The Vegas Diaries, page 20
For years, I had been craving a career and someone special—and when it rains, it pours. Between Peepshow, Holly’s World, and Extra, I had three jobs, not to mention a beautiful, sweet, amazing man who seemed to care a lot about me. I felt so lucky to have Mark, but I was also starting to have my doubts about the relationship. Now another charming, handsome man was knocking on my door and really beginning to become more aggressive in an attempt to capture my attention. I started comparing Eric and Mark in my head. One was local; the other wasn’t. One was five years older than me, one eight years younger. Instead of listening to my heart, I started to wonder who the more “practical” choice was.
Mark’s tour schedule meant that he wouldn’t be attending my season two wrap party, but he made sure to send me a beautiful bouquet of orange roses (my absolute favorite). When Angel carried a second gigantic, breathtaking arrangement into the kitchen I was utterly blown away. Two bouquets! If Mark wasn’t the most thoughtful . . .
“They’re from Eric,” Angel said knowingly, rolling her eyes.
Oh, shit, I thought. Mark’s sweet bouquet looked like a grocery store bundle next to this enormous, artistically crafted display. Poor Mark.
As I sat there staring at these two offerings, I started to get annoyed. How dare he? I thought. It was completely inappropriate for Eric to send me these! I felt defensive of Mark, who, unbeknownst to him, had been belittled in my own home by what looked like a floral monstrosity, now that I knew who it was from. I shook my head and went upstairs to choose a dress for the night’s after-show festivities.
The cast and I were ready to get a little crazy. We’d been working on overdrive and were excited to celebrate our last day of filming at LAX, the nightclub inside the Luxor.
We were led into the cavernous space, under the black glass chandeliers and past the wrought-iron balustrades that decorated the club. We arrived at our booth on a second-story balcony, looking down at the pulsating crowd below. My friends and I danced, laughed, and snapped photos like crazy people, reveling in our moment together. Cakes, flowers, and complimentary bottles of Cristal were brought to the table all night as we tossed party favors to the crowd below us. After the cameras wrapped, none other than Eric appeared at our booth, looking impeccable and crisp.
Had he been refreshing my Twitter feed just to find out where I’d be? I wondered, at once thinking that his behavior was a little much, but also feeling kind of flattered.
“Did you like the flowers?” he shouted into my ear over the blaring music, snatching the opportunity to fill the seat that had just become vacant next to me.
“You shouldn’t have sent them. I have a boyfriend, remember?” I replied, still refusing to thank him for the flowers. Perhaps I haven’t been sending a strong enough message, I thought.
“Then where is he?” he asked, a devilish grin on his chiseled jaw.
I shot him an evil look.
“If you were mine, you wouldn’t be able to keep me away,” he continued. I was determined to keep Eric at arm’s length, but his persistence made him hard to ignore. He partied with my friends and me through the night, intermittently disappearing for brief periods to socialize with other people he knew in the surrounding booths. We had a limo waiting to take a bunch of us home, and Eric spontaneously jumped in as we were leaving. My best friends, who like everyone else in town had fallen hard under this guy’s spell, were happy for him to join us in the raucous ride home as we popped a few bottles of champagne so that we could each have a nightcap on the way.
The first stop was Hannah’s mansion on the Eastside. Next, Josh and Lindsay were dropped off at their lofts farther south. Finally just Angel, Eric, and I were left in the limo. I knew Angel and I would be dropped off first, as we were heading south and Eric’s luxurious condo was located in Turnberry Place, on the north side of the Strip.
As we pulled up to my house, Eric walked us to the front door. Angel darted in first, leaving me with an extra moment to say good-bye to Mr. Persistent.
I quickly ducked inside my house and reached for my M-embossed doorknob. The interior of my home illuminated behind me as Angel flipped on the lights and went upstairs.
Eric leaned towards me and then pulled back . . . and I just watched him as he looked behind me, a devilish grin appearing on his face as his eyes locked on to something.
“Good night, Holly,” he murmured.
