What Goes On In Vegas...
For Shovelheat
from 
JoeUser Forums
JoeUser Forums
Shovelheat was the inspiration for the following piece. For those of you who read his blogs, I'm sure you will agree he has a unique turn of phrase and an ability to put the reader right into the scene. The following isn't an exercise in trying to mimic his writing ability but about having the courage to write something a little bit risque. The shame of it is Shovel's done some housekeeping and removed the post otherwise I'd link it. Maybe if we ask him kindly, he'll repost it. I've been real busy lately but I've finally got around to finishing the story. I wasn't exactly sure which way it would turn out myself but I'm kinda happy with the results. I will protect myself by calling it a first draft and hopefully those of you who take the time to read it will enjoy it.
She was a stunner. Legs climbed up from the red patent-leather stilettos and seemed to go on forever. Her ankles were slim, her calves almost sculptured. He followed them up, unable to draw his eyes away. He remembered an old saying from his military days; ‘Legs that go all the way up to her arse then make a pussy of themselves…’ He giggled into his drink, eyes never leaving her legs.
She had accentuated their length with black seamed stockings. They seemed so long they’d wrap around him twice, if ever he was lucky or privileged enough to be in that position. Her legs disappeared underneath a red mini skirt, though not one of those micro ones girls seemed to be so fond of these days and left nothing to a bloke’s imagination. He decided it was tasteful, if such a word could be used to describe a mini skirt. From there on up, she had a figure few women possess but many men desire.
Her waist dipped in then out, as true as a violin’s curves. All that was missing was the ‘f’ holes. She had on a crisp black blouse, tucked tightly into her skirt with a wide red belt holding the outfit together. Her dark auburn hair hung down to the middle of her back and looked to be expensively cut and kept.
From the side view he had, she didn’t appear to have large breasts. He didn’t like them too large anyway. Again he remembered something from years ago; ‘More than a handful is a waste’. Again, he giggled to himself. She must have heard because she looked over her shoulder at him. He looked down but not before catching her eyes. They were an incredible green colour, almost almond shaped and defined by thin lines of well-applied eyeliner. Her lips were the same red as her skirt and stilettos. She smiled at him. He went to mush and felt his face going red. He heard a husky giggle and looked back up. She was still looking at him and still smiling.
“You sure do blush, don’t you?” She was looking straight at him but he still couldn’t believe she was speaking to him.
“Er, ahhm, are you talking to me?” He realised how clichéd he sounded and he blushed again, to prove her point.
“Well, honey, there is no one else here in the room whose face is as red as my skirt.” She laughed again.
“Er, sorry, can’t help it.” He looked down at his drink and realised he needed another, quick smart. He took a quick look up and saw the woman had stood and was moving towards him. He looked back down at his drink, picked it up and drained it.
“Can I buy you another?” Her voice was every bit as sexy as her appearance. And she smelt so sweet and good, before he could stop it, he was becoming aroused. He quickly crossed his legs and, trying to divert her attention, nodded his head, embarrassingly over doing it.
“I’ll have a Jack and coke, please.” The woman raised her hand and the bar tender was in front of her, as if by magic.
“Can I get another for this fine man and my usual, please Stevie.” She sat down next to him, crossed her legs and smoothed creases out of the little bit of skirt covering them. “Well, if I’m buying you a drink, I better know your name, I guess. I’m Rosie.”
“Mark, my name is Mark.”
“Hi Mark, where you from?” Her accent was American, but he couldn’t say which part being as he wasn’t from the States.
“I’m from Sydney, Australia. Where are you from?”
“Whoa, you’re a long way from home, then.” She laughed but didn’t answer his question, not that it mattered. She was the sort of person who put everything into a laugh, her eyes, her body and her hands, which she clapped together in delight at her own humour. He watched as she laughed, her red lips reminding him of how long it had been since he’d slept with a woman other than his wife. He chased the thought away.
“So, Mark from Sydney, Australia, what are you doing in Vegas?”
