Call Me Sugar Read online

  I grab a pair of sweatpants and t-shirt from the bedside table to slip on, then wander into the bathroom and fill the sink with water. After dumping in the remnants of the ice bucket, I take a deep breath and plunge my face into the shockingly cold ice bath.

  Counting slowly, I hold my breath for three minutes in my morning ritual. Freezing my face until it goes numb helps to clear the lingering alcohol-induced fog from my brain.

  My memory of last night is nothing but a fuzzy haze of nightclubs and blondes. The same as every other night in Vegas.

  No worse, no better.

  The only detail I vaguely recall after downing four martinis was pulling a girl up from the floor of the casino. She was wearing black eyeglasses and a baseball cap pulled down low over her forehead. Her eyes were big, beautiful and green behind the thick lens.

  The rest of her was a hopeless mess.

  She seemed young, almost too young to be legally allowed inside a casino and was casually dressed in jeans and a sweatshirt. Instead of a fancy, expensive purse, she was carrying a worn backpack.

  There was something about her eyes that caught and held my attention. A flicker of intelligence deep within the green pools. And an expression of intense irritation, if I remember correctly.

  I hoped that she might hang around for a minute to talk. Instead, she escaped from my group as quickly as she could. Which was a bit unusual.

  Everyone wants to be part of my entourage.

  Not because of me.

  More because they want to be seen with me.

  My life as a Vegas celebrity is complicated. I learned a long time ago not to let it go to my head. Everyone in Vegas uses everyone else to get ahead. It’s all part of the game.

  A loud cooing noise comes from the living room of my hotel suite, interrupting my thoughts of green eyes and dorky eyeglasses.

  Elsa, my white dove and the star of my illusionist show has heard me in the bathroom. I let out a sigh. Grabbing a towel hanging from the rack, I dry off my face, then hurry out of the bathroom to feed her.

  “What is that sound?” a high-pitched voice shrieks before I get to the living room. “Make it stop!”

  Shit!

  Who the hell is in my hotel suite this early in the morning? I hate it when strangers stay over. How many times have I told Leroy not to let that happen?

  Elsa begins flying laps around the hotel suite when she sees me, her wings making a loud flapping noise. She lands on the sofa beside a naked girl sprawled out there. Another girl is sleeping on the floor with her head on a bright orange throw pillow.

  Leroy, my so-called bodyguard, is face-down on the other sofa. He’s snoring loudly with his mouth open wide and drooling. One arm is hanging down towards the floor. If he moves an inch, his entire three-hundred-pound body will end up on the floor in a heap.

  My God.

  What happened here last night?

  The girl on the sofa lets out another bloodcurdling scream when Elsa leans down to peck at her blonde weave. She jumps up and runs across the room, then tries to open the sliding glass door leading out to the balcony.

  It’s locked.

  “What is wrong with you?” I yell to her. “Don’t open that door. Elsa might fly out! Stop the damn screaming.”

  I walk over to the sofa to pick up my dove before the hysterical girl frightens her.

  “Please calm down,” I tell the naked girl pressed up against the balcony doors. “You’re scaring my bird and hurting my head. Lower the volume.”

  “You’re worried about me scaring her?” she replies. “I’m terrified of birds. Keep it the hell away from me. The sound of their wings flapping creeps me out.”

  Now she’s pissing me off. This is my pet she’s ranting about.

  “For God’s sake,” I say. “She’s a dove. Well, technically a King Pigeon, but she loves it when I call her my little dove. Doves are a universal symbol of peace. How scary could she be? She wouldn’t hurt a fly. Would you, baby?”

  Elsa makes another cooing noise and tries to snuggle under my arm. The girl shrieks again and makes a mad dash for the bathroom, her ass and tits jiggling with every step. Once she’s safely inside, she slams the door behind her.

  Damn.

  Dealing with a screaming woman is not the best way to start the morning. The other girl hasn’t made a sound and is sleeping through all the ruckus.

  “Rise and shine,” I lean down to say to her. “Wake up and get dressed.”

  She rolls over, rubs her eyes and mumbles sleepily, “What time is it?”

