Hell With Rhinestones

The weather report says it's supposed to get up to 107 degrees today, and I think tomorrow it'll be 152 or something. It's just plain freakin' hot here. I mean, Maryland is hot in the summer, but we seldom reach these kinds of temperatures. Sure, back home it's akin to a swamp and Vegas is a dry heat, but hot is hot! You can sort of tolerate it while you're outside, but as soon as you go inside and hit air conditioning, your pores open up like floodgates and you are drenched. Not only that, it takes forever before the sweating stops, leaving you spent and miserable.

Therefore, I've been staying mostly cooped up in Lucky's trailer, which is to say I'm mostly alone. He's hardly ever around since he's at work or out with the cast all night and sleeps most of the day. In the beginning, we would spend his days off going to the movies or wandering around the casinos, but now he seems to find excuses to go elsewhere. It's like we jumped from the early stages of dating right into old couplehood without the nice courtship part in between. Once in awhile, he practically attacks me with a burst of sexual passion, but it feels like he's working off some nervous energy rather than wanting to be truly intimate. I've never actually lived with a man before, so this is all new territory for me.

So I spend most of my day noodling around on the computer and diddling myself in front of the computer for much of the night. I'm way past feeling any embarrassment or humiliation about this whole undercover gig. I just go through the motions like a well-rehearsed play, except that it's largely ad-libbed based on audience suggestions. Detachment is my coping mechanism. I refuse to be upset with these creepy men ogling me from hundreds of miles away. I refuse to get frustrated over Lucky's lack of attention. I refuse to worry about my mother dating a new man. What does any of it matter? It's just one long roasting in the Vegas oven.

Except that it does matter. Everything matters and the only way I can be effective at my job and at life is if I'm totally alert and focused. Sometimes I yearn to be back in the Navy defusing bombs. Back then I always had to be on top of my game or people would die, including me. It wasn't a death wish that drove me. I don't know that I even thought about dying back then, at least not in a real tangible sense. It was all about the adrenalin. I fed on it. I craved it like some people crave chocolate. It's what I lived for and what made me love life all the more. There was nothing better than being in the moment and figuring out the workings of an IED (improvised explosive device to you civilians). Nothing better except for the exhilaration I felt when I knew the bomb was defused and I would live another day. That was when life was worth living.

I thought this job would provide me with a similar focus, but it's so much more ambiguous. The objectives are less clear cut, the plan of attack is less concrete, and the measurement of success less certain. All of this adds up to a very unhappy Angie, and my malaise could get me in trouble. Just the other day, I noticed a white panel van parked outside the trailer. It was idling away with a distinctive sound that reminded me of an old cop show from the 70s (wacka-cha, wacka-cha, wacka-cha). There were no markings on the van and I didn't see anyone getting in or out of it. Still, I just assumed the van belonged to some contractors doing work in the trailer park.

The next day, I heard that distinctive idling sound. I looked out the window and saw the van parked outside again. Oh well, the contractors were back, I thought, even though no one was around. It wasn't until the third day when the van reappeared that I started getting nervous. Could they be conducting surveillance? The LVPD was purposely not informed of my presence in Vegas, and I'm not entirely sure of the legalities regarding an online porn site. Maybe the cops are investigating me. Or perhaps Lucky is the target? He never lets me know what he's up to. Maybe he has some friends with broken noses who would like to speak with him?

Finally, I got off my lazy, self-pitying ass and went to investigate. I slipped out a window of the trailer on the side opposite to where the van was parked. To avoid detection, I took a circuitous route behind other trailers and the dumpsters until I managed to get behind a hedge just a few feet away. I don't know what I did wrong, but they must've spotted me because they took off abruptly and haven't been back since. I cursed myself for being sloppy.

If that little incident wasn't enough to wake me up, I was informed yesterday by The Colonel that one of the men who has been frequenting my site works for a major arms dealer we've been targeting. We think this lackey may be scoping out prostitutes for the arms dealer in advance of his arrival in Vegas. I have to stay totally focused. I can't let this one slip through my fingers.

