Carl Weber Presents Full Figured 6: Plus Size Divas Read online

  “Y . . . yes,” I answered, not sounding too confident in who I was. Maybe I needed an entourage like an NBA baller to stay here. Lawd, they’re gonna decline my credit card and throw my broke ass outta here, I nervously thought, while grinning to hide it. Maybe I should’ve told the limo driver Lowell to stick around in case a Holiday Inn or something was more in the cards. I guess his business card he forced on me wasn’t a waste after all.

  “Here we are. It’s our pleasure to have you, Ms. Clay,” she said instead as we made eye contact again with her smiling warmly at me.

  I was safe for the moment and breathed easier.

  “Welcome to Aquos.”

  “Wow. This is so nice!” I gushed, letting my true feelings escape. The only people grinning around here more than me were the eager-to-help hotel staff. They appeared to be everywhere while surprisingly appearing out of nowhere in their crisp black uniforms with these unusual gold serpentine bracelets around their wrists.

  “How many keys to your suite will you be needing, Ms. Clay?” she asked, gaining my attention again.

  “Um . . . just one,” I replied, thinking how nice it would be to have someone with whom to share this experience.

  She handed me a standard key card adorned with the hotel logo, then also presented me with a golden bracelet that looked identical to those worn on the staff’s wrists. “Allow me to explain,” she announced, probably used to puzzled guests. “This is the Aquos royal bracelet. Just place it on your wrist like so and it automatically grants you access to our day club at poolside Tidal, gyms on all floors, the VIP level of our casino, the business center, express seating in our theatre, where Mary J. Blige will be performing three nights this week, and admittance to our underground nightclub, Trident. Oh, and it’s waterproof, of course, so feel free to get wet here at Aquos.”

  “Well, I ain’t gonna be getting my hair wet, but the rest of me don’t mind,” I joked with a wink at the sister. She nodded and gave me one of those “I know that’s right!” looks before resuming her corporate facade. That weave of hers hadn’t seen a bead of sweat let alone a drop of pool water.

  “Your suite is located on the thirtieth floor with a view of the Strip as requested. And those are your private elevators,” she said with a gesture over my left shoulder.

  I turned to follow her outstretched hand and watched an elevator that looked like a floating glass bubble descending from above. I marveled at the globe as it came to rest atop a small pond in the center of the lobby as if it had levitated down.

  The same young man who led me to check-in followed me with my bag to board the elevator, beckoning me to enter first. If he hadn’t been with me, I would’ve snapped a few pictures. But I could always do it later.

  As the elevator rose to take me to my floor, water flowed down on both sides, hiding the elevator shaft and giving the impression that we were floating up on a column of water.

  While amazing, it only served to remind me my water bill was due.

  Too sad, huh?

  When we exited on my floor, we trailed behind a man in dark blue slacks and a crisp white shirt wearing sunglasses indoors. As he argued way too loud on his phone, he was oblivious to us.

  “Tell them we can get the job done just as easy with someone else! And probably for less money, too. So they need to get their heads out their collective asses and finish the project before I fire them all!” he snarled at whatever poor soul was listening on the other end.

  In the middle of his next sentence, our footsteps alerted him and he spun around, catching me staring dead into his mouth.

  “Can you believe this?” he had the nerve to ask me. I guess he knew he was busted and figured I was sympathetic and had rich-people problems like him. Oh, he was soooo wrong.

  “That someone would want to work for you with that attitude?” I replied snappily. “No, I can’t believe it.” The young man carrying my bag took a step back, worried about where this was heading or what he should be hearing.

  “Oh? Okay. Well tell me, what do you recommend? What are your thoughts about motivating underperforming employees?” he asked, giving me a full view of his broad shoulders.

  “That they don’t like being taken for granted. Or talked down to. They like to feel their opinions matter,” I snapped, perhaps thinking more of my situation back home. “Even if their bosses really don’t care.”

  Then with a snap of my finger, I got my bellman in check and we sidestepped the stunned asshole en route to my suite.

  Chapter 8

  “You sure told him back there,” my bellman said gleefully as he opened my door for me.