“I’m here to report on an IT conference. I’m a journalist.”
“Oh, you’re a writer. How cool.”
“No, no, not a writer, a journalist. There is a difference. I’m not really creative. I just take facts and rework them so dumb people can understand them too.” He smiled at her, hoping she would understand he was joking. In response, she burst out laughing again, reaching out and tapping his knee.
“Oh, I’m sure you’re creative in ways you don’t even know.” She smiled at him, looking right into his eyes.
He laughed a bit too loudly, and then checked himself. The bartender put another drink in front of him. He thanked him and took a big swallow. The drink was really strong but good. He took another big swallow and looked back up at her. She was still staring at him. He felt a little blurry. The drink had been a lot stronger than he thought.
The next morning…
He woke up in a room similar to the room into which he had booked. The television, tuned to some evangelical channel but thankfully muted, flashed light across the headboard. He rolled over on his back and realised he was naked. The problem was he didn’t remember taking his clothes off. In fact, he didn’t remember much at all from about the time he and Rose had decided to move their little party back to his room.
“But this isn’t my room,” he said out aloud. There was no response. In fact, there was no sound at all in the suite except for the low hum of the AC unit on the wall. He sat up and groaned in pain. His back hurt, his legs hurt, in fact, there wasn’t a part on his body complaining about having to move.
He stood up, hobbled across to the television, and switched it off. The room plunged into semi-darkness. He hobbled back to the bedside table and switched on the table lamp. Then he looked around for his clothes. They weren’t on the bed, or on either bedside table. He hobbled to the bathroom, which was empty and clean. He felt as though he’d been kicked in the groin. He had a pee, threw some water on his face and grabbed a towel to wrap around himself.
He hobbled back into the main room and across to the windows. He pulled the curtains back. The bright sunlight dazzled him. He put his hands up to shade his eyes. He wondered what the time was. The bedside clock said it was 9:47. “Shit,” he thought, “I’m late.”
His hunt for his clothes began in earnest now. He opened drawers and cupboards and checked under the bed but still couldn’t find anything. He was really starting to panic when the phone rang. The voice on the other end sounded vaguely familiar. “Good morning, sleepy head. How are you? I hope you’re not too sore.” The voice then giggled throatily.
“Erm, well, I feel like I’ve been run over by a bus…”
The voice laughed again. “A bus? A bus! Oh, how charming. I’ve been compared to many things but not a bus. I hope you mean you’re feeling pretty good. You sure enjoyed yourself.”
He finally recognised the voice. “Rose?” His question was tentative at best.
“Of course, honey, who did you think it was? I hope you haven’t got sick of me already?” The laugh he’d started was still in her voice.
“Look, I don’t remember much of last night but I’m not in my room and I don’t have any clothes or my keys or my wallet, for that matter. You don’t know where they are, do you?”
“Yes, of course I do, Mark darling. In fact, I know where you live, where you work, and, most importantly, where your wife works. I’ve been toying with the idea of sending her one of the photos just to let her know what you’ve been up to while you’ve been away from her.” She didn’t laugh.
He looked at the phone. “Pardon?” There was no reply. He giggled a little to himself, and then said, “Hey, good one but where are my clothes?”
“I wasn’t joking, Mark darling. I am considering ringing your dear wife. I think I might tell her how much you enjoyed being my little bitch. I think I might tell her about how much you enjoyed being fucked up the arse, darling. I think she might be a little shocked to find out all about your… secret passion.” Now she laughed. However, the malice in the laugh was something new. He looked at the phone again then gently hung it up. It rang not even ten seconds later.
“This is either a really good joke or I’m in deep shit,” he thought. The phone rang insistently. “Oh, this is ridiculous,” he said aloud as he picked it up again. “Hello?”
“You hang up on me again and the next call I make will be to Amanda, okay?”
“Mandy,” he responded.
“What?”
“No one calls her Amanda. Her name is Mandy.” He wondered why he was telling her. He was talking to a woman who just threatened to call his wife and reveal his infidelity and here he was, telling her what to call his wife. Then the questions came, in a rush. “Why are you doing this? What do you want? What did I do to you?”
