Stripped (23 page)

“Linda, they’re not children anymore.”

“They’re
my
children!”

“Give me your hand, Em, and we’ll just walk away. Together,” Stone says to me, trying to stay under the radar, using the cover of our parents’ erratic behavior and noise as they’re commiserating and arguing around us. “We can lock ourselves in our room until they get the message that we’re not coming out until they all go the hell away.”

I open my mouth to answer when several very large men in blue uniforms stalk up to our gathering, nearly surrounding us.

“Hotel security,” the biggest one says in a gruff tone.

“Are you Sylvester Stallone?” my mom asks, hopping into the middle of the fray. “You look just like him!”

My dad rolls his eyes.

“No, ma’am, I am not. This entire meeting needs to move out of here.”

Maybe because I’m the closest to him—or maybe because I’m the centerpiece in this mega-display of crazy—Sylvester lays his hand on my shoulder and tugs me away.

At the exact same time, Stone and my dad demand, “Get your hands off her.”

“Oh yeah? Which one of you is gonna make me?” Come to think of it, the guy sounds like Sylvester Stallone too. Maybe my mom was right after all?

“Mister, we’ll get the hell out of the hallway like you’ve requested, but she hasn’t given you any trouble or reason to be touching her so—”

“Hmm… I think I’ll put the cuffs on this one,” Sylvester says as a challenge to Stone. “You know I have the authority here, right?”

Random thought
: Maybe this, and everything else that happens in life, is serendipity—a happy accident. Maybe it’s the fates—creating chaos and weaving choices and scenarios for each of our lives. Maybe it’s just a security guard being a dick. Then again, maybe it just
is what it is
, and it’s our job to make the most out of our own happiness, despite whatever monkey shit gets thrown our way.

Stone launches himself at the gargantuan guard. I get shoved aside as the two of them go at it in a death match on the horribly patterned hotel rug—why do they make them look like that, anyway? They should have seizure warnings nearby.

Before he’s pulled off by the other security forces, one holding each limb, Stone gets a few good punches in and gives Sylvester a bloody nose.

His father looks proud. My father looks impressed and actually
less
angry than he has since he got here.

My mom is trying to convince me to escape through the laundry hatch on the other side of the hallway, while Linda stands back with her eyes closed—like maybe she can make the whole farce stop using sheer willpower. Glenda is laughing.

Vegas police now enter the scene and, of course, crowds are gathering in closer while recording or snapping photos.

“You’re under arrest,” the officer says to Stone.

“He started it! Mall-cop here was using unnecessary roughness with an innocent woman.”

“We’ll let the judge sort it out.”

Oh shit!
Judge!
Stone has another round in the competition coming up soon.

“Officer, can I just say—” Stone tries.

“Don’t make me Taser you,” he warns.

“Sir, you don’t under—” I begin and am immediately interrupted as he finishes cuffing Stone.

“Ma’am, stay back,” he says in a Robocop voice. “If you have information regarding the events you’re welcome to come to the precinct and file a report.” 

“You’re not going anywhere except for home,” my dad blusters as I watch them walk Stone away down the hall.

“EMELIE!” Stone’s raw shout startles me, and my hands fly up to cover my mouth as he twists in the cop’s hands to face me.

“I KNOW I REALLY BLEW IT. I SHOULD’VE TOLD YOU SOONER BUT I NEED YOU TO KNOW… BEFORE YOU LEAVE…”

I hold my breath.

“I LOVE YOU, EMELIE!” Stone shouts. “I’M IN LOVE WITH YOU!”

And it could be my imagination, but I swear I think I hear him say,
Don’t give up on me.

Chapter Twenty-two

Stone

It’s over

(Figuratively and literally)

The back of the cop car stinks—in so many ways!

It stinks because I’m in it!

It stinks because I’m going to miss the next dance session, which will put me in serious jeopardy of forfeiting the entire competition. And they might just boot my arse anyway for not showing up!

It stinks because it’s going to take me God only knows how many hours before the arrest is processed to get back to Emelie to tell her I love her
again
, the right way, instead of shouting it like a madman while being dragged away by cops in handcuffs!! I don’t even know if she heard me over all the noise and confusion.

It bloody well stinks because…

Because—

Fuck, I can’t even bring myself to think it.

Because all of her wishes just came true. She got her dream job with the prestigious New York Ballet. She can finally make her dad proud. She’ll go back to New York and everything will be wonderful for her.

What stinks most is that I’m
not
in any of those plans.

As sure as the back of this squad car smells like old spilt beer and stale sweat.

What stinks, too, is that I won’t even get the chance to say goodbye. I’m sure her father is getting her into a speedy taxi, headed for the airport at this very moment.

I’ll never see her again.