  “Yeah. I guess,” I replied, trying to play it down as I stole a final glance at the man looking back at me as well. Don’t think he was too happy with me despite the smile he flashed before retreating inside his suite—the one that had three floors and its own bowling alley. Yeah, I’d researched the hotel. Even though I was frontin’, I couldn’t even fake being on his level for a minute.

  “I can tell that you would be a good person to work for. It’s obvious you care about your people,” the bellman added, thinking I really owned something other than my name. If he was buttering me up for a job then he was sadly mistaken, for we both would be in the unemployment line together.

  “Uh . . . thanks,” I replied as I tentatively fished a twenty from my purse, now feeling kinda cheap after his praise. “Is this enough?” I asked, hoping that it was. Back home, I could stretch that for lunch the entire week. Out here, it probably wasn’t even dessert. Damn. Why did I ask him? Now he was gonna know I was either a tightwad or just out of touch.

  “Whatever you wish to give me is fine,” he replied, keeping with his training while not revealing whether he meant it. “You packed light for your trip, huh?” he commented further as he placed my bag on the floor just inside the entryway.

  “Yeah. Lets me shop. A ton of baggage would be like bringing sand to the beach,” I lied, knowing I’d only be window shopping and salivating like a dog at The Forum Shops at Caesars Palace before I left. But for now, I was good just enjoying my junior suite. “Junior” seemed funny when I could fit more than eight people comfortably in here. Made me think of my senior trip back when I was at Stephen F. Austin University. Ten of us shared a room with just a single bed at La Quinta in Panama City back then. Sad as it is, I had more net worth then, too. Gawd, I missed those days.

  “Well, you will enjoy the shopping out here. Most fashionable women, such as yourself, do,” he said, clearing his throat. “But let me explain to you all you need to know about your suite, then I’ll get out of your hair.”

  “There’s more than meets the eye?” I asked as I tried to resist the dopey-ass smile plastered across my mug. The suite came with a kitchenette, complete with one of those gourmet single-serving coffee machines that I love. And, as promised by my “reservation host,” from the glass balcony doors I could see the Strip beyond them. And I hadn’t even laid eyes on the bedroom.

  “Yes, ma’am. With this right here,” he said as he tapped a clear glass screen on the half wall I’d just walked by. Whatever he did caused it to light up, colors suddenly forming into the image of a woman wearing the same uniform as the rest of them.

  “Hello, Ms. Clay. Welcome to your adventure,” the woman said just like the doorman had downstairs, making me a little uncertain as to whether she was real or some kind of Pixar animation. I leaned in for a closer look while he went about touching it again, bringing up a menu beside her—its—face.

  “This here controls room temperature, room service, as well as reservations for our spa, restaurants, and poolside cabanas at Tidal downstairs. Whatever you need is right at your fingertips and your virtual assistant can guide and recommend things for you. But if you prefer the more traditional methods, just call us on the room phone. We make it easy for you either way at Aquos. And as our first-time guest in one of our suites, we have complimentary credits for you downstairs at the casino, and the first stocking
of the minibar is on us.”

  “You’ve got me ready to book my return trip already,” I said honestly. I was definitely dreaming, so pinching myself didn’t matter.

  “That’s the idea. And bring your friends next time,” he said before presumably wondering what I was gonna do all by my lonesome in Vegas. Get into some fuckin’ trouble is what.

  “Oh. My girls will be arriving later,” I offered, knowing I ain’t had many real girlfriends for quite some time. Too much grinding at work, trying to manage my debt, while letting the old me get lost in the shuffle. “Since I’m the one who made good, they look to me to pay for these trips. Last year, it was Dubai,” I said, way too comfortable with my lies. Fuck it. Wasn’t like he was gonna see me again. And, besides, wasn’t Las Vegas about reinvention anyway?

  “Oh? Well, you are certainly a very good friend, Ms. Clay. If you need more room keys just let us know,” he said with a nod as he went to leave.

  “Will do,” I said as I slipped him another of my hard-earned twenties. Ain’t that some shit? I’d guilted myself into tipping like the person I was pretending to be. Yep. If not for my return ticket, I probably would be Greyhounding it home. Those chips down in the casino had better be lucky.