She laughed again, throaty and malicious. “Do you know what a mark is, Mark?” She laughed some more at the pun.
Her laugh was starting to get to under his skin. “What do you mean? Are you trying to con me?”
“Not con, honey, blackmail. I’m blackmailing you. I take it you’ve heard of blackmail in Australia?” Her sarcasm leeched what colour he had left from his face.
“Yes of course I know what blackmail is, but I can’t believe you’re blackmailing me.” He tried not to whine. His mind raced and he wondered if this was a dream. “Where are my clothes? Where are my things?”
“I’ve got to be sure you won’t go to the police. I will tell your wife everything, show her pictures, and show her video, if you go to the police. I mean it.”
He lost it. “Where are my fucking clothes? How can I do anything if I’m stuck in this fucking room without my clothes, without my wallet, without a fucking thing?” He fairly spat the last words out at the phone.
“Oh, where is that gentleman I met last night, Mark darling? Has he gone away? Is he hiding behind the scared little voice I hear now? Listen, I understand you’re upset. But if you don’t maintain some decorum…”
“Decorum! Fucking decorum! How can you say that when you know I’m standing here naked listening to some stupid bitch who tells me she’s blackmailing me? Fuck decorum and fuck you!” He nearly hung the phone up again but caught himself.
All through his little spit, she was calmly repeating his name. Now she said, “Have you finished? Are you feeling any better? Right now, I’m thinking I might just call your wife anyway. If I didn’t need the money you’re going to give me, I would do it just for a laugh.” She proved her words with another of her heartless giggles. “Now, Mark darling, I’m going to tell you what I want you to do and you’re going to listen carefully and not interrupt me, okay?”
She waited for him to say something. He didn’t so she continued. “I will be sending a bellhop up to the room with a change of clothes, a mobile phone, your wallet and some small change. There will also be an envelope. The envelope has some information in it to show you how serious I am. There are also some instructions you will need to follow in order for this thing to go smoothly. I don’t want any mistakes made otherwise your wife will get a phone call. Are we clear, Mark darling?”
“I don’t have much.”
“Have much what?”
“I don’t have much money. I don’t know what you think I have but I don’t have much.”
“Oh, don’t say that, Mark. I don’t care. You will pay me because you have no choice. Well, actually that’s not true. You do have a choice. But I’m sure you’d be happy to pay me, won’t you?”
He voiced his assent so softly she didn’t hear him. “Well, aren’t you, Mark darling?”
“How do I know you won’t call my wife anyway, I mean, once I’ve paid you?”
“Because this is a gentleman’s agreement and I am nothing if I’m not a gentleman.” She laughed heartily at this. He didn’t understand what was funny. He didn’t understand any of this. He felt sick, sore and desperately wanted to go home. “I will call you back in 2 hours, Mark. By then, you should have had time to think about what I’ve told you. I’ll call you in your room.”
There was a knock at the door at the same time as Rose hung up. He felt like he was in an element in a precisely planned manoeuvre, where everything was beyond his control. There was a louder knock at the door.
“Yes, coming…”
He opened the door to reveal the bartender from the previous evening, in a bellhop’s uniform, holding his clothes and a large envelope. He thrust the items at Mark without saying a word. He reached out and took them. The guy then turned around and walked away down the hall, still silent. Mark stepped back into the room, pushing the door closed behind him.
He sat on the edge of the bed and opened the envelope. He upended the contents onto the bed. Out fell his wallet, his mobile phone, his room key and finally, a smaller envelope. His wallet still had cash in it, although he could tell someone had been through it. Things weren’t in the usual places. His mobile phone was still on. He checked his call logs but it only showed the last call he made, to Mandy. He had no missed calls.
He then turned his attention to the smaller envelope, which was bulky in the middle and sealed. He tore it along the sealed edge. He felt the smooth surface of photo paper under his fingers. He tried to remember what happened but couldn’t recall a single moment after he’d left the bar downstairs.
