The lights came up inside The Joint at the Hard Rock to a round of boos and disagreeing whistles. The crowd had hoped that The Foo Fighters would be coming out for an amazing but unnecessary third encore. Jessica was one of the group to release an audible sound of disappointment. She truly wasn’t upset though. This was one of the best shows that she had ever seen and she had gathered enough memories of Dave Grohl’s stage presence and sheer energy to keep her satisfied through many future, solitary evenings. She stood at her spot twenty feet from the stage and waited for the crowd to filter through the doors and on to the casino floor. After a good show, the Hard Rock could make thousands in profit from exuberant concert goers dropping money in their casino while hanging around and reliving the moments with random strangers of the show that they just witnessed. Jessica had a feeling that the Hard Rock was in for a good evening.
She looked around to see if her roommate Kate and Kate’s fiancé, Brian, were still in the room. She had become separated from them sometime during the first encore when Jessica was carried in the flow of the mosh pit closer to the front of the stage. Her eyes were still adjusting from being in relative darkness for the last 2 ½ hours to this now moderately lit environment swimming in a smoky haze. Jessica knew first hand that most of haze wasn’t from your standard Camels or Marlboros. With her trip in to the mosh pit came a quick puff or two from a complete stranger’s marijuana cigarette. She had done her share of pot but nothing she had done in the past had affected her quite as much as those two (or was it three?) hits in the pit. Combined with the straight vodka shots that she had earlier in the evening, she wondered if the room was swimming due to the smoke or if she had possibly overdone it…again. “Fuck it,” she thought. She felt good; better than she had felt in a long time.
She began to shuffle over the discarded plastic cups and miscellaneous other garbage as the crowd around her steadily dispersed. The lights of the casino were getting brighter as she moved towards the doors but she was surprised that she had yet to pick up the din of noise that comes with a packed gaming floor on a Saturday night in Vegas. Maybe the ear plugs that Kate offered her before the show would have been a good idea. Suddenly, the room swam in front of her eyes and the combination of this and the almost painful ringing in her ears threw her equilibrium off and caused her to swoon into a sweaty, shirtless man walking beside her.
“Watch it, lady,” uttered the growl through the gray goatee and dentally-neglected teeth of the 50-something that she fell into.
She tried to say “Sorry, Mister” but the words slurred and it sounded more like “Sorree misha”. She broke her eye contact with the man that she was using as a prop and straightened herself up. She bowed her head to partially avoid any further embarrassment but to also hide her face so that Mr. Harley didn’t change his mind and decide to plow her over with his motorcycle later. She stumbled her way in the direction of the door farthest to the left and away from him. “What’s happening to me?” Jessica thought. She found a wall shadowed in darkness near the exits and took the time as to not fall over to lean herself against it. She squeezed her eyes shut to try and clear her head but this turned out not to be a wise choice as the room behind her eyelids started to rotate as if she was on an out of control merry-go-round. Quickly, she opened her eyes wide and inhaled deeply through her nostrils. The clean air that she needed to clear her head did not come. Instead, stale “concert” air made up of smoke, alcohol and a plethora of different body odors caused her stomach to flip. “Shit, Jess, don’t throw up,” she said to herself. “Hold it together for fuck’s sake.” She stopped trying to figure out why she felt invincible just three minutes ago to now barely being able to hold her down her quesadilla from the Pink Taco that she had at dinner before the show. The thought of the marijuana being laced with the date rape drug, Rohypnol, never crossed her mind.
Jessica finally made her way through the exit at The Joint and on to the casino floor of the Hard Rock. As her eyes adjusted to the new light (and a whole new cloud of smoke), she began to look around for Kate. She realized that she had given Kate her small purse, which held her key, before making her way into the mosh pit earlier. The nausea had passed momentarily but she wanted to go up to their room and lie down. She didn’t like the way that her body was reacting. First, she felt sick. Moments later, she felt like she just had a slight buzz and was ready to party at the craps tables long into the next morning. Between dizziness and euphoria, she broke into a cold sweat which gave her the weird sensation of having a fever and a great high at the same time. She didn’t know how long she stood there looking into the action of the casino but her search for Kate was now turning to desperation. Not only did she want to lie down but she now really had to pee.
