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I fucking hate hen’s nights. Cocks, Cocktails and Cock straws. Argh, don’t get me started. Masses of women assembled in one place to celebrate anything, from my experience, was never a good thing. It always led to excessive squealing, hugging and crying. Way too many emotions flying around for my liking, so this was my worst nightmare, and I didn’t even know the bride-to-be.
I was hired to take photos and write an article on the upcoming nuptials of Melanie Warren, renowned Californian socialite. Luckily my job ended about five minutes ago, when she rolled up a hundred-dollar bill and began snorting cocaine off a compact mirror. For some bizarre reason she didn’t want that part documented.
Although my abrupt dismissal was unexpected, I secretly rejoiced. I got a free trip to Las Vegas and now had the rest of the night to explore. Yeefuckinghaa!
Sliding through the masses of sweaty bodies, bumping and grinding against each other, I finally located the bar. I exhaled in relief and threw the company credit card on the counter, shouting my order to the first barman who looked my way.
The shot of tequila barely had a second to settle on the counter before I scooped it up and threw it back, welcoming the burn that hit my throat. Needing to escape the torture of the relentless, pulsing beat penetrating my skull, I stormed towards the exit and out of the club.
Cheers erupted from the huge queue waiting outside and the bouncer let just one overly enthusiastic girl inside to take my place. Lucky her.
Rolling my eyes, I turned my gaze to the unfamiliar interior of the MGM Grand Casino. Overwhelmed by the lights, the sounds and all the glitz, I picked a direction and started walking, determined to find my way to the Strip.
An exit sign materialised ahead and my heart fluttered as I approached. Reaching into the back pocket of my skinny jeans, I slid out the napkin I’d quickly scrawled my to-do list on during the flight over and took a deep breath. Here we go!
It was daytime when I flew into the city and I hadn’t left the casino since I arrived. Night had fallen, and the city lights were breath-taking. As I absorbed my surroundings, my shoulders relaxed and my smile grew. I’d never been to Las Vegas before and I had ten hours left to make the most of it.
I was born and raised in Australia, but was one of the lucky few blessed with a duel passport. My dad grew up in New Jersey, but moved to Australia to be with my mum almost thirty years ago, giving me the best of both worlds.
Manhattan had been my home for the past six years and I was loving it. I didn’t belong there, but fuck, I was trying. When my parents died, I decided I wasn’t going to fester around suburbia, waiting for a life to find me. I needed to find a life. My own life. Away from the shadow of my parent’s untimely death and the pitiful stares of all who remained.
Every cent of my inheritance was spent on a kick arse apartment in Greenwich Village, and I was working my butt off to earn just enough money to pay my bills, not starve to death, and put a little away each month towards my trip around the world.
I never set out to be a writer, but when our company laid off half its staff, I had to learn quick. I was a photographer primarily, but now I was required to write all the adjoining stories which doubled my workload, but unfortunately, not my pay.
With my camera hanging loosely around my neck, I strolled down the main drag until I reached the second item on my list. The Bellagio Fountain. Although it was already close to 10pm, there were people everywhere waiting for the next show.
I didn’t push through to the front with the others. I hung back on the outskirts, searching for the perfect position. Music filled the air, and my heart picked up its pace as the water began jumping around in formation. Momentarily mesmerised by the lights and colours, my gaze drifted to the onlookers. Their delighted faces mirrored my own.
Scooping my long hair up into a messy bun, I brought the camera to my face and made every effort to look inconspicuous as I spied the crowd closely through the lens. I had no intention of taking photos of the show, but instead, I aimed to capture people’s emotions as they experienced it. I had always been captivated by the way faces change when they saw and experienced beautiful moments, and I made it my life ambition to travel the world doing just that.
So while everyone was taking photos of the Bellagio Fountain, I was taking photos of them. It was a little weird, but I never imagined the pictures would see the light of day. It was just something I did. And apparently, I did it well.
As I scanned through the bodies pressed up against the barrier, I paused on a man not much older than myself. He leant over the railing, vacantly staring at the dancing water. Snap. His eyes were glazed and he appeared lost in thought. Snap. He ran his hand through his scruffy brown hair and breathed a heavy sigh. His shoulders relaxed but his face remained laced with tension. Snap.
I zoomed in a little closer, hoping to catch a glimpse of his eyes. Eye colour had always fascinated me, and I wondered which particular shade he was blessed with. Moving up his well-built body, I paused on his flawless face. Snap. Snap. My heart quickened as I examined his defined jawline, tempting lips and sparkling eyes. Eyes that were…looking directly at me. Fuck.
My trigger finger trembled as I casually swung the camera back towards the show, hoping he hadn’t noticed. I didn’t dare uncover my face, and pretended to take photos of nothing until the pounding in my chest eased. I’d been doing this for years and never been caught out.
After a long moment, I panned the camera back through the crowd and sure enough, he was still there. But he wasn’t watching the show anymore. Instead, he waved in my direction with a playful smirk on his lips. Hmm. Cocky.
I pursed my lips behind the camera, and he tilted his head, clearly trying to see my reaction. Stay cool, Josie.
My cheeks grew warm and I slowly backed up until I disappeared into the crowd. I shoved my camera back in its case, and groaned in frustration as I let my hair loose from the pile on my head. The perfect photo opportunity had been ruined.
As my gaze settled on a burger joint across the road, my stomach let out an embarrassing cry. I hadn’t consumed anything since this morning and I was starving. Apparently socialites don’t eat, because I hadn’t seen an ounce of food all day. Unless cocaine was somewhere on the food pyramid. Fruit and Veg, perhaps?
I waited by the roadside, trying to figure out how to cross without killing myself. Fancy cars sped by, followed by a limo with people popping their heads in and out of the open sunroof. It reminded me of an arcade game I used to play with Dad. If only I had a mallet.
Throwing my head to the sky in frustration, I found myself staring at an overpass leading directly to my desired destination. Hallefuckingluiah!
I bounded up the stairs and across the bridge, eager to cheer up my belly. Ambling into the diner, I glanced around the popular restaurant for an empty booth. Unfortunately, the only one left was behind a group of rowdy and obviously drunk men, in the back corner of the restaurant.
I cringed as I passed them, copping a few wolf whistles and muffled comments as I slid into the booth. Keeping my back turned, I hoped to discourage any further interaction. It didn’t work.
“Hey there, beautiful. You should sit with us if you’re all alone,” a male voice said from behind me.
