Page 18 of The Cowboy and the Bombshell
After Ava, I met with Curtis Jones, Operations Manager. We discussed the retail shops that would be available, as well as staff uniforms and the pool area. The theme for the pool was “Desert Oasis” and according to the architect’s renderings, it would be a lush tropical paradise nestled in the heart ofThe Alamoproperty, with the rooms on that side of the building all having nice pool views. I added all those points to my marketing notes as well.
Geoff Yates, who was already annoyed with me for interrupting his report at the meeting yesterday, basically dropped a list of restaurant menus on my desk and told me to email him if I had any questions.
Gideon Langford, a very attractive man who reminded me of Idris Elba without the accent, was the Casino Manager. He was in charge of all aspects of the gaming facilities, from the poker tables to the slot machines. We reviewed the tables offered and the themed dress of the dealers, who would look like old time gamblers, with their white shirts and black vests. We agreed that as soon as the casino floor was ready we would arrange a photo shoot for some promotional shots.
Entertainment manager Carson Young sat with me while we discussed the exciting list of things to do while staying atThe Alamo. He was tasked with finding and securing talent for the three different sized theaters on site, as well as all of the smaller events and the animal exhibits.
This perked me up quite a bit, having loved visiting the Central Park Zoo as a kid; animals have always held a place in my heart. We talked about the horses that would be kept on sight, as well as a few donkeys, and, if he could arrange it, maybe even a couple goats. There were animals kept all over the Strip, of course, from the tigers atThe Mirage, to theMGMlions and obviously, the flamingos atThe Flamingo. But the experience here would be different. The availability of having more domesticated animals would increase the accessibility of interactions with the guests, and the whole thing would have more of a petting zoo feel to it, allowing the guests to engage with the animals in a safe and monitored environment.
The theaters were another matter. For the mid sized theater, which was more of an arena than a true theater, Carson had signed a group of performers to do a variety show loosely based on Buffalo Bill’s Wild West Show. It incorporated all the elements of the wild west with aCirque du Soleilfeel, including trick riders and acrobats and it finished with a re-enactment of the final battle ofThe Alamoitself.
It sounded wonderful.
There was a huge concert venue which was booked for the next year with all the hottest country and country-rock acts available, all under contract to keep their appearances a secret until the hotel theme was revealed. There were quite a few names on that list I wouldn’t mind seeing myself if given half a chance. Hotel packages including concert tickets would bring a ton of guests in. It was all shaping up for a great roll out.
There was also a night club, and Carson had several up and coming DJs lined up who were stars at mixing country and rock and Top 40 hits together to keep people dancing and drinking all night long.
The only problem remaining was the small venue. Modeled more like a dinner theater than a concert hall, Carson had been having a difficult time finding the right act for the space. We finished the meeting agreeing to both consider what we could do there.
My meetings concluded, I gathered up my things and prepared to head out. It was early afternoon, and I wanted to walk down Las Vegas Boulevard, enjoying the sunshine and taking in the sights on my way to meet with the photographer I had called earlier. As I headed for the elevator I waved to Moira, letting her know I had the cell phone she had given me and that I would be back in an hour or two. I pushed the button and stepped in when the doors opened, pressing the button for the lobby. The doors were almost closed again when an arm pressed between, causing them to open. Stone Pennington stepped into the elevator, his scowl firmly in place and barely looking in my direction as he stood beside me, his wide shoulders seeming to take up more space than he was entitled to.
But that was his way; taking more than he was entitled to. Him and all the other rich kids living off their daddies’ hard work. I glanced at my phone, wondering how it could possibly take so long for the elevator to descend three short floors. I shifted my feet awkwardly in my flats, wondering how someone so good looking could possibly be such a jerk, and just counting the seconds until I could escape the elevator and his angry presence.
Just when I thought I would make it, he spoke. “Leaving the office early, Miss Lund? We aren’t paying you to sight see, you know?” Condescension dripped from every syllable, and my spine straightened.
