A Trip to Las Vegas
A Vignette
By Maryanne Peters

“Somebody is very mad at you” was the title of this image by Robyn2801

Robyn used to do the job. She was “The Distraction”. He thought that he stood a better chance on the blackjack tables with her sitting beside him, giving the croupier that look she was famous for. It was a little more subtle that a “scoop the chips off the felt and fuck me on this table right now” look, but only just a little. I told him that I could do that look with the help of a bit of eye makeup. He did not believe me until he saw it.

We had gone to school together and we had been friends back then. We drifted apart I guess, but we were both dreamers, and a little restless. When we found one another again, I was working in a club where there was a poker game out the back, and he walked out of it looking not happy.

“Normally I would ask you to buy me a drink, but tonight I will buy one for you,” I said to him. “Partly because you look like you need it, but also because I know you – we went to the same high school. You’re Dylan Mutch.”

“I’m sorry, I don’t remember,” he said. “That’s strange, because I’m sure I would have remembered somebody as attractive as you.”

“I was Ben back then,” I explained. “Ben Stockley. Do you remember me? I guess I look a bit different now. I don’t have much of old Ben left, I can tell you. But I remember were friends back then, and I don’t think change should lose you your friends – right? Anyway, let me buy you that drink. I work as a hostess here and I have a hospitality allowance.”

I could see him reeling as I spoke, but I just kept on going. He took the drink and we talked about people we had gone to school with and what they had achieved. What we seemed to have in common was failure.

“But I am only one game away from success,” Dylan said, even if he did not believe it himself. “Professional gambling can be a hard life. But a life with hope is better than dreary existence.”

I had leave coming so I agreed to go with him to Las Vegas, just for a few days, and work “the Distraction”. He made it clear that this was a business proposition. After all, how could there be a sexual attraction when he had always known me as a guy, and I was the same. Neither of us was gay. We were just two old friends helping one another out.

I packed some evening dresses but for the drive I decided to wear an outfit that I had only worn a few times. “Sexy Cowgirl” probably sums it up – a plunging top, Daisy Duke short pants, cowboy boots and a 10 gallon hat.

To match that Dylan had a fancy car. It was an expensive import, and it was fast, but as I learned that week, imported cars are hard to fix. We broke down in the desert and I had to wait with the car while he thumbed a lift to get it towed.

I am not sure quite what happened between us during that hour as I sat in that car, or sometimes stepped out to walk around it. The desert is such an empty place that it leaves you alone with your thoughts. Of all the things that I could think about, I just thought about him. When you are boy you don’t think about other boys, and when you become a woman you only think about whether men want you, and how you need to explain your past if it gets serious. Even before we have got to the desert I found myself thinking that Dylan Mutch was a very attractive man and we looked good together in that car. We could even have been a young couple, with me in the passenger seat, maybe leaving the kids with the grandparents while we took a trip to Vegas. Maybe we might have no family and just be running away to get married at one of those chapels with me in a one-fits-all wedding dress.

Then the tow truck rolled up and Dylan was standing there.

“Hey, I’m sorry about this Belle,” he said. “You must be mad at me. For the last hour I have been thinking about you out here on your own, and … “.

He never got a chance to finish his sentence.

“I have been thinking about you too,” was all I said.

The tow truck driver reversed his ramp back and then got out.

“If you are headed to Vegas counting on good luck, it hasn’t started well for you,” he sniggered.

As it happened he was wrong. Dylan didn’t spend much time at the tables because we spent most of the time up in the room, having sex like there was no tomorrow. Then, when he played the game that the hotel almost demanded he did, we won super big.

In fact, that trip to Vegas was a winner all around, for both of us.

The End

© Maryanne Peters 2025
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Author's Note: Just another observation that comments have dropped away again, and we authors need encouragement!