What Stays in Vegas Read Online Free

me.
    "Business," I said.  "How about yourself?"
    "A little of both.  I'm going to Vegas to be a tooth model at a dental convention."
    “A tooth model?”  I asked, trying to appear politely interested. “What exactly does that involve?”  
    "Well,” he said,  “for a few hours I just have to lay in a chair with my mouth open and let a bunch of dentists admire my teeth.”  He shifted in his seat to face me, allowing me a full frontal view of his grill.  He had a pretty nice set.
    “Really?” I said.  “How’d you manage that?”
    “A close friend of mine is this hot shot cosmetic dentist out in California,” he said smugly.  “He does all my dental work for free.”
    "You fly to California every time you need dental work?" Sounded like bull shit to me.
    "No, he comes out to Boston every so often to visit his family, so we do it then."
    "Does he have an office out here?  Or does he just do it in his living room?" 
    "Yeah, he's got an office out here."  Tooth Model took a swig of his rum and Coke and checked his watch as if I was the one bothering him. 
    "Well, what about just regular cleanings?" I asked.  I was starting to enjoy getting on this guy's nerves.   "Does he do those too?"
    "No, he doesn't.  He's too busy to do regular cleanings.  I have another guy for that."  Tooth Model closed his eyes and jammed his seat back into the woman behind him.  I looked around the plane trying to spot an air marshal with a taser, just in case things got weird .
    "Sorry I asked,"  I muttered.  We sat in awkward silence for about three minutes.  Tooth Model let out a long sigh and swished his drink around his precious teeth.
    "Well, how about you?" he asked, suddenly speaking to me again.  "What kind of business are you in?"
    “I work with engineers," I said.  "We build Wal-Marts and gas stations and, uh, strip clubs.”  I took a long sip of my wine as I spoke the last part of that sentence.
    “Strip clubs?  Really?”   Tooth Model sat up a little straighter in his seat.  It figured that would catch his interest.
    “Yeah," I said.  "We have this big client called The Jiggly Kitty.  What they try to do is instead of putting up new clubs and pissing off a lot of psycho housewives, they just buy up existing local clubs.  Then they hire us to help with the remodel."
    It's true.  My bosses file zoning applications, go to town hearings, get their tires slashed, and are quite often told by angry women that we will burn in Hell.  The citizens who are in support of The Jiggly Kitty would never show their faces at a public hearing, not when their wives are the ones leading the revolt. 
    “So you’re an engineer?” asked Tooth Model.
    “Nah,” I said, a slight wave of shame coursing through me.  “Just a secretary.  I have a Bachelor's degree in Art, but I just kind of ended up, um, here instead.”  I looked out the window and imagined myself jumping out of it, down into the clouds.
    “What the hell’d ya do that for?”
    “Major in art? I don't know, I just loved it.  I used to make stuff out of garbage.  I would spend hours at flea markets just brows -"
    “No, I mean why’d you end up a secretary?”
    “Oh, I guess I just never figured out anything else to do.  I mean, there isn't much of a market out there for trash sculptures.”   
    While I was submersed in the carefree, indulgent, world of college, I spent my weekends in the studio or at flea markets hunting for materials.  I never really thought about what I would do when it all came to an end.  But after graduation the real world became much clearer and my mother’s words came back to haunt me:  What the heck are you going to do with an art degree?  
    Well, I took my first job as an elementary school art teacher but the little brats made me miserable.
    Then I took my second job as an administrative assistant at an insurance agency just to make some money until I could figure things out.  Unfortunately, the more