That bit of thought serves up a powerful fist right between my eyes. My nose stings and I feel my eyes tear up.

In the next couple weeks, I’ll go to the apartment and talk to Violet and Raphael, and they will have packed up all of Emelie’s stuff and mailed it back to New York for her.

The room she lived in for a time will look like an empty hotel room again, and all sign of Emelie ever having been there will be gone.

I lost the girl.

I lost the competition. I lost the respect of my parents. I’ve been arrested for assault and…

I lost the girl.

I could—and willingly
would
—give up any and all of those other things to keep Emelie.

I
shouldn’t
have kept the competition a secret from my parents.

I
should’ve
told Emelie that I loved her. Might’ve given her the chance to say it back—even just once. I would have liked to have heard that. Very much.

It doesn’t take long to get to the police station, but when we get there it’s nothing short of a bloody circus. I’m sat in a chair and cuffed to an adjoining bar so I can’t run off. I’m stuck between a bloke who looks old enough to be Father Time—long white beard and hair, smiles with only half a mouthful of teeth and looks like he’s going to keel over at any second—and a younger guy about my age dressed like a biker with some serious facial modifications going on.

It’s like I have a front row seat on the crazy train.

Women in strategically placed flouncy feathers walk by, along with three Elvises, a band of guys dressed like the Village People humming “YMCA,” and a dude in a Bart Simpson costume, to call out a few. During my extended wait, a group of hobos are released, a guy that looks like Al Capone is brought in, threatening everyone at the station with a Chicago-style accent, and as a scantily clad lady-of-the-night is processed, she throws a wink at me from over her shoulder.

When they finally come for me, it’s been over two and a half hours.

“You’re lucky. I’ve been sitting here forever,” Father Time tells me, making me wonder if it’s the truth.

I’m asked a hundred questions, have my mugshot taken, am fingerprinted, asked another hundred questions, and thrown into a holding cell.

The wall clock proves I’ve been here nearly five bloody hours.

Emelie could be halfway home to New York by now.

I try to console myself with the thought that at least we’ll talk on the phone to say our goodbyes and have-a-good-life speeches.

Then she’ll delete my number. And all the photos we took together. There will be no more embarrassing ringtones, no more wild road trips or sexy impromptu selfies… no more of her sweet laughter or twinkling eyes to get lost in, no more staying up until all ungodly hours of the night talking because I’d do
anything
to keep her talking just so I can hear her voice.

I told her when we began our relationship that I’d be exclusively hers for as long as she’d have me.

I had totally meant it.

Now what we had will never have been long enough.

When I knew I had fallen in love with her, I should have told her. I shouldn’t have waited. I shouldn’t have been so careful not to put any pressure on her. I was only trying to protect her and let her make up her mind to stay or go without added stress, but it only bit me in the arse in the end.

I’m guessing she hadn’t even heard me yell my profession of love in that hallway— action-grip-cop certainly didn’t let me turn to get a look at her face, so I have no way of knowing for sure.

Now I’m stuck in this hole with no way to bloody fix it.

Think about it, Stone. What a great impression that would’ve made on her already upset parents to have me blustering through the hotel that I loved their daughter right before being stuffed into the back of a police cruiser. Not to mention the impression it would have made on Emilie herself.

Oh yes, Emelie, he’s definitely the one! Yeah, right.

They’re going to hate me forever anyway. The stripper who was the worst mistake of Emelie’s life—that’s how I’ll go down in the history books with her father, anyway.

“Hey, man! I’ve seen you before,” a guy says from behind me. I ignore him, but he doesn’t stop there. “You’re that stripper,” he says as he drunk-walks towards me and stumbles into my arms.

Whew! Guess this cell serves as the holding tank too.

“I’ve watched you and your girl on YouTube,” he slurs, delighted.

“She’s not my girl.” I sour.

His dark brow creases. “Are you gay or something? I mean it’s cool if you are.”

“No, I’m not gay,” I retort, then soften. “She had another life waiting for her and she chose it.”

“Did you fight for her?” He makes a weak fist, tries to swing, and almost falls to the floor. I sit the older man gently back on the bench.

“When I could, of course I did.”

“How about when it counted the most?”

God that stings. To say I tried sounds lame, even to me. “Look, I’m not trying to be rude, mate, but this has been
the
bloody worst day of my life and I really don’t want to talk about it with you. Or anyone.” I go back to peering between the cell bars.

“Worst day
ever
?”

“Worse than when I got injured on the footy field and lost my scholarship.”

“If you could go back and do anything over, what would it be?”

Maybe I’d start with the wish I made on the airplane that night, and I’d wish to nullify her wish,
I think. I could be a dick like that—instead of wishing that all her dreams would come true, like I had.

“Did you tell her you loved her?”

“Yeah. But it was too late. I’m not even sure she heard me.”