  As soon as I was left alone, I couldn’t wait to give my feet a rest. I kicked my heels off, popping them into the air with a flick of my foot one at a time. I was overzealous with one, it landing on an end table where it almost knocked over a vase probably worth more than one of my paychecks. Disaster averted, I ran barefoot through the lavish suite, laughing like somebody had told me the funniest joke ever.

  Stop me if you’ve heard this one. A girl without a penny to her name and a credit rating in the low 300s walks into a hotel . . .

  Ba-da-bump!

  I was starving and eager to play around with the touch screen, but first I turned on some music then raided the bar. With some generic Flo Rida pop concoction playing, I pulled out a bottle of Roederer champagne and swiftly popped the top. After launching the cork, I took a drink directly from the flowing bottle at first before finding me a flute hanging upside down from its stem just beneath the cabinet.

  By the time I slid the balcony door open, I was already pouring my second glass. From my view, I could make out cars and people walking about on the Strip, but directly below me were hotel guests partying down to some poolside DJ. Must be that day club, Tidal. I smiled, imagining them without a care in the world except to get laid or be seen as they danced and strutted around. Maybe I should take my lone, free bottle of bubbly down there and join them. But I couldn’t forget my lucky bracelet. As I leaned over the railing on my tippy toes, a voice cried out.

  “Don’t jump, girl. There’s a lot of white linen down there,” it said. “A lot of white people, too. They’ll send your estate a bill for the dry cleaning even if you die.”

  “Huh?” I said as I noticed a woman lazily lounging by herself in a blue bikini on the adjacent balcony. She was slender with a pretty, medium-brown complexion like Jennifer Hudson’s, holding a tall mixed drink in one hand while resting an iPad in her lap. I strained to recognize her in case she was somebody famous.

  “Relax. I’m fuckin’ with ya,” she said with a grating cackle while swirling the brown liquor around in her glass. “Name’s Ladonna.”

  “Artemis,” I yelled across, replying in kind while briefly considering renaming myself during my time here. Some Sasha Fierce shit. “Naomi Reckless” or somethin’.

  “You just got here?” she asked more like a statement than a question.

  “Yes. How did you know?” I asked in kind, thinking that maybe she saw me checking in downstairs or something.

  “Because you’re still working on that free bottle of cheap shit they give each suite,” she joked while pointing at the bottle in my hand. “Giiirl, we’re gonna have to get you right.”

  Since when did Roederer become “cheap shit”?

  Chapter 9

  Suddenly feeling my remaining champagne wasn’t good enough in my neighbor Ladonna’s eyes, and that maybe I wasn’t either, I excused myself from her. She smiled, making me promise I’d continue our chat later, but minus the shouting over balconies part.

  Knowing I should’ve eaten more on the flight, I decided to give the virtual assistant a try. I always liked tech anyway, so why not. My mother Ruth called just as I tapped the screen, pulling up a virtual menu that was making my mouth water. The gourmet Chilean sea bass tacos looked tantalizing and, with a plink of my nail, I added them and a fresh garden salad to my room service request. Had to order it quick before the prices would’ve made me flinch.

  “Hello?” I answered, sick of people hounding me. Especially when they had a lack of sympathy for my plight mere days ago.

  “Artemis, where are you? I’ve been worried sick since you haven’t been answering your phone. I went by your place and when I didn’t see your car, I lost it,” she stated tentatively as I tried to unsuccessfully tune her out. She hadn’t displayed this much concern for me ever. I guess the guilt over her revelation was hard for her to live with.

  “I just had to get out of town for a minute. Clear my head,” I replied. “I’m not out somewhere trying to hurt myself, if that’s what you’re getting at.”

  “Good. I just want to let you know that I’m sorry about what I said.”

  “Why? It’s the truth, right? You’re not my mom. And my real one didn’t give a shit about me,” I pronounced, my intoxicated voice doing little to hide my pain.

