Mr. Muldoon Goes to Vegas

The television ads say, “What happens in Vegas stays in Vegas.” Calvin was about to test truth in advertising. This was his first foray into the world since his wife, Mae, passed away last year. Their marriage lasted nearly forty years. It wasn’t all bliss, but for the most part, they were happy. Calvin loved his wife, mourned her, yet he was looking forward to kicking up his heels. After all, he was a single man.

Taking a vacation alone wasn’t a snap decision. At first he thought about going to Porter Lake, where he took Mae two years ago, or to the mountains. But, Calvin wanted to go somewhere new and different. His plan was to ditch all the widows who suddenly seemed to think he was Robert Redford. He craved excitement, and not the kind he would get watching Madeline show him her boney, wrinkled knees. Madeline even went so far as to place her hand in a rather unexpected place during a game of Bridge. Everyone thought Calvin was having a seizure. In reality, he was merely trying to avoid Madeline’s curious exploration. His manic reaction was more than a little difficult to explain to the others, who insisted on calling the paramedics. Fortunately, he was able to dissuade them before Harvey actually dialed 9-1-1

Calvin wouldn’t have considered going to Las Vegas a mere six months ago. It was a decision made during a poker game at Walter’s house. Calvin was having a streak of bad luck. He looked down at his poker hand, all small numbers, none matched. Bernard, Walter, and James were winning. Calvin was losing. He was down at least sixty cents. The cigar smoke made his eyes burn, and the beer tested his weak bladder. Calvin folded his pathetic cards, laid them on the table, and excused himself. On the way to the bathroom, he stopped in the living room to say hello to Effie, Walter’s wife. The television was on. Effie was napping in her chair, so he didn’t disturb her. It was then he saw the commercial: Dancing girls, bright lights, laughter, money, and bottomless cocktail glasses. Calvin raised a bushy eyebrow. Sin City. And the decision was made.
Calvin’s flight arrived at McCarran International Airport at one p.m. Picking up his carry-on bag, Calvin made his way through the crowded airport. Someone bumped into him, causing him to bump into a pretty brunette, nearly knocking her over. He grabbed her left arm and right breast, accidentally, to steady her. He smiled and said “I’m sorry” when he really wasn’t. He might have been if it wasn’t such a pleasurable experience. As he watched her walk away, Calvin tripped over a planter near the exit, stumbling backward into a hot Nevada day.

A line of shuttles and taxi cabs filled the street. Calvin looked for the shuttle to his hotel. He would be staying at the magnificent Peruvian Palace, a newly built monstrosity on the far side of the Luxor. He stepped into a rectangle marked off by yellow lines, stopped next to the Peruvian sign, and deposited his bag on the concrete. He waited as shuttle bus after shuttle bus came and went. None carried his hotel’s insignia. A stretch limo stopped in front of him, blocking his view of the street. Calvin saw a shuttle bus pause beside the limo, but it kept going. He was beginning to think his choice in hotels wasn’t so great, when the limo driver reached down to pick up his bag. He started to snatch it back. Understanding Calvin’s suspicion, the driver asked, “Are you staying at Peruvian Palace?” The driver held the door while Calvin climbed into his luxury ride. Obviously, the Palace was a pretty swanky place.

After settling in for the ride to the hotel, Calvin discovered he wasn’t alone. Beside him was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. She looked as if someone had taken Dolly Parton, stretched her into Gisele Bundchen, and sprinkled her with a little of Madonna’s attitude. And she was smiling at him. Not only was she smiling, she seemed to be offering him a glass of champagne. When Calvin didn’t reach for the glass, the woman spoke, “Champagne, Mr. Mulder?”

“Sure,” Calvin said as he reached for the glass. Calvin’s last name was really Muldoon, but he didn’t correct her, he couldn’t, he was too busy staring at the abundance of her...or staring at the emerald pendant resting between...he forced himself to ignore that freckle on her left...dare he say it? Breast! Calvin forced those pleasing images from his mind and looked up into smoky blue eyes. At that moment, he wished he looked more like Cary Grant than Rodney Dangerfield. Cary Grant wouldn’t need words for a woman to fall in love with him, but since Calvin was no Cary, he was forced to come up with the perfect pick up line. Unfortunately, “Thank you,” was all he could think of to say.

