I snap my seatbelt together and lean back in my seat.
This is heaven, I think to myself. Four days with no responsibility except to take care of myself. No waking up to a toddler slapping my face. No stopping what I’m doing to change a poopy diaper or clean mac and cheese off the floor. No laundry, dishes, vacuum, or bills.
Just me, my best friend, and the magic of Vegas.
Heaven.
“Are you excited to finally get away for a while?” Janine asks me without looking up from her airline magazine.
“Are you kidding?” I say with a broad grin that I know makes me look half crazed. “I feel like… like… like I can let my guard down. Like I can rest my body and brain for a few days. I’m so excited!”
She drops the magazine onto her lap and looks over at me. “You will not be holing up in the room at ten every night. We are going to Vegas. We are going to party like we’re twenty-two. We are going to party like it’s nineteen ninety-nine.” She sings this last part to the tune of one of her childhood favorites: Prince.
I stifle a loud groan. “Okay, first of all, no more Prince references. Second, neither of us can party like we are twenty-two anymore unless we want to spend half our trip nursing middle-aged hangovers.”
She bobs her head in agreement, but her eyes are saying, Yeah, yeah, yeah. Whatever, Becky.
“And third, as long as I get to lounge by the pool with a piña colada in my hands during the day, I have no problem going out at night.” I resettle in my chair and close my eyes. “There are a couple of shows I’d like to see, though.”
“Let me guess, Celine Dion?” Janine says with a chuckle.
I snort. “Hardly. I was over that phase years ago. I was thinking Blue Man Group and I think there’s a new Cirque du Soleil show.”
“Hmm,” Janine says nonchalantly. But I know her better than that. And it’s not like her to not jump at the chance to see men in tights doing weird contortionist moves.
I peel an eye open and look over, watching her suspiciously. “Why aren’t you excited to see Cirque du Soleil?”
“Hmm?” she says again, this time looking out the window, raising red flags all over the place. Both my eyes pop open, and I lean in close to grab her attention.
“Janine,” I say with a hiss, as menacingly as I possibly can to let her know I mean business. “Look at me, dammit. Why don’t you want to see Cirque du Soleil?”
“I didn’t say that, Becky,” she says, turning to me, somewhat warily. “You know I have a thing for acrobats.” I nod slowly. “I just don’t want to get locked into anything, ya know?” Now she’s studying her fingernails. “Let’s just take it one day at a time, and fly by the seat of our pants for the next few days!”
I train my eyes on her without blinking, searching for anything that might be amiss. I can’t tell if she’s lying or not. She’s gotten really good at her poker face.
With no choice, I have to give her the benefit of the doubt.
And knowing my best friend like I do, if she’s signed us up for some kind of shenanigans, I’ll be finding out soon enough anyway. No use wasting perfectly good nap time.
“Fine,” I say with a huff, leaning back against the headrest and wishing I could recline my seat, but I don’t want to get yelled at by the flight attendant since we haven’t taken off yet. “We’ll play it by ear. Just don’t wake me up during the flight. If you want me ready for tonight, I need to use the next three and a half hours wisely.”
“Deal,” she says quickly.
Too quickly.
I stare at her a few seconds longer before reluctantly closing my eyes again and lolling my head to the side to get comfortable.
I ignore her low chuckle and fall asleep to the sound of turning pages from her magazine.
The cab driver takes us on what I’m sure is the roundabout way to get to the hotel. But we finally pull up in front of the luxurious Grande Rivaldi.
It is spectacular. Majestic. Colossal.
It’s not the Bellagio, but it’s right across the street from it. And with our budget, that’s good enough for me!
It’s absolutely everything I dreamed it would be and more. The first thing I notice, of course, is the water dancing in the enormous fountain directly across the street, jumping and leaping around in beautiful, synchronized choreography. Even in the sunlight, I catch glimpses of color weaving its way through the sprays of water, and all I can think is, That is going to look spectacular at night!
