***FYI This is the first of three chapters that will be shared here on BC***

CHAPTER ONE

Pick up any travel guide or click on any internet article about Las Vegas and they’ll tell you all the same things: Come for the fabulous shows, gaudy casinos, and a level of opulence unmatched almost anywhere in the United States – nay, the world!

The guides aren’t lying. Vegas really is that and more. Sure, it’s got its scuzzy and grimy parts, but it’s so much more than the strip and downtown. Las Vegas is a rapidly growing metropolis, home to millions of residents and thousands of different industries. It’s not all magicians and strippers!

I’m a perfect example of that. Err, not the stripper part, but one of the thousand other jobs. An engineer, in fact. My career, my life, my entire world since graduating college three years ago has been geeking out over how to solve – drum roll, please! – commercial and residential hydration issues in the greater Rhode Island area.

Yep… It’s exactly as lame as it sounds. And while I genuinely do love the work, a few months ago I had a small epiphany (brought on by a minor panic attack) that I was letting this job consume my entire life. I made no time for hobbies, exercise, or self-care. I gradually grew distant from my non-work friends to the point that seeing them was no longer part of my weekly routine. Hell, even my monthly routine. Sure, the money was good, but I felt trapped. Slowly suffocating under the weight of my own isolation.

I needed a shake-up. Badly.

And so I took to the internet job boards, applying to any and all water engineer jobs. The only requirement? It was anywhere but here.
It wasn’t long till I heard back from a mid-size company out of Las Vegas looking to add to their staff. A couple interviews later, and I had an offer in hand. The people seemed nice enough, the pay was killer and best of all, it was in a city and state I’d never been to and knew almost nothing about. The perfect place to reset and regrow.

*KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK*

The knocks reverberated throughout my home, which I suppose makes sense being completely devoid of any furniture or wall decorations. I rose from my ‘chair’ which, for now, was one of my several unpacked suitcases of clothing, and answered the door.

A jubilant, preppy woman stood waiting with a big smile on her face and a manila folder in hand. Her dark, curly hair was the only thing about her that didn’t scream ‘bright!’. The stereotypical real estate agent.

She smiled wide, showing all her teeth. “Bailey, I presume?”

I nodded, needing a moment to adjust to her energy level – not to mention the wall of heat smacking me in the face as it rushed into my air-conditioned home.

“I’m Marie, we’ve been speaking on the phone. Welcome home!” she continued, slipping beside me and letting herself in. “Cleaned and move-in ready as promised.”

“I appreciate that,” I mumbled, admiring my pad. “The place looks great.”

Her eyes scoured the room. “It’ll look even better when the movers get here! This afternoon, right?”

“Tomorrow,” I corrected. “They’re running late.”

Marie grimaced. “Oof! Well, hope you got something to sleep on in those bags.”

“Blankets will do for a night, thanks.”

An awkward pause followed. Not that I blame her. I’m not exactly the best conversationalist.

“Anyway… I’ve got the last few things for you to sign. Standard rental agreement stuff. Your checks have cleared, so the moment I step out of here, the place is yours!”

Always the diligent one, I took my time reading over the language of the several contracts she placed in front of me, scanning for red flags and ‘Gotcha’ clauses.

“Plans for today?” she added, filling the silence.

“Coffee, actually. Just off the strip,” I answered. “It’s with someone I haven’t seen in a long time.”

Marie’s eyes beamed. “I love a good friend catch-up! There’s so much to explore in the city, too. I hope she’s a good guide to you.”

‘No kidding’ was what I wanted to say, but I got the sense that waiting for me to sign formality paperwork was the last thing Marie wanted to be doing. The lease was locked after all. No longer an incentive to be nice.

“Perfect!” she said, snatching the paper the second I completed my pen stroke. “Keys are on the table, all other unit information and important phone numbers are in your lease agreement.”

Clearly, Marie was antsy to get on with her day, so I wasted no time walking her to the door and saying goodbye. Not that I was envious of her realtor lifestyle. It’s a brutal, constant grind from everything I hear. Though, admittedly, I did envy her gumption and drive to always be meeting. It’s a character trait I’ve unfortunately never possessed.

And Lord knows it’s one I could use out here.

========

I’m not usually one to get emotional about new experiences, but my first drive down the Las Vegas strip is one I know I’ll remember for a long, long time.

‘Welcome to Fabulous Las Vegas, Nevada’ the sign in front of me read. We’re all familiar, right? The iconic white, red, and blue sign – second only to the Los Angeles Hollywood sign in fame – shimmers in the sun, welcoming you to the strip and attracting tourists for a photo op. I could only imagine how hot that thing must be, made of metal and baking in the sun all day.

