“Sure! She’s busted her ass to get the new show off the ground—she won’t stand for Sergei messing with her rising star.”
“He won’t listen to her—the guy is crazy,” I protested.
“I know, but Elaine has Volkov’s ear. He’s sunk a lot of money into the theater and this show. Don’t freak yet, Ash. Let me call her.”
I nodded tersely but carried on pacing while Gary pulled out his phone.
I listened to the hurried conversation, my chest tightening with every second that passed, expecting Oleg to come busting down the door. Eventually, Gary ended the call.
“She’s going to speak to Volkov now. She says to sit tight and don’t leave the room again tonight.”
“That’s it? She’ll talk to him?”
“What did you expect? You thought she’d put a gun to his head?”
“Someone should.”
Gary sighed but didn’t disagree.
Laney
The next morning, it took me nearly two hours to get ready and meet the others for breakfast in the hotel’s restaurant. The first 45 minutes were spent uploading yesterday’s photos to my Facebook page and checking emails while I sat in bed and waited for the meds to kick in.
When I judged that enough time had passed, I eased my stiff, aching body out of bed and into the wheelchair.
It really sucked waking up with a full bladder but having to wait forever to pee.
If Collin was here, he would have lifted me into my chair.
But my regret was short lived. If Collin had been here, he would have insisted that I go back to my room after dinner last night. And I would have missed seeing Vanessa and Jo dancing their asses off.
And meeting that gorgeous guy. What was his name? Ash?
He’d been so shocked when he saw my wheelchair. I had to admit that a part of me was pleased that he’d hit on me without knowing about the chair, even if he was one of those men. It had been a long time since something like that had happened.
Even Collin hadn’t really flirted with me. We’d met in college and been in the same study group. Having coffee together turned into having dinner together, and before I realized what was happening, everyone assumed that we were a couple—including Collin.
He was a good man. He could be incredibly thoughtful, but at the same time he could be totally inconsiderate, talking about my job as if it was a hobby, just because I worked from home. And he always had to be right. Which meant that I was inevitably always wrong. Which meant another fight.
And when I had a flare-up, he was suffocating. I hadn’t realized how much, but being in Vegas without him, it put a few things in perspective.
Living with chronic pain is a study in acceptance, but of understanding, too. What is too little, what is too much or too often. What is necessary, what should be forgotten. And I gradually learned to forgive my body for being flawed, for being imperfect. Ultimately, I had to forgive myself, although sometimes I struggled with that part.
Collin hadn’t texted back so I guessed we really had broken up.
The thought made me sad—we’d been friends for nearly 10 years. At one time, I thought we’d marry, but Collin had never asked, and I’d stopped wishing that he would.
I made my way down to breakfast and saw Vanessa flirting with the server in the restaurant. He was cute and definitely interested. I smiled to myself and raised my eyebrows at Jo who was watching with amusement.
The waiter suddenly noticed my arrival and his eyes widened.
I caught the tail end of Vanessa’s conversation.
“So, you and your friends and me and my friends? Sounds good to me.”
But the server was shaking his head, his eyes darting away from me.
“Ah, you know what? I forgot that we have a thing and I can’t get out of it. Sorry.” He smiled weakly at me. “What beverage can I get you, ma’am?”
Whatever plans had been in the works, it was obvious that they didn’t include a woman in a wheelchair.
My throat tightened, but I held my head up and ordered coffee while the server slunk away.
“Asshole!” Vanessa said loudly. “You okay?”
“Sure. Don’t worry about it.”
“So,” said Jo, deliberately changing the subject. “I’m thinking spa day, lounging by the pool, hitting on cabana boys, dinner and a show. I’ve scored us tickets to the theater here—half price if you’re staying at the hotel, and front row as we have a wheelchair user,” and she winked at me. “Sounds like it’ll be amazing. Real Las Vegas showgirls. We might pick up some useful tips.”
I laughed. “I am not wearing tassels on my nipples!”
“Me either,” groaned Vanessa. “Last time I tried it, I had to peel off the glue. I had sore nips for days!”
“Ouch!”
“You said it, sista!”
Ash
I was a mess. Completely wired and I’d hardly slept. After we’d had a full rehearsal, I was sitting in a chair while Yveta applied a fake tan to my face and chest, turning the palms of her hands orange.