Chapter Eleven - Maddie
I wake up from my after-work nap to the smell of pumpkin pies baking in the oven.
Because it’s Thanksgiving. Or will be tomorrow. Annie, Diane, and Caroline are making pies for a dinner they’re going to with some old friends from college.
They invited me, but I declined. I don’t actually know those friends from college, seeing as how I was a mess almost the entire time I was there and didn’t actually get to know anyone, Diane, Caroline, and Annie included.
It’s been years since I did anything on Thanksgiving. Last year I was just starting the wedding planner stuff, so I pretended it was another work day and kept working. The year before that… I think for a minute. Same thing, only it was the multi-level marketing stuff. I was running online giveaways for an early Black Friday sale. The year before I think I was trying out new recipes for the pet bakery.
Jesus Christ. Thanksgiving is like an endless reminder of how many times I’ve failed over the past few years.
My phone rings so I turn over, fish it out from under my pillow, and stare at the screen.
My mother.
No, thank you. I force it to go to voicemail and stuff it back under my pillow.
I bet Evan and his husband are having a nice dinner for Thanksgiving. I bet it’ll be all fancy and shit too. I bet he wouldn’t mind if I invited myself over. But it’s all too much effort. The phone call, the asking, the accepting, the everything. It’s just too much effort when I can just stay right here in this bed and pretend Thanksgiving is already over.
My phone dings a voicemail notification, and I’m just about to press the icon to see what she had to say—probably something simple, like, Happy Thanksgiving! We miss you!—when a soft knock at my door stops the screen tap.
“Come in,” I say.
“Hey,” Annie says, peeking her head in first. “You awake now?”
“Yeah.” I yawn. I’ve taken to sleeping after work lately. I think it’s probably a bad sign because I’m not actually tired when I get home. Just… uninterested in doing anything else but crawling back into bed. Which I realize might be a sign of depression. Which isn’t surprising because I think I am actually depressed.
This is not the life I imagined for myself. At all.
“Good,” Annie says. “Because I wanna talk to you about something.”
“What’s up?” I ask.
“I’m not sure,” she says, sinking down onto the mattress next to me.
I sit up a little. “What is it?”
She looks out my window, closes her eyes, takes a deep breath. “You know David?”
“Sorry… Which one’s David?” She fucks men for a living, so David could be anybody.
“My high school boyfriend? The one I tried to make it work with when I came here?”
“The one getting married?”
“Yup,” she says, sadly. “Him.”
“Sure,” I say. “Yeah, I remember.”
“Well…” She hesitates. “He’s not getting married anymore.”
“What?”
“Yeah. So I called his fiancée last week—“
“Oh, shit, Annie. Why?”
“Just to say congratulations—”
“Oh, Annie…”
She shrugs. “Yeah. But I couldn’t let it go. Anyway, I did. And I said all the right things, and behaved like the most reasonable responsible adult, but… it didn’t quite work out the way I’d planned.”
“Fuck. Did she flip out on you?”
“Noooo,” Annie says. “No. That’s not what happened.”
“Then what the fuck happened?”
“He… called it off.”
“Sorry? Called off… the wedding?”
She smiles weakly and nods her head. “Yeah. Like… he called me last night and told me that my call to her made him start thinking about us and—”
“Awww, fuck,” I say.
“—and even though I didn’t mean to, looks like… I broke them up.” She throws her hands up. “Shit! I give up, Maddie. I just can’t do anything right.”
God, I know that feeling. “OK. OK. But it’s not your fault he broke it off,” I say. “I mean, if he still loves you, he still loves you. And no woman wants to marry a guy in love with someone else.”
“I get that,” she says, still sounding so defeated. “But he seemed happy enough before I made that call.”
I think about that for a second. “No,” I say. “No, he’s the one who called you to tell you about the wedding. If he was so happy, then why did he bother to do that?”
“I know. I think about that too. That maybe he was feeling me out, or trying to make me jealous, or whatever. And it worked. Because I came apart with that news. So, I think maybe he did do it on purpose. But I could’ve let it go. Just moved on and let him have his life.”
“What’s the point in that?” I ask. “I mean, then you’d both be miserable. Like two ships passing in the night. Star-crossed lovers and all that bullshit. No one needs regrets like that.”
It occurs to me there’s a lesson here. And it’s for me, not Annie.
“I don’t know why I’m telling you this. Maybe because you always know what to do.”
“Me?” I scoff. “Are you kidding? I’m a mess!”
“No,” Annie says. “You’re like… I dunno, the Mount Everest of common sense. You always think things through. You always have a plan. You always have new ideas on how to get what you want. And…” she says, then takes a deep breath. “You have limits. Lines you won’t cross just to get something. You’re loyal. And honest. And generous.” She smiles. It might be the first real smile I’ve seen on her face in weeks. “I admire that. I admire you. So… I just need to ask you this, OK? And I need your honest opinion, no matter what it is.”
