Page 24 of Vegas Duology

“My mother’s Spanish and my father’s Italian, I believe.”

That would explain his dark features and exotic olive skin.“You’re not sure?”

His face took on an unreadable expression.“I never knew my father and my mother took off when I was very young.My grandmother raised me.”

“Leo, I’m so sorry.”I reached for his arm and there were the sparks again.I didn't pull away, but stroked the smooth fabric of his shirt.“I didn't mean to bring up bad feelings.”And I didn't.I was enjoying our evening together; I didn't want to give him an excuse to leave.

“No,” he said and his hand covered mine, stilling it.“You didn't know.”He looked at me as if we were long-time lovers instead of two people who had just met.“Besides, I had a great childhood.My grandmother was an amazing lady.”

“Was?”

“She died about two years ago.It was a heart attack; she was seventy-six.After her funeral, I moved here.”

“To Vegas?”I couldn’t imagine anyone moving here, to this glitz, and over-the-top glamour.“From where?”

“I grew up in a small town in Arizona, about two hours from Phoenix.I wanted to go someplace where no one knew me, where there were no preconceived ideas about who my parents were.I wanted to go somewhere I could get ahead.”

“And there’s a lot of opportunities here?”

Leo took his hand away from mine and started tracing pictures on my back.I had to fight releasing a sigh of pleasure.His touch felt good, natural.

“There are always opportunities for people who want to work hard.And I've always been interested in the hospitality industry, so Vegas seemed like the natural choice.”

I couldn't disagree with that.I'd never seen so many hotels or tourism operations in such a compressed area.I relaxed into his touch and soon his finger tracing turned into light rubs, as he worked some of the tension out of my shoulders.We could have been the only two people in the world; I was so lost in what he was doing.I let my thoughts drift until they touched on something he'd said a moment ago.“What do you mean, you wanted to go where no one knew you?”I asked.

He stopped moving his hands and for a moment, I regretted asking the question.I held my breath and soon his hands began their slow progression again, his fingers probing into the muscles.

It felt good.Everything about Leo felt good.

I didn't think he was going to answer me, but after a few moments he said, “My whole life I was known as 'little Leo.'”

I couldn't imagine anyone thinking of this tall, dark man as "little" but I let him continue.

“People treated me like trash because of my parents.I never knew my father.I doubt my mother even knew him.She’s a drug addict.Always was.Grandma tried everything to get her clean, but she just didn’t want to be helped.She spent her days turning tricks in alleys and occasionally showed up to steal money from my grandma.She was a good woman, my grandmother.She didn’t deserve the way people talked about her.It wasn’t her fault that my mother turned out the way she did.

“Up until the day she died, she had two jobs.During the day, she worked at a restaurant.When I was little, she was a waitress and that’s where I’d spend my evenings.But when she got older, the arthritis in her elbows got to be too much.She stayed in the back, doing dishes mostly.Her boss, he was a good guy.He could’ve fired her, but he didn’t.”

“What was her other job?”

Leo smiled a little.“The second job she took when I was a teenager.She wanted me to go to the good high school, the one where kids actually graduated.But we didn’t live in the right district, so Grandma made a deal with the principal.If she cleaned the school at night, he’d let me attend classes there.I’d help her sometimes, but she wouldn’t let me lift a finger until all my homework was done.And then when I graduated, she stayed on because the principal started paying her and she wanted me to go to college.The kids at school made fun of me, and her, but I'd never met anyone who worked as hard as she did and as soon as I was old enough, I got a job and tried to help out.She saved for years, putting everything she could spare into a jam jar because she didn't trust banks.So I went to school, and got a degree in management hospitality.”

I thought I should congratulate him, but somehow it didn’t seem right, so I kept quiet and let him continue.

“I thought it would change, the way people looked at me in the streets, the way people treated my grandma, like we weren't any good.But it didn’t.I couldn't get a job in my town so I moved to Phoenix, and worked night shifts at hotels, learning everything I could.I sent every spare penny I could home to her, but she kept working.She never spent a cent of it.After she died, I found it.It was folded up with the notes I’d sent her, in the jam jar.”

His hands stilled again.This time, I reached back, putting my hand over his on my shoulder, and turned so we were facing each other.Around us, tourists were snapping pictures of the statues and the magnificent hotel in the background.“Leo,” I said, “that’s so sad.”

He shrugged and leaned back against the marble statue.“It is what it is.You can't change people.After the funeral, I packed up the few things of hers I wanted to keep and never looked back.I guess my mother’s still there somewhere.But I doubt she even remembers that she has a son.”

He looked over my head at something I don't think was there.After a second, his eyes cleared and he said, “So that's how I ended up here.That's my story.”He looked down at me; the smile had returned to his face and his eyes glittered with the lights off the Strip.

“That's quite the story.”

“It's true,” he said.“I can't believe I told you all that.”

“I’m glad you did.”

“It’s easy to talk to you,” he said and sat up so we were once again facing each other.“Now that you know my history, tell me yours.”