Page 8 of What Happens in Vegas..
Slipping on my shoes, and grabbing my keys, I shoot her a quick text telling her to take an Uber if she wakes up late. Her phone dings and she doesn’t even flinch. I shake my head. We need to figure out a contraption to put next to her head so a blow horn can go off next to her. I’m not even sure that would be able to wake her up. I don’t know how she can sleep so hard.
Time to go to the second hell on Earth disguised as the Happy Bean. A place where Karen’s and Dick’s go to meet and breed, so they can abuse the baristas for things that are out of our control.
* * *
My feet ache by the time I get off my shift of slinging coffees at people. For a Tuesday it was unnaturally busy. We had a line out the door more than once, and we weren’t even having any special kind of discount deal or free coffee. I guess everyone in the city woke up and decided they need a coffee or spinach and cheese frittata from specifically our store.
Mary showed up early for once and I was able to leave on time. I felt bad leaving her and Tyler there to fend for themselves, but they seemed perfectly content giving each other doe eyes. She wished me luck over tonight and told me to pick out a cute dress that wasn’t overly sexy, it would fit my personality better.
I wasn’t sure how to take that, I guess I don’t give off the vibe of a woman that could pull off a bodycon dress. I don’t know how to feel about that either. But Knox seemed attracted to me last night, so maybe it’s best if I try not to overdo it, and make it seem like I’m trying too hard. I don’t want to seem desperate for his attention.
I also don’t have a lot to spend on clothes. So a bodycon dress, a good one at least, is probably out of my budget. I leave my car at the back of Happy Bean, choosing to walk along the strip. It’s hot today, but still early enough that we haven’t reached peak heat levels and I could use a little bit of sun. As long as I keep my sunscreen on, I won’t burn and it’s nice to be able to be out while it’s sunny. I hardly ever get to do this. I don’t typically get a full day off. If I’m not working one job, I’m working the other, or catching up on sleep until I have to leave for one of them.
Most of the boutiques featured on the strip are way out of my price range. Just glancing in the windows at the tags on the dress say they’re three times out of my budget range. I get that time and effort went into the handcrafted pieces, but can’t they be a bit easier on a person’s wallet. If I had the skill I would just make my own dress. I’m thinking of a simple, yet pretty sundress. That would be fitting for something I want him to see me in, but it won’t look like I’m trying super hard to be a vixen or something.
I have to walk for a while before I find a vintage thrift shop. It looks like it might be closer to my desired price range. I’m sure some of the pieces in here would cost me an arm and a leg to own, but there have to be some smaller pieces that fit the feel I’m going for and won’t break my bank.
Knox is sizzling hot, but he’s not worth going broke over just to try and impress him.
The shop is smaller than the other places on the strip, but luckily has AC, and my arm pits thank me. The walls are covered in vinyl records or old UK rock band posters. The Killers plays overhead as mannequins line a back wall with leather or suede jackets.
A man with yellow-tinted glasses sits behind the cash register, his long beard nearly touches the countertop. He smiles at me and gives me a chin salute. “Looking for anything particular, ma’am?”
Ma’am? I’m not typically called that, most people think I look too young to be anything but a miss. Guess I’m growing up. I smile at the thought. I’ll certainly be more grown-up after tonight if the cards are played in my favor.
I look around the store, trying to figure out if the clothes are arranged by style or gender. “Uh, I need something that’s less than a hundred dollars. A light dress, nothing too complicated or fancy. Simple, but pretty. Do you think you have anything around that price range or am I wasting my time? Most places I’ve looked at so far want my firstborn child and my soul as payment.”
He chuckles as I step closer. The scent of weed comes off him in waves, and the look in his half-lidded eyes says that he’s baked out of his fucking mind. He shakes his head. “No worries. I like to keep things affordable, it’s how I’ve managed to stay open so long. Tourists love a good deal and keep coming back for more every time they visit. The pricey stuff are on display. Those are the ones that run over a hundred. The dresses are in that back corner. They typically run from forty to sixty, but they’re true vintage brands.”
