Richfield & Rivers Mystery Series 2 - Stellium in Scorpio (3 page)

"Relax,
I didn't even
bring
'Constant Craving,'" I assured him. "How
about 'Big Boned Gal'?" I asked the big-boned dog who was always there for
me. I cued it up and we bobbed our heads in unison to the bouncy country beat
as we drove across the sand.

Slowing
down to round the bend toward Barstow, I passed the coveted triangle of sand
occupied by itinerant vendors. Today an elderly man had lined the roadside with
an overwhelming array of pink plastic flamingos. The sight of the plastic lawn
ornaments bobbing in the wind cheered me up. If this guy thought he could sell
lawn ornaments in the desert, I should be able to sell a movie to CBS!

I
cranked up the radio and stepped on the gas, whipping past scraggly sage and
Joshua trees, singing the auction song about falling in love with a lady in the
second row. By the time I hit the Nevada line, I was wired on coffee and
country music.

Four
and a half hours and three hundred and fifty miles later, I rounded the bend on
I-15 and exited onto the avenue of strange geometric shapes that made up the
Vegas skyline: lions, pyramids, castles, Roman amphitheaters, and lights as far
as the eye could see. They flashed and spun and spelled out messages. Giant
spotlights that fanned the sky, beckoning us to look where they pointed, lights
of every size and color and description, setting the anachronistic landscape of
pyramids and palaces aflame in an over-the-top electrical outburst that
appeared to have been designed by aliens on acid.

"Okay,
Elmo, we're here. Check it out." Elmo stood up and looked left to right
through the front windshield at the bright lights on the horizon. "You
know how you like to gnaw on a bone or play ball when you're bored? Well, Vegas
is what people do when they're bored." Elmo let out a long, low groan and
flopped back down on the leather upholstery. "You're right. It wears you out
just looking at it."

I
was chatting with Elmo to keep from focusing on my churning stomach, not
wanting to admit what a wreck I was over seeing Callie again. It had been so
long, I could barely remember the small things about her features. I could
picture her ethereal blue eyes, but not her ears, her beautiful big smile, but
not her hands, her body nude, but not in specific detail, just in its small,
exquisite entirety. When I thought of her, I had feelings rather than visuals,
which was odd because she was so smashingly beautiful. I remembered the first
night I'd laid eyes on her in Tulsa. She'd kissed me so passionately I'd almost
had a physical meltdown. Nonetheless, she insisted at the outset that she
wasn't going to sleep with me. It was odd, in one minute, to be kissed with
such obvious longing and then to be summarily rejected for any further pleasure
the next. Because she was so fabulous looking, I assumed she must have slept
with a lot of people and was suffering an elegant ennui, a disinterest in yet
another love affair. Persistence being my strong suit, I finally got her into
bed with me. We were wild for each other, but at the moment of surrender,
Callie pulled away, admitting the reason she didn't want to sleep with me was
her fear that she wouldn't be able to give herself to someone after so many
years of determining not to. Our romance, which lasted only a few weeks, was
erotic but erratic, certainly not the traditional gay relationship to which I
was accustomed. This one was different, but then Callie Rivers was completely
different from anyone I'd ever known. She had an assuredness about her that emanated
from her total belief in spirituality and the cosmos and a vulnerability about
her that sprang from a childlike innocence.

I
don't want to admit it, but I 'm, well, might be,
at least I could see myself—definitely with her,
I thought, confusing even
myself.

"There's
a possibility that we won't even connect like we did in L.A.," I said to
Elmo. "That happens, you know. If that's the case, well then, you and I will
just go home." Elmo let out a long, loud sob.

"That's
right, and cry!" I laughed at his vocalizing. "Don't worry. Deep
down, I know that you and I and Callie Rivers belong together," I said to
reassure myself.