“She heard you,” a familiar voice says.

“DAD!”

“I always figured I’d have to bail you out of jail at least once. I’m surprised it took you so long.”

“She heard me, Dad? Are you sure?”

“Son, everybody has heard you by now. Your heartfelt declaration is probably on every social media site, working its way onto the most watched video list.”

A spark of hope shoots through me that she actually heard me, but it’s quickly snuffed out.

“I blew it so bad. I should’ve told her how I felt sooner.”

“We all blow it, son,” he tells me. “It’s the high testosterone levels.”

“But, Dad, she’s the one.
My one
!”

“I know that’s how you feel, Stone.” He sets a loving hand on my shoulder.

“I have to get her back. Is she—?”

“Gone? At the hotel?” my dad guesses. “I don’t know. After everything happened, she disappeared with her folks, and that’s the last time I saw any of them.”

All of the air in my lungs deflate.

On our way out, an officer hands me a large manila envelope containing my belongings.

I ask, “Hey, is that guy I was sharing the cell with going to be okay?”

“Ol’ Hank?” The cop smiles. “He’s a celebrity here—world record holder for marrying the most couples in Vegas, ten years running. They say if he blesses the marriage you have a fifty-fifty shot of actually staying together.”

My dad and I give each other a confused look.

The cop continues, “He likes to celebrate with his champagne a little too much. He’ll be just fine.”

My dad and I walk out front, and he hails a taxi while I dig out my mobile.

“Shit!”

“What is it?”

“My battery’s dead.” I curse again.

“It’s not far to the hotel. You can charge it and—”

I grab his and dial her number. It goes straight to voicemail.

“I’m a fool.” I’ve never felt so defeated. “She’s gone. She signed that contract. The end.”

“What contract?”

I explain everything in the taxi on the way back to the hotel.

“I should’ve told you and Mum what I was doing. I’m old enough to make my own decisions, but out of respect I should’ve told you I’d be pursuing this.”

“I’ll accept that apology, if you’ll accept mine.”

“What do you have to be sorry for?”

“You’re a grown man. This is your life, not ours. You’re too old to have mine or your mum’s fears holding you back. Choose your own path—even if it’s something we don’t agree with—’cause at the end of the day you’re going to be the one looking at the mirror wondering if you lived your life to the fullest. If that means dance for you, I support you one hundred percent.”

He means it. My mum will probably be more headstrong, but my dad will talk her down. “Thanks, Dad. That means a lot to me,” I say sincerely as we pull into the hotel parking lot. 

“Hey, look at the sign!” He points out the large banner over the hotel entrance archway welcoming dancers and ticketed spectators to the next round of auditions for
Then Prove You Can Dance
being held in the Tiki Ballroom until midnight. “It’s not over, Stone. You’ve still got a real shot of advancing. I’d love to stay and watch you dance.”

“I don’t feel like dancing.” I don’t want to do it without her. Especially not right now.

“Stone, you came all this way and have gone through all this shit! Crikey, son, will ya dance already?”

I follow my dad into the auditorium, but I’m fucking stripped.

Wrecked beyond repair.

Before we came back down, I checked mine and Emelie’s room. All of her stuff was gone—all her clothes, her shampoo and perfume. Nothing left of her. Even room service had come and changed the bedding.

It was as if she were never there.

After I showered and changed, I checked my charged mobile for any messages and texts.

Any hope I had was blown out, easy as a match.

Nothing.

I met my dad in the lobby. My mum and Glenda were waiting with him. I prepared for another onslaught from my mum, but instead she wrapped her arms around my neck and told me she loved me. My sister gave me a soft, sympathetic look that brought me right back to that night at Foreplay when I’d first seen Emelie and had chased her into the parking lot, only to find her already gone.

Quietly, the four of us go in and find some seats in the back. The auditorium is packed wall to wall with dancers and spectators. I can’t help but scan my eyes through the crowd for her, but all I see are backs of heads. She wouldn’t be here anyway.

My Emelie Cartier is long gone.

There is a guy on the stage doing a jazz routine, and I wonder how long ago the auditions started. It’s possible they called my name and I wasn’t here—would they have crossed it out and moved on or would they have circled it and gone back? I think about trying to make my way up front to let them know I’m here and that I’m a contestant—I have my number—but they’re pretty guarded, and I’ve had enough confrontation for today. Maybe they’ll have an intermission.

Two more dancers perform and I’m burning up inside, feeling like instead of sitting here, I should be doing
something
…

I rub my forehead with my fingers, trying to get ahold of myself. That’s when I hear the extended song intro to “Shut Up and Dance”—Walk the Moon—that was our duet song!

Fuck this! I’m out of here!
I start to get up, but Glenda grabs my arm.

“Stone, look!”