My eyes drifted to the thermometer in my car. 103 degrees. Yikes! And it’s only 11 A.M.

That’s one of the things those travel guides don’t tell you about Vegas. Yes, everyone knows it’s in the desert, but until you get here, the unbearable heat doesn’t really set in.

But all of that was quickly forgotten when the real stars of the show came into view: The Hotels. Dozens of massive resorts towered above me as the traffic crept down Las Vegas Boulevard, each with its own impressive, jaw-dropping style.

There’s the iconic pyramid-like Luxor hotel and the enormous green monster that is the MGM Grand. And who could forget the legendary Bellagio fountain that’s featured in like a million movies? Or the Roman throwback Ceasar’s Palace that indeed looks like an actual palace.

The magic of Vegas was already setting in. Damn, is this place cool. And I was about to meet with a local who gets to live this life every single day. Well, maybe meet isn’t exactly correct. Reconnect, rather.

While the majority of my drive was traversing the strip, just as I reached the most northern part, my direction app had me turn off to the right. The place we were meeting wasn’t amongst the madness – perhaps best for a coffee meeting and catch-up.

Miraculously I found parking about a quarter-mile from the café and decided to walk the rest. But of course, I was slammed with another wall of pure, scorching heat the moment I cracked my car door. Jesus, this place is hot.

The pressure of reconnecting with someone you haven’t talked to in 15 years is anxiety-inducing enough. And, like most anxious people, I quickly become a sweaty mess. Which is only exacerbated by the temperature. Gratefully, I had a black t-shirt and athletic shorts on – clothing that, at the very least, lends itself to not showing sweat. But that was hardly my biggest concern.

You see, ever since graduating college, I’ve relaxed on some of my… well… grooming standards. Not from a cleanliness perspective, I promise! But when you go three years without a haircut, let’s just say you end up looking like a rocker from the 70s. Long, slightly wavy, light-brown hair hanging just past my shoulders.

Strangely, it became my signature look around the old office. I don’t hate the look, but starting anew in Vegas, cutting my hair, and returning to a crisp, clean buzz cut has been high on my list. A fresh look for a fresh start. In fact, I’m hoping to get that done this week!

But for now, the long mane is but an expired relic here to boost my body temp. To conceal the look and cool off my neck, I neatly bundled up my hair and buried it beneath a baseball cap.

The café of choice was a place called ‘Groucho’s’. Possibly named for Marx. Or maybe not, considering its metallic, grunge aesthetic that could appeal to grouchy people. But then again, maybe it’s just Vegas being Vegas.

Looking around the half-filled café, I didn’t immediately recognize her. I mean, the last time I saw her she was in high school. She could have completely changed by now. I’m mean, Lord knows I’ve done some growing.

I snagged my latté from the barista and found an open table as my eyes nervously scanned the restaurant. Was she here? Did I miss her? Was she missing me?

It was only a minute sipping my latté in silence before a girl walked in. Well, a woman. A beautiful woman in fact. Fifteen years older, but no doubt the Caroline Schwartz I remember from back on Marist Road.

One deep, steadying breath before I bravely waved, inviting her to my table.

“No. Freaking. Way!” Caroline’s jaw dropped. “Little Bailey Boone!”

Caroline practically skipped over to the table, and while I reached for the probably-too-formal handshake, she immediately lunged in for a hug, squeezing me tight.

“Look at you! All grown up!!”

“Heh, sure am,” I politely tried to wriggle out before she noticed how sweaty I was. “I mean, hey, you too.”

Caroline rolled her eyes. The piercing, beautiful blue ones I remember so vividly. “I was 15. You were 10. I only get to say that to you. Don’t former babysitters deserve respect?”

I let out a long, deep sigh. I wondered how long it would take to mention the elephant in the room.

Okay, yes. Caroline used to be my babysitter. Maybe a dozen or so times. Nothing crazy, but enough to establish a report between us. Thankfully they were all good experiences. Otherwise, I’d be avoiding her like the plague.

Do I wish I knew a single soul in Las Vegas other than a girl who got paid by my parents to watch me? Absolutely. But as part of my desire to rebuild and rebrand, I’d be the one to initiate (getting Caroline’s cell number from my mother of all people). After all, what’s the harm in meeting someone once? It’s a HUGE town. If it goes horribly, I never have to see her again.

She earnestly wanted to learn all about what I’ve been up to the last few years, my life after leaving Chicago, and my decision to move to Vegas.

“That’s some bold shit,” she noted, which I think was a compliment. I’m still trying to get a read on her.

