Interlude 2

Interlude 2

 I don’t care what anyone thinks, she thought, Vegas is fucked up. And with that she laid down her straight, won the $500 pot in the middle of the table, and stood up. She haughtily gathered her chips, allowing her cleavage to be displayed to every loser at the table. She had a thin facade of beauty and she was holding it up quite nicely. She was good at winning and good at looking hot while she did it.

The reality of the situation was so different. Outside of the game, in life, she never had a straight… everything was one big bluff.

I need a drink, an 8 ball and I need a man to fuck that isn’t my husband. That’s what I need.

She had been in Vegas for a week now and didn’t particularly give two shits and a fuck about who or what she had to climb over to get the attention, affection and drugs she needed to make herself feel better. They could go fuck themselves for all she cared. She’d had a hard life and she deserved to have what she wanted, when she wanted it, all the time. Anyone who thought differently was easily swept up in the tornado that her drug use and spending had become and they were effortlessly spit out-

She walked over to her new favorite bar inside the shopping mall of the Aladdin Casino and sat down. She plopped her Guess purse on the bar and her large 24-karat hoops dangled from her ears. She had all the things that made her look good and she pretended that she was good. Sometimes even she believed that she was good. She had a hard time telling the difference between reality and the lies inside her head. She’d feel better soon. She didn’t know why she needed to feel better. She didn’t feel anyway. The feeling had stopped months ago and, though she often wished she were dead, the dull throb of nothingness was better than the onslaught of crazy she felt whenever she stopped using for a few days.

Mark, the owner and bartender, walked over and placed her favorite beer on the counter without even asking. She’d only been there a week and he already knew her name and her beer. Just the way I like it, she thought.

After exchanging a few words about where her husband might be she changed the subject to other services that she needed. He turned, picked up the phone and dialed. He said a few words and smiled while looking her direction. He hung up, nodded at her and then helped another customer who at the bar. She smiled to herself; her husband’s money got her everything she needed. She would keep the winnings from the poker game to herself… just in case he cut the purse strings again. A visible smirk appeared on her face and she took a long drink. She pulled a cigarette out of her handbag and lit it with her over priced lighter.

She took a drag and took a drink and took a drag and took a drink. The alcohol began to sink in and she swayed to some nameless song playing overhead as she waited. She didn’t have to wait long. A man walked up to the bar and sat next to her.

He was attractive and something about him just lured her in. They exchanged words and, had one blinked they would have missed the switch. While exchanging flirtatious small talk, he moved his hand to hers, which was resting on the bar, and as if to hold it. Instead of holding her hand, he slipped three, quarter-sized baggies under it. Simultaneously, she slipped $160 into the back pocket of his jeans, all the while flipping her hair and slipping her leg softly between his. The touch was nothing but sexual and necessary. She needed touch in the worst way.

They discussed meeting up later if she was on her own. He pulled away gently and sauntered off as if he’d never been there. She laughed as she felt herself getting wet. Damn, I’ve got this shit handled. She was surprised how horny deals like that with men like those still made her. She finished off her beer, smiled at Mark and slipped the baggies into her purse discreetly. She needed to find a private restroom as soon as possible.

“Save my seat Mark, I’ll be back in a minute”

Mark nodded and watched her from behind the bar as she walked off to snort her score. He shook his head; he couldn’t help but feel sorry for a girl like that.