Waving off the bellhops and assistance from the cabbie, we grab our own suitcases, pay the driver an exorbitant amount of money that we wouldn’t have owed if he had brought us straight here like he was supposed to, and head towards the giant, gilded sliding doors.
As we drag our rolling bags behind us, I take a deep breath, inhaling the warm, dry air. It’s a welcome change from the cold, humid air and threat of snow we left behind. There are hundreds of people milling about… walking the streets and stopping to take pictures.
Someone hands me a flyer before I even register what’s happening.
“Ew,” Janine says, snatching it from my hands and throwing it down. “You realize that was an ad to pay for some nookie, right? That’s a hooker brochure. You don’t know where those hands have been.”
“I realized it as soon as you grabbed it from me,” I admit. “I’m too busy checking out the sights to pay attention to stuff like that anyway.”
“Well, then it’s a good thing you’re here with me. I’ll take care of your virgin sensibilities.” Janine chuckles. “And you realize we haven’t even seen any actual sights yet, right?”
I smile over at her. “It’s still more sights than I’ve seen in years.”
We walk through the massive doors and make our way past a large casino area, following the signs guiding us towards the customer service desk. The faint smell of smoke permeates the air, and there’s an underlying hum of slot machines as money is deposited and levers are pulled.
It’s an assault to my senses, but one that I welcome.
It takes a few minutes to get to the customer service desk, but we finally sidle up to the counter and Janine takes charge, starting the mundane process of checking us in. As she flirts outlandishly with the flaming gay guy helping us—her one goal in life is to turn a gay man straight—I take another minute to absorb my surroundings.
Large, blown glass sculptures hang from the ceiling in a kaleidoscope of rainbow colors over a huge garden of vibrant flowers, all leading the eye up to the stained-glass windows, letting in the sky and the sun. To our left is a classy restaurant down the hall and signs pointing towards what I’m sure is a swanky spa.
A scantily clad woman walks by, her high heels clicking against the marble floor, with a shirtless man who looks like a guido. Or an oily used car salesman from the Bronx. Hmm. That’s interesting, I think to myself. But I dismiss it because, well, I’m in Vegas.
What happens here, stays here, and I’m sure crazier things happen.
I continue glancing at my surroundings and notice more scantily clad women and shirtless men. Everywhere. Lounging on chairs in the lobby. Draped against the slot machines. Entering the restaurant….
What the hell? Is there some sort of convention going on?
And then I see the registration table set up in the corner—a big, boldly printed sign in neon colors that you would have to be blind to miss.
“Janine…” I say quietly from the corner of my mouth, afraid of what I’m about to discover. Too busy trying to get the handsome gay man at the desk to flirt back, the hussy completely ignores me.
Typical. I tap her on the shoulder.
“Janine…” I say, trying to speak a little louder and give her my stern Mom voice.
“Hang on, Becky,” she says without flinching. “Let me just sign my name and grab these keys from Hank… There. Done.” She grins broadly at Hank, whose tight button-up shirt does hold a lot of appeal, and grabs the handle of her suitcase before turning towards me. “Thank you, Hank,” she says with a wink. “We’ll see you around.”
To me she says, “You ready?” But when she sees the look on my face, her demeanor changes. “What? What’s wrong?”
“Ohmygod, Janine, did you bring me to this hotel purposely when they were hosting a porn convention?” I hiss at her, drawing the attention of Hank, the lover-boy who starts to smirk at us.
“Me? Pfft. Would I do that?” she teases, then starts clapping with unsuppressed glee. “Surprise! Are you excited?”
My jaw drops. “Why would I be excited? What would…? Why would you…? What the hell, Janine?”
She looks at me with a sympathetic expression on her face and grabs my arm gently. “Because those videos are good for pointers, but you need expert advice to spice up your bedroom,” she justifies. “This is the best place to get it! I’m so damn clever I can’t even believe it myself sometimes.”
I run my hand down my face and start to giggle uncontrollably in hysterical disbelief. To say I am stunned would be the understatement of the year.
“You realize my husband is going to kill you when he finds out you brought me here, right?”