Winding
down the avenue, past the Tropicana and the MGM Grand, alongside the gargantuan
statues in front of Caesar's Palace, and beyond the hoopla of Circus Circus, I
inched my way through bumper-to-bumper traffic until I eased into the valet
parking circle in front of the Desert Star. A valet parker wearing a large
purple turban and billowing knee-high pants swept open my car door with a bow
and tried to usher me out onto the pavement. I took the parking stub and
insisted on parking my own car. I found a parking space in the shade about a
hundred feet from the hotel, fluffed up the pillow I'd brought Elmo, gave him a
dog bone, and cracked the windows.

"You're
safe here. I'm paying the guy in the weird hat to keep an eye on the car, and
if anyone does try to open the door, you have my permission to bite him. I'll
be back for you in a little while. Wish me luck, buddy." I gave him a kiss
on his head. I could feel his soft brown eyes on me as I crossed the parking
lot to the hotel entrance, where another turbaned employee ushered me through
the large gold and glass hotel doors. A blast of cold air hit me along with the
sounds of slot machines and happy revelers creating a comforting background
walla that beckoned me to forget my other life.

I
scanned the horizon: Million Dollar Slots, Star Roulette, Keno Desert Star
Style, Free Buffet, Star Poker, Blackjack, and Craps. I was looking for
something a little more mundane, like the ladies' room and a bar girl. I found
the former and ducked inside to freshen up, staring at my ashen face in the
mirror. I definitely needed a break.
Fatigue and no rouge are a bad
combination,
I thought. I dipped my fingertips under the faucet and flipped
the droplets vertically through my punked auburn hair with its newly
highlighted blond streaks and commanded the spikes to stand at attention. I
washed my hands, took out my sage eyeliner, and gave my green eyes a little
color, adding mascara to my already long eyelashes. My eyes were one of my best
features. I knew that because people constantly complimented me on them. The glint
of gold was back in them now. After all, they were about to see my future.
Finally, I put on lip liner, lipstick, and a touch of rouge, noted that my
jeans had a chocolate stain on one leg and that my white shirt looked a bit
used from lifting Elmo in and out of the car, but after all, I'd been
traveling. I flipped the shirt collar up slightly and noted that I was looking
taller than my 5'7" only because I'd lost ten pounds, thanks again to
Callie Rivers.
Here goes,
I thought and headed back out into the hubbub
in search of the lounge. A friendly change girl pointed the way.

The
lounge was nestled back in the far corner of the hotel. I spotted Callie seated
across the room on a red velvet-tufted ottoman and wearing what looked like a
white Chanel suit. I had to remind myself to breathe. She was literally
breathtaking. I was certain it was no accident that she'd picked a location
where the overhead lights would bounce off her swept-back, Norwegian-blond
hair, making her look like a movie star from some long-forgotten era. My entire
body went weak when I saw her. The connection I felt for her was inexplicable.
It was as if I'd been hypnotized by her. I moved toward her as if reeled in on
a magnetic wire, unaware of people parting to get out of my way. She turned and
looked over her shoulder, catching my eye as if she'd sensed my presence. Her
smile was electric. I had never felt such heat from so far away, as if a piece
of the sun had broken off and landed at my feet: a gift from the gods.

A
slightly tipsy fiftyish man who was about my height stood beside her trying to
strike up a conversation. She leapt to her feet and said breathlessly,
"I'm so glad you're here!" I fell into her arms, swept away in her
sheer sensual warmth, like that first blast of heat as one stands in front of a
fire on a cold winter's night. I could have stayed there, warming myself in her
for hours. When she tried to pull away, I refused to let her go. Gone was any
thought of being reserved because of her having put off our reunion.

"Don't
you look great," I whispered, as my eyes met hers.

"Do
you think you should let go of me?" she asked. "Before you singe my
suit?" Her mouth brushed my lips, sending seismic waves of heat rippling
through my body.

"Are
we checked in? Let's check in," I breathed as the inebriated man wedged
himself between us.

"You
gonna introduce me to your friend?" the man asked Callie, his stale breath
hitting me full in the face.

"Fella,
I've had a bad day in L.A., so how about leaving us alone?" I said in my
friendliest and most tolerant manner.