I’m still a little dumbfounded that she just called me the Mount Everest of common sense. Not to mention all those other altruistic qualities I absolutely do not possess. But I say, “OK. Shoot.”
She draws in an enormous breath, like she needs a lot of courage to say these words, and then she asks on the exhale, “Do you think I’d be a terrible person if I went home and tried to work things out with him? Like, say I’m sorry for not realizing how much he meant to me? And promise to make it up to him if we can just start over again?” She places a hand on my arm, squeezing lightly. “I know I’d be leaving you guys in a terrible spot with the rent. But I’d pay you everything I could. I’d give you my share for two months, so you guys could find another roommate.”
I almost laugh. Not because it’s funny, but because it’s not even a question. “Annie,” I say, sitting all the way up to look her in the eyes. “Why wouldn’t you? I mean…” And I have to word this carefully, so I don’t make her feel worse. “You’re selling your body for money. No offense, but there is no way going back to life without that makes you a terrible person. And anyway,” I say. “You only get one soulmate in this life. And if he’s yours, then he’s yours. There’s nothing you can do about that. So, shit… Go for it.”
She smiles, but a tear falls down her cheek. “I’m going to miss you.”
I lean in and hug her. “Yeah, I’m going to miss you too.”
“And I hope you work things out with Tyler, ya know?”
I put my hands up. “OK. Let’s all just slow down.” Because I know Annie. Somehow, in spite of all the awful shit she’s seen and done, she manages to hang onto the adolescent dream that true love is out there and waiting for us and if you kiss the right frog and all that bullshit, a prince will come to rescue you. I think she has to think that shit to get through her days. Like she’s sleepwalking.
But I’m wide awake.
So I change the subject and we talk a little more. Just details about when she’s leaving and so forth.
Tonight, she’s decided. She’s already packed.
Which makes it abundantly clear that she didn’t need my permission, she just wanted it. Which I appreciate in some disproportionately affecting way. It means… well, that I mean something to her. And that makes me feel good.
She tries to give me her portion of the rent because Caroline and Diane wouldn’t take it. But I refuse to take it too. I have money saved for Carlos. And since that’s a losing battle if ever there was one, I decide I’d rather use my money to help people I love. Carlos Castillo can fuck off.
Caroline, Diane, and I see her off a few hours later. We help pack up her car. She doles out things to us she won’t be taking with her. And it’s not hard to see the sadness on my other roommate’s faces when they accept her work clothes and shoes.
They don’t want this life anymore, either. They’re envious, but not in a mean way. Just… a longing kind of way.
We stand in the driveway and wave until her car disappears into the desert.
And then the three of us sigh and go back inside to the lives we have yet to leave behind. It also occurs to me that I have no car now. So I have to ask Diane for a favor. She agrees, of course. We work totally different hours, and that’s what friends are for, right?
But I hate asking. I hate it. I feel like I’m going backwards. Like I’m at the bottom of Mount Everest now, and I haven’t even taken one step up yet.
I sleep until my alarm goes off for work, and then I drag myself out of bed on Thanksgiving morning, ready to go out and be thankful for… absolutely nothing.
I don’t know if it’s surprising or not when I walk into work and find more than a dozen men already there eating breakfast.
I guess it’s not. I mean lots of people hate the holidays, right? Lots of people have no one and nothing to look forward to on these days, myself included. But lots of people also have the day off. Which means they can sit at home and feel sorry for themselves or go out to a strip club and pretend for a while.
These folks just seem to be pretending early. I’m betting most of them are broke or drunk by noon and sleep the rest of the day away.
I’ll be off by noon too… and then what?
Yup. My life is just as awesome as the customers at Pete’s on Thanksgiving morning.
My shift goes quickly because there’s a ton of girls in here today. Everyone wants to work a holiday, I remind myself. And the morning shift is popular for some reason. I tell myself it’s because I’m such a terrific manager. I’ve got five extra girls on the schedule and by ten o’clock, the place isn’t… full. But it’s filling up.
I don’t do any dances. I give my stage time to another girl who needs the money. I also need the money, but I don’t have kids, and I don’t have to take them to their grandparents this afternoon, and I don’t have to meet anyone’s expectations today at all.
So I just sit in the downstairs back office—Raven’s office, but mine when she’s not here—and do stupid things like check time cards over and over.
My phone rings just before I’m about to start cleaning up to go… home… and even though it’s my mother and I don’t feel like talking to her, I answer, because it’s a holiday and that’s what you do. Smile and be nice. Infamous words from Raquel the Friendly Stripper I have tried to live by ever since she handed them out.
In my most cheerful good-daughter voice I say, “Hey, Mom! Happy Thanksgiving!”
“Did you get my message last night?” she asks.