She waves her hand through the air dismissively. “Please, what kind of fool do you take me for? No worries. I cleared it with him before I bought the tickets to all the events.”
I shake my head in disbelief. “Wait. You’re telling me… you asked Jeremiah… and he thought it was a good idea?” I am practically screeching because part of me doesn’t believe her. The other part of me is now worried that he must be really unhappy with our sex life if he’s willingly sending me to porn conventions.
“Of course I did,” she says, rolling her eyes at me and pulling out her phone. A few seconds of scrolling and she finds what she’s looking for. “See?” She holds out her phone for me to read the text exchange.
Janine: How do you feel about me taking your lovely wife to a porn convention while we’re in Vegas? You know, as research for your own bedroom.
Jeremiah: Are you for real?
Janine: Turns out, all her favorite porn stars are going to be there. She could come home with some great new tricks to show you.
Jeremiah: I’m sure she will. And I’m sure she’ll be thrilled when you spring this on her.
“See?” she says, pulling her phone away from my face. “He’s totally on board!”
“You realize he was being completely sarcastic, right?”
“Really?” she says, looking down at her phone and re-reading. “Huh. I totally didn’t get the sarcasm there. I was wondering why I didn’t have to try harder to convince him.” She puts her phone away and grabs the handle of her suitcase, walking towards the elevators so I have no choice but to follow her. “Oh well, the damage is done,” she says with a shrug and a backward glance. “I’ll just have to ask his forgiveness later.”
I want to argue with her and make a case for why this is one of the stupidest things we could ever do together. But I admit to myself, I’m a little curious.
Wildly uncomfortable? Yes.
Feeling guilty knowing I left children at home for this? Of course.
But curious anyway.
So I clamp my mouth shut and follow Janine diligently as we track down our room on the twelfth floor, dragging my suitcase behind me like a morose child. Like one of my children being sent to their room for not listening.
The room itself is beautiful. Classier than I was expecting.
It’s decorated in beautiful blues and silvers with some of the fluffiest comforters I’ve ever seen on a hotel bed. I walk over to see if they’re goose down; they are. And the view from our room? Wow. Just wow!
I pull back the curtain and gaze out at the famous Vegas Strip, the magnificent Nevada mountain range a backdrop in the distance, and the sun set high in the sky, illuminating the entire valley.
The famous fountain is directly below. Giddy with pleasure, I can’t wait to see what it all looks like at night. It’s what I’ve been looking forward to since we started planning this trip.
I turn around and pull my suitcase over to a chair, hoist it up off the floor, and unzip it so I can unpack. Janine is already flopped face down on the bed, having dumped her suitcase in the middle of the floor. She props herself up on her elbows, reaches over the bed to dig into her tote, and pulls out a few sheets of stapled paper.
“We have time to grab a bite to eat before the opening ceremonies tonight,” she says, looking through what appears to be an itinerary.
“Opening ceremonies?” I ask hesitantly as I neatly place my underwear in a dresser drawer. “For the convention? What kind of opening ceremonies does a porn convention have?”
“I don’t know.” She rolls onto her back, crossing her ankles and swinging her legs back and forth over the side of the bed. She stabs at the paper with her index finger.
“But it says here that Ana Roldan is going to be the MC this weekend. I love her! Did you see her in that movie Don Dean produced? She gives the best blowies.”
“How the hell do you know she gives good blow jobs?” I ask as I pull out a few shirts and lay them next to my underwear.
She shrugs, still lying on the bed. “She gave like five of them in one movie. Two of them at the same time, and let me tell you, both guys seemed to enjoy it. Now that takes talent.”
“Sometimes I worry about you,” I mumble, stepping over her suitcase to unpack my toiletries and set them up in the granite and marble bathroom. “Knowing a couple of porn star names is already a little weird. But you seem to know all of them.”
“Blame it on my ex!” Janine shouts from the bedroom. “He’s the one who got the subscription.”
“Wait,” I say, sticking my head out the door. “I thought you had a subscription.”