He reached into the enveloped and found a video tape. It was titled “Rose and Mark - Copy”. Attached to it was a folded note. Mark undid it and opened it out. It was typed and unsigned. The note read:
You won’t be able to watch the tape until you get back to your room. But I want you to watch it. I want you to understand I’m not playing games. If you try to leave the Hotel, I will know. If you try to talk to Hotel Security, I will know. Put your clothes on and go back to your room. Watch the tape.
Mark screwed the note into a little ball and threw it across the room. Then he pulled the photos from the envelope. The first showed a man lying back on a bed with another man between his legs. The next shot showed the view from the other side. He threw the picture away in disgust. It was him. He was sucking the other guy off. He shook his head, trying to clear the weirdness he’d been feeling all morning. It didn’t work. He looked at the next picture. It showed him kneeling on the hotel bed with another man sodomising him. Mark gagged and ran for the bathroom. The ‘man’ sodomising him was Rose.
After he cleaned himself up, he came back into the room. The photos lay spread across the bed. He tried not to look as he gathered them up but he caught flashes of images. He featured in every one but he had no recollection of any of those moments.
He dressed and gathered up the items before leaving the room. He walked stiffly down the hall, understanding now why he was so sore. The bartender/bellhop was standing in the lift lobby. Mark walked pas him, ignoring him completely. He pressed the elevator call button and stood back to wait. The bellhop sniffed. Mark wanted to say something but didn’t have the words.
The elevator dinged and the doors opened. He stepped in and pressed his floor. As the doors started to close, the bellhop’s hand appeared and the door opened up. The bellhop stuck his head in the door, looked at the panel. He turned to Mark, nodded and smiled. Then he let the door shut. As it did, Mark flipped him the bird. The guy just smiled back.
Mark got off at his floor and walked to his room. He fumbled for the key and ended up dropping everything. As he bent down to pick it all up, he heard the elevator doors open. He looked up and his shadow stepped out of the other car. He leant back against the wall, without taking his eyes off him. Mark picked up everything, unlocked the door and went into the room. He slammed the door shut.
He showered, shaved, and made a cup of coffee. The sachets were stale and he had to use three before it tasted strong enough. He used his mobile to phone an associate. He lied and said he had a stomach complaint. His associate laughed and said his was usually bourbon but as it was Mark’s first time in Vegas, he’d forgive him.
Mark hung up, picked up the envelope and took out the video. He slipped the video into the machine and waited. The picture shook around before focussing on Rose, sitting on the edge of the bed, right arm around his shoulder. He looked to be either very drunk or sedated. He could see his head sagging against his chest. Rose used her other hand to lift his head up. She said something to the camera but, thankfully, there was no sound. She held a small vial up to his nose, and as he sniffed it, he jerked around like someone having a fit.
The picture shook again to show ‘Rose’ standing in front of Mark, with her skirt pulled up high. The cameraman moved around and she had ‘her’ penis in his mouth. Mark turned away from the television. The bastards had drugged him. It explained why he couldn’t remember anything. He’d been turned into a sick sex toy for a transvestite, transgender, whatever and that sleazy bartender/bellhop dude took the pictures. He wondered what the hell he was going to do. Then the phone rang.
78 hours and approximately 12500 kilometres away…
Mark walked out of the customs area of international departures. He was more tired than he’d ever been in his life. He was still physically sore from his ordeal. He stood at the carousel, waiting for his bags.
Getting the money had been a big hassle. But he got it and followed the delivery instructions to the letter. When he got back to his room, he found a package on his bed. It contained the negatives of the photos he had and a small video cassette for a camcorder, marked ‘Rose and Mark - Original’. He ripped up the photos and the negatives. He stomped on the cassette and snapped the tape. He threw the mess into a large bin at the end of the hall on his way out. He caught the next plane he could to LA. He had to wait at LAX for a while for a flight to Sydney. But finally, he was home.