A Raven, a High School Principal, and an Elvis Impersonator Walk into a Trailer

I managed to get all my stuff into Lucky's double wide last weekend, and I've been conducting my little business out of his spare bedroom. It's an awkward arrangement, particularly since I'm now juggling several "clients" through my Web site. Lucky typically leaves for the theatre in the late afternoon, right around the time when my east coast clients start hitting the Internet. These interactions can go on into the wee hours of the morning, but Lucky tends to hang out with people from the show after the last performance, so he usually rolls in when the sun is coming up. By that time, I'm already in bed. This is throwing my sleep pattern all out of whack since I tend to be an early riser. I'm beginning to feel like a cat, catching short naps throughout the day and night, but never really sleeping a full 8 hours.

My lack of sleep isn't the only thing that's contributing to my foggy perception of the world. I feel as though I'm becoming Carla Fontaine for 12 hours and then reverting to little ol' Angie for 12 hours. The sensation is especially disconcerting when it comes to my love life. The other day, after spending hours online conducting long distance sex with a group of anonymous strangers, Lucky came home from work and became amorous. Instinctively, I found myself going into seductress mode like I had been playing all night. We were well into our love making before I realized I was playing a role and not actually focusing on the moment. Lucky seemed to enjoy it just fine, which left me even more confused. As attentive as he is to me in other ways, he tends to become a bit selfish in the bed room. I hadn't noticed that the first time we slept together because, well frankly, I was too inebriated to remember anything much. Now that we've had sex while I've been sober, his lack of skill is more apparent. Just an observation, but it seems like the more blessed a man is in the genital department, the less he thinks he needs to do to please a woman.

Anyway, my life feels like it's settling into a dysfunctional routine. Except for the other night when Lucky came home early and I was still involved in a session with one of my clients. I had to feign internet troubles to end the session quickly and straighten everything up. Lucky still walked in on me while I was dressed in a leather bikini. I couldn't very well pass it off as normal sleeping attire, so I had to think fast. Fortunately, since I already told him that I sell lingerie and other sexy items online, I just explained that I was taking some modeling shots for the Web site. The lovable dope bought it. This is really nuts.

My mom calls me almost every day. She is apparently having regular dates with my old high school principal, Brad Huggins. I don't know what bothers me more: the fact that Mom is dating so soon after Dad's death or that she taking up with my old principal. Actually, I have to realize that it's been almost a year since my father passed away, and my mom is completely on her own back in Maryland. Also, if I kind of stand back and look at Mr. Huggins objectively, he's not such a bad looking guy. I just can't shake the image of him marching around the corridors of my old high school like a martinet, checking the lavatories for wayward smokers.

It's been rather quiet lately. In between clients, I even got to catch some of the Ravens/Panthers preseason game on ESPN last night. Of course, the Ravens won. I think they could go all the way this year. I'm sure my father is looking down on me disapprovingly. Growing up in Bethesda, he was a lifelong Redskins fan while I paid no attention to football at all. Then, during my freshman year of college, I dated a guy from Baltimore who was a Ravens fan. That just happened to be the year they went to the Super Bowl, and I've been a fan ever since.

So that's this week, but I get a feeling in my bones that something's about to break loose. It always does in my life. I guess I have to enjoy the calm while I can.

Carla Fontaine's Second Act

F. Scott Fitzgerald wrote "In life, there is no second act," but since my life as Carla Fontaine is largely a fantasy, I think I should have as many acts as I wish. This past weekend, I spent most of my time regrouping to launch my second act. I realized that I was approaching this assignment in a half-hearted way, primarily because I was repulsed by the character I have been asked to play. There was no serious commitment on my part. I was going through the motions, hoping that we might ensnare one of these characters that The Colonel is looking for and he'll call me home. After the fiasco of last week, it's obvious that this is not going to be that easy and I may be in this role for the long haul.