“Night,” I said. I was confused, but as I turned around, I quickly understood.
Sitting on the coffee table were the two arrangements.
“WHY DON’T YOU EVER send pictures anymore?” Mark asked.
“I will, I’ve just been so busy,” I explained.
“We should talk on the phone more,” he added.
Truthfully, these were perfectly reasonable requests, but I somehow couldn’t find the motivation to up my game. I was having trouble juggling everything in my life, but I couldn’t admit it and Mark was feeling the slack. Picking up the phone to call Mark should have been easy, but something was keeping me at bay. Deep down, I felt guilty and unworthy of all the effort Mark put into making the relationship work, since I was having my doubts about us. I respected him too much to not let this imbalance bother me, but I was still at a loss for how to actually handle it.
I grew vague when the subject of my coming to visit him during my next vacation came up. I desperately wanted to go to Paris, and Mark wasn’t free to come with me. The urgency was mounting for me, as if this were the last vacation I would ever go on in my life.
Something about my behavior was eerily familiar . . . I was reminding myself of Jeffrey, pulling away from Mark in the same way that Jeffrey had pulled away from me. It wasn’t fair. Mark doesn’t deserve someone who treats him like this, I told myself. I wasn’t as invested in the relationship as I should be. I knew now that I had to figure out a way to let this one down easy.
I can’t continue to lead him on, I thought after texting Claire and asking her if she had the second week of March free. It’s not like we had a future together, anyway. I’ll get to the point where I want to start a family way before he will.
For me, having a talk about the future and kids with Mark was totally out of the question. I didn’t want to be seen as that “crazy” girl who’s trying to convince their man to settle down. During my time on The Girls Next Door, I had become known as the marriage-obsessed girlfriend, with babies constantly on the brain. It soon became a running joke on the show, which I was happy to play into. I thought the gag worked and there was a root of truth to it. I did want marriage and a family one day. But unfortunately it worked too well and the joke was soon inextricably attached to my public image. I couldn’t bear the thought of Mark thinking of me that way, too.
Besides, his career was just starting to take off, and he had everything ahead of him. I felt he shouldn’t want a family any time soon.
Yes, I would be doing him a favor if I set him free, I thought.
Maybe I was scared of getting hurt again. Maybe, in my own way, I wanted to preserve our relationship and freeze it as a perfect moment in time, breaking it off before he could ever have a chance to tire of me and leave me heartbroken.
He had the following weekend off and had already planned to come to Vegas. I knew I should have canceled it, but I didn’t. For some reason, I couldn’t pull the plug. I tried to tell myself that it was because he didn’t deserve a long-distance breakup, but I really shouldn’t have let him spend the time and money to come out and visit, either. The truth was, I was nervous and didn’t know how to say what needed to be said. I hoped that seeing him in person would force me to face reality and help me find the right words.
“Let’s grab sushi,” Mark suggested as soon as he jumped into my car when I picked him up from the airport. We went to one of his favorite spots, which had a gorgeous, sweeping view of the Las Vegas strip.
After we ordered, we gravitated toward the corner of the booth and I leaned up against him as I usually did, but it felt awkward and forced, as if there were a large space between us. Our conversation was unusually stilted. I was walking on eggshells trying to avoid having the talk right before I had to go onstage, and while I couldn’t tell you what he was thinking, it was clear something was on his mind. He just wasn’t as talkative as usual and I’m sure he could feel the distance between us as I lay in his arms . . . how could he not?
“I have this friend whose wife was cheating on him . . .” he started awkwardly as he stared out the window.
I knew exactly what he was doing . . . and I can’t say I blamed him. My throat began to close up. I knew that wherever this conversation was going, it would end with us saying good-bye. I was selfish, terrified to have it right before going onstage; I was scared that I wouldn’t be able to dry my eyes and jump into character on time.