His next problem was explaining where $10,000 of Mandy and his savings had gone. But hey, he’d been to the gambling capital of the world so he had plenty of excuses. So long as ‘Rose’ kept his word, no one would be the wiser. He hoped the ‘what goes on in Vegas stays in Vegas…’ adage proved true.
She was a stunner. Legs climbed up from the red patent-leather stilettos and seemed to go on forever. Her ankles were slim, her calves almost sculptured. He followed them up, unable to draw his eyes away. He remembered an old saying from his military days; ‘Legs that go all the way up to her arse then make a pussy of themselves…’ He giggled into his drink, eyes never leaving her legs.
She had accentuated their length with black seamed stockings. They seemed so long they’d wrap around him twice, if ever he was lucky or privileged enough to be in that position. Her legs disappeared underneath a red mini skirt, though not one of those micro ones girls seemed to be so fond of these days and left nothing to a bloke’s imagination. He decided it was tasteful, if such a word could be used to describe a mini skirt. From there on up, she had a figure few women possess but many men desire.
Her waist dipped in then out, as true as a violin’s curves. All that was missing was the ‘f’ holes. She had on a crisp black blouse, tucked tightly into her skirt with a wide red belt holding the outfit together. Her dark auburn hair hung down to the middle of her back and looked to be expensively cut and kept.
From the side view he had, she didn’t appear to have large breasts. He didn’t like them too large anyway. Again he remembered something from years ago; ‘More than a handful is a waste’. Again, he giggled to himself. She must have heard because she looked over her shoulder at him. He looked down but not before catching her eyes. They were an incredible green colour, almost almond shaped and defined by thin lines of well-applied eyeliner. Her lips were the same red as her skirt and stilettos. She smiled at him. He went to mush and felt his face going red. He heard a husky giggle and looked back up. She was still looking at him and still smiling.
“You sure do blush, don’t you?” She was looking straight at him but he still couldn’t believe she was speaking to him.
“Er, ahhm, are you talking to me?” He realised how clichéd he sounded and he blushed again, to prove her point.
“Well, honey, there is no one else here in the room whose face is as red as my skirt.” She laughed again.
“Er, sorry, can’t help it.” He looked down at his drink and realised he needed another, quick smart. He took a quick look up and saw the woman had stood and was moving towards him. He looked back down at his drink, picked it up and drained it.
“Can I buy you another?” Her voice was every bit as sexy as her appearance. And she smelt so sweet and good, before he could stop it, he was becoming aroused. He quickly crossed his legs and, trying to divert her attention, nodded his head, embarrassingly over doing it.
“I’ll have a Jack and coke, please.” The woman raised her hand and the bar tender was in front of her, as if by magic.
“Can I get another for this fine man and my usual, please Stevie.” She sat down next to him, crossed her legs and smoothed creases out of the little bit of skirt covering them. “Well, if I’m buying you a drink, I better know your name, I guess. I’m Rosie.”
“Mark, my name is Mark.”
“Hi Mark, where you from?” Her accent was American, but he couldn’t say which part being as he wasn’t from the States.
“I’m from Sydney, Australia. Where are you from?”
“Whoa, you’re a long way from home, then.” She laughed but didn’t answer his question, not that it mattered. She was the sort of person who put everything into a laugh, her eyes, her body and her hands, which she clapped together in delight at her own humour. He watched as she laughed, her red lips reminding him of how long it had been since he’d slept with a woman other than his wife. He chased the thought away.
“So, Mark from Sydney, Australia, what are you doing in Vegas?”
“I’m here to report on an IT conference. I’m a journalist.”
“Oh, you’re a writer. How cool.”
“No, no, not a writer, a journalist. There is a difference. I’m not really creative. I just take facts and rework them so dumb people can understand them too.” He smiled at her, hoping she would understand he was joking. In response, she burst out laughing again, reaching out and tapping his knee.
“Oh, I’m sure you’re creative in ways you don’t even know.” She smiled at him, looking right into his eyes.