She didn’t recall moving but before she realized it, she was shoulder to shoulder with people between two rows of black jack tables on the gaming floor. Even though her ears were still ringing from the screaming voice of Dave Grohl, it did not block out the sounds of the small parties going on at every table. A cheer from her right as the dealer pulls an eight to bust on his fourteen. A groan from her left as a gentleman pulled a two on his double down bet. A high pitched squeal from a table behind her that could have been a young lady hitting a black jack but turned out to be a reaction to a cocktail being spilled in the woman’s lap. She continued to glance around the room in an effort to find either Kate or Brian. She started to look for Brian more as she thought that his 6’4” frame would be easier to find in a crowd than her mid-statured roommate. She really hoped that Kate and Brian had not gone upstairs to celebrate the after-show in the same way that she heard them kick off the weekend from their bathroom this morning. Jessica didn’t mind the noise earlier and actually used their poorly muffled sounds of ecstasy to rub one off herself. If they weren’t down here though, Jess didn’t have a key to get past the security to the elevators and in her current condition, that would be very problematic.
The thought caused her to panic. She found herself paying more attention to taller gentleman in hopes that they were Brian instead of paying attention to where she was walking. She didn’t see the gentleman standing in the aisle in front of her and was surprised that he did not fall over when she walked right into him without slowing down. “Oh God, I’m so sorry,” she said, not sure if he could even hear it over the constant noise surrounding them. She reached out in what she hoped looked like an effort to be helpful towards him when she was actually trying to steady herself. He wasn’t much taller than she was and was holding his head when she grabbed him by the shoulders. “Did he bump it on something when I hit him?” she thought to herself. He looked up into her eyes and she felt a chill run up and down her body. His eyes were piercing blue in color but for a brief moment they looked as though he had lost all control and he had every notion to strangle her right there in the middle of everyone. She convinced herself that her body was going through another bout of the cold sweats and believed it when she blinked and saw the man sheepishly smiling at her, with nothing but warmth behind the icy blue stare.
“It’s quite alright,” he responded. Jessica noticed his slight lisp when he said “it’s” and felt silly in thinking that this man could cause any bodily harm. “In a hurry?”
“No, just not paying attention. Trying to find someone,” she responded.
“Me too. Good luck.” And with that, he straightened his jacket and walked away in the direction in which she just came. She noticed that he walked with a limp and again felt sorry for him, hoping she didn’t cause the abnormality by crashing in to him. He soon disappeared between two crowds merging behind their respective black jack tables. She brushed an auburn strand of hair out of her eyes and continued her search.
As she made her way through the banks of black jack tables and past the serious social gatherings at the craps table, she saw Brian standing at a roulette table one aisle over. She was happy to see that Kate was with him and even more happy to see that she still had her purse. “Finally,” she thought.
Thursday, September 16, 2010
Saturday, August 14, 2010
Game On
It was time to play.
He walked through the glass doors from the cool and quiet desert night into the stale air and stuffiness of the Hard Rock Hotel & Casino. The noise of the casino hit him immediately despite the fact that the Hard Rock's entrance was set up where you didn't directly walk into the "action". The hardwood floors with rock memorabilia in glass cases to either side of you was a welcome change from the typical Vegas casino that either tried to impress you with gaudy opulence or threw you right in to the pit in an attempt to pry your money from your pocket. It did nothing to disguise the noise that was already causing him to second guess his even being here. A combination of muddled and over-distorted guitar rock blared through the speakers in mismatching harmony with the perfect C-chord tones pumped out by the wall of slot machines somewhere off to his left. Throw on top of it the constant, over-amplified voices of an obviously drunk crowd and he would have had no problems turning around and heading back out into the glow of the neon guitar that marked the establishment's territory as only a Vegas sign can.
But, it was time for the game. He had officially began playing when the smell of cigarettes, booze and overused body spray entered his sinuses on his walk through the door. He knew now that he could not turn back. Even though unwritten, these were the rules. Rules that along with the game itself remained a mystery to him until he was in the moment.