To that end, I've placed more focus on improving my "web presence" by researching better makeup techniques and wardrobe choices. After spending five years in the Navy, I had gotten used to wearing a minimal amount of makeup and dressing rather conservatively. When I started doing the web cam stuff, I tarted myself up the way I imagined a porn star would look and, similarly, bought some cheesy lingerie which I hastily grabbed off the racks without much consideration. This time out, I consulted some people and looked at some actual "high end" pornography to see how the pros do it. I'm going for a look somewhere between slutty and sophisticated. Hopefully, the new look and a serious commitment to my performance might improve my chances of nabbing the right targets. I also need to plan the scenarios better so these guys won't get suspicious or slip away.

Anyhow, that's ongoing. Also ongoing is Lucky's charming but slightly annoying courtship routine. I figured I'd  put him to the test by taking me to an upscale fine dining establishment. There were so many to choose from in Vegas, but I decided on Mesa Grill because I've been watching Bobby Flay on the Food Network since I was a teenager. He sort of came across as a bit of a jerk to me, but I was curious about all his sauces and those "big, bold flavors" that he's going on about all the time. I have to say, the experience was really wonderful and I have a new found respect for the guy. I had the "hacked" chicken with the five spiced mole and Lucky ate the coffee rubbed filet mignon. Both dishes were terrific, but I was actually coveting Lucky's steak. I'll have to see if I can recreate that coffee rub sometime.

Not only was the food great, but the servers were friendly and attentive as well. That's almost as important to me as the food. After a few glasses of wine, Lucky seemed less grating as well. I know I must sound completely bi-polar about this guy, but I truly am on the fence about whether I really like him or not. After this romantic dinner, he takes me back to his trailer to watch Elvis in Charro!. He thought it would fit in with the Southwest theme of our dinner. It's sort of sweet, but kind of strange too. There's so much artifice to him, I want to knock on his forehead and shout, "Hello, is the real Lucky - or whatever your real name is - actually in there?" Maybe even he doesn't really know.

Of course, the big event of the week came on Wednesday night. It's way too complicated to go into here, so I think I'll save that for one of my short stories. The day was going along routinely: I had a conference call with some people in DC, ran over to the gym for a 2-hour workout, and then stopped by a 7-11 on the way home for a candy bar (I know, but my sugar was low). On the way to my car, I found my neighbor's dog poking around by the dumpsters. After a bit of a struggle, I rounded the critter up and took him back to his owner's apartment. Things got pretty weird after that and I can't help but suspect that The Colonel put me in that apartment underneath that crazy old lady on purpose. He has a funny way of putting me in places where strange things happen.

The upshot of it was that her apartment caught fire and spread across most of her floor. My apartment was downstairs, so it was not too badly damaged, but because I was at the scene, the landlord blamed me and kicked me out.

By yesterday afternoon, my belongings were packed into my tiny Tercel and I was essentially homeless. Feeling at loose ends, I called Lucky to grumble and he offered to take me in. Naturally, I was hesitant, but I really didn't want to have to look for a new place. So here I am, typing this blog post in the spare bedroom of Lucky's double wide. Now I just have to figure out how I can conduct my web cam work without him finding out about it.

Starting Over Personally and Professionally

Just when I thought I was getting the hang of this gig, it all went to hell in a matter of hours. I was doubtful that this cover would work in the beginning. Then I thought perhaps my boss was right and that this would be a foolproof plan. Now I'm having my doubts again. Maybe not so much about the operation itself, but about my ability to fulfill my role. My only choice is to regroup and figure out a way to make this work.

The week started out interesting enough. I decided to meet with Lucky again if only to let him know that our one night of drunken abandon was just that and we could never be a real couple. We met up in the wee hours of Sunday morning after he had finished his final show and we headed to an all-night diner. I had my speech planned and everything, but somehow, I never got that far. Despite his bizarre need to mimic The King's mannerisms and speech pattern, he's not entirely in character all the time. As we ate, we talked about all the usual silly stuff people talk about on a first date. Being around the same age, we laughed about the TV shows we watched as kids and the toys we had and all those pop culture touchstones that bond everyone from a certain generation and defines them, if only in a superficial way. By the time we ordered dessert, I realized how much I missed having a real friend to talk to.

