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Authors: Deborah Coonts
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shoulder, he sashayed out of the room in my Manolos.
I had to get him to teach me how to walk in those things.
TWENTY minutes later, wrapped in my robe, I cradled a fresh mug of coffee as I stood looking out the picture window in my kitchen. In the daylight, the sun seemed to suck the energy from Las Vegas until the city blended with the desert that surrounded it, where it waited to be reborn again in glitter and high-energy glory when the sun went down.
Fresh-faced, Teddie had traded his gown for a baggy pair of jeans and a Harvard sweatshirt that had seen better days. He wore his platinum hair short and spiked. His blue eyes—bracketed by lashes a girl would kill for—always seemed to dance at some private joke. And when he chose to flash it, his megawatt smile could stop male or female at a hundred yards. With a strong jaw and high cheekbones, I guess he could be considered pretty or handsome, depending on which way he played it.
I noticed his feet were bare, my Manolos conspicuous in their absence, as he busied himself over the stove.
I let him cook for me—he enjoyed it. Besides, I didn’t know any restaurants open at this hour with a delivery service.
He put a plate of steaming eggs and bacon on the counter. “Come and get it.”
I hoisted myself up and onto the high stool. “God, it smells delicious.”
Teddie put a plate for himself down next to mine. “I’d make someone a good wife.”
I tucked into my food as if I hadn’t eaten in months. “No doubt,” I said through a mouthful of eggs.
“How about me being yours?”
“I could never marry a man with better legs than me.”
When Teddie played around like this, I never knew whether he was kidding or not. We were such good friends. Why screw it up?
“Okay, time to dish.” Teddie sidled onto the stool beside me. “I want to know everything. What do you know about the girl who took the dive?”
Relieved that he’d changed the subject, I launched in. “Her name was Lyda Sue Stalnaker. I didn’t know her that well, but she used to stop and gab when she caught me in the casino or Delilah’s. She was from some small town in west Texas, and I think she was a little lonely.”
“How’d a kid from small town Texas end up in Vegas?” Teddie asked with his mouth full.
“Same story you’ve heard a million times. She screwed up in high school, got knocked up. That screwed up her relationship with her folks. The abortion screwed her up.” I passed my cup to Teddie. “Pour me another, would you? You’re closest to the pot.”
Teddie freshened my coffee.
“She came to Vegas to be a dancer and ended up a hooker. All in all, she was sick of screwing . . . up or otherwise. At least that’s what she told me last night. She wanted to go home.”
“So why do you think she jumped?” Clearly engrossed in the story, Teddie cupped his chin in his hand, his elbow resting on the counter. He did love his gossip, but if I didn’t want him spreading it all over, he wouldn’t.
“I’m not sure she jumped.”
Teddy straightened, his eyes grew big. “What are you saying?”
“I think she was pushed.”
AT 8:50 in the morning, the casino resembled a beauty queen after an all-nighter—tired, bedraggled, sullied. The cleaning crew ran vacuums and spot-cleaned the carpet. The smell of cigarette smoke, now stale, lingered, mixing with the odor of spilled liquor and other, nastier things I didn’t want to think about. A few bleary-eyed stragglers, cigarettes dangling from their lips, fed coins into the slots, but for the most part the casino was empty.
I stood in front of my office door rooting in my Birkin for my keys; the damn things always managed to hide in the bowels of the bag. I had found one half-eaten, slightly stale Oreo, three pieces of used gum wrapped in tiny bits of paper, and one squashed protein bar left over from my very brief personal-trainer phase, when my fingers brushed metal. “Ah ha! There you are, you little buggers.” I
I had to get him to teach me how to walk in those things.
TWENTY minutes later, wrapped in my robe, I cradled a fresh mug of coffee as I stood looking out the picture window in my kitchen. In the daylight, the sun seemed to suck the energy from Las Vegas until the city blended with the desert that surrounded it, where it waited to be reborn again in glitter and high-energy glory when the sun went down.
Fresh-faced, Teddie had traded his gown for a baggy pair of jeans and a Harvard sweatshirt that had seen better days. He wore his platinum hair short and spiked. His blue eyes—bracketed by lashes a girl would kill for—always seemed to dance at some private joke. And when he chose to flash it, his megawatt smile could stop male or female at a hundred yards. With a strong jaw and high cheekbones, I guess he could be considered pretty or handsome, depending on which way he played it.
I noticed his feet were bare, my Manolos conspicuous in their absence, as he busied himself over the stove.
I let him cook for me—he enjoyed it. Besides, I didn’t know any restaurants open at this hour with a delivery service.
He put a plate of steaming eggs and bacon on the counter. “Come and get it.”
I hoisted myself up and onto the high stool. “God, it smells delicious.”
Teddie put a plate for himself down next to mine. “I’d make someone a good wife.”
I tucked into my food as if I hadn’t eaten in months. “No doubt,” I said through a mouthful of eggs.
“How about me being yours?”
“I could never marry a man with better legs than me.”
When Teddie played around like this, I never knew whether he was kidding or not. We were such good friends. Why screw it up?
“Okay, time to dish.” Teddie sidled onto the stool beside me. “I want to know everything. What do you know about the girl who took the dive?”
Relieved that he’d changed the subject, I launched in. “Her name was Lyda Sue Stalnaker. I didn’t know her that well, but she used to stop and gab when she caught me in the casino or Delilah’s. She was from some small town in west Texas, and I think she was a little lonely.”
“How’d a kid from small town Texas end up in Vegas?” Teddie asked with his mouth full.
“Same story you’ve heard a million times. She screwed up in high school, got knocked up. That screwed up her relationship with her folks. The abortion screwed her up.” I passed my cup to Teddie. “Pour me another, would you? You’re closest to the pot.”
Teddie freshened my coffee.
“She came to Vegas to be a dancer and ended up a hooker. All in all, she was sick of screwing . . . up or otherwise. At least that’s what she told me last night. She wanted to go home.”
“So why do you think she jumped?” Clearly engrossed in the story, Teddie cupped his chin in his hand, his elbow resting on the counter. He did love his gossip, but if I didn’t want him spreading it all over, he wouldn’t.
“I’m not sure she jumped.”
Teddy straightened, his eyes grew big. “What are you saying?”
“I think she was pushed.”
AT 8:50 in the morning, the casino resembled a beauty queen after an all-nighter—tired, bedraggled, sullied. The cleaning crew ran vacuums and spot-cleaned the carpet. The smell of cigarette smoke, now stale, lingered, mixing with the odor of spilled liquor and other, nastier things I didn’t want to think about. A few bleary-eyed stragglers, cigarettes dangling from their lips, fed coins into the slots, but for the most part the casino was empty.
I stood in front of my office door rooting in my Birkin for my keys; the damn things always managed to hide in the bowels of the bag. I had found one half-eaten, slightly stale Oreo, three pieces of used gum wrapped in tiny bits of paper, and one squashed protein bar left over from my very brief personal-trainer phase, when my fingers brushed metal. “Ah ha! There you are, you little buggers.” I
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