He laughed a bit too loudly, and then checked himself. The bartender put another drink in front of him. He thanked him and took a big swallow. The drink was really strong but good. He took another big swallow and looked back up at her. She was still staring at him. He felt a little blurry. The drink had been a lot stronger than he thought.
The next morning…
He woke up in a room similar to the room into which he had booked. The television, tuned to some evangelical channel but thankfully muted, flashed light across the headboard. He rolled over on his back and realised he was naked. The problem was he didn’t remember taking his clothes off. In fact, he didn’t remember much at all from about the time he and Rose had decided to move their little party back to his room.
“But this isn’t my room,” he said out aloud. There was no response. In fact, there was no sound at all in the suite except for the low hum of the AC unit on the wall. He sat up and groaned in pain. His back hurt, his legs hurt, in fact, there wasn’t a part on his body complaining about having to move.
He stood up, hobbled across to the television, and switched it off. The room plunged into semi-darkness. He hobbled back to the bedside table and switched on the table lamp. Then he looked around for his clothes. They weren’t on the bed, or on either bedside table. He hobbled to the bathroom, which was empty and clean. He felt as though he’d been kicked in the groin. He had a pee, threw some water on his face and grabbed a towel to wrap around himself.
He hobbled back into the main room and across to the windows. He pulled the curtains back. The bright sunlight dazzled him. He put his hands up to shade his eyes. He wondered what the time was. The bedside clock said it was 9:47. “Shit,” he thought, “I’m late.”
His hunt for his clothes began in earnest now. He opened drawers and cupboards and checked under the bed but still couldn’t find anything. He was really starting to panic when the phone rang. The voice on the other end sounded vaguely familiar. “Good morning, sleepy head. How are you? I hope you’re not too sore.” The voice then giggled throatily.
“Erm, well, I feel like I’ve been run over by a bus…”
The voice laughed again. “A bus? A bus! Oh, how charming. I’ve been compared to many things but not a bus. I hope you mean you’re feeling pretty good. You sure enjoyed yourself.”
He finally recognised the voice. “Rose?” His question was tentative at best.
“Of course, honey, who did you think it was? I hope you haven’t got sick of me already?” The laugh he’d started was still in her voice.
“Look, I don’t remember much of last night but I’m not in my room and I don’t have any clothes or my keys or my wallet, for that matter. You don’t know where they are, do you?”
“Yes, of course I do, Mark darling. In fact, I know where you live, where you work, and, most importantly, where your wife works. I’ve been toying with the idea of sending her one of the photos just to let her know what you’ve been up to while you’ve been away from her.” She didn’t laugh.
He looked at the phone. “Pardon?” There was no reply. He giggled a little to himself, and then said, “Hey, good one but where are my clothes?”
“I wasn’t joking, Mark darling. I am considering ringing your dear wife. I think I might tell her how much you enjoyed being my little bitch. I think I might tell her about how much you enjoyed being fucked up the arse, darling. I think she might be a little shocked to find out all about your… secret passion.” Now she laughed. However, the malice in the laugh was something new. He looked at the phone again then gently hung it up. It rang not even ten seconds later.
“This is either a really good joke or I’m in deep shit,” he thought. The phone rang insistently. “Oh, this is ridiculous,” he said aloud as he picked it up again. “Hello?”
“You hang up on me again and the next call I make will be to Amanda, okay?”
“Mandy,” he responded.
“What?”
“No one calls her Amanda. Her name is Mandy.” He wondered why he was telling her. He was talking to a woman who just threatened to call his wife and reveal his infidelity and here he was, telling her what to call his wife. Then the questions came, in a rush. “Why are you doing this? What do you want? What did I do to you?”
She laughed again, throaty and malicious. “Do you know what a mark is, Mark?” She laughed some more at the pun.
Her laugh was starting to get to under his skin. “What do you mean? Are you trying to con me?”
“Not con, honey, blackmail. I’m blackmailing you. I take it you’ve heard of blackmail in Australia?” Her sarcasm leeched what colour he had left from his face.