I look toward the back corner. I would love a dress for like ten dollars, but I don’t think I’ll find something like that in Las Vegas. I nod. “That should work, thank you. I’ll let you know if I need anything else. Do you have changing rooms?”
He nods and points next to where the dresses are. “Behind the black curtain.”
Heading over I start to thumb through the racks. There’s a lot of 40s and 50s style dresses that make me feel like I’ll come out looking more like a Stepford wife than someone who’s a low-key kind of sexy. Man, I suck at this kind of thing. I wish that Mary could be off today, or that we could’ve had the same shift so she could be here with me. If it weren’t for the fact that we need the money, I would’ve told her to play hooky and come here with me.
I find one dress that has a lacy kind of light blue fabric and a sewn-in slip under it to keep modesty. A square neckline with spaghetti straps and a longer skirt in the back than the front. I’m not sure what era it’s from. Maybe the 70s bordering the 80s? It’s simple but pretty.
I check the size. It might fit me. I’ve always been one of those girls that rides the line in sizes. I’m not a stick-thin model nor am I thick enough to be full-on plus size. Maybe if I gained ten pounds I would be there, that would mean being able to afford more than one meal a day. If the Bellagio didn’t give employees one meal per day, I would be full-on starving. I often get the biggest meals they offer and take it home to Mary to split so that we can both eat.
I take it off the rack and find two more I like, just in case it doesn’t fit.
Heading into the cramped changing room I try on the other two first. One is a pale yellow that brings out the highlights in my hair, and the green in my eyes. It’s half pleated and touches the top of my knees. The sleeves are short and puffed. It’s cute, but almost two cute and simple. I feel like if I added pigtails, I would look way too young. So that dress is a no-go.
The second is a periwinkle dress, also with a squared cut neck, but with short sleeves. The stiff fabric is a no-go for me. I feel like someone sold an old maid’s outfit from one of the hotels around here and told the guy out front that it was vintage. It looked better on the hanger than it does on my body, even if I like how the color contrasts with my hair.
It’s the moment of truth, time to try on the dress I really like and want to fit me more than anything. Not only that, I want it to look as good on me as it does on the hanger.
I slip it over my head. The slip is like satin against my skin. The back cut falls to my midcalf, but the front comes to just above my knees. It hugs my sides but eases up around my stomach. I turn to the side and run my hands down it. I love the color on me and the square neck with the thin straps works. What’s not working is my stupid bra, the fit of it looks awful.
Taking my bra off, I bend over to readjust my breast, jiggling them around until they rest on an almost hidden seam line. It’s oddly just enough to give me more cleavage. My breasts are a happy medium, and I like them that way. They’re able to keep themselves up, and with the slip in places, I don’t even need a bra to hide any chance of pokey nipples.
I still need a second opinion before I buy it. I don’t want to get it and have it turn out I have awful taste. I’ve never been one to care much about fashion. I’m working all the time, so I don’t need a fashion sense. My employers pick out my uniforms for me. Taking my phone out of my bag, I take a picture and send it to Mary. I’m hoping I caught her at a point where things have moved into a lull and people aren’t as desperate for their third cup of coffee for the day.
I continue to stare at myself. I might go lighter on the makeup tonight. It might make me fewer tips, but I feel my typical smoky eye would take away from the beauty of this dress. As long as I still make two hundred in tips, I’ll be okay. I move around watching how it flows with my body. If I didn’t know better, I would’ve thought this dress was made for me specifically, but I bet it’s had at least one other owner. For being vintage, it looks brand new. But I can tell by the quality of the fabric it was made a long time ago. They don’t make things like this now. Not even a replica would be able to compare.
My phone dings and I look down at it. Mary sent a gif of a man licking his finger and sticking it to his ass, with the wordSizzlingpopping up across him.
Mary:Yes! Get it! That looks so pretty on you! You look like you should be in a garden with butterflies and flowers. Get a cute pair of wedge sandals to go with it. They’ll be easy to kick off when things turn to the hot and heavy side.