Nevertheless, I was firm that, if we were going to have any further contact, we needed to go slowly. To my surprise, Lucky was just as eager to take the same approach. He seemed perfectly willing to start over as if that strange night had never occurred. We parted before sunrise with only a chaste kiss to end the date. I agreed to see him a few days later for a matinee movie- Despicable Me if you must know. I guess it was okay. I'm not much for computer animation. Growing up with movies like The Little Mermaid and Beauty and the Beast, this artificial, rubbery looking stuff leaves me cold. Lucky seemed to enjoy it.

My noisy neighbor and her barking dog must be away for the time being. Amazing how eerie silence can be when you become used to certain noises. I'm not complaining, though. I've been able to catch up on my sleep. Sleep is my escape from the job. I've been doing unspeakable things to myself in front of a web cam for the last couple weeks in the name of entertaining some pervert on my agency's wanted list. I've had to engage in ridiculous seduction chat as well, trying to lure him into a meeting. As it turned out, he told me he was coming to Vegas. We were supposed to meet up this past Wednesday. Perhaps I should have handled this on my own, but I wanted to do this correctly, so I made contact with Stephen again to work out a scenario where we could nab this guy. We set up a hotel room where I would meet the target and Stephen would burst in as an angry husband. Distraction in place, we would overtake the guy and spirit him away without anyone noticing. The plot sounded good. It wasn't.

I'm not sure what exactly went wrong, but the guy must've spotted Stephen lurking around or something, because the target bolted. Stephen and I searched the surrounding area but, after hours of chasing shadows, we came up with nothing. My call to The Colonel was quite tense. I was dying inside, but he told me that the operation would continue. There were more fish in the sea. Part of me was hoping he would call this whole thing off. I could live with the failure. I wasn't so sure I could continue living as Carla Fontaine.

At least that's how I was feeling for a day or so. I've recommitted myself to making this work. This mistake was a dress rehearsal. Now I'm over the nerves and I can truly become this character. I have to improve the look, the moves, the seductive banter. Carla Fontaine will be irresistible. No more thinking about the cases I want to do. This is what my country needs me to do, and I will succeed.

Hang on, another text from Lucky. He's sweet but annoying sometimes. I have to punish him by making him take me to one of the really expensive restaurants in town.

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...

Lost in Las Vegas

Another week in Las Vegas and I'm beginning to feel like a toy boat adrift at sea. After my agency contact, Stephen, gave me a quick orientation on my new assignment and spent a few days giving me a tour of the city, he disappeared. Not literally, but he felt that it would be best for my cover if I no longer made contact with him.

I'm cultivating my new personna, known as Carla Fontaine, but things are moving slowly. A couple of Web designers back in DC are putting together a bogus porn site for me using some sexy shots I took last week. Although I'm not altogether thrilled with exploiting my body this way, I have to admit, the shots turned out far better than I expected. Maybe too good for a girl who's supposed to be running a webcam porn scheme from her apartment. I guess we'll see.

I don't understand all the technical aspects of it, but apparently our tech guys have hacked into the computers of certain targets of interest and are monitoring their "adult entertainment" preferences. Once my site is ready, they will somehow piggyback on a site that the target frequents and redirect him to my site. My job is to be entertaining enough in the virtual world to lure him to Vegas for some actual intimacy. That's when we take him in. God, I hate the idea of having to perform on a webcam for some slobbering oaf, but at least I won't have to see him while I'm doing it.

I had to buy a new laptop and a webcam for this job. Not knowing very much about computers, I had a long talk with one of the sales people at the nearest electronics megastore. He talked me into buying an ASUS, which I had never heard of before. He told me ASUS makes the hardware components for several other computer companies and only recently started making their own. It's not very pretty (sort of dark brown shiny plastic thing), but it seems to work okay for my needs. At least I could fritter away some time loading new software on it and configuring it the way I want it. Killing time has become a full-time job for me lately. I almost feel like I'm collecting a paycheck under false pretenses.

