Authors: Maddie Cochere
Someone said the hockey players were in a bar over in Terminal Three. A few passengers made other arrangements to leave the flight altogether, and the rest of us were waiting for information at the gate in Terminal One. I didn’
t want to miss the flight, so
had opted to stay near the gate.
We were originally told we would only have a short wait while the airplane was inspected, but now we were facing at least a two hour delay while another airplane was prepared and scheduled into the flight rotation.
I was thirsty and decided to go in search of a soft drink. I reach
ed down to pick up the case I had
tucked under my chair. Because I was going to be i
n Las Vegas fo
r ten days, I
packed heavy and checked two large suitcases
into baggage claim
. The only luggage I
carried
onto the airplane was a sm
all vintage cosmetics case. M
y hippie Aunt Charlotte on my father’s side had given
the case
to m
e many years ago. It was
pink, and
not only really cute, but it w
as the perfect size for carrying all of my make-up and a change of clothing.
Now
my case wasn’t
under the chair. I
searched
my i
mmediate area and realized
it was missing. Someone
swiped
my case! I stood
and
walked
around the entire gate area. I asked a few people if they had seen it, but no one had other than when it was tucked under my chair. I
began walking briskly through
out
the airport trying to spot the bright pink case.
O’Hare is a l
arge airport, and it took
a while, but I finally
spotted it
on the K Concourse of Te
rminal Three. It was nestled up
against two
ugly, brown
carry-on bags
,
and
it stuck out like a s
ore thumb. The bags were
at the feet of a
n obese woman who was trying to eat a sandwich
with one hand
while texting
with the other
. I was infuriated
she
had
the nerve to grab my case and walk
off
with it.
I marched
up to her, s
natched the case, made a
n angry
“
grrr
”
noise
, and stomped off. She didn’t protest or attempt to follow me.
I wasn’t five feet down the concourse when all of the hockey players came pouring out of a bar. One of the guys yelled
to me
as he passed by
, “Our flight’s been called, and they’re boarding!”
Crap! We were a long way from the gate, and I was wearing a new pair of suede boots with 4” heels. They weren’t entirely broken in, and I certainly wouldn’t make good time with the heels. Dell was coming up fast and saw the distressed look on my face. He grabbed my pink case and my purse and handed them off to one of the other
hockey players
. He
flashed
a big grin, ducked down and said, “Hop on Susan.
I’ll
give you a piggyback ride.”
He didn’t have to tell me twice. At approximately 6’ 2”, he had plenty of room for my slim 5’ 7” frame, and I glommed onto his back. With my arms around his neck, he held me with his arms under my knees, and we were off. There was some e
mbarrassment as I realized
his running was jostling me against his back, but I swallowed my pr
ide and
went with it. I saw people holding up cell phone cameras as we all flew by, and I had a terrible thought of being on YouTube later in the day.
By the time we reached the gate, all of the guys were laughing. How often do you get to run at top speed through an airport? Dell set me down and
collected
my case and purse for me.
“Than
ks, Susan,” he said laughing
. “That was fun.”
I tried to straighten myself ou
t. My boots and jeans were
fine, but my sweater had ridden up a bit and was slightly twisted. “I appreciate the ride, Dell,” I told him with a giggle. “I would have never made it on time on my own.” We were in line now and boarding again.
“We’re al
l staying at the Bellagio
,” Dell said. “If you get bored some evening, call me. I’ll get a ticket for you to the hockey game, or we’ll go out on the town if I’m not playing.”
“Will do,” I told him with a smile as I slipped into my seat.
It was a huge relief when I realized the curmudgeon would
n’t
be boarding again. The empty seat between me and the thin man made for a comfortable flight.
We eluded the winter storm
heading into the Midwest, and the rest of the flight into McCarran Airport in Las Vegas was uneventful.
It was 4:00 in the afterno
on by the time I was settled in
my room at the MGM Grand Hotel.
The room was a standard hotel room with two queen beds, a small table with two chairs, and a desk with a chair. The bathroom, however, was larger than most, and I especially appreciated the large mirrors. The room had been recently remodeled
,
and everything was new
and comfortable.
It had taken about
half an hour to unpack and put my things
where I wanted
them
for the week. I
glanced
at my racquetball gear in the corner of the room. Betsy Ann Tucker, the Human Resources Director for Slimmers Weight Loss, had
mentioned
there was a group of employees who played racqu
etball once a week, and she
encouraged me to bring my equipment. I hoped there would be time to play.
I propped myself up on pillows on the bed and pulled a pen and a pad of paper from my briefcase. I wanted to make notes and map out an itinerary for the upcoming week. I still enjoyed making
lists
the old-fashioned way. If I came up with any
ideas
for work,
they
could be entered into my tablet later.
