“Alexis! Get down from there. What are you doing? That’s not a good example for Sarah.” Apparently, it was my mother’s turn to try to control the situation. I heard the limo driver saying something I couldn’t quite make out, and then suddenly there was Mom! Right next to Sarah and me.
“That driver has some nerve. He said some very rude things about your parenting, and threatened to take us back to the airport. I’ll show him some good parenting. Ahhh! My hair.” I watched her newly permed hair being whipped into a first rate ’fro and laughed.
“What’s so funny? You think you’re looking your best right now? It looks like you put your finger in a light socket,” she yelled, and started laughing.
Pretty soon all three of us were holding on to each other and cracking up. We must have looked a sight. Three generations of crazy Peterson women soaking up the Vegas vibe.
I got back inside the car and quickly placated the driver. Within a few minutes, we had pulled up in front of the Bellagio, right across from the faux Eiffel Tower of the Paris.
“Miss Peterson! Miss Peterson! You are so beautiful!” Really? Beautiful? My hair was standing on end and I had desert-induced sweat dripping off my nose. Makeup that had once been applied to my eyelids I was pretty certain was in a puddle at my feet. Only one sort of person could be kind enough to see me as beautiful at that moment. It had to be a fan. I looked around, and sure enough, there was a crowd of people thrusting photos (some of which I would have preferred remain in the archives) and paper and pens at me.
Daytime in the Desert was being held at the Las Vegas Hilton, which was more of a convention hotel than a lot of the others. I had a limo to take me to and fro, and that was nice; in theory, if talent had rooms away from the venue, we could come and go at our hotel without any commotion. In theory. Apparently, word had gotten out that we were staying at the Bellagio. That was okay, I guess. It was just that sometimes fans went a little overboard. Once or twice I’d even been followed into the ladies’ room. A woman once reached beneath a stall to hand me a picture and a pen. What could I do? I signed it. After I washed my hands, of course.
I did my best to pose for photos and sign autographs, while slowly making my way toward the entrance.
“Did you just get in, Alex? How was your flight?” a woman of about seventy asked. “You’re the first actor to arrive. Are Brad and Priscilla coming in soon? You know, I’ve been watching from the very first day.
The Bare and the Brazen
is so lucky to have you!”
I was worried about her. It was awfully hot, and I didn’t want her to faint.
“Do you need some water or something?” I asked her. She assured me she was fine and held up a bottle of water she was carrying in a tote.
I was handing back a signed photo when somebody in the very rear of the crowd caught my eye. I could see him only from the back, but still he looked vaguely familiar. I tried to get a better look when suddenly I heard a voice from behind me.
“Ms. Peterson? I’m Shelly Watkins. I’ve been assigned to you this weekend. May I take anything?”
I handed her my large purse. “Yeah, this. Thanks,” I answered while I gave a very hot and sweaty fan her very sweaty pen back and posed for a photo with her sister.
“Thanks so much for coming, you guys. I’ll see you tomorrow at the brunch!” I yelled, and waved good-bye to everyone, then pushed my way through the revolving doors. The air-conditioning felt amazing.
“Hi. Thanks,” I said to Shelly. I caught my breath. “I’m Alexis. Call me Alex, please. I seem to have lost my bags and my daughter.”
“Your mother and daughter are both right over here.”
I looked ahead of me and there they were, standing dead center, looking up at the famously gorgeous Bellagio ceiling. Beautiful, fragile, translucent, with hand-blown glass flowers by famed artist Dale Chihuly. They were breathtaking.
“Mommy! It’s so pretty here. I love this place. Oh. Look at the garden!” She had spotted the atrium at the back of the lobby, with all its beautiful flowers and manicured bushes. I couldn’t wait until she saw the chocolate fountain in the candy store.
“Can I go over there in the garden, Mommy?”
“Hold your horses, honey! Let’s get settled in our suite and then we’ll check everything out,” I said, trying to remain somewhat focused within the cacophony of music and slot machines. Such a strange combination. The Bellagio is so pleasing to the eye, yet it assaults the ear. Well, it is a casino. And certainly sounds like one.
“Here are your keys, Ms. Peterson.” She handed me two. “And if you all follow me, we can go on over. You’re staying in the High Rollers town house. It’s right through here.”