“Pfft. I’m classier than that,” she says, throwing the itinerary aside. It flutters to the ground. “Apparently he doesn’t realize his bank account keeps getting automatically drafted every month to watch porn on the computer he lost in the divorce.”
“How do you know he’s not watching on a different computer?”
“I changed the password the minute he walked out the door.”
“Two years ago?”
“Yep. Nothing like screwing over the one who made your life miserable by allowing his card to run thousands of dollars in porn he’ll never see.”
I have to laugh at that. He really was a douchebag. I know to most people this wouldn’t seem like her getting the last laugh. But if it makes her feel like she’s got some sort of upper hand, more power to her.
We spend the next two hours settling in, getting food, and just meandering around the hotel. It is huge and beautiful. There are live plants everywhere and the shops are to die for. It’s like a little city in here. I could be entertained without ever stepping foot in the casino.
At five minutes until eight, we find ourselves outside a convention room, waiting for the doors to open with about five hundred other people. And they look… um… skanky is the only word that can even accurately describe it. The women are all baring way too much skin, some of them giving me a serious gag reflex. The men, they all look like a bunch of sweaty, slimy creeps.
“Why are we here again?” I ask Janine as the doors open and the crowd begins to surge forward. “We don’t fit in with any of these people.”
“And that is what is going to make us stand out so we can get the information we need.”
She grabs my hand, dragging me and giving me no choice but to follow behind her. I’m trying not to get separated, and trying not to touch anyone around me, either. This place has Must use antibacterial gel written all over it.
We flash the plastic wristbands Janine put on our wrists before we left the room and are instructed to take our assigned seats in front of the stage.
Yes, only my best friend would spring for second row seats to a porn convention.
Almost immediately upon getting seated, the lights dim and the catcalls in the audience begin. I can see silhouetted figures, black against the backdrop and moving around the stage for a few seconds before the music starts. Drum beats and instrumentals begin, their low bass a crescendo, a slow build of anticipation for the spellbound audience.
Spellbound and probably horny.
The lights come up and we see even more half-dressed people on the stage, both men and women, beginning to gyrate their hips and grind on each other. And then they start to strip.
O.
M.
F.
G.
We are watching a strip show.
Live.
At a freaking porn convention.
In Vegas.
How is this my life? Dammit, Janine! I figured I would see a few boobs this weekend, but I never expected to see…
Ohmygod, are they all completely naked now? Is that a penis!
After what may be the longest and most uncomfortable four minutes of my life, the music finally stops and the “dancers” freeze in poses that can only be described as completely inappropriate to my sheltered eyes.
To the left, a glamorous woman walks onto the stage. She has long dark hair and a body to die for. And she’s covered with actual clothing—a long red halter dress with a slit up to mid thigh. She’s stunning.
“Aren’t our dancers just wonderful?” she breathes into a microphone. “You’ll be seeing them again over the next several days. Let’s give them a hand!”
I look around and crouch down in my seat as Janine whispers, “Give them a hand? I can point out about a hundred women in this audience who’d voluntarily give them a hand. As in hand job.”
The crowd goes wild and all I can think is, We’re going to see that again?
I glance over at Janine, who is utterly engrossed in the entire spectacle, smiling brightly. How could she possibly be in her element when we grew up in similar towns, with the same “normal” upbringing, went to the same college, and lived ordinary, vanilla latte lives?
If they asked for audience participation right now, I don’t doubt for one second she’d leap up on stage, leaving me alone and uncomfortable.
Curious, but uncomfortable.
“I’m Ana Roldan,” the glamorous woman announces, and the crowd goes wild again.
And now I understand why Janine is a fan. Ana doesn’t look like a washed-up porn star. She doesn’t look like she’s had sex with a few hundred men.
Nope, she looks classy. Elegant. Not at all what I was expecting. Which, of course, piques my curiosity even further.
Once the crowd settles down a bit, Ana gives everyone a rundown of what the convention is going to include: where each event is, where to find your favorite performer for autographs, special appearances, and how to buy tickets for the specific events we may not have signed up for yet.
And this is how my first, and hopefully last, porn convention begins.