“Oh…” Whoops. “Yup! Sorry. I’m kinda busy.” Lies. Both statements. I didn’t listen to her message, but I don’t want to admit that. It just seems… heartless. “So can I call you back later, maybe?”
“Call me back? What time are you coming over?”
“Over?” Jesus Christ. What’s she talking about? “Sorry. Where are you?” I ask, trying to play this off.
“Honey… The Four Seasons,” she says, her high-pitched I’m-frustrated-with-you voice making me wince.
“The Four—? In Las Vegas?” I ask. Dumbly.
“Madison. Did you even listen to my message?”
“Yes, I just—” I insist. Once you lie, you kinda just have to go with it.
“It’s fine. Don’t worry about it. Dinner. Today. With us, your family. At four o’clock. But we want you to come over early. You know, so we can all catch up and talk before we eat. Your father is so excited to be here. And we can’t wait to see you.”
What. The actual. Fuck.
“Mom. I—Why didn’t you give me a heads up on any of this before yesterday?”
“We’ll tell you everything when we see you. Can you make it or… Should we come to you? Would that be better?”
“No!” I say, too aggressively, then auto-correct, “No. No. Sorry, just, uh, no. I can make it. I’m… excited to see you.” I am, I realize. “So just give me a bit to wrap up a couple of things and change and stuff and I’ll be over. OK?“
“Wonderful, we’re in room three nine one five. I’ll text it to you because I know you’ll never remember. Where are you, by the way?”
“Uh, I’m working, why?”
“It sounds like a nightclub.”
Fuck. “Uh, sorry, Mom! Have to handle something real quick, but I’ll be there soon, K? See ya in a bit!”
I end the call and lean back in my sad, rickety office chair with a confused sigh. Well, that’s a strange turn of events. How the hell did my parents get to Vegas?
Who cares, I decide. I might even be smiling. Because… I have family here! On a day meant to be spent with family. Shit. I am not poor Maddie, girl perpetually on her own. What do you know. I have somewhere to go. I have a place I belong. And even if it’s just some hotel restaurant, it’s still better than sleeping away my day feeling lonely and desperate.
On my way out of Pete’s I wish everyone a happy Thanksgiving. I smile as I say it. I might even have a spring in my step.
When I get home, I choose my most conservative outfit—tan trousers, pink silk blouse with a ruffle at the neck and wrists—and put on a pair of shoes that no stripper would be caught dead in. I even put on earrings. And not the kind that droop down to my shoulders. Real earrings. With genuine sapphires and diamonds.
Sitting next to a foil-covered pumpkin pie on the kitchen counter is a note from Diane and Caroline. For you, it says.
Sweet. Now I have something to bring. Good daughter.
I gather up my purse, my pie, and get into Diane’s car.
It’s nearly two o’clock by the time I fight Strip traffic and pull into the valet at the Four Seasons drop-off at Mandalay Bay. I figure what the hell. I’m never gonna get that money together for Carlos, I might as well enjoy life while I still can.
Inside I am a little lost because you can’t ever find the elevators in Las Vegas. They hide them, hoping you’ll stumble into a casino and spend all your money. A man greets me with a huge smile you only find on the faces of greeters at five-star hotels. “Can I help you with that, ma’am?” he asks, pointing to my pie.
“Um, no. I’m just looking for the elevators for room”—I check the text my mother sent, because she knows me well. I never remember anything—“three nine one five.”
His smile grows wider, if that’s possible. “Well, let me escort you up.” He takes my pie with an assertiveness that implies carrying it myself isn’t an option.
“Thanks. I’m here to see my parents,” I say, kinda loopy like I’m a little high. I continue to give way more information than the guy needs. “They’re in from Monaco. They surprised me,” I say, unnaturally excited about the turn in my day.
“Great!” he says, equally unnatural in his enthusiasm.
He flashes his ID badge at an elevator that’s tucked into a short, private hallway, and then waves me inside. There’s a bench, which is unusual for most elevators in Vegas. I mean, typically they want to cram as many people as they can into these things. But it is the Four Seasons, so that must be what you pay extra for here, right?
The ride up is quick and we make no stops. Just right up to the—I stare at the panel of available floors on the side of the elevator. Just one to choose from. Top.
The doors open to another short hallway leading to a tall wooden door with the room-number placard off to the side. My escort knocks for me, then hands me my pie and says, “Happy Thanksgiving.”
I fish a bill out of my purse, pull up a twenty—fuck it, why not—and hand it over with a sweet, “You too,” that I actually mean.
The door opens and my mother and father are there. Wrapping me in hugs, talking a mile a minute, saying things like, “You look great!” and, “Do you believe this suite?”
And that’s when I see the staircase.
Staircase? Who the hell has a staircase in a hotel room?
And that’s when I see who’s coming down the staircase.
You have got to be fucking kidding me.