What Happens In Vegas

I've always wondered if the adage "What happens in Vegas stays in Vegas" ever rang true for any other cities. Cities of prevalent size, with a large amount of culture and history, and a respectable handful of denizens - like, say, Atlanta. Sure in a city so big late Saturdays spent dancing with a stranger at three am would freeze in time, only to be revisited in memory, right? However, I recently learned in a most ironic and hilariously humiliating way, that Atlanta is unfortunately NOT one of these cities.
It started off like any other birthday party, except this time I was dressed to kill and had landed on the VIP guest list, and we all strutted behind the birthday boy as he made his way through the nightclub. Much to my chagrin, Devil Boy - a purveyor of nightlife I had met on a former evening - had managed to skip on this occasion, leaving me with nary a straight dance partner. Well, there was one, but his sexuality was a puzzlement to all the partygoers, so I tried in vain to search for a boy who I was sure appreciated female assets.
2:30 am dawned and I was still high and dry, having been saved by Colin from a "Party Boy" by two beefy jocks. Ashley and I stood against the wall, trying desperately to avoid the slosh of liquid from precariously held cups, bemoaning ad nauseum that we had yet to get a good dance in. The night was coming to a close, after all.
Heaven must have heard my plea - later musings told me that perhaps the Devil's minions were involved instead - for out of the darkness HE came, straight over to...Ashley? Oh HELL no!
Broad shoulders, tapered waist, and a whif of - was that Abercrombie Fierce? - leaned nonchalantly against the wall next to my best friend, so I sidled up to her faster than Ali Baba could say open sesame. His back to me, I quickly ducked beneath his propped arm, and doing my best impersonation of Jessica Rabbit, I lifted heavily-decorated lashes to meet his gaze.
Nice.
He flashed a grin at me and I giggled, sounding like a dope and unfortunately noting that my idiocy couldn't be blamed on alcohol as I'd had none. Ashley and I stood against the edge of the DJ's stage as self-proclaimed "Cripp" introduced us to "Rip", his best friend forever. Rip declared they weren't lovers, further arguing his sexuality with Ashley that although he was a shoe designer, he was NOT gay. I took full advantage of the distraction, and like any good girlfriend would do, I stole Cripp all for myself.
Score.
Lady Gaga sang incoherently about her poker face while Tweedledeedum and Tweedledeedumber literally danced ON us, employing moves I’m certain can only be called “Dance Rape the Wallflowers.” I wanted Cripp closer, so I gripped the long, silky length of his…TIE, of course. Mind Gutter Patrol IS on duty, folks. I reeled him in and spent the next two songs trying to ignore the extra dance partner that had joined the space between the two of us.
He leaned in, whispering dark promises of special moves in private rooms and I gasped at him in horror. Well, mock horror at least. Heaven knows half of me was tempted to take him up on his offer, but that half knew she’d be bitch-slapped by the good twin later, so as the lights came on and the bouncers ushered us to the door, I reluctantly bade the Chippendale Twins goodnight.
Two nights later I decided to wash my soul clean again and attended Prime – ironically close in name to Primal, the nightclub – an organization of twenty-somethings who met for contemporary Christian worship and preaching. I took my seat next to Ashley in the same spot for the third week in a row, and settled in to sing along with the praise band.
The first note stuck with a squeal in my throat as I watched a pretty girl and handsome boy decked in Abercrombie make their way down the row of seats in front of us. The stopped directly in front of my chair, right in my line of vision so that there was no mistaking what I was praying fervently was a dream.
Cripp.
My fingernails dug red crescent moons in Ashley’s skin as I gripped her arm and pointed frantically. Her response of wide-eyed shock proved to me that I wasn’t – unfortunately – mistaken, and before common sense could intervene, fight or flight rushed through my blood and I reached out and grabbed his arm.
“Hey!” I yelled over the thrumming music.
He appeared completely flabbergasted at the audacity of a complete stranger invading his personal space, so I took advantage of his pause and asked, “Were you at Primal Saturday night?”
I could swear I literally saw beads of sweat form on his brow in a record two point one milliseconds.
“Uhh, yeah…why?” He glanced up sharply, searching my face, harrowed consternation in his eyes and I almost laughed as I watched his mind swim quickly through hazy memories.
“You totally danced with me!” I yelled into his ear, reminded again of the way a mere forty-eight hours before we had maneuvered in this very fashion, cheeks pressed together as I tried to avoid the kiss he was so ready to give. I failed to mention his titillating offer, certain he would remember it.
He looked nervously at the young blonde beside him, his girlfriend I supposed, and shook his dark head curtly. “I was there, but I don’t remember you. Maybe you’ve got the wrong guy.”
KSU student, business major, twenty-two years old. You drink Budlight and own a black and white striped skinny tie, Abercrombie being a favorite brand of yours. And what was that you said about a girlfriend? Oh, right, that you didn’t have one because you were too young for a relationship. Want me to tell Blondie for you? Better to break her heart now while it’s just getting started.
I said all of this mentally and to his back of course, as he had shut me out of further conversation when he turned to face the music. I should have told him the music was standing right behind him.
I contemplated burning holes in his beautifully shaped neck and cursed my lack of magical powers. Perhaps I still had a poison dart in my purse? But no, that was used on the last pilot who tried to accost me. Alas, I sat there unable to do anything except focus every channel of my mind on the words of the songs and not the ironic position of our bodies, his back to my front, except this time there was a plastic chair as a partition. Thank goodness.
I flippantly pondered the paradox of a wolf in sheep’s clothing, reflecting on my much-argued point with my mother, that just because a boy attends church, it does NOT mean he is worth dating.
I kept my eyes from meeting Ashley’s, for certain uncontrollable laughter was inevitable should I look at her. I glanced again at Blondie, skinny of course, and cute, and I wanted to hate her, but there was such an aura of innocence and trust in the way she slipped her fingers through his and rested her curly flaxen head on his shoulder that I ached to tell her the truth.
RUN, sweetheart, and never look back.
She dutifully took notes in her Bible while he barely even glanced at the passages on the screen and I wished again for heat vision. At this point, however, a machete would do the job I had in mind just as efficiently. I waited on pins and needles for the end of the service, anxious to see what awkward conversation would befall me.
I needn’t have worried. The speaker had barely uttered “amen” before Cripp snatched Blondie’s hand, and with his head buried conveniently in the colorful screen of his iPhone, he scurried past my bold stare and out of sight.
“I’ve seen them here before,” Ashley said as she watched them make a run for it. “Every week they sit in that spot. I know, because Cripp has a distinctive blonde streak in his hair and your friend Zach wants to date the cute girl.”
I suddenly realized she was right – I HAD seen them before.
“Should we chase them down and tell her?” the other half of my Dynamic Duo asked with shining eyes. They were eager with the anticipation of retribution.
I laughed. Who needs a machete when I’ve got Ashley?
I declared that unfortunately Blondie was sure to discover what a dud followed her to church on Monday nights, a dog salivating for just one thing, and I prayed that the potential damsel in distress wouldn’t settle for a frog in place of Prince Charming.
Ashley agreed and sighed with a chuckle.
“Such a calamity would only happen to you, Mere. Only you.”

But then again, what good is a Drama Queen without the jesters and ill-fated suitors of her ever-entertaining court?