“Yes of course I know what blackmail is, but I can’t believe you’re blackmailing me.” He tried not to whine. His mind raced and he wondered if this was a dream. “Where are my clothes? Where are my things?”
“I’ve got to be sure you won’t go to the police. I will tell your wife everything, show her pictures, and show her video, if you go to the police. I mean it.”
He lost it. “Where are my fucking clothes? How can I do anything if I’m stuck in this fucking room without my clothes, without my wallet, without a fucking thing?” He fairly spat the last words out at the phone.
“Oh, where is that gentleman I met last night, Mark darling? Has he gone away? Is he hiding behind the scared little voice I hear now? Listen, I understand you’re upset. But if you don’t maintain some decorum…”
“Decorum! Fucking decorum! How can you say that when you know I’m standing here naked listening to some stupid bitch who tells me she’s blackmailing me? Fuck decorum and fuck you!” He nearly hung the phone up again but caught himself.
All through his little spit, she was calmly repeating his name. Now she said, “Have you finished? Are you feeling any better? Right now, I’m thinking I might just call your wife anyway. If I didn’t need the money you’re going to give me, I would do it just for a laugh.” She proved her words with another of her heartless giggles. “Now, Mark darling, I’m going to tell you what I want you to do and you’re going to listen carefully and not interrupt me, okay?”
She waited for him to say something. He didn’t so she continued. “I will be sending a bellhop up to the room with a change of clothes, a mobile phone, your wallet and some small change. There will also be an envelope. The envelope has some information in it to show you how serious I am. There are also some instructions you will need to follow in order for this thing to go smoothly. I don’t want any mistakes made otherwise your wife will get a phone call. Are we clear, Mark darling?”
“I don’t have much.”
“Have much what?”
“I don’t have much money. I don’t know what you think I have but I don’t have much.”
“Oh, don’t say that, Mark. I don’t care. You will pay me because you have no choice. Well, actually that’s not true. You do have a choice. But I’m sure you’d be happy to pay me, won’t you?”
He voiced his assent so softly she didn’t hear him. “Well, aren’t you, Mark darling?”
“How do I know you won’t call my wife anyway, I mean, once I’ve paid you?”
“Because this is a gentleman’s agreement and I am nothing if I’m not a gentleman.” She laughed heartily at this. He didn’t understand what was funny. He didn’t understand any of this. He felt sick, sore and desperately wanted to go home. “I will call you back in 2 hours, Mark. By then, you should have had time to think about what I’ve told you. I’ll call you in your room.”
There was a knock at the door at the same time as Rose hung up. He felt like he was in an element in a precisely planned manoeuvre, where everything was beyond his control. There was a louder knock at the door.
“Yes, coming…”
He opened the door to reveal the bartender from the previous evening, in a bellhop’s uniform, holding his clothes and a large envelope. He thrust the items at Mark without saying a word. He reached out and took them. The guy then turned around and walked away down the hall, still silent. Mark stepped back into the room, pushing the door closed behind him.
He sat on the edge of the bed and opened the envelope. He upended the contents onto the bed. Out fell his wallet, his mobile phone, his room key and finally, a smaller envelope. His wallet still had cash in it, although he could tell someone had been through it. Things weren’t in the usual places. His mobile phone was still on. He checked his call logs but it only showed the last call he made, to Mandy. He had no missed calls.
He then turned his attention to the smaller envelope, which was bulky in the middle and sealed. He tore it along the sealed edge. He felt the smooth surface of photo paper under his fingers. He tried to remember what happened but couldn’t recall a single moment after he’d left the bar downstairs.
He reached into the enveloped and found a video tape. It was titled “Rose and Mark - Copy”. Attached to it was a folded note. Mark undid it and opened it out. It was typed and unsigned. The note read:
You won’t be able to watch the tape until you get back to your room. But I want you to watch it. I want you to understand I’m not playing games. If you try to leave the Hotel, I will know. If you try to talk to Hotel Security, I will know. Put your clothes on and go back to your room. Watch the tape.