Not wanting to bring attention to himself in any of the hundreds of security cameras that scanned the floor, he began his walk towards the table games. No way in hell was he headed over to the rows upon rows of slots to find out what the symphony of an Elvis machine mixed with a simulated crowd yelling "Wheel of Fortune" sounded like. He walked with a limp, dragging his left leg slowly behind him as he passed a motorcycle once owned by the bass player from Motley Crue. Not that he needed to limp. It was what the game called for. His first moment of self-doubt and panic rushed over him the second he set foot on the purple carpet that established the gaming area.
He hated crowds and the place was packed to the point of being uncomfortable. The young and care-free demographic that the Hard Rock marketed to had come out in full force this evening. Many stood in small groups between tables, laughing and yelling to one another over the din that he thought was an Aerosmith song. Guys hung over their buddies shoulders at the Black Jack tables, watching their friends make stupid bets such as splitting a pair of 10s and then celebrating with their beer bottles high when the lucky bastard hit an Ace and a King. Girls, who were obviously less modest than their previous generation , let out high pitch squeals between rolls of the dice and swigs of multi-colored drinks from fancy glasses. He was startled when a group of them yelled all at once and two of the girls (who, in his opinion, probably were baby-sitting kids as seniors in high school no more than six months ago) gave each other an open kiss to punctuate the moment. He turned and stared at them, watching as their pouty lips, touched with glitter. opened and their tongues tantalizingly darted in and out of each other's mouths. He felt the blood start to flow south as his breathing accelerated and his mouth hung slack-jawed. Another yell from a craps table broke him from his trance. Idiot, he thought. No better way to bring a pit boss over than ogling two underage girls from the middle of an aisle. His anger at himself caused his excitement to subside (both mentally and physically) but it also brought him back to focus. He was sweating under the wig and he needed to find a place to sit down before the perspiration ran down his face and caused any imperfections to the makeup that covered his entire, visible skin.
He found an empty spot at a Black Jack table with a $25 table limit. Money was no object, nor a concern for him. He had prepared himself well for this portion of the game. He played the table for 45 minutes, never making a bet out of character from textbook "How You Win at Black Jack" regulations. He took part in the banter with the other players, all of them together in a fight to overthrow the odds and take the casino for a little money. Jim from Omaha sat to his left and was the crucial cog known as third base in their fight on the green felt. Jim's decisions affected what card the dealer received and he made sure that Jim was making all of the right decisions for the benefit of the table. Cheers went up when Jim held on 14 and allowed the dealer to bust. Groans from all when the dealer pulled the five of hearts on top of her sixteen. It was your typical Friday night Black Jack table in Vegas. No reason for any one to pay them any special attention. It was exactly how he liked it.
Except, he was still starting to feel antsy. More and more people were flooding in to the table area. Hard Rock is not one of your larger casinos and the additional people hitting the floor made it shoulder to shoulder with your fellow gambler. He overheard someone say that the show must be out and the thought that even more young & spoiled brats could be coming pushed him to cash out. He gave the dealer a $5 chip with the depiction of Jimi Hendrix on it and wished everyone luck. After slapping his new friend Jim from Omaha on his fat shoulder (thinking to himself that Jim was SOL without him telling Jim how to play), he turned to find the reason for his being here. He needed to find part one of his game. The game within the game. Most importantly, with the crowds and the noise and the smells, he needed to do it quickly so he could get out of here and settle his nerves the best way he knew how. He hated the idea but he loved how killing calmed him.
He walked through the glass doors from the cool and quiet desert night into the stale air and stuffiness of the Hard Rock Hotel & Casino. The noise of the casino hit him immediately despite the fact that the Hard Rock's entrance was set up where you didn't directly walk into the "action". The hardwood floors with rock memorabilia in glass cases to either side of you was a welcome change from the typical Vegas casino that either tried to impress you with gaudy opulence or threw you right in to the pit in an attempt to pry your money from your pocket. It did nothing to disguise the noise that was already causing him to second guess his even being here. A combination of muddled and over-distorted guitar rock blared through the speakers in mismatching harmony with the perfect C-chord tones pumped out by the wall of slot machines somewhere off to his left. Throw on top of it the constant, over-amplified voices of an obviously drunk crowd and he would have had no problems turning around and heading back out into the glow of the neon guitar that marked the establishment's territory as only a Vegas sign can.
But, it was time for the game. He had officially began playing when the smell of cigarettes, booze and overused body spray entered his sinuses on his walk through the door. He knew now that he could not turn back. Even though unwritten, these were the rules. Rules that along with the game itself remained a mystery to him until he was in the moment.