Caroline had simultaneously changed a ton and not at all in the last fifteen years. Look-wise, she was practically the same. She was always very pretty with her long, ginger hair, blue eyes, and angular face. She’s also quite tall. Obviously, she was taller than me when I was ten, but even today she still had several inches on me. Though so does everyone else, considering I’m 5’6” on a good day.

Caroline sipped her latté and peered around the café. “So is today your last day of freedom? Are they making you start tomorrow?”

I shook my head. “The opposite, actually. I don’t start for over a month. I’m taking this time to acquaint myself with the city, develop some hobbies… You know, get settled.”

She leaned in, ever-intrigued by the life of an engineer. “Really! Lucky, lucky you!”

At that point, I’d realized, over 20 minutes in, that I’d barely even asked about her life.

I smacked my own head.“But wait, tell me about you! I think all my mom mentioned was you work in music.”

Caroline tilted her head. “Ehh… Kinda. Music-adjacent. I work for a musician.”

“Hey, even better! Probably more stable employment.”

This is a presumption, however, knowing next to nothing about the music industry – or really anything creative for that matter.

She chuckled softly, though I sensed some pain. “You’d think… The artist I work for is… kind of a bitch.”

That certainly got my attention. “Oh yeah?”

“Yeah,” she nodded. “She’s been fucking stressing me out. Any chance you’ve heard of Molly Pop?”

Immediately that name rang a bell. “Molly Pop… Didn’t she have a couple hits like, what, ten years ago? I haven’t thought about her in a minute.”

Caroline confidently leaned back in her seat like she was enjoying the fact I wasn’t fawning over her boss. “Yeah, kind of a flash in the pan. But hey, she’s relevant enough for a residency at The Goulet.”

I blinked a few times.

“The Goulet,” she clarified, pointing out the door. “It’s an ugly, yellow hotel a few blocks that way. I don’t blame you for not knowing it. Not exactly prime real estate.”

Already I was finding her snark amusing. Memories rushed back of how entertaining Caroline was as a babysitter. Then, without waiting for permission, she reached across the table and swiped her finger along my cheek.

“You’re sweating,” she said with a little smirk. “Still getting used to that Vegas heat?”

I blushed, of course, hoping she wouldn’t notice. “Is it always this brutal?”

“Pretty much. Especially in the summer. One thing I always find helpful is letting your head breathe.”

Again, she reached across the table, but instead of swiping a bead of sweat, she grabbed the bill of my baseball hat and in one motion, yanked it from my head.

And then she went silent.

“O–oh…” she squeaked, staring at me. “Wow.”

For a moment I was confused, thinking there was a bug on my face or something. But no. She was reacting to what was beneath the hat: fourteen inches of thick, light-brown locks cascading onto my shoulders.

“Bailey…” she muttered. “My God. When did this happen?”

Suddenly, the sweat wasn’t so embarrassing. Sometimes people will give me strange looks for my long hair, but nothing like this. Caroline was mesmerized. Entranced, even. And her reaction only made me blush more.

“It’s… I’ve been lazy. Haven’t cut it in forever. I’m actually planning on shaving it all off this wee–”

“DON’T!” she shouted. Loud enough that a couple people in the restaurant turned their heads. She returned to a normal volume. “Don’t. You shouldn’t. It’s… Lovely.”

Lovely. My hair’s been called many things, but I’ve never heard ‘lovely’.

“Thanks… But it’s kinda part of the life reset. You know: ‘New Hair, New Me’?”

Caroline shook her head like a disappointed parent. A look I’m sure I got from her once or twice in our youth. “Well, that’d be a huge mistake.”

“Oh yeah? Why is that?”

For the first time in a minute, her gaze left my head and went to her phone, checking the time. “What’re you doing right now?”

I shrugged. “Nothing. I mean, the movers are coming later, but–”

“Perfect. Come back to The Goulet with me. I could use your help on something.”

This girl was making zero sense. “Wait, help with what?”

Caroline took her hand and lightly smacked her own forehead. “Oh! I’m dumb. I realize I didn’t tell you what I do for Molly Pop.” She sat up in her seat proudly. “I’m her personal hair stylist, and I’m working on some fun new looks for her.”

Hearing the words ‘hair stylist’ made my mouth go dry. Probably because, deep down, I think I knew where this was going.

Caroline smiled sweetly, flashing those baby-blue, puppy dog eyes. “Is there any chance I could borrow your head for the next hour?”

=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=

Two more sample chapters coming this week, but the entire book is available right now on Amazon!

Thanks for reading :)

-Jennifer

AMAZON LINK:https://www.amazon.com/Youd-Make-Cute-Girl-Feminization-eboo...