  Her mascara is smeared, and she looks like fucking hell in the light of day. Why does everything always seem worse in the morning?

  Especially in Vegas.

  Sin City isn’t quite the same when the sun comes up.

  I’m disappointed in my previous night’s selection of women. Or Leroy’s selection, I should probably say. He needs to raise the bar, or I’ll be talking to him about it.

  I’m not that hard to please. All the girls I date are the same.

  I have a favorite type of girl and make no apologies. Life’s too damn short to screw around. Know what you want and go get it. Or in my case let one of my guys get it for me.

  They know my preferences well. When I reach the point in my illusionist show where I need a volunteer, all I need to do is look to one of three reserved seats in the front row.

  Night after night, my guys make sure those seats are filled with the most beautiful women in Las Vegas. Hand-picked to my specific tastes. Blonde and big-breasted, with a lush backside and a fine set of long legs that look fucking fantastic in a pair of ridiculously high heels.

  For entertainment value, I always make a big show out of pretending to search the audience for the perfect person to pull up on stage. When all along the girls will be pre-screened, pre-selected and perfect for me.

  And in town temporarily, which is the best part.

  Either on vacation in Las Vegas for a girl’s weekend away or a business convention. They’re thrilled when my guys upgrade them to a better seat and are over-the-top ecstatic if I pull them up on stage.

  My situation couldn’t be any better.

  Las Vegas is heaven on earth for a single man.

  “Time for you to hit the road,” I say to her. “I’ll call you and your friend a cab to take you back to your hotel.”

  “Can’t I sleep a little longer?” she whines. “It’s not even ten o’clock yet.”

  “No way, sorry,” I say firmly. “This is a workday for me. Unlike you, I’m not on vacation. Up and out. Let’s go. Time is wasting.”

  I can’t wait for them both to leave. I want them out of here.

  “Your girlfriend is in the bathroom if you want to freshen up before you go,” I say, tilting my head toward the direction of the bathroom. “Where are your clothes?” I scan the room, spotting their dresses, bras and shoes lying in a crumpled pile under the coffee table. “Take her clothes with you, too.”

  “Are you sure I can’t sleep a few minutes longer?” she mumbles, not making any effort to get off the floor.

  “Yes, I’m sure.”

  While she staggers to her feet and gathers up their clothes, I release Elsa with a gentle toss into the air. She flies across the room and lands on a perch set up by a big floor-to-ceiling window overlooking the famous Las Vegas strip.

  My room is on the 20th floor of the Imperial Hotel. She has a bird’s-eye view and couldn’t be happier.

  Leroy is still snoring loudly with his mouth wide open. If he doesn’t lose some weight soon, I’m afraid he might die of sleep apnea. His wrinkled suit jacket is lying on the floor beside two empty, extra-large pizza boxes.

  “Leroy!” I call out.

  He doesn’t budge. He’s more hungover than I am. Some dependable bodyguard he is. A psycho could break in and murder me while he slept right through it.

  I walk over and pat his arm gently, then take two steps back. Leroy is nuts when he first wakes up.

  “
Wake up, Leroy!”

  He jumps awake with a start, his big arms flailing around and his eyes wide. His hand encircles my wrist in a fast, tight grip.

  “Jesus, Sugar!” he mumbles. “What the hell are you doing? Don’t you be grabbing me when I’m asleep. I’ll shoot your little ass.”

  I chuckle at his crazed expression. He’s still half-asleep and rambling out of his head.

  “You’re going to shoot me?” I ask. “With what? A water pistol?”

  Leroy doesn’t carry a gun. He can’t get a gun permit due to a long stream of previous misdemeanors. Which sucks for me, considering he’s my bodyguard.

  “Why are you sleeping on my sofa? You should’ve slept in one of the guest bedrooms.”

  My luxurious suite at the Imperial Hotel has three bedrooms, one of which Leroy is always welcome to use.

  He slowly rubs his bald head back and forth. “I had a little too much to drink last night. I sat down for a minute on your couch and fell dead asleep. It was late, and I knew you would need me here early this morning. No use in going home in the middle of the night and disturbing Mama. No matter what time I come dragging in, she gets up to see how I’m doing and offers to cook me breakfast. I’m awake now. What do you need?”