Not wanting to bring attention to himself in any of the hundreds of security cameras that scanned the floor, he began his walk towards the table games. No way in hell was he headed over to the rows upon rows of slots to find out what the symphony of an Elvis machine mixed with a simulated crowd yelling "Wheel of Fortune" sounded like. He walked with a limp, dragging his left leg slowly behind him as he passed a motorcycle once owned by the bass player from Motley Crue. Not that he needed to limp. It was what the game called for. His first moment of self-doubt and panic rushed over him the second he set foot on the purple carpet that established the gaming area.
He hated crowds and the place was packed to the point of being uncomfortable. The young and care-free demographic that the Hard Rock marketed to had come out in full force this evening. Many stood in small groups between tables, laughing and yelling to one another over the din that he thought was an Aerosmith song. Guys hung over their buddies shoulders at the Black Jack tables, watching their friends make stupid bets such as splitting a pair of 10s and then celebrating with their beer bottles high when the lucky bastard hit an Ace and a King. Girls, who were obviously less modest than their previous generation , let out high pitch squeals between rolls of the dice and swigs of multi-colored drinks from fancy glasses. He was startled when a group of them yelled all at once and two of the girls (who, in his opinion, probably were baby-sitting kids as seniors in high school no more than six months ago) gave each other an open kiss to punctuate the moment. He turned and stared at them, watching as their pouty lips, touched with glitter. opened and their tongues tantalizingly darted in and out of each other's mouths. He felt the blood start to flow south as his breathing accelerated and his mouth hung slack-jawed. Another yell from a craps table broke him from his trance. Idiot, he thought. No better way to bring a pit boss over than ogling two underage girls from the middle of an aisle. His anger at himself caused his excitement to subside (both mentally and physically) but it also brought him back to focus. He was sweating under the wig and he needed to find a place to sit down before the perspiration ran down his face and caused any imperfections to the makeup that covered his entire, visible skin.
He found an empty spot at a Black Jack table with a $25 table limit. Money was no object, nor a concern for him. He had prepared himself well for this portion of the game. He played the table for 45 minutes, never making a bet out of character from textbook "How You Win at Black Jack" regulations. He took part in the banter with the other players, all of them together in a fight to overthrow the odds and take the casino for a little money. Jim from Omaha sat to his left and was the crucial cog known as third base in their fight on the green felt. Jim's decisions affected what card the dealer received and he made sure that Jim was making all of the right decisions for the benefit of the table. Cheers went up when Jim held on 14 and allowed the dealer to bust. Groans from all when the dealer pulled the five of hearts on top of her sixteen. It was your typical Friday night Black Jack table in Vegas. No reason for any one to pay them any special attention. It was exactly how he liked it.
Except, he was still starting to feel antsy. More and more people were flooding in to the table area. Hard Rock is not one of your larger casinos and the additional people hitting the floor made it shoulder to shoulder with your fellow gambler. He overheard someone say that the show must be out and the thought that even more young & spoiled brats could be coming pushed him to cash out. He gave the dealer a $5 chip with the depiction of Jimi Hendrix on it and wished everyone luck. After slapping his new friend Jim from Omaha on his fat shoulder (thinking to himself that Jim was SOL without him telling Jim how to play), he turned to find the reason for his being here. He needed to find part one of his game. The game within the game. Most importantly, with the crowds and the noise and the smells, he needed to do it quickly so he could get out of here and settle his nerves the best way he knew how. He hated the idea but he loved how killing calmed him.
Monday, August 9, 2010
Let's try something new
Hello followers,
I have always been a person that has ideas for stories going through my head. Certain triggers throughout the day/week/month add fuel to these thoughts. Some are good stories that deserve to have a little more attention put to them than I have time to do. Some are bad or could be considered disturbing enough to friends and family that I think they'll be just fine staying the dark recesses of my mind, thank you very much. The problem is that when one of these stories (good or bad) gets in my head, I need an outlet to let them out. To let them breathe like a fine wine if you will. I have written and submitted titles to publishing companies before (albeit for children's stories) but this hasn't satisfied my need to share my tales. I need a medium where I can type and express myself and not have to worry about the former English majors of the world telling me to stop expressing myself in the passive-agressive (I married an English major, I'm allowed to vent).
