A taxi pulled up behind the limo and the young blond man jerked his arm away from the man in the tuxedo. "Here's my cab. Fuck you, Chad. You think because you're so rich and famous you can get away with anything. Well, you're not getting away with that shit with me."
Mickey J. folded his arms across his chest and smiled.
The blond man pushed the man in the tuxedo out of his way and ran to the taxi.
When the man in the tuxedo turned to follow him, Treston placed his palm to his throat and gaped at him. The guy in the tuxedo was the Chad Pratt, famous movie star-turned-entrepreneur and professional poker player/gambler, now worth billions of dollars. While Chad been working his way up the Hollywood social ladder, he'd been in the closet and he'd married and divorced two famous women. From what Treston had read in tabloid magazines, the first wife had been one of those snotty bleached blondes, famous for one hit sitcom, and the other had been a slut with dark hair who had stolen him away from the snotty bleached blonde. After Chad Pratt divorced the dark-haired actress, he started investing money in Vegas casinos and all those ticky-tacky subdivisions that now surrounded Vegas. He'd also become a professional poker player and when he gambled on anything, he rarely lost. He'd come out of the closet and told the world he was openly gay in his early forties. Although he didn't look a day over thirty-five, Treston figured Chad had to be in his late forties now. He was known around Vegas as "The Shark," because he went through young men and money like other men went through six-packs.
Though Chad had become Vegas legend, this was the first time Treston had ever seen him up close and in person. He ran over to Mickey J. and said, "Did you see who that is? It's Chad Pratt. I've seen all of his movies. Isn't he the most gorgeous man you've ever seen?"
Mickey J. lifted his huge arm and his bicep moved. He twirled his finger and said, "I'm just filled with warm melty tingles all over," in a deadpan tone.
Even though Mickey J. wasn't impressed, Treston felt lightheaded and a surge of energy rushed through his entire body. After all he'd read about Chad, and all the movies he'd seen with Chad, he couldn't believe he was finally getting a chance to see him in person.
The young blond guy climbed into the backseat of the taxi and slammed the door in Chad's face. When the taxi pulled away, Chad stepped back with both arms in the air and called out the blond guy's name. Treston wasn't sure about the name. It sounded like "Dare," and he wondered who on Earth would name a person "Dare." Maybe it was a suitable name for a horse or some other farm animal. But never a person.
As the taxi disappeared from view, Chad Pratt stomped toward the limo with tight lips and both fists in front of his stomach. Oh, Treston had never seen a more attractive man in his life. It was true what everyone in Vegas said about Chad. He was better looking in person than on the screen, and this was something not many people in films could claim. He had sandy blond hair that had begun to turn silver at the temples, a tall thin body that moved with grace, and a nose so small and elegant it almost looked feminine. But there was nothing feminine about him.
He walked toward the limo with his head up and his back squared. His blue eyes sparkled beneath the sign above Chickey's entrance that read, "Male Strippers," and a lock of sandy hair moved with a slight breeze. For a moment, Treston felt as if the world had begun to move in slow motion and he couldn't move his legs.
As Mickey J. opened the back door of the limo, Chad glanced in Treston's direction and rubbed his jaw. He looked him up and down and said, "Who are you? Are you a reporter? A photographer?"
Treston gulped. "I'm nobody special. I'm not a reporter."
Chad smiled and the world seemed to tip sideways. "Why are you standing there with your mouth hanging open? The show's over."
Treston shrugged and said, "I'm you biggest fan, Mr. Pratt. I've seen all your movies three times and you're my favorite actor." He felt his heart beating in his ears. He still couldn't move his legs.
"You work here?" Chad asked.
Treston nodded. "I'm a dancer. I was on my way inside to start my shift when I saw you."
"Chickey's an old friend of mine," Chad said. "Why don't you get into the car with me and I'll take you to dinner? I hate eating alone and you're better than no one."
"Oh, Mr. Pratt, I'd love to, but I'm late for work already. I wish I could, but I need the money." He hadn't eaten all day. He usually didn't eat until after work because he hated to dance on a full stomach. For a moment, he felt like ditching work that night and having dinner with Chad, but Chickey had been so good to him over the years, it didn't feel right.