  “I may not be your mother by blood, but I might as well be. I love you, Artemis,” Ruth said as if pleading with me to come in from off a ledge.

  “Thanks,” I said with a sigh, torn about whether I had any reason to blame her. In a more reasonable state of mind, I might admit she was just doing the best she could all these years. I ordered some tea with my meal to maybe help me sober up a little, then turned off the display just as it promised a delivery time of fifteen minutes. If only life were as easy as a set of choices on a video screen.

  “So are you going to tell me where you are?” she pushed after my pause, not knowing I was distracted by my new toy. “And is that music I hear? Lord, where are you, child?” she asked.

  Damn. I’d left the patio door open. She could hear the music from the pool downstairs?

  “Yeah, it’s music,” I answered, almost calling her “Mom” out of habit. “I’m in Las Vegas.”

  “Artemis, it’s the middle of the week.” She gasped. “Does your job know where you are? I hope I didn’t set you down this road.”

  “Look . . . I’ll talk to you later. Just know I’m doing fine,” was my answer. “Be happy for me. I just need a little fun in my life after all this recent mess.”

  After that call, I figured maybe a lie down might be needed. The king-sized bed looked very inviting with its soft down comforter, to the point where I feared not waking up. I’d just sat on it and bounced in place while imagining how it would feel beneath the sheets before a knock came at the door.

  Room service in less than fifteen minutes? Damn, these people were good.

  I scurried to the door and opened it, but neither my fish tacos nor my salad were here.

  And “room service” wore dark blue slacks and a white shirt, not the standard black.

  At least he’d put up his sunglasses.

  “My name is Julian Jackson,” the asshole with the broad shoulders announced. “And you are?”

  I almost slammed the door in his face. But instead, I answered him. “Artemis. Artemis Clay,” I said all formal-like while my mind unintentionally wandered to casual things. Couldn’t help it. For an older man, he was fine. Plus, he had no wedding ring . . . or tan line. Yeah. I was feeling down, not dead. “What can I do you for, Mr. Jackson?”

  “Besides making me look like a fool, how do you really manage your people? I’m always open to new ways of doing things and improving. You could almost say I’m obsessive about it.”

  “You knocked on
my door to talk shop? Really?” I asked, incredulous. What kind of odd people were they out here? Maybe Texas was more my speed.

  “Well . . . yes. That is part of it. How about we discuss it? Over dinner, tonight?” he asked before dialing back on his enthusiasm. But I’d caught on to his game. “That is . . . if your schedule will allow me to give you a proper apology for my rude behavior.”

  I didn’t have any plans. And a high-end dinner with a handsome man, a dinner that I assumed he was paying for, would be something I could tell my kids about one day. Maybe.

  “I shouldn’t. But yes. I accept, Mr. Jackson,” I said with a hard stare.

  “Please. Call me Julian,” he said.

  “And you can still call me Ms. Clay,” I commented. “For now.”

  And if a third man happened to die on me, at least this one kinda deserved it.

  Not to say he was gonna wind up in my bed.

  Or my panties.

  Jus’ sayin.

  And shouldn’t my fish tacos be here by now?

  Chapter 10

  After lunch and a quick nap, I went downstairs to the hotel’s pool area . . . ahem . . . day club Tidal, proud of my all-access bracelet, which was getting more attention than the white linen wrap I was wearing. Sure, it was about looks around here, but it was also about status. And I guess I may have been a tad more voluptuous than these bitches, but I had the golden ticket. I don’t know what was funnier: these young’uns wildin’ out after waiting in line for hours just to get in here or the people my age eager to feed off the youth of the desperate. All of them were blowing through more money than I collected in a month back home. Me? I was just a tourist in this social experiment, wondering what I’d done wrong in life.

  I’d gone touch-screen crazy upstairs and reserved myself a cabana in the midst of this madness, so I was gonna experience it, dammit. Some R&B like Alicia Keys and mixed in with a little house music made a sister wanna two-step for a minute. But I figured I’d spare unworthy folk my killer moves, and kept it minimal. As I found my way past size-negative-two stick figures with boobs as big as mine, I got my shimmy and shake on just a tad.