“I know that, Mr.Montgomery,” I fired back, letting him know exactly what I thought of his duplicitous nature using two names to hide the fact that he was only here because his father owned the company. “That is why I am currently on my way to a meeting. One I arranged earlier. While working. Like you pay me for.” I refused to even glance his direction, not wanting the sight of his deep hazel eyes to distract me, and instead staring at the numbers as they crawled to the bottom. Finally, the doors slid open and I made my escape, darting out of the elevator before he had a chance to move.
As I walked quickly, but with as much dignity as I could muster so that I would not look like I was running - which I kind of was - I heard him growl behind me as he replied. “See that it stays that way.”
I pushed through the doors of the administration building, stopping as I felt the sun on my face. Closing my eyes, I lifted my chin and let the light and heat wash over me, taking my crazy emotions with it.
Just being in the same space as Stone Pennington was enough to send me into crazy town. I couldn’t control my snark when I spoke to him, which was a bad thing because, jerk or not, he was still my boss. It wouldn’t matter how great my marketing campaign was if I was fired for insubordination.
Shaking my head to clear his ridiculously handsome and arrogant face from my mind, I set off toward the street, taking the long way to avoid the majority of the construction areas. The exterior was coming along nicely, with the store fronts starting to look like old west general stores with high end label names on the signs. I smiled politely as the workers waved and gave me nods, and at last found myself standing on the Las Vegas Strip.
It was busy, even for the middle of the week, but that was not unexpected. This was a twenty-four seven kind of town. Checking the address on my phone again, I set off in the direction of the photographer’s studio, my head on a swivel as I took it all in. Towering hotels, each with their own unique architectural theme, were interspersed with open spaces filled with palm trees and fountains, the flowing water adding an element of calm to the chaos that was the busy thoroughfare. People of all walks of life moved around me as I made my way up the street; folks in costumes looking to earn a buck, parents hauling their reluctant children from place to place, couples holding hands, and groups of young people traveling in packs. They all made a colorful mosaic that was as fun as it was beautiful.
I was staring at a man-made volcano belching flames into the sky and wondering if anything could be more Las Vegas than a waterfall on fire, when a voice cut into my thoughts and drew my attention.
“Well, hey there, sugar pie,” drawled the syrupy sweet voice steeped in country twang. I turned to see a very tall, very blonde, very buxom woman smiling at me, her hair as poofy as cotton candy and her lips a vibrant pink as she flashed me a huge smile. “Well, aren’t you just as pretty as a picture? Where you from, darlin’?”
I couldn’t help but smile back at her, taking in the gorgeous outfit of denim and rhinestones. “New York, actually,” I replied. “How about you?”
“Oh, honey buns, every body ‘round these parts know that Dolly Parton is from Tennessee, deep in the Great Smokey Mountains. I’m just passing through on my way back to Nashville.”
I was absolutely dazzled by this woman, who, while clearly not the real Dolly Parton, at probably six feet two inches tall, was an absolute joy to behold.
I wasn’t the only one dazzled by her, either. As I watched, tourists of all ages stopped in their tracks and asked Dolly for a picture. She smiled and posed and laughed her tinkling laugh as folks lined up for photos at five dollars a pop. It was amazing to see how just being in her presence could make people happy - and open their wallets.
And it gave me an idea.
“Nashville? Tell me, Miss Parton. Do you, by any chance, sing?”
Dolly smirked at me, her prominent Adam’s apple bobbing as she laughed. “Darlin’,” she sassed, cocking out a hip and flashing me a wink. “I may not be able to croon like the original, but I can lip sync with the best of them. And I promise you, no one shakes their bazooms like I do,” she added with a shimmy, causing her rhinestone encrusted breasts to bounce and sparkle in the desert sunshine.
I laughed, loving every moment I was spending with this glorious woman. “Well, Dolly, I’ll tell you what; if you are interested, and if you have any friends who might wanna tag along, I just might have an opportunity for you to shake and shimmy those bazooms for a crowd.”
Dolly’s eyes widened, then another smile spread across her painted face. “Alright then, sweet potato. You let me make some phone calls and I’ll have you a whole troop of fabulous women who will knock your socks off.”