“Angel is hosting over at Chateau,” I interrupted with forced cheer, attempting awkwardly to change the subject. “You should really go see her while I do my show. It’d be fun.” Angel, in addition to acquiring my understudy role in Peepshow, had also landed a role in a neighboring production, Absinthe, and was now booking nightclub appearances of her own. Somehow my ploy worked and our conversation veered in another direction for the time being.
Hours later, after the show, I grabbed Mark from Chateau and drove down the I-15 toward home. He kept talking about how Hannah and her new boyfriend had been there and how happy they seemed. He also told me how Angel had confided in him that her relationship with the guy she was seeing was better than ever.
He’s going to ask me if I’m happy in our relationship, I thought, panicking.
I changed the subject as quickly as possible. It wasn’t just the idea of discussing our relationship with him that triggered my anxiety; it was the thought of anyone’s questioning my happiness, period. Just that thought terrified me for some reason.
The next morning, my alarm began chiming at eight A.M. on the dot, and immediately I popped out of bed.
“Where are you going?” Mark mumbled sleepily.
“I gotta go do Extra,” I reminded him as I began to get ready for the day. Our conversation very quickly turned into a heated discussion about how I hadn’t made any time for him on this visit (true) and his asking me if I was seeing someone else (not technically true), both of which I vehemently denied.
He wouldn’t let it go. Suddenly he asked me bluntly what he had been trying to ask over the past fourteen hours.
“Are you cheating on me?” he asked.
“No!” I cried, my eyes suddenly welling up.
“Have you ever cheated on me?”
“No!” Tears were streaming down my face now.
I could have easily taken control of the conversation and communicated like an adult, but all I did was shake my head while the waterfall of tears poured from my eyes. I couldn’t believe how incapable of any mature communication I was in this moment. And wasn’t his age my issue? If it hadn’t been so heartbreaking, this preposterous situation would have been laughable. It was as if I was having an out-of-body experience, watching myself do everything wrong.
“We need to break up,” he finally conceded, unable to get through to me despite his best efforts. “I came all the way out here to see you and you can’t even make time for me. I’m busy, too, you know.”
“I know,” I croaked, my voice barely audible as I wiped the tears from my face. “I’m sorry.”
As he got up off the bed to get dressed, I felt heartbroken, yet oddly detached at the same time, as if I was watching someone else’s life happen. Was I really just letting this relationship with this amazing guy end without giving him the explanation he was owed? Was I really letting this perfect creature walk out the door and out of my life after every asshole guy I’d already survived? Why was I so heinously self-sabotaging?
Looking back on this, I’m not sure I had the self-esteem to let myself be loved the right way. And simply by failing to communicate, after years of dating douche bags, I became the douche bag.
CHAPTER 9
“It’s no use screaming at a time like this. Nobody will hear you.”
—The Wizard of Oz (1939)
I ran my fingers through my hair and rearranged the off-the-shoulder neckline of my oversize cashmere sweater as I approached the giant slatted-wood double doors. It felt more intimidating than inviting—an odd choice for a restaurant.
As usual, Eric had popped up on my BlackBerry that week to rib me about the latest episode of Holly’s World before asking me for a dinner date. He knew that Mark and I had called it quits, or at least I assumed he did. Gossip travels at light speed in Vegas. It had been a few weeks since Mark had caught a plane home and I was finally ready and free to accept Eric’s offer.
Guy Savoy was one of the most exclusive restaurants on the Strip. In recent years, Las Vegas had become a hotbed for foodies and now had offerings from some of the world’s most esteemed chefs. I was counting the days until my Paris trip with Claire, but in the meantime, this French cuisine was a tantalizing appetizer.
A statuesque maître d’ guided me to “table number three.” We strolled through an impeccably chic dining room, with high ceilings and a wall of windows with a glittering view of the Strip’s lights. It was modern but somehow warm, with rich wood panels and bright artwork on the walls. Eric stood up to greet me, radiating charm and chivalry and offering me a slight kiss on the cheek.
He waited for me to sit as the maître d’ pushed in a sleek dark brown chair behind me. As if out of thin air, a server in a gray suit appeared with a small stool on which to place my tiny black clutch.