Chapter 23
Shelly led us to the right of the main lobby, past the lounge where a pianist was already playing Barry Manilow’s greatest hits between the slots and the video-poker machines. I’d have to get to those later. I love video poker!
We entered a beautifully decorated anteroom where the walls were graced with framed art and sculptures tucked safely away in well-lit alcoves. Two elevators leading up to floors twenty-three and higher were on the right side. Shelly passed those and led us back out another door and down a hallway.
“Where are you taking us? I had no idea this section of the hotel even existed.” I felt like I had entered into a secret, rarefied area seen only by the lucky, very loaded, few. Oh, that’s right. I had.
“We’re almost there. Right through here.” Shelly said as she led us through yet another door.
“Wow!” I couldn’t believe what I was seeing. Shelly had opened the door, and before us was the most incredible hotel room I had ever seen. More than a room—it was a house.
Sarah immediately ran off and started exploring. My mom and I followed. It was unbelievable. There were four bedrooms, five bathrooms, a living room with a grand piano, a bar and a huge flat-screen TV. The kitchen was a sight to behold, with state-of-the-art appliances and granite countertops. But who would want to cook with twenty-four-hour room service available? Not me! I found Shelly in the foyer by the front door.
“I hope you’ll be comfortable here, Ms. Peterson. If you need anything, don’t hesitate to call.”
“Oh, I think we’ll be very happy here. I have to ask you, though. How did we get this place? Not that I’m complaining.” I couldn’t help myself. I had to know. This was crazy.
“Oh! Well, the manager of the Bellagio is a huge fan of yours. When he heard you would be staying here, he just had to upgrade you.” Some upgrade. I hoped the other actors wouldn’t be miffed if they found out. Shelly pulled a card out of her pocket. “Don’t hesitate to call if you need something, day or night,” she said as she opened the door. “Enjoy.”
I stood still a moment to take the place in. It was decorated lavishly in gold and burgundy. Plush pillows graced the velvet sofas, intricate oriental carpets complemented the marble floors and lighting from the chandeliers gave the effect of a beautiful Italian drawing room. Gorgeous! Maybe I should rethink my lifestyle choices. As I looked around, I saw a sealed envelope on the table near the fireplace.
Itinerary for Daytime in the Desert
was printed across the front. Sarah came running into the room.
“Mommy, can I have the room with the Jacuzzi tub? And the big bed with the steps? Gramma said she’d take me to the garden, and that lady said there’s a candy store with a real chocolate fountain. Can I go swimming?” It had taken Sarah all of two minutes to acclimate to this lifestyle. Like mother, like daughter.
“Whoa, slow down. Let me see what my commitments are first. And yes, you can probably have the room with the high bed. This is so cool, isn’t it?” I hugged her, then opened up the envelope and pulled out the itinerary.
There was nothing on the itinerary for today. A free day. The next day, Saturday, was a different story. That’s when they got their money’s worth. The day started with brunch with the fans from nine until noon. The actors had two hours off, and then at two there was a question-and-answer panel, followed by an autograph session that was supposed to end around five. The day continued with cocktails and dinner from seven until nine. Sunday was a short day. Breakfast with the fans, followed by a photo op by the Hilton pool. My plane left at twelve p.m. Not a lot of time left for snooping around Vegas with Jakes. Just then, my cell rang. I looked at the caller ID. Speak of the devil.
“You would not believe this place. It is so awesome. You have to see it.” I sounded like Sarah. “It’s a High Roller town house, complete with a fireplace, a grand piano . . . just gorgeous. I miss you. Where are you, anyway?”
“I got in a few hours ago. I left LA when it was still dark. I love driving through the desert in the early, early morning. When are we going to see each other?” He was using that husky voice that still made my heart race.
“Let me call you right back.” I hung up. “Mom? Mom! Where are you?” I looked down the hallway as she peeked from around the corner of one of the bedrooms.
“Right here, honey. I’ll take this room, okay?”
I loved being able to share the perks of my business with my family. It made it that much more fun.
“Of course, Mom. Whatever you want. Hey, could you watch Sarah for a couple of hours? There are some things I need to take care of.” I wasn’t lying. There really were things I had to take care of. Jakes things.