  I wave a hand back toward the bathroom. “Call a cab for the girls and get them out of my room. Why the hell are they still here? I don’t want people staying overnight.”

  Leroy shrugs. “Hell, if I know. One minute we were all drinking and having a good time. Then you went on to bed by yourself. I ordered a pizza while the girls jumped into the hot tub. The next thing I know you’re yelling at me to wake up.”

  “I’m heading down to the gym to work out,” I say. “Make sure everyone is cleared out by the time I get back. I’m devising a new trick for the New Year’s Day show and need peace and quiet today.”

  “You got it, boss. How many women do we have?”

  “Shouldn’t you know that?” I ask, throwing up my hands in exasperation. “Why are you asking me? You’re my security guard. You should keep up with how many people are in my hotel suite. It might be important one day.”

  “Is that a complaint?” Leroy scowls and points a big finger at me. “Because the tone in your voice sure makes it sound like a complaint. I can’t believe you have the nerve to criticize the job I do. You always take me for granted. Have you ever been shot, Sugar?”

  I shake my head. “No, can’t say that I have…yet.”

  “Have you ever been hog-tied, thrown into the trunk of a car and left in the desert in one hundred-degree heat to die a long, agonizing death?”

  “No, have you?” I frown at him. “Why are you asking me these dumbass questions?”

  He doesn’t answer. “Have you ever had a psychotic fan break into your hotel room, crawl into the bed with you while you’re asleep and lick your ear?”

  I snap my fingers. “Yes! Not lately, though that has happened before. And it wasn’t my ear I woke up and found her licking. What’s your damn point?”

  “My point is that I’m keeping you safe. Nothing bad has happened to you since I’ve been on the job. My means and methods might not be as sophisticated as some of those other security firms who carry walkie-talkies and all that other high-tech shit. You can sleep soundly knowing good ole Leroy is right here, by your side, watching after you. And I don’t need to carry no gun. So don’t start bitching about that again. If they’re packing heat, I got fists so strong the NRA will be nervous. I’m protecting your scrawny ass every damn day.”

  Leroy is getting worked up. I should know better than to wake him. Never poke a sleeping bear.

  I hold up my hands to quieten him. “Calm down, I get it. You’re doing a bang-up job for me. But since when are walkie-talkies considered high-tech? That is so eighties.”

  Leroy jumps up to tower over me. He can move surprisingly fast for a big man. He’s well over six-foot-five and always seems bigger when he’s trying to intimidate me.

  Which happens often.

  “I’m tired of talking about this shit,” he says, sticking his finger in my face again. “Your ass would be dead if it wasn’t for me. Now how many fucking girls do I need to call a cab for? Don’t make me bust down the bathroom door to count them.”

  “Two,” I answer calmly. “You’re not much of a morning person, are you?”

  He glares at me and starts digging through the sofa cushions for his phone. “Now I’ve lost my cell phone. Jesus…the things I have to do for you, Sugar. You’re a pain in the ass this early in the morning. I haven’t even had a damn cup of coffee and you’re whining about getting rid of girls you were plenty happy to bring in here last night. You thought they were mighty fine about midnight.”

  There’s no point in reminding him it’s his job to get rid of the girls. Leroy is my driver, security guard, and occasional personal assistant.

  And best friend.

  I would be lost without him around to keep me sane. He’s as close to me as any brother could be. He’s stayed with me since I first started doing street tricks on the Vegas strip.

  He’d been strolling down the strip one day to his job as a valet when he saw me working a small crowd on the sidewalk. He stopped for a minute to watch. His amazed laughter and ongoing commentary about my sleight-of-hand tricks drew more people my way, which meant more tips in the jar.

  The next day, he left for his job a few minutes early so he could swing by and watch me again. He was determined to stay until he could figure out how I did my magic tricks. Once again, his enthusiasm caused more people to stop instead of walking straight on by.