“Champagne?” Eric asked with a sly smile as he reached for the bottle of Cristal that had been chilling next to us.
“Sure,” I murmured before adding, “but just one.” My Peepshow choreography was ingrained in my muscle memory at this point, but I never wanted to give anything less than my full attention to the performance.
As he filled our glasses, politely and discreetly waving off the server, who was attempting to take over, my gaze drifted from the golden bubbles to the top two buttons of his white shirt, which were open and allowed the collar to frame his jaw. His thick dark hair was perfectly in place and he had not an hour’s worth of stubble on his smooth skin.
“Cheers,” he said, bringing his glass to mine. “To the first of many evenings to come.”
I clinked his glass, our eyes locking as we took sips of the champagne.
“I already ordered us the Prestige,” he stated. “You will love it.” I nodded, suddenly feeling a bit like a fish out of water. Prestige was the restaurant’s ten-course tasting menu. Normally I wouldn’t have selected such a lavish dinner before heading onstage, but I figured, What the hell. I wasn’t going to decline when being offered the royal treatment.
I felt like Katniss Everdeen arriving by speed train to the Capitol, quietly taking in the absurd decadence around me. Each course appeared before us looking more extravagant and otherworldly than the last. From the silky artichoke and black truffle soup with mushroom toasted brioche and French burger canapé, to a marinated lobster salad, green apple sorbet palate cleanser, and an artfully crafted strawberry rhubarb gelato with basil granité, the meal was simply exquisite—and superseded only by the company with which I shared it. Truth be told, we didn’t say much over dinner, as we were too busy raving about each dish. Even the bread cart was a masterpiece, sprouting up like a wild garden of golden baked treats.
Throughout dinner, Eric’s BlackBerry stayed dutifully in his pocket. At least that’s where I assume it was, because I never saw it once. In turn, my phones stayed inside my clutch the entire meal (something they hadn’t done in quite some time).
Why had I been so hesitant to go out with him? I wondered. He defied my expectations. With his devastating good looks, impeccable style, and success, he was the type of man most women would want to be with. After my string of less-than-typical boyfriends, there was something exciting about being with Eric, someone it seemed everyone else wanted, the proverbial “catch,” if you will.
I was having such a good time that I almost didn’t want to leave to do my show.
“I hate to be rude, but I really have to head over to start getting ready,” I told Eric.
“Absolutely,” he said, placing his linen napkin on the table and standing up. “Let me walk you to your car.”
We walked out of the tower toward the south entrance of Caesars. Someone must have alerted valet, because my car was already waiting for me. Eric walked me to the driver’s-side door.
“Thank you for dinner,” I said as he opened my door for me.
Without saying a word, he leaned in and kissed me.
“I’ll see you soon,” he said with one of his seductive smiles. He held open the door, and I slid, without saying a word, into the driver’s seat . . . and cruised the one long Strip block south toward Planet Hollywood. On my way up to the theater, I checked the phone that had been cooped up for hours in my purse and found a new text from Eric.
“When can we go on another date?” it read. I had to admit, I was flattered by the persistence. I decided to wait until after the show to answer him, and while I was waiting, Nancy texted me telling me she would be bringing a certain Eric J. Parkington to see my performance tomorrow. Okay, then, I thought with a smile on my face.
The next day, I decided to take a few extra minutes getting ready at home before I left for work. I leisurely sat down at my vanity and began applying my makeup. It was a big night for me. Not because Eric was coming to see the show, but because it was the first night I would be performing my latest number. I had taken over the role of Goldilocks in addition to the part I already occupied. What was challenging about this role was it required singing. I am not a gifted singer by any means; in fact, I have to work hard and rehearse for months just to be able to put one song over. I could have been nervous to have Eric there on my first night, but oddly enough, I wasn’t. I was confident in his feelings toward me. And you know what? I actually identified with my job so much, it eclipsed what a guy might happen to think about my performance.
