Another Birthday and Work Starts for Real

Last Saturday was my birthday. It was the first time I spent my birthday in a place where I had no friends or family around to celebrate with. Okay, I know that's supposed to be part of the job and I shouldn't be such a whiner about it, but it did get me down a little bit. After moping most of the day, I finally decided to put on my best dress and hit the town. I mean, I had all of Las Vegas outside and I was sitting in my dinky apartment watching Food Network.

My first stop was the Bellagio where I had a few cocktails at Caramel, but it felt too trendy for my simple tastes. Without much food in my stomach, the booze hit me pretty fast and I found myself enraptured by the Chihuly glass sculptures on the ceiling of the Bellagio's lobby. I sort of remember spinning around and staring at the art, fascinated by the changing imagery as the light hit the glass from different angles. Who knows how long this went on, but when I noticed some security guards studying me suspiciously, I walked out to the valets to pick up my car.

Can't really remember much more about the night. I hopped from one place to another. Yes, I was probably too drunk to be driving and I regret that. I wasn't really thinking too clearly. There was some dive way off the strip where a fuzzy image of Elvis sat next to me and talked about how pretty I was. Maybe it was the margarita goggles, but he was rather attractive also. This was not the fat, jumpsuit Elvis, but a young, dashing  Elvis in a sharkskin suit and string bean tie. Next thing I knew, I was waking up in a strange bed alone and there was hair grease on the pillow next to me. Yes, I went to bed with Elvis, or at least a reasonable facsimile thereof.

The guy calls himself Lucky Jackson. That's not his real name, but a name he adopted from Elvis's character in Viva Las Vegas. He performs as Elvis in one of those 50s review shows on the strip, but he seems to be embodied with the spirit of Elvis 24/7. Needless to say, Sunday morning was a bit surreal. I just wanted to bolt, but I had no idea where I was. Lucky was a gentleman though, and he offered to take me to breakfast. It turns out he lives in a trailer in Henderson, and we ended up at a diner called Mustang Sally's located in a Ford dealership. Pretty awkward meal with him telling me all about his performing career and me making up some b.s. about having worked as an accountant but I had just moved to Vegas to start a new business. I was going to use my code name Carla, but he already knew my real name was Angela. Shit, I have to avoid drinking while undercover!

After our civil breakfast, I was really hoping I would never see Lucky again. Unfortunately, he was so sweet and polite that I felt compelled to give him my phone number. He's been texting me ever since. I can't bring myself to respond.

Monday, I got word that the agency I work for would no longer pay for my rental car and I had to find some permanent wheels. Their allowance for purchasing said wheels was a joke, so I had to find a used car in good shape. I settled on a silver 1998 Toyota Tercel, which was in fantastic condition considering its age. I guess they don't get the corrosive snow and road salt out here like we have back east. I took a picture of it:

I'm pretty happy with it, although it does have a few rattles like most used cars. Probably get rid of it once this job is over anyway.

Speaking of which, we hooked a fish on our line. A suspicious character who we've had our eye on for some time. The tech boys directed him to my site and we started chatting back and forth. Then there was the web cam stuff. I have to say, I was more upset by the experience than I thought I would be. Not that I'm a prude, but I was never all that demonstrative sexually. The whole seduction routine was never something I was comfortable with. Maybe if I had studied acting somewhere along the way, I would know how to disassociate my true self from the character I'm playing. Something must be going right because our target keeps coming back, and each session becomes a little easier.

I've been sleeping better, having learned to tune out my cranky old hag of a neighbor and all the noise at night. Her dog was in the hallway the other day before the crazy woman came out and dragged him back into her apartment. Cute little terrier mix. I feel sorry for him.

My general malaise must be working against me, because Lucky's messages became less annoying as the week went on. Yesterday he left a voice mail where he sang the chorus from Lady Gaga's Paparazzi in that Elvis voice of his. You know, "I'm your biggest fan, I'll follow you until you love me." Crazy goof. I guess I at least owe him a date where I can tell him this can never happen. I guess...