The woman leaned closer, resting her hand on his knee as she proceeded to speak in a low, Marilyn Monroe whisper, “So, Mr. Mulder, Do you have a first name?”

“Calvin. Call me Calvin,” he said, gulping his champagne, while leaning closer to the door. He unbuttoned the first button of his shirt and stretched his neck. He felt as if he were suffocating, in a good way.

“Hi Calvin, I’m Heather.”

The breathy H sounds slipped through her lips, fluttering lightly against his neck. He quickly re-buttoned the first button of his shirt and shifted even closer to the door, all the time wondering why she acted as if he really were Cary Grant. He enjoyed Heather’s attention, yet she was a little scary. She was even more forward than Madeline.

Fortunately, the ride to the hotel was a short one. The limousine pulled up beneath the portico. A red coated bellman came out to open the car door, while the limo driver retrieved Calvin’s bag from the trunk. Once Calvin and Heather were out of the car, the hotel bellman removed his hat, and with an exaggerated flourish, bowed so deeply his head nearly touched the concrete. Calvin dug into his pocket and brought out two five dollar bills. He handed one to the bellman and one he exchanged for his bag. Curiously, the driver didn’t seem to have a bag for Heather, and Heather didn’t seem to have anywhere else to go. Instead of going inside to check in, she moved closer, slipping her right arm through his left, clinging to Calvin as if he belonged to her.

Heather didn’t disappear until Calvin stopped at the front desk. He thought she had gone to her room until he punched the elevator up button. That’s when she reappeared, once again curling herself around his arm. Inside the elevator, Calvin punched the tenth floor button, and turned to Heather, “Which floor?”

Tipping her head to the side and giving him a slow wink, she said, “Ten is perfect.”

Calvin checked the room number on his key card and the room numbers on the wall. He turned right. Still clinging to Calvin’s arm, Heather turned right as well. Calvin stopped, “What’s your room number?”

Heather blinked slowly, “I’m in the room next to yours.”

Calvin started walking again. His heart flipped over a time or two before he said, “Oh.” Perhaps this was his lucky day.

After seeing Heather to her door, Calvin went to his room, which was far more luxurious than he would have imagined for a mere one hundred thirty dollars a night. There was a sunken living room with floor to ceiling windows which promised a magnificent view of the lights along Las Vegas Boulevard. The furnishings were right out of one of those home decorating magazines Mae always thumbed through at Home Depot. To his left were double doors leading into the bedroom. He wondered how he would be able to burrow beneath all the pillows propped against the headboard. On the right he saw another set of double doors. They were locked. Calvin suspected these doors led to Heather’s room. He raised one bushy eyebrow, and then stopped his mind from going there, at least not right now. Right now he had some gambling to do. “If you’re going to sin, sin big,” Calvin said, as he took a hundred dollar bill out of his wallet, kissed it, and set it next to his room key. It was time for a shower.

After his shower, Calvin dressed in his best vacation outfit. He stood in front of the mirror, turned right, and then turned left. He liked the way the yellow and blue Hawaiian shirt matched his yellow walking shorts. He turned sideways and sucked in his rather rotund middle. Maybe I’ll go on a diet when I get home, he thought. Calvin plopped a cream colored Cabana hat on top of his head, smiled, and winked at himself in the mirror. He was ready.

After a leisurely dinner at the buffet, Calvin walked through the casino with his mouth open. Never had he seen such opulence, or seen so many people in one place. He passed by the slots, the million dollar machine, blackjack tables, finally coming to a stop in front of the roulette wheel. This was his game. He could feel it. A man in a black casino jacket stopped beside Calvin. His voice was low, almost demanding, “We have a private salon ready for you Mr. Mulder. Follow me.” Calvin followed.

