The Vegas Diaries: Romance, Rolling the Dice, and the Road to Reinvention by Holly Madison Page B
Authors: Holly Madison
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alongside me, despite the heat, watching the smoke billow and curl.
“Are you excited to be going back?” I asked him, my eyes readjusting to the darkness. Along with most of the New York transplants, Kent would soon be heading home. They had fulfilled their Vegas contracts and would be replaced with a new cast of locals. I knew this was coming,but that didn’t make it easier to see any of them go . . . especially Kent. Ever since the camping debacle, I hadn’t been as starry-eyed and dreamy when it came to him, but I still really enjoyed his company.
“Yeah,” he began, scratching Napoleon behind his ears.
“I wish you could stay!” I interrupted. “It won’t be the same without you.”
“I wish I could, too, but there aren’t the kinds of opportunities I’m looking for here,” he said. I knew that Broadway was his passion. He continued: “I only signed on for a few months, so now it’s time to find something else.” After a pause, he added, “It’s not the best place to meet guys, either.”
I agreed. I hadn’t been there very long, but I already knew how small a city Vegas could be. Plus, being a party city, the odds were already stacked against you. Most of the local guys I knew worked in nightlife, living like a bunch of perennial Peter Pans with their pick of the women circling through the revolving doors, so you could forget having an easy time finding anything serious.
“I’ll miss you,” I said. And I meant it. Despite the heat, I didn’t make a move toward the door. I wanted to enjoy my last few moments alone with Kent. He was moving on toward the life that was right for him and I was happy to have him as a friend, which we all know is better than a roll in the hay, anyway.
“I’ll miss you, too,” he said, leaning over to give me a hug. After he pulled away, we stood there for another minute, before he shot me that million-dollar smile. “Come on, doll, we got a show to do.”
I turned back around and did what I do best—buried myself in work. I was steady in my resolve that there wasn’t any time for romance in my life . . . or so I thought.
C HAPTER 4
“But, I don’t understand,” said Dorothy, in bewilderment. “How was it that you appeared to me as a great Head?”
“That was one of my tricks,” answered Oz. “Step this way, please, and I will tell you all about it.”
—L. Frank Baum, The Wonderful Wizard of Oz
I ’m going to give you one more chance, and then I’m going to have to kick you out of here,” warned a stern-faced woman with a name tag that read “Suzie.”
“Okay, sorry,” Nancy grumbled. The former nightclub host was celebrating her new job as an assistant to Eric J. Parkington, a handsome investment banker who split his time between New York and Las Vegas (the same one, incidentally, who had sent me a bottle of Dom at the Privé appearance). At the Peppermill (a Las Vegas landmark that’s equal parts coffee shop and seventies-style lounge), each table is topped with a small shaker of multicolored sugar crystals, intended for coffee, but which Nancy had decided to use as her own makeshift confetti. When a showerof sugar landed in Hannah’s iced tea, the situation escalated into a full-on sucrose war.
“I’m on a diet, bitch!” Hannah joked as she grabbed the sugar from the next table and started dumping it down Nancy’s shirt. Flying sugar rainbows somehow didn’t seem out of place in this twenty-four-hour establishment. After all, we were sitting under mirrored ceilings in booths outlined in strips of neon, surrounded by synthetic cherry blossom trees. The loud peals of laughter coming from our table had attracted the attention of the entire diner, including Suzie, the manager on duty.
“You guys need to calm down,” she said firmly, “and enough with the sugar.”
She grabbed the shakers off the table and disappeared behind one of the many artificial trees that populated the restaurant’s interior.
Nancy wasn’t the only
“Are you excited to be going back?” I asked him, my eyes readjusting to the darkness. Along with most of the New York transplants, Kent would soon be heading home. They had fulfilled their Vegas contracts and would be replaced with a new cast of locals. I knew this was coming,but that didn’t make it easier to see any of them go . . . especially Kent. Ever since the camping debacle, I hadn’t been as starry-eyed and dreamy when it came to him, but I still really enjoyed his company.
“Yeah,” he began, scratching Napoleon behind his ears.
“I wish you could stay!” I interrupted. “It won’t be the same without you.”
“I wish I could, too, but there aren’t the kinds of opportunities I’m looking for here,” he said. I knew that Broadway was his passion. He continued: “I only signed on for a few months, so now it’s time to find something else.” After a pause, he added, “It’s not the best place to meet guys, either.”
I agreed. I hadn’t been there very long, but I already knew how small a city Vegas could be. Plus, being a party city, the odds were already stacked against you. Most of the local guys I knew worked in nightlife, living like a bunch of perennial Peter Pans with their pick of the women circling through the revolving doors, so you could forget having an easy time finding anything serious.
“I’ll miss you,” I said. And I meant it. Despite the heat, I didn’t make a move toward the door. I wanted to enjoy my last few moments alone with Kent. He was moving on toward the life that was right for him and I was happy to have him as a friend, which we all know is better than a roll in the hay, anyway.
“I’ll miss you, too,” he said, leaning over to give me a hug. After he pulled away, we stood there for another minute, before he shot me that million-dollar smile. “Come on, doll, we got a show to do.”
I turned back around and did what I do best—buried myself in work. I was steady in my resolve that there wasn’t any time for romance in my life . . . or so I thought.
C HAPTER 4
“But, I don’t understand,” said Dorothy, in bewilderment. “How was it that you appeared to me as a great Head?”
“That was one of my tricks,” answered Oz. “Step this way, please, and I will tell you all about it.”
—L. Frank Baum, The Wonderful Wizard of Oz
I ’m going to give you one more chance, and then I’m going to have to kick you out of here,” warned a stern-faced woman with a name tag that read “Suzie.”
“Okay, sorry,” Nancy grumbled. The former nightclub host was celebrating her new job as an assistant to Eric J. Parkington, a handsome investment banker who split his time between New York and Las Vegas (the same one, incidentally, who had sent me a bottle of Dom at the Privé appearance). At the Peppermill (a Las Vegas landmark that’s equal parts coffee shop and seventies-style lounge), each table is topped with a small shaker of multicolored sugar crystals, intended for coffee, but which Nancy had decided to use as her own makeshift confetti. When a showerof sugar landed in Hannah’s iced tea, the situation escalated into a full-on sucrose war.
“I’m on a diet, bitch!” Hannah joked as she grabbed the sugar from the next table and started dumping it down Nancy’s shirt. Flying sugar rainbows somehow didn’t seem out of place in this twenty-four-hour establishment. After all, we were sitting under mirrored ceilings in booths outlined in strips of neon, surrounded by synthetic cherry blossom trees. The loud peals of laughter coming from our table had attracted the attention of the entire diner, including Suzie, the manager on duty.
“You guys need to calm down,” she said firmly, “and enough with the sugar.”
She grabbed the shakers off the table and disappeared behind one of the many artificial trees that populated the restaurant’s interior.
Nancy wasn’t the only
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