  It didn’t take me long to realize Leroy might be a perfect sidekick. I offered him double the amount of money he made as a valet to come back the third day. He readily took me up on the offer because he wanted to learn my secrets.

  The following day, I used him as a plant in the tourist crowd. My tips quadrupled with Leroy as my shill. I hired him permanently on the spot and now we’re inseparable.

  Ever since I left the street hustler life behind and hit the big stage, he’s stayed by my side almost round-the-clock. I pay him a large salary to be there.

  He takes care of me and I take care of him.

  We’re a match made in heaven.

  To this day, he’s never figured out how I do my illusions and I’m glad. The day Leroy stops believing in my magic is the day I quit.

  “I’ll be back in an hour,” I tell him. “Don’t leave the girls alone because they might steal something. And don’t let them near Elsa, okay? One of them has freaked out already. She has a weird, crazy bird thing.”

  “Will do,” he says, nodding. “Any chance you’re swinging by a fast food place on the way back?” he asks, slowly rubbing his stomach. “I’m kind of in the mood for a sausage biscuit.”

  “When are you not in the mood for a biscuit? And no, I’m not. You need to stop eating that crap. You should work on your diet or even better come to the gym with me. You could start out slow. I’ll help you.”

  “Save your breath. I ain’t got time for that foolishness.”

  “What’s your excuse today?”

  “You work me too hard. Is there anything to eat here besides the fruit basket over there on the table?” He points to a big basket of complimentary fresh fruit the hotel supplies me with every day. “Bananas and oranges don’t fill a big man up. They’re more of a tiny snack than a real meal in my opinion.”

  “Call room service and order something,” I say. “But only after you get rid of the girls. I don’t want to come back to find the three of you having a big picnic spread out on my living room floor.”

  “I’m on it,” he reassures me. “Don’t worry about a thing.” He stops talking and stares at me. “You okay, Sugar? You seem off this morning. You’re not sick, are you? Because if you are, I can talk to Mama about it. She’s an expert in natural remedies and cleansings as she calls them. She can whip you up something if you’re getting sick. Maybe a green drink full
of wheatgrass and spinach or some other awful shit.”

  I shake my head. Leroy knows me too well.

  “No, I’m good, buddy. Maybe a little hungover is all.”

  He heads toward the bathroom to round up the girls.

  “Hang on a second,” I say. “I need you to do something quick for me before I go.”

  Hurrying across the room, I grab a banana from the fruit basket and peel it.

  “Hold this,” I say, handing over the banana to Leroy after I toss the peeling into the trash can. “Go stand over there on the other side of the room.”

  Leroy glares at me. “Are you fucking serious?” he asks. “Do I look like I’m in the mood for your silliness this early in the morning? Because believe me, I’m not.”

  “It’ll only take a second,” I assure him. “Come on! I need to practice. Only two minutes, I promise.”

  With an exaggerated sigh, he takes the banana out of my hand and walks to the far side of the room.

  “Is this far enough away?” he asks.

  “Yeah, that’s perfect. Hold the banana at the bottom with your arm out straight.”

  I pick up one of the many decks of cards sitting on the table and shuffle them quickly.

  “Ready?” I ask, grinning at Leroy.

  “Ready as I’ll ever be,” he replies. “Don’t you fucking dare hit me in the eye with one of those damn cards,” he warns. “If you do, I’ll swear, I’ll come right over there and punch you right in the face. I’ll mess you up bad.”

  “Then we’ll both be out of a job,” I tell him. “Who wants to see an illusionist who has been in a fistfight? My pretty face draws in the crowds. Hold still. On the count of three.”

  I grasp the deck of cards in my left hand and place the fingers of my right hand on top. Leroy holds the banana as far away from his face as he can get it and pulls his head back dramatically.

  “For fuck’s sake, Leroy! Quit being so hysterical. I won’t hit you. I’ve thrown cards since I was a kid. One, two…”

  In a fast eye-blurring motion, I throw the cards one at a time toward the banana, slicing it into uniform pieces right down to Leroy’s thumb and forefinger.

  “Yes!” I say, pumping the air with my fist. “Not a single miss. Damn, am I good or what? Tell me how awesome and talented I am.”