Four hours later, Calvin was a little tipsy from all the free drinks, but still winning. He lost a few times, but now he was up, way up. He couldn’t believe how hot he was. No matter what number or color he called, that little ball hopped right in there. As near as his fuzzy brain could figure, he had about five hundred thousand of the casino’s money. It was time to quit while he was ahead. He slugged down his last whisky sour and turned away from the table.

As Calvin cashed in his chips, Heather made her appearance. “Well, aren’t you the lucky one?” She snuggled up against Calvin’s side, “I think you need to celebrate.”

Calvin squeezed Heather against him, “I think you’re right.”

With her finger, Heather slowly traced the largest flower on his chest, while standing on her tip toes to whisper in his ear, “You go on up to the room. I’ll order some food and a bottle of champagne. Don’t start the party without me.” She blew him a kiss and walked off. Calvin watched.

Calvin, his newly discovered ardor, and his winnings were escorted to his suite by security. The guards walked straight into the bedroom closet, opened the safe provided by the hotel, and placed the money inside. After giving Calvin the combination, they left.

Unsure as to whether he was supposed to wait inside his room or Heather’s, Calvin unlocked his side of the double doors and turned the knob. The doors opened into a a room filled with the soft glow of candlelight. He decided Heather meant for him to wait in her room, and went inside. Heather’s bedroom was the mirror image of his. He sat down on the bed and leaned back against the mound of pillows. He adjusted himself to what he perceived to be his sexiest pose, and settled in to wait.

Too many toddies had Calvin yawning. He was about to doze off when the telephone rang. He almost answered it before he remembered this wasn’t his room. The answering machine clicked on and he heard a male voice say, “The mark has the money. Mulder is the leak. You know what to do.”

Calvin sat up. Was he the mark? He had the money. Heather called him Mulder. Was she mispronouncing his name…or…how did she know his name anyway? Even the desk clerk thought he was Mr. Mulder and said his room was taken care of. At the time he thought the man meant from the credit card he used when making the reservations. Leak? Leak? They thought he was the leak. They were going to kill him.

Without another thought, Calvin went back to his room, carefully locking Heather’s door behind him. He ran into the bedroom closet and opened the safe. After stuffing the money inside his travel bag, Calvin ran toward the door. As his hand reached for the knob, he heard a light knock, “Honey, open up. It’s little ol’ me.”

In a panic now, Calvin searched the room for another means of escape. He ran behind the sofa and looked outside. It was too far down to jump, but fortunately the building was an exact replica of early 1900's architecture, which sported a fire escape. He unlatched the window and climbed out. Being careful to close the window behind him, he took off down the stairs. By the time he reached the street, he was gasping for breath. He feared having a heart attack and dying before he could spend a penny of his winnings.

Calvin stumbled around the corner and found refuge behind a row of shrubs. He sat down to catch his breath. He tensed when he heard running footsteps and Heather’s voice, “He’ll be on the next flight to Boston. Let’s go.”

After the car squealed off into the night, Calvin hailed a cab, “Greyhound bus station please.”

Six months later

What happened in Vegas stayed in Vegas. Calvin didn’t worry about being followed. Everyone in Vegas knew him as Mr. Mulder. Calvin religiously read the Boston papers, eventually seeing Calvin Mulder’s obituary. It seems Mr. Mulder was found floating in the Charles River. Apparently he slipped while fishing along the riverbank and drowned.

Calvin Muldoon was happy to be back in Phoenix. Even though he had enough money to go anywhere his heart desired, Calvin no longer felt the need to travel, alone or otherwise. He was happy to spend time with friends, and play bridge. Now, instead of having a seizure, Calvin winked at Madeline when her roving hand found his thigh. Madeline would never be a super model, but Calvin decided wrinkled, boney knees didn’t look so bad after all. He reached under the table and placed his hand in a rather unexpected place. Madeline nearly fell off her chair. Everyone thought she was having a heart attack. Harvey picked up the phone and dialed 9-1-1.

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