and bad,” I interject.

“Yeah.” Lishelle shakes her head sadly, as if remembering both aspects about her ex. “Glenn was…well, I thought he was my soul mate. When we fucked…girl, my toes would curl. Glenn had a dick that made me melt every time, come for days.”

I’m a little surprised that Lishelle is being so honest with Samera. And so graphic. But Lishelle has never shied away from explicit talk, and I suppose she doesn’t expect Samera to be offended by it.

“I thought the man loved me,” Lishelle goes on. “We dated in college, and I should have known after what happened then that he couldn’t be trusted, but you figure when a guy contacts you after nearly ten years, that he’s grown up. That he’s past playing games.”

“I’m not sure they’re ever past playing games,” I say, thinking about how Adam screwed me over. I sip my cosmo and wince.

Samera clinks her glass of scotch against mine. “Here here.”

“You want to know how my guy fucked me big-time?” I ask.

“Let me finish my story,” Lishelle says.

And she does. She gives this long account of how Glenn started wooing her again, promised her the world but really tried to fleece her of nearly a million dollars.

“Fuck.” Samera shakes her head. “And I thought what I went through in Costa Rica was bad. At least Reed didn’t try to take my money as well as my heart.”

“
And
the motherfucker was married and had two kids,” Lishelle goes on.

“Ouch.” Samera winces.

Lishelle brings her apple martini to her lips and takes a liberal sip. She’s clearly finished her story, so I begin mine.

“And Adam, as I’m sure you know, was president of the Wishes Come True Foundation.”

Samera nods. “He claimed he knew nothing about the charity fraud, right? Are the authorities buying that, or is he up on charges?”

“One thing about Adam, he was born with a silver spoon in his mouth and a horseshoe up his ass. He was charged, yeah, but the charges were ultimately dropped. The only two found to be involved in the charity fraud were Annelise’s husband and his law partner, Marsha Hindenberg. But at least Adam’s reputation was shot to hell, which was priceless revenge for me.”

“How’d he screw you over?” Samera asks.

“You mean, after I did everything sexual under the sun to please the freak? Well, he dumped me. Of course. I was such a fool. But I’d loved the man for four years, and we were engaged and…” My voice trails off as I think of how stupid I was, how I lost myself with Adam. I love sex, yes, but I was never comfortable trying all the kinky things he wanted to do. Maybe I knew in my heart that he wasn’t really into me.

“And I didn’t want to lose him,” I say quietly, finishing my thought.

“What did your guy do?” Lishelle asks Samera.

“If you can top my story or Lishelle’s, drinks are on me for the rest of the night.”

“All right.” Samera sips her scotch, then looks at me and Lishelle in turn. “I’m not sure my story’s worse—”

“But it’s bad nonetheless,” I say. “Go on, girl.”

“You both know I was in Costa Rica with Annelise when she went to find evidence against Charles. And I’m sure you heard that I met someone.”

“Yeah, some hot Spanish guy,” I say. “What happened with that? Annelise sounded so hopeful when she talked about you and this guy.”

“Miguel, right?” Lishelle asks.

“Yeah, Miguel.”

Samera says his name softly, and it’s obvious there’s pain there. It’s the first time I’m seeing any emotion from her.

“He hurt you something good, didn’t he?” Lishelle asks. “Men. I swear.”

“No, Miguel didn’t hurt me.” Samera sighs. “I liked him immediately. He was really hot. And I may be a stripper, but I’m not a whore. I didn’t go down there to find some man. So if either of you has any bullshit misconceptions about me, I’m setting you straight right now.”