Last weekend, I thought I'd check out some of the big hotels on the strip. Went to the Venetian and Paris since they seemed pretty gimmicky. It was kind of like the way Europe would've been rendered in one of those old movie musicals with Gene Kelly or that old guy who looked like a grasshopper. There's something depressing about the phoniness of it. I guess it's for people who want to see Europe but are afraid of Europeans. I visited Epcot when I was doing my EOD training for the Navy down in Florida and got the same sort of vibe. I haven't done a huge amount of traveling, and much of that was work related, but when I can I like to immerse myself in the culture rather than try to tailor it to my American tastes.

Speaking of tastes, I found a place here that serves terrific Thai food. It's called Lotus of Siam, and they have a wonderful lunch buffet. The only drawback was I had to sit next to some pretentious idiot talking loudly on his cellphone the whole time. Then he asked the waitress for chopsticks even though Thai people do not use them. Goof!

So those are the highlights for this week. Oh, there is the neighbor upstairs who's been keeping me awake at night with all kinds of banging and rumbling noises, not to mention the dog barking and growling. It's a cute little terrier mix, but boy can it make noise. I wonder what the hell they're up to at night. And my mom keeps calling way too early because she doesn't understand the time different between east and west. She needs help sorting out my Dad's estate and, since she thinks I work for an investment firm, she wants my advice. If she only knew....

Starting a New Life

This is probably a stupid thing to do, but I decided to start a blog because I feel like I'm at loose ends and need to unload to whoever's out there. For the first time since I started working for this secret federal agency with no name, I'm stuck on long-term undercover duty with no specific strategy or end game. Over the last year or so, my previous cases involved rather narrow operations with a clear protocol and short-term results. I guess the boss, whom we all refer to as The Colonel, feels that I'm finally ready to take on a serious deep cover job. While I appreciate his confidence, I'm not so sure how crazy I am for this particular assignment.

Shortly after returning from my vacation in England, The Colonel informed me that I was moving to Las Vegas to pose as some online hooker to lure nasty terrorists who happen to frequent Vegas for some illicit thrills. He was not terribly specific about how the operation would work (probably out of some embarrassment since he is a fairly formal gentleman), so I was simply shipped off after the July 4th weekend where I was supposed to meet my contact. His code name is Stephen - his real name is not important.

I arrived at McCarran airport to the clang and jingle of slot machines in the terminal. After picking up my rental car, I drove to the Luxor where I had booked a room for one night. Having never been to Vegas before, I wanted to have one night at one of those flashy hotels. The place was just noisy and stank of cigarette smoke. After a couple drinks and several hours on the slot machines, I wasn't feeling the excitement, so I went to bed.

I met up with Stephen the next day and he filled me in on my new life. I was to become Carla Fontaine, an online sex kitten who runs her sleazy Web site out of a one-bedroom apartment in North Las Vegas. Not a bad place, actually. Clean and neatly decorated with DIY furniture from one of those Scandavanian warehouse stores. After having a day to get my bearings, I was sent to a photo shoot to take some semi-nude shots for the Web site being developed by the boys in DC. I'm not a prude, but this sort of exhibitionism is not really my thing. I spent five years trying to earn respect in the Navy as an Explosive Ordnance Disposal Technician and in this new job as a competent field agent. Now I'm being used as a sex object. After the shoot, I hit the liquor store and spent the evening in my tiny place having a rare (but perfectly justifiable in my mind) pity party.

My royal hangover was kicked off bright and early the next morning when my mom called at 5:30 a.m. She still can't get used to the time difference between Maryland and Nevada. I think she's lost a step or two since Dad died. I've told her I'm setting up a branch office for this non-existent investment firm I'm supposed to work for. The worst part of this job is the lying, especially to my family, but it can't be helped. I'm beginning to see myself as multiple people existing at once.

Anyway, yesterday I roamed around Las Vegas some more to get acquainted. It's boiling hot here, but I think it's just as bad back home right now. And I thought I was used to crazy traffic coming from DC, but this is a new kind of crazy. By evening, I was feeling fairly miserable when a curious courier arrived at my door with a package. I was suspicious, but it turned out to be my Smith & Wesson Model 3913LS "Lady Smith" 9 mm. It's nice to have a least one old friend nearby.