Mark screwed the note into a little ball and threw it across the room. Then he pulled the photos from the envelope. The first showed a man lying back on a bed with another man between his legs. The next shot showed the view from the other side. He threw the picture away in disgust. It was him. He was sucking the other guy off. He shook his head, trying to clear the weirdness he’d been feeling all morning. It didn’t work. He looked at the next picture. It showed him kneeling on the hotel bed with another man sodomising him. Mark gagged and ran for the bathroom. The ‘man’ sodomising him was Rose.
After he cleaned himself up, he came back into the room. The photos lay spread across the bed. He tried not to look as he gathered them up but he caught flashes of images. He featured in every one but he had no recollection of any of those moments.
He dressed and gathered up the items before leaving the room. He walked stiffly down the hall, understanding now why he was so sore. The bartender/bellhop was standing in the lift lobby. Mark walked pas him, ignoring him completely. He pressed the elevator call button and stood back to wait. The bellhop sniffed. Mark wanted to say something but didn’t have the words.
The elevator dinged and the doors opened. He stepped in and pressed his floor. As the doors started to close, the bellhop’s hand appeared and the door opened up. The bellhop stuck his head in the door, looked at the panel. He turned to Mark, nodded and smiled. Then he let the door shut. As it did, Mark flipped him the bird. The guy just smiled back.
Mark got off at his floor and walked to his room. He fumbled for the key and ended up dropping everything. As he bent down to pick it all up, he heard the elevator doors open. He looked up and his shadow stepped out of the other car. He leant back against the wall, without taking his eyes off him. Mark picked up everything, unlocked the door and went into the room. He slammed the door shut.
He showered, shaved, and made a cup of coffee. The sachets were stale and he had to use three before it tasted strong enough. He used his mobile to phone an associate. He lied and said he had a stomach complaint. His associate laughed and said his was usually bourbon but as it was Mark’s first time in Vegas, he’d forgive him.
Mark hung up, picked up the envelope and took out the video. He slipped the video into the machine and waited. The picture shook around before focussing on Rose, sitting on the edge of the bed, right arm around his shoulder. He looked to be either very drunk or sedated. He could see his head sagging against his chest. Rose used her other hand to lift his head up. She said something to the camera but, thankfully, there was no sound. She held a small vial up to his nose, and as he sniffed it, he jerked around like someone having a fit.
The picture shook again to show ‘Rose’ standing in front of Mark, with her skirt pulled up high. The cameraman moved around and she had ‘her’ penis in his mouth. Mark turned away from the television. The bastards had drugged him. It explained why he couldn’t remember anything. He’d been turned into a sick sex toy for a transvestite, transgender, whatever and that sleazy bartender/bellhop dude took the pictures. He wondered what the hell he was going to do. Then the phone rang.
78 hours and approximately 12500 kilometres away…
Mark walked out of the customs area of international departures. He was more tired than he’d ever been in his life. He was still physically sore from his ordeal. He stood at the carousel, waiting for his bags.
Getting the money had been a big hassle. But he got it and followed the delivery instructions to the letter. When he got back to his room, he found a package on his bed. It contained the negatives of the photos he had and a small video cassette for a camcorder, marked ‘Rose and Mark - Original’. He ripped up the photos and the negatives. He stomped on the cassette and snapped the tape. He threw the mess into a large bin at the end of the hall on his way out. He caught the next plane he could to LA. He had to wait at LAX for a while for a flight to Sydney. But finally, he was home.
His next problem was explaining where $10,000 of Mandy and his savings had gone. But hey, he’d been to the gambling capital of the world so he had plenty of excuses. So long as ‘Rose’ kept his word, no one would be the wiser. He hoped the ‘what goes on in Vegas stays in Vegas…’ adage proved true.
I know exactly what you mean. I don't have this problem writing, but I do speaking. Often my thoughts are way ahead of my mouth and I end up saying things that don't make very much sense.
