Friday night, more like fifty groups enteredBillionaire Sanctuary.
Rarely, people emerged from the front door into waiting cars.
They must have left either after midnight when I ended my Bride shift or else stayed overnight, probably in the hotel rooms I suspected occupied the upper floors. Shadowy forms wafted behind the heavily grayed-out windows.
Friday night was good to me, and the tourists gave me enough money to stay in a cheap motel out near Henderson. I showered three times that evening and again the next morning before I had to check out.
Saturday afternoon, before I writhed in the back seat of my older Toyota to don my wedding dress and mime makeup, I parked right in front ofBillionaire Sanctuaryand strode confidently toward the dark glass door, playing the part of Rich Bitch #1 instead of The Bride.
If I hadn’t skidded to stop, the immobile black glass would’ve broken my nose.
Beyond the translucent black door stood a man wearing a suit, his white shirt barely visible under his suit jacket as a gray inverted triangle in the smoky dark. He leaned forward, his pale face resolving behind the dark barrier as if he was leaning out of a fog of shadows, and he shook his head at me.
Oh, I guess I didn’t measure up. Okay, then.
I got into my car and drove off, and I was back to busking on my corner a few hours later.
But I watched the people who were worthy of entering theBillionaire Sanctuarybuilding.
Some of them were actors or musicians I recognized.
One of the hottest men to enter the club that sweltering night emerged from a sports car. He was an actor who’d played the male lead onThe Ridgertons,a historical series on a streaming app. His boyfriend got out of the other side of the car, and they strolled straight through the wide-open front door hand in hand.
Their easy entrance was cute but frustrating. Why couldn’t I get in? What did that magnificent, perfectly dressed, famous, obviously wealthy man wearing slutty little gold-rimmed glasses have that I didn’t?
Okay. I got it.
The one that nearly made me drop my heat-wilted purple hydrangea bouquet was the perfectly orchestrated cavalcade of black SUVs that disgorged black-suited bodyguards who actuallyroped off the sidewalkfor the instant that the blond pop star sauntered into the building, then they furled the ropes up and departed in less than sixty seconds, leaving the street empty and the passersby, stunned.
The paparazzi helicopter hadn’t even had a chance to hover close enough for a shot.
A middle-aged woman grabbed her heart. “Oh my God. Isawher.”
Yes, honey. We all saw her. Now drop some cash in the gol’darned hat.
That Saturday night at nine o’clock, when the hot and dry darkness was like an iron pressed against my face, an even bigger procession of black SUVs than the pop star’s caravan slid to a stop in front ofBillionaire Sanctuary.
A battalion of bodyguards stormed from the cars.
While the guards fanned out, restraining people from the path that led intoBillionaire Sanctuary’sdoorway with an ersatz human chain, three people emerged from the center SUV and paced quickly inside.
The first two were the redheaded British prince and his simply beautiful actress wife, whom I would have recognized anywhere because I’d devoured his book and her podcast, back when I still believed in marriage and love.
It seemed like decades ago.
Even so, my breath jumped in my chest more than for the pop star.
Wow.They were right there, the genes that had ruled an empire and his actress wife. She was agoodactress, too. I loved her casual snark.
Something aboutroyaltyshocked little Nebraska-born, corn-fed me.
Then one more man emerged from the front seat of the SUV, someone I’d never seen before, and he moved behind them but with them, not like a servant or security but part of the party. The prince’s wife turned back and held her hand out to him.
A bodyguard holding back the crowd checked behind himself, saw the guy, and continued to hold the line.
The man was taller even than the English prince, dark-haired, sharp-jawed, a white guy with a tan that spoke of leisure time in the sun.
His navy-blue tailored suit and august company spoke of money.
