Chapter

    12

I passed the letter over to the young lady behind the counter. “I realize, I’ve arrived without any reservation or even the courtesy of a call to...”  I had to glance down at the name, “...to Mr. Orlando, but if it’s possible, his invitation would be a pleasant diversion for a couple of days.”

The reservation clerk, whose tentative response suggested she might have just started, gave me one of those, “I’m-not-sure-how-important-you-are-but-I-hadn’t-better-screw-up,” looks. “Would you excuse me, Mr. Stevens. I’ll check with our VIP reservations and see if we can accommodate you today.”

“Thank you.” I turned around. Sara was facing my direction in a sort of awe-struck expression. I realized she was taken aback by the fifty-foot long aquarium that provided the back wall of the Mirage’s reservation counter.

“Sharks mingling with the minnows,” she said. “Are they warning us?”

I grinned back. “Guess we’ll find out.”

“My, my,” the unseen voice said.

I turned to my left and was greeted by the outstretched hand of a short, stocky, very well dressed and tanned man in his fifties. He was giving me the precise kind of look you’d expect from management in welcoming someone who had just arrived in a white Rolls with a beautiful lady on his arm, even if that someone was wearing jeans and a T- shirt. I hadn’t thought about it till now, but if Charlie Stevens was so important to get an invite from the hotel manager, how he looked probably didn’t matter. Or did it? By this guy’s whispered comment and the pat on my behind, I wasn’t altogether sure. “She’s a wonderful cover, Charlie.”

Now, I was a grown man and all that, even though some of my feelings were a little on the innocent side, but I didn’t know how to respond to his pat on my ass, especially when his hand was still there. I shifted to my left and took Sara’s arm. Who was this guy and how was I supposed to react? I responded with “Well, you know…”

I realized what a dumb comment that was when he flashed a patronizing smile at both of us and took Sara’s hand. “Oh, yes I do Charlie. I’ll not say a word, Miss... “

I should have seen this coming by Sara’s painted-on ear-to-ear smile, but I was still dealing with the surprise of his hand on my ass.

“Ms. to you asshole.  Ms. Reynolds,” she said as she gripped his hand like a woman possessed. “And I’m not his cover.” She leaned down into his ear and lowered her voice, “I’m his husband, so fuck off.”

Now that little bit of theatrics would have scared most people, right? Not him. He merely bowed as she released his hand. “Love it. Love it,” he whispered back. He then snapped his fingers toward one of the bellmen. “Mr. Orlando will be so pleased. Oh, Mary?”

The girl behind the counter answered, “Yes, Mr. Benoit.”

“Mr. Orlando’s suite for Mr. Stevens, and a bottle of his private stock.” He turned back to me, “Room temperature, right?”

I tried to answer with some semblance of control, but it was coming too fast for me to handle.

Sara was still with it though, Lauren Bacall voice and all. “With a warm wedge of Brie,” she answered. “I’m keeping his libido toned.”

That got a final muffled laugh from him as he shook both our hands and wished both my husband and I a pleasant stay.

A few minutes later, we were finally alone in what had to be one of the most lavish and richly appointed hotel accommodations anywhere in Las Vegas.

After reflecting on Benoit and having an extended laugh, the kind of laugh that’s infectious to the degree of making you nauseous, we sat down and calmly opened our bottle of Latour ‘61. We giddily raised our glasses. “What should we toast, Sara?”

She took a breath, paused a moment, her expression returning to normal once again, and said, “To our stay. May it prove to be more than just a good laugh.” We clinked our glasses and paused for a somber moment. She cautiously took my hand as we peered out over The Strip. “What if there are a lot of people out there that know you, Charlie?  People like Benoit.” She burst out laughing again, then stopped abruptly. “You do feel like a good boy, right?”

“Not with you.”

“Good.” As her hand found its way under my T-shirt, I knew those were going to be the last words from our mouths for a while.

Later, as Sara and I wandered around the Casino, I decided that blackjack would be a fun way to play with some of the money I had up till now only spent on therapy.

In the suite that afternoon, as a tailor fitted me to a tux, I began studying the game of blackjack. It took me just two to three hours at the TV to feel confident as the instructor on the cable station covered everything and made it appear an easy game to play. I just hoped it was as easy to win.

At my insistence, that same two hours was spent by Sara finding some new clothes. When she returned with two bellmen assisting her with the boxes, it was obvious she had enjoyed herself.

Once the bellmen left, however, she was most apologetic and uncomfortable with spending most of the five thousand I’d given her. “My God, Charlie, I can’t believe how expensive everything was. I can’t believe I spent it all. That was like being high or drunk or something. I really feel bad now. “

“Well,” I countered, “I’m supposed to be rich, so enjoy it. I’ve been learning how to spend much more than that and... “ I looked at my watch. It was seven o’clock. “Hey, we better hurry. Dinner in thirty. I made a reservation at Antionette’s… rated as the best French food in town.”

Walking through the Casino on our way to dinner was an experience. Not only was Sara absolutely stunning in her new plain long black silk gown and strand of pearls, but the admiring looks confirmed for me that the schoolteacher look wasn’t exactly her. She not only had elegant taste but knew what to do with it.