Today was Friday and was a travel day for me. I wasn’t due at Slimmers Weight Loss Corporate Offices until Tuesday morning at 10:00 A.M.
I was a manager in one of the company’s weight loss centers back home i
n Carbide City, Ohio, and I
recently accepted a position as a
division
manager. I would be working out of the corp
orate offices
in Las Vegas for four days to learn about my new jo
b duties, the changes to be implemented in the centers
, and to meet some of the executives.
I had come out a few days early to relax and have some fun. My parents were flying in tomorrow afternoon from Dallas
and would be here for the week as well
. And if everything in the universe was perfect this week, Mick would be flying in on Friday night to spend the weekend and meet my parents.
Mick. Just thinking about him made me smile and feel
tingly
. I
admired
the one-and-a-half carat ring on my finger and could
barely
believe we’
d be married in five months
. Our date was set for June 22,
and
Mom and I were going to do some serious planning this week.
I
visited my parents over Christmas, but instead of the quiet catching-up time we
had
expected, there
was
a whirlwind of guests throughout their home. Many of them were new friends since moving to Texas about a year and a half ago, some were old friends who were traveling for the holidays, and even Aunt Charlotte
made an appearance
with her new boyfriend who was 23 years her junior. It
was all
great fun, but
the visit
didn’
t give us the alone time we o
riginally planned.
When Mom and Dad found out I would be in
Vegas for a week in January, they jumped at the chance to fly in and spend
some
time with me – in addition to gambling and having fun, of course.
I started to make a list of things to do with my parents over the weekend. First item on the list was the Hoover Dam. We had to make
the drive
to see the dam because Dad was insisting upon it and had said with excitement, “
It’s one of the top ten construction achievements of the 20th Century.
” He simply couldn
’t understand why Mom and I
had
both groaned
and rolled our eyes
.
A couple of shows needed to be added to the list. Possibly one of the Cirque du Sol
eil shows, and Mom thought
maybe we could see ventriloquist Terry Fater, “
that nice man who won America’s Got Talent
,
” she
said. We would also need to choose another show for next weekend when Mick arrived.
I added the Bellagio Fountains at night to my list; that was a no-brainer. Dinner at Stratosphere’s Top of the World Restaurant was another must-do item. Dad had also requested a trip to the Gold and Silver Pawn Shop. He was a fanatic of the
Pawn Stars
television show and wanted to take an old, beat-up comic book to the shop and try to s
ell it to them. I told him
comics lose their value when they have creases and wear, but he seemed to think an old Detective Comics with
The Batman
in it would be worth something. Maybe Mick could take him to the shop next weekend; it wasn’t high on my priority list.
My stomach rumbled. I
had
skipped
lunch
earlier
, and I suddenly felt
ravenous
. I set
my
pen and paper aside
, determined to
work on the
list later. I
showered
and changed for the evening. My plan was to stay at the hotel and spend the evening in the casino trying my hand at slots, poker, and craps. Aunt Charlotte hadn’t spent hours upon hours teaching me how to gamble when I was ten years old for it all to go to waste now.
A last check in the mirror, and I was
satisfied
with my
look for the evening
. I had
chosen to wear
a
burgundy-red
sweater dress w
ith
long blousy sleeves
and
a scoop neckline
. It
settle
d
a few inches
above
my
knee. I loved the dress because it was more fitted than most and didn’t need a belt to show
off my figure
, and for as much and as hard as I played racquetball, I was very happy with my figure. I pulled on brown leggings and a pair of brown suede
,
slouchy
,
calf boots.
My shoulder length blonde hair had been blown dry and had just enough fluff to look soft and pretty. My bangs were trimmed a couple
of days ago, so they were
creeping past my brows
,
but weren’t in my eyes.
My f
irst stop would be dinner to appease the grumbling stomach. I left the room, stepped into the elevator, and pressed the button for the ground floor. I shook my head again
that
my room was on the 13th floor. How many hotels have a 13th floor - especially in Las Vegas when you hoped to have good luck? I giggled and decided to
count
it as good fortune. Darby wasn’t with me on this trip, and I only seemed to get into trouble when he was around. Things should be smooth sailing this week with my parents.
I exited the elevator and made my way toward the casino. I loved the
exciting
atmosphere of the hotel and
couldn’t believe
how much there was to see in one building. I passed several restaurants, but had already made the decision to
have dinner
at Wolfgang Puck.
I found the restaurant
in the center of the bustling casino floor. I entered and requested a seat at the bar. The restaurant had a nice bar area, and I didn’t want to monopolize a table on a Friday night.
“What can I get for you
?” asked the bartender.