“Sure. Go do what you need to do.”
Why did I feel guilty? How old was I? Never mind. I called Jakes back.
“Let’s meet at a place called Olives,” he suggested. “Uh, I believe it’s on the main floor. I’ll be there in fifteen.”
“Yeah, I know it. See you in a few!” I was excited to see him. I quickly freshened up, gave kisses and headed out the door.
Chapter 24
Olives is a contemporary restaurant that overlooks the dancing waters on what they called Lake Bellagio. It was too early for dinner, so we managed to get seated right by a window. We could hear Frank Sinatra singing “Luck Be a Lady,” while the waters did their thing.
“I never asked,” I said, as we were seated. “Do you gamble?”
“No,” he said, “I’ve never had the time to acquire that particular vice.”
“But obviously you’ve been to Vegas before,” I said. “Otherwise, how did you know about this place?”
“I have been here before,” he said. “Usually for bachelor parties. But someone recommended Olives to me.”
“Who?”
“Somebody I met today,” he said.
“Oh. At your hotel?”
“No,” he said. “A Vegas detective. She’s very nice. Helpful.”
“Helpful? You mean with the Shana case?”
“Yeah. With that and, uh, other things.”
“You’re acting kind of weird, Jakes.”
“It was a strange day. I got in early and went right to the local police station.”
“Jakes,” I said, opening my menu, “why don’t you just take your time and tell me what you did today?”
“Okay,” he said. “Okay. Well, when I first got to town . . .”
Jakes took me through his day step by step. We agreed I wouldn’t ask any questions until he was done. . . .
First he had to go to the headquarters of the Las Vegas Metro Police at 400 East Stewart Avenue.
Upon arrival, he was actually able to talk to the sheriff, the highest-ranking person in the department. He explained about Shana’s death and how it might be connected to a doctor who lived in Las Vegas. He also told the sheriff that when he had phoned from LA, he had gotten very little cooperation in contacting the doctor.
“I’m sorry to hear that, Detective,” the sheriff said. “Tell you what I’ll do. I’ll assign a detective to you, to assist in your inquiries.”
“I appreciate that, Sheriff,” Jakes said.
“But you have to understand one thing.”
“What’s that?”
“You have no authority here,” the sheriff said. “All authority lies with my detective.”
“I understand.”
“I hope you do,” the sheriff said. “We’ve had some of you LA hotshots out here in the past. I know you tend to think of us as hicks, but we’re a large metropolitan police department, Detective. We know what we’re doing.”
“I’m sure you do, Sheriff,” Jakes said. “I’ll appreciate any cooperation you can give me.”
“I’m going to assign Detective Cushing to you. You’ll have to go to 750 Sierra Vista. That’s our convention center area command. Covers the convention center and the strip, but Detective Cushing can take you anywhere you want to go. Should I have a car take you there?”
“No, that’s okay,” Jakes said. “I have a car. Thanks.” And then he left.
He had the feeling the sheriff was mollifying him, but he decided to wait until he met Detective Cushing before forming an opinion. The problem was that the sheriff was right: Jakes did think of the Las Vegas PD as a bunch of hicks. Their attitude on the phone had done nothing to change his mind. So far, the sheriff was being cooperative, but Jakes wasn’t convinced.
When he got to Sierra Vista, he presented himself to a sergeant out front and asked for Detective Cushing.
“Cushing?” the man asked.
“That’s right,” Jakes said. “You have a Detective Cushing here, don’t you?”
“Uh, well, yeah, we do,” the sergeant said.
Jakes showed the man his badge and ID and said, “The sheriff sent me over here to see him.”
“The sheriff,” the sergeant said.
“Yeah,” Jakes said, “you can call and ask him.”
“Hold on.”
The sergeant picked up his phone and dialed three numbers; he wasn’t dialing the sheriff.
“Yeah, I got a Detective Jakes from the LAPD down here asking for Detective Cushing. . . . Uh-huh. Yeah, I know, he says the sheriff sent him. . . .He did? Uh-huh, okay. I’ll tell him.”
He hung up, and said to Jakes, “Have a seat and Detective, uh, Cushing will be right down.”