Novel Blogs have recently captured my attention. What a great way to get your ideas out there and see what sticks. When I feel like adding two or three more page to a story, I can easily do so. Novel Blogs also give you the ability to gather feedback from people who are following your work not because it is their job but because it is something that interests them. I think that the aspect of a Novel Blog that is the most appealing to me is that the story can go anywhere. Yes, I have an idea in my head (again, several ideas actually) and I know how I want the story to go but who says that I don't change my mind halfway through and take the tale in another direction. What if I read a follower's feedback and say to myself "Now there's an idea I had not thought of". This format allows the writer and the reader to become one in the adventure, grabbing on to each other's ideas and taking them for a ride where neither of us know where we will land. Sounds exhilerating doesn't it?
Thus, we come to this first story idea "Game of Chance". I admit that this is one of my darker and more grusome concepts so if you are offended by graphic descriptions of violence, I recommend you proceed at your own risk. The story is not going to be gore on every page but it will definitely have it's moments where you begin to question if I should have some physiciatric examinations done. Taking place in Las Vegas, this will be a game of cat & mouse with the definitive Vegas edge to it. I will try to research (using Google or Wiki) most of the hotel/casino locations that I write about but I'm not promising that all of my descriptions or details are going to be perfect. It's been a while since I've been to Sin City and it seems to change it's image every two years. I will also take some liberties with casino and hotel security but hey, it's a story. If you want to pick apart a work based on it's facts, I'm sure that there are some political novels on the market that would better suit your fancy.
Again, this is my first venture in to this realm so maybe this works, maybe it doesn't. Let's throw it out there and see what sticks. Let's travel to Vegas! I look forward to the opportunity of sharing the ride with you.
CR
I have always been a person that has ideas for stories going through my head. Certain triggers throughout the day/week/month add fuel to these thoughts. Some are good stories that deserve to have a little more attention put to them than I have time to do. Some are bad or could be considered disturbing enough to friends and family that I think they'll be just fine staying the dark recesses of my mind, thank you very much. The problem is that when one of these stories (good or bad) gets in my head, I need an outlet to let them out. To let them breathe like a fine wine if you will. I have written and submitted titles to publishing companies before (albeit for children's stories) but this hasn't satisfied my need to share my tales. I need a medium where I can type and express myself and not have to worry about the former English majors of the world telling me to stop expressing myself in the passive-agressive (I married an English major, I'm allowed to vent).
Novel Blogs have recently captured my attention. What a great way to get your ideas out there and see what sticks. When I feel like adding two or three more page to a story, I can easily do so. Novel Blogs also give you the ability to gather feedback from people who are following your work not because it is their job but because it is something that interests them. I think that the aspect of a Novel Blog that is the most appealing to me is that the story can go anywhere. Yes, I have an idea in my head (again, several ideas actually) and I know how I want the story to go but who says that I don't change my mind halfway through and take the tale in another direction. What if I read a follower's feedback and say to myself "Now there's an idea I had not thought of". This format allows the writer and the reader to become one in the adventure, grabbing on to each other's ideas and taking them for a ride where neither of us know where we will land. Sounds exhilerating doesn't it?
Thus, we come to this first story idea "Game of Chance". I admit that this is one of my darker and more grusome concepts so if you are offended by graphic descriptions of violence, I recommend you proceed at your own risk. The story is not going to be gore on every page but it will definitely have it's moments where you begin to question if I should have some physiciatric examinations done. Taking place in Las Vegas, this will be a game of cat & mouse with the definitive Vegas edge to it. I will try to research (using Google or Wiki) most of the hotel/casino locations that I write about but I'm not promising that all of my descriptions or details are going to be perfect. It's been a while since I've been to Sin City and it seems to change it's image every two years. I will also take some liberties with casino and hotel security but hey, it's a story. If you want to pick apart a work based on it's facts, I'm sure that there are some political novels on the market that would better suit your fancy.
Again, this is my first venture in to this realm so maybe this works, maybe it doesn't. Let's throw it out there and see what sticks. Let's travel to Vegas! I look forward to the opportunity of sharing the ride with you.
CR
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