"Maybe
you meet my friend Paco." He slid his hand into the pocket of his baggy
silk pants. His fingers moved up and down inside the loose pocket like a hand
puppet straining to escape. "Paco, say hello to the nice lady." The
bobbing cloth lunged at my thigh and suddenly pinched me. I took a step
backward, shocked at having my skin mashed in a public place by a total
stranger pretending to have a friend in his pocket. Callie couldn't suppress a
giggle as she told the drunken man he should leave us alone.

"Oh,
I get it." He dragged the words out. "You two are dykes."

It
was bad timing on his part. As we say in Oklahoma, I'd "had an
ass-full" for one day. I spun my body around, keeping my arm bent at waist
level, and buried my elbow under his left rib. He doubled over and groaned.
Callie grimaced, and I realized once again that knowing how to defend myself
had always been a two-edged sword. I signaled for the bartender to come over
and give me a hand, explaining that a man had just suffered an accident.

The
young bartender bounded around the brass-studded leather bar and got the man by
the arm, asking how he'd injured himself.

"With
his mouth," I replied.

The
bartender grinned at me and said it happened a lot around here. He led the half-drunk
man away explaining that he was an old-time club performer, a regular at the
hotel, and sometimes he drank a little too much and lost his manners.

Callie
studied the pattern on the carpet. "You've got Mars square Mars today. It
means you could get into a fight with someone, most likely a man."

"Men
only know three labels: bitch, whore, dyke."

"You
need to unwind," Callie said. "I ordered you a drink, because our
room's not ready. In fact, no rooms are ready." As I began to moan, Callie
interrupted, taking my hand. "I've missed you, and I can't wait to get
into bed with you. I intend to ravage you," she said, barely moving her
lips, her facial expression as serene as Grace Kelly's. I burst out laughing.

"Well,
now that I know your intentions, I can relax."

"Tell
me about your meeting," she said.

I
told her about Granger and Nan trying to rewrite the movie in the CBS lobby
five minutes before the pitch and how I'd made the silent decision on the walk
to Marshall Tevachney's office to pitch the show as I'd developed and written
it.

"So
we said our hellos to Marshall and I started the pitch. Bobby Jo was a
raw-boned girl from Alabama. The director interrupted and said, 'Who has one
leg?' Then I said, Bobby Jo had no idea that the cowboys she'd befriended that
night would turn on her. She'd known one of them for years. The director added,
'They knew each other in the veterans' hospital where Bobby Jo was fitted for
her prosthesis!'" Callie giggled as my voice rose. "Now she's not
only one-legged, but she's in a veterans' hospital, for God's sake! What the
hell's she doing in a veterans' hospital! Did she go there for a sex change
right after she served as a colonel in the war? Tevachney's head was whipping
back and forth between the two of us like he was watching a ping-pong match. At
the end of the pitch, he couldn't have repeated the storyline if I'd paid him a
million bucks."

Callie
insisted that he actually liked it. I protested loudly, saying he didn't even
know what the movie was about. She smiled and said it didn't matter because it
had excited him, and that seemed to ignite Callie. "Let's go see if we can
get into our room." Callie gave me a seductive smile, as if my animated
pitch had somehow turned her on.

I
carried my drink with me to the registration desk, where a friendly young girl
dressed in a silky bejeweled costume beamed at us from behind a large name tag
that said Harem Girl Gloria. She took our names and located us in the vast
computer system, informing us that we were in room 712 and it was ready. When I
asked if that was a nonsmoking room, she said no. Callie insisted she'd
requested nonsmoking. Gloria said she hadn't. We argued back and forth with
her, and the vibes became less pleasant with every passing second. Life in
Vegas was becoming as difficult as life in L.A. Finally, Callie stepped in
front of me, partially blocking my view of Gloria, and addressed her directly.

"My
friend has had a very trying day, and I wanted this experience to be relaxing
for her. So far it's not turning out that way."

"I
can't help that." Gloria's harem veil sucked in and out with each breath.

"I
really need a nonsmoking room." Callie's tone remained even. Gloria paused
and locked eyes with Callie. There was silence, and then Harem Girl Gloria's
fingers smashed down on the computer keys as if she were cutting the heads off
chickens.