I was enjoying this. I was surprised and somewhat cautious with my reactions, but yes, I was definitely beginning to feel more comfortable with Charlie Stevens. I was starting to understand this mysterious man of wealth that Mr. Orlando had invited into what must be a small but exclusive circle of V.I.P’s. I was discovering new feelings. I was accepting my complex personality more. One moment a conservative and serious Charles, the next a flamboyant and fun-loving Charlie. That was okay, wasn’t it? I knew other people who were just as complex. It was okay. Yes.

As we approached the front entrance to climb into our waiting Rolls, I caught the nod of Mr. Benoit out the corner of my eye. He gave us both a special acknowledgment with his “wrist” wave. It was still hard to believe the Stevens he thought he knew was the Stevens I was experiencing. Were there some memories I didn’t want to recall… some I’d left behind here in that other lifetime?

As the waiter sat us, I took a moment to appreciate what I had. Sara was becoming very special to me. I wondered if feeling this way was common to the Charlie of yesterday. Had I always respected women? Or was I one of those obnoxious jocks I saw all around me? The kind that drags their women around like trophies they’re entitled to use and abuse. Or worse yet, the kind the daily paper and TV news were always telling us about, the ones making up the epidemic of wife beating, date rape and other acts of violence toward women.

I took my mind off the thought and gazed at Sara as her fingers delicately lifted the water glass to her lips. Again, I flashed back on my first impression of her in Death Valley, the jilted woman that for all her feminine charm, had a reserve of four-letter words that could embarrass a truck driver. “Where did you pick up such a vocabulary?” I asked.

“Beg your pardon,” she replied.

“I’m sorry.  I was just thinking out loud.”

 “About?”

“About how different you look than when I first met you.”

“Oh,” she said with a grin of embarrassment, “you should forget that. You caught me in a moment of weakness. When I think back, I can’t believe I bought into his kind.”

“I just remember how together you were.”

 “I thought I came apart, quite frankly.”

I smiled across the table to her. “Just enough to get rid of him. I’m thankful for that.”

She smiled back, understanding the full meaning of my thought. “You’re welcome, Charlie.”

It was hard to not stay transfixed on those eyes of hers, but I broke away and glanced about the room. Three waiters were standing close by, each with an awareness of our every move. The moment I leaned back and picked up the wine menu, the first waiter was there to top up Sara’s water, while the other two waited for their respective cues.

The one with the wine key hanging around his neck was especially attentive.

“So, how about some wine?” I said to Sara. I motioned, and the steward was at our table in a flash, gushing with service, service, service. “Madame, Monsieur?”

“Would you have a bottle of Bordeaux, Latour ’61?”

 “Right away, Monsieur.”

As he scooted toward the wine cellar, I picked up the dinner menu. “And now, let’s see how we can pamper our stomachs. I’m not much good at...” I stopped dead.

“What’s the matter?” she asked.

I calmly closed the menu.  Inside, I wasn’t so calm.

 “Charlie? You’re white as a ghost.”

“I seem to be able to read French,” I muttered back.

Sara started to grin, then realized what my realization meant to me, and stopped. “That’s great, Charlie. Don’t let it bother you. Just another discovery that... “

“Don’t patronize me, Sara,” I snapped. “The menu’s as easy to read in French as English. Where does that come from?”

“Jesus, you are upset.”

As I continued to scan the menu, she glanced about the room. No one had noticed my loud voice, however. No one except the more senior of the two waiters standing close by. He was at my side in an instant.

“Is there anything wrong, Monsieur?”

“Just the menu,” I said. “Nothing to trouble yourself about.” I motioned him away.

He immediately opened a menu in an effort to understand my reaction.

Sara squirmed in her chair. “That wasn’t very polite, motioning him... “

“Sara, please.” I took a breath. “I’m sorry. It’s just a little frightening to ...I don’t know.” I glanced at the menu again. “Do you speak French?”

She nodded. “Not very well, but I took it in college.”

I closed the menu and pondered a moment. Of course the closing of the menu signaled the waiter back and I gave him the entire order in French, soliciting a respectful acknowledgment and a gracious bow.

As he left the table, I turned to Sara. “What was the bow all about?”

“A Frenchman usually looks with disdain on Americans murdering his language. He was pleased,” she said.

We enjoyed our wine and the dinner in relative silence, avoiding any further focus on my revelation. It wasn’t until we were on our way back to the hotel that I asked, “It felt natural, very natural. That language felt as natural as English. What does that tell you?”

She tried to lighten my mood and responded with, “It tells me you are very sexy, suave, and someone that women will try to take away from me. I can’t let that happen, can I?” She leaned across the back seat and kissed me. A long kiss.

I was somewhere between the back seat of the Rolls and heaven when my ears told me Jamison was very quietly sliding the glass petition shut, allowing Sara to seal me away in her cocoon like embrace. Tucking, sliding, gently pulling me down and away from the Strip lights intruding through the windows, I remember her saying, “I love you Charlie. I love you.”

Over the next hour, my eyes occasionally opened to see the fading glare of the Las Vegas lights as Jamison, being the wise and experienced chauffeur, continued driving farther away from the busy city.

When we finally did come out of our seemingly endless moment of passion, I realized Jamison had found a large industrial parking lot and had been driving in circles. I straightened my jacket and tie and tapped on the glass.

He opened it with, “Yes sir. How may I help you?”

I burst out laughing. I lost it. Sara lost it. Even Jamison lost it. I had found another friend. “Return us to the palace at once, coachman!” I ordered.

“Without delay, my Lord. At once.” He slid the glass shut and sped across the empty lot toward the dazzling lights of our kingdom for the next very long day.