Hi I'm back writing stories it's been YEARS and I thought you'd hate me if I came back not continuing with fanfic so I'm still writing fanfic lmao. I decided not to give the main character a name so you could let your imagination free, also I was kind of inspired by kill bill to do that. PS this story has almost nothing to do with the real life Lana, she is just a muse, other than the fact that she's a singer they're not the same at all, but I hope you like it anyway :)
Chapter 1
A stale smell of old cigarettes and cigar smoke hung in the air of the casino. It stuck in between the hem of the chairs and sofas that decorated the inside of the casino. It's dark, the interior was mainly lit up by the explosion of lights and neon colours from the slot machines but dim lighting hung from the ceiling, most of which was covered in mirrors. It can be assumed that this is not one of the newest casinos in Vegas, the reputation it had also gave the hint that it could be one of the oldest. Nonetheless, it's stayed the same for years, or I assume it has. Like Celine at Caesar's, it's had the same ex A-list singer performing here for years. Their name and merchandise sold everywhere.
I stand in front of a larger than life poster of a middle-aged woman smiling; she was to begin her performance here at ten o'clock, only twenty minutes from now. I've been waiting in this spot, just next to the stage doors for about thirty minutes for my friend, Victoria. She was supposed to be here by now. She's a good gambler, which was why I had decided to invite her to Vegas instead of someone else. She hasn't won a jackpot yet, but she never leaves a baccarat table with less than she came with. Victoria wanted to see Olivia Newton-John, the headliner at the casino we were staying at, and since it was about to begin in less than half an hour, I decide to give her a call.
I pull out my phone and press her name before hearing three long rings and a slurred voice. "Hey," she says. There's music thumping in the background and a man screaming so loud it sounds like he's right in my ear.
"Where the fuck are you?" I ask. "The show is supposed to start in like twenty minutes." Victoria laughs into the phone at a joke whispered to her from someone. She mumbles something before they both start laughing and I begin to get frustrated. "Hello?"
"Sorry, what?" she asks and I sigh loudly.
The whole point of this trip was to have fun. Vegas was a place to let loose and not worry about anything, or so I thought. I'd flown all the way here from England with her to have fun yet she was doing it all without me. It was the same as last night too, I was deserted here and had to gamble and drink until she decided to come back and take me out. Now when she wanted to see this singer, I thought she'd be here for sure. I guess I was wrong.
"You know what?" I say, "It doesn't matter. You do whatever you want to do." I hang up the phone before she can even ask me what I'm talking about and let out a deep breath before my thoughts escape my mouth as a low mumble; "Fucking bitch."
I never really wanted to see that show anyway; it's just annoying how I was constantly being stood up on a trip that I paid for. I decide to do what she'd been doing and explore Vegas on my own. There is so much I haven't seen yet being stuck in the Flamingo casino for two days, all I'd really got to experience was hot, dry air, palm trees and the empty feeling of blowing one hundred dollars on a single slot machine. With my open-ended ticket, I planned to do just about everything I could do in Vegas, with or without Victoria.
I hit the bar first. I needed to relax and some heavy liquor would help me accomplish just that. Before downing the liquor I have a quick idea to get Victoria her own room so I can stop paying for her and her bullshit, but I kind of want to see how far this will go before I do. After all, it is Vegas and who the fuck would rather see Olivia Newton-John than go partying? In a way, I can't blame her, but in another way I can, for not telling me. After about two shots, I forget about feelings and how angry I am and decide one more shot should send me off for the night.
I love the taste of liquor, and the way it burns going down before settling in your stomach. I love how relaxed you feel after you have a bit of it, how your head swims if you have a little too much. It's calming and can make any problem feel like nothing after a while. Moments after I order my last shot, a woman sits next to me and orders the exact same thing I had just seconds before, so naturally, I look at her. She notices and smiles, as if inviting me in for a conversation. So, that's what I do.
"You have good taste," I say.
The woman giggles and says, "You ever tried their flaming shots?" I shake my head. "They make them really good here."
The woman has bright white teeth that become centre of attention every time she smiles. Her eyes light up too, gleaming every time the corners of her mouth lifted upwards. Her eyes look light brown, but with the darkness of the room it was hard to tell. A colour I could see clearly was that of her hair, it was black, pitch black, but shiny, and reflected the light of nearby slot machines. Her hair was a giant mass of curls, but it didn't look natural. It gave her a 1970s look and it really suited her, so I understand why she must go through measures to curl her hair that way. It also looked like she went through a lot to maintain her flawless eyebrows; they shaped her face perfectly. This woman was essentially a work of art. Every inch of her looked like it was crafted with perfection: from her mass of curly hair, to her naturally contoured cheeks, the slope of her nose to her gigantic lips that sat at the bottom of her face.
The bartender slides my shot over to me and I down it instantly, feeling the liquid burn the back of my throat before I bring the glass down on the counter. I let out a long relieved sigh. "That's good," I say.
The woman looks at me and laughs. "You lost some money, huh?"
I shake my head again, "I was stood up."
"Boyfriend?"
I laugh loudly and look into my empty shot glass. It would make more sense to be this upset over a boyfriend, not a friend just wanting to have fun, but I decide to be truthful anyway. "Actually, I was supposed to see Olivia Newton-John with a friend, but she'd rather party. And like, I wouldn't be so mad about it if I wasn't paying for the trip, you know?" The woman nods.
"Where are you from?" she asks. "England?"
I nod. "Yeah. Are you from here?"
"New York," she says and I nod again. It should have been obvious from the start, the way she pronounced some words and put a strain on vowels like they did in Long Island Medium. I liked the way she spoke; it was very...American dream. "So Olivia Newton-John?"
"It wasn't my idea," I say defensively.
She laughs. Her laugh doesn't match her voice. Her voice was quiet and gentle while her laugh was loud and hectic. "Well, fuck her," she says. "Overrated if you ask me and anyway, I'm a singer. You should come see me instead."
"You're a singer?"
"Yeah," she says. "I sing at this bar just east of the strip. My dad owns it, it's really jazzy."
I try to imagine this woman singing. Singing has always made me weak; it's like my soft spot. When this already beautiful woman told me she was a singer, now I'm not sure how to react. People with good voices are extremely attractive to me, I don't know what it is but just hearing the pleasant sound of a melody escaping different mouths, a different sound from each person was fascinating. Judging by this girl's speaking voice, I imagine her singing voice to be soft too. I stop myself before I start daydreaming, remembering that she'd just invited me.
I clear my throat. "Well now I have to see you, don't I? I love music."
"Like Olivia Newton-John?"
"Shut up," I say and hit her playfully. She's laughing again and it makes me laugh too. It was contagious.
"Well," she starts. "I play at midnight and I was about to head over, if you want to come."
I nod and agree almost as soon as she asks. I wonder what this girl will sound like, even what affect she'll have on me. I'm already mildly attracted to her good looks and light-hearted sense of humour. Now I'm starting to think Victoria standing me up was a good idea after all, otherwise I would have been sitting in a smoke filled auditorium watching an actress from Grease prove to people she still had something to give. Not to mention I would have been with a person I didn't care for rather than a gorgeous bar singer.
"I never got your name by the way," I say as we step off the bar stools and walk towards the direction of the exit.
"It's Lana," she says. "Lana Del Rey."
