Little Girl Lost: Volume 1 of the Little Girl Lost Trilogy. Cindy Hanna

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      “Sorry.”

      “Promise that you’ll reach out to me before your crack pipe.”

      “Deal.”

      The girls pack bags with outfits they can strip in (tight mini skirts that leave nothing to the imagination, clingy low-cut tops that expose their chests, five-inch stiletto come-fuck-me heels, lacy bras and g-strings) and leave them on their beds. They dress in jeans, T-shirts, comfortable shoes and then head out to explore Las Vegas.

      They are twenty-five, the year is 1994 and Las Vegas is undergoing a major facelift with amazing themed hotel/casinos replacing the old Mafia-owned ones. Never having been to Vegas, the girls stroll the strip awestruck. Sally is dazzled, even in the daylight, by all the neon lights. “Look, Angel. There’s the Flamingo with its fanned-out neon tail feathers over the entrance.”

      They cross the street and continue up the other side where they come upon the sprawling Caesar’s property. Having heard about the Forum Shops below and what treasures they contain, the girls choke their way through the smog-like cloud of smoke, which hangs from the ceiling of the hotel’s main casino like a cancer cloud. The girls are hypnotized by the noise and chaos created by the ding, ding, dinging and flashing lights of the slot machines. Stopping in front of the nearest one-arm bandit, Angel comments, “Look, it’s just like the ones in the movies.”

      Angel reaches into her purse and draws out a couple of quarters. Placing them in the coin slot, she looks at Sally and winks before pulling the handle. Both girls watch with mounting anticipation, as first one BAR, then another and finally a third fall into a horizontal line in the center of the display. A light on top of the machine begins to flash. Alarms blare. And the unmistakable tink, tink, plunk, plunk, tink, tink, tink sounds as the machine belches out its coins. Sally looks for something to place the coins in and locates a large plastic coin cup. She hands it to Angel, who begins scooping up her winnings as the slot machine continues to spew out an endless cache of quarters. Both girls beam.

      “This is awesome!” Angel announces with childlike abandon. “Las Vegas is fun. I like it here!” She looks at Sally. “Go ahead, you try.”

      Sally fetches a couple quarters from her purse and places them in the machine next to the one Angel has just emptied. She pulls the handle and waits—BAR, double cherries and an orange. She laughs, “Well, at least I got healthy fruits.”

      “You and your damn healthy eating,” Angel says. “I’ve never seen anyone so into fruits and vegetables before.”

      Sally shrugs. “What can I say? You are what you eat.”

      “Yeah, yeah, heard the pitch before. Save it. I like chemicals I can’t pronounce in everything I eat. If we are what we eat, then I’m damned smart cause I’m chock full of big words.”

      “Ah, Jesus, Angel! Where do you come up with this crap?”

      Angel shrugs. “Don’t know. Gift, I guess.”

      Both girls laugh and follow the signs to the Forum Shops. Once there, they pass a giant fountain that features animated figures and a laser light show. Sally and Angel silently watch the presentation.

      Next, they pass by high-end stores, many of whose names neither girl recognizes. Sally lets out a whistle. “Someday I’m gonna walk in these shops and buy whatever I want.”

      They leave Caesar’s and continue up the main boulevard to the Treasure Island hotel/casino. Sally exclaims, “Oh, my God! Giant pirate ships? In the middle of the desert? Who would have thought?”

      As the girls approach the hotel, they cross a long, wide, wood-planked boardwalk flanked by several enormous pirate schooners. The girls join the gathered crowd and wait for the show to begin. About fifteen minutes later, the rumblings of loud music can be heard as the ships come to life. Hordes of “pirates” enact their roles in a mock fight. They battle, climb rope ladders and fall—presumably to their deaths—into the water below. The show is intoxicating. The performance ends with one of the ships sinking. Stunned, both girls turn and silently walk back towards their motel. Sally breaks the silence. “This place is unbelievable! And of all the people, the Elvises seem the most normal.”

      After freshening up in their room, the girls grab their bags and head to the strip joint. The parking lot at Luigi’s Gentleman’s Club is filled with expensive cars and a valet service. As Sally and Angel approach the entrance, a gorilla-like bouncer visually undresses and sizes them up. “Come to have a good time tonight, ladies?”

      “Hope to.”

      He eye-fucks them one final time before granting them passage.

      Inside, there are three stages: a large one in the center of the room, with two smaller platforms flanking the main one. Each has brass poles mounted vertically from the ceiling to the floor—the kind one would expect to see in a firehouse. The room is dimly lit with the stages surrounded by a bar. Individual booths line the room, each large enough to hold four to six people.

      Two girls are performing on the center stage, with each of the smaller platforms supporting a single-girl strip act. Each of the performers looks as if she has just walked off the pages of a Playboy magazine. Angel lets out a sigh and remarks, “Jeeezus, Sally girl! How we supposed to compete with them?”

      “Let’s grab a table in the back and watch for a bit. See what we’re in for.”

      The girls on stage, having stripped to their sexy g-strings, are doing their damnedest to screw the brass poles. The spectators are going wild, hooting, hollering and tossing money at their feet. Angel and Sally navigate their way to a corner booth. A few minutes later, a waitress decked out in a rather revealing micro mini skirt and bikini top that leaves nothing to the imagination, arrives to take their drink order.

      The girls watch with fascination as one girl after another gets up on stage to perform her act. Each is unique and lasts the length of a song. The center stage always features two girls rubbing themselves against one another in a seductive manner. Sally and Angel cannot help notice how every guy in the place is reduced to a pile of goo within a matter of seconds.

      Following each performance, the dancers walk around the edge of the stage where the audience members, exclusively male, slip one- and five-dollar bills into their g-strings, while others toss their money on stage. It takes several minutes for each girl to gather her earnings.

      The waitress returns with their drinks.

      “Where’s the club owner?” Angel asks.

      “Over there,” the waitress says, pointing to an Italian godfather Mafioso-type sitting on a stool at the end of the bar.

      “Thanks.” The girls tip the waitress an extra five dollars.

      As they pick up their bags and head towards the club manager, Angel says, “I feel like I’m gonna barf.”

      “Don’t flake on me now,” Sally responds.

      Drawing in a calming deep breath, Angel manages a smile. The club manager’s shirt, undone almost to his navel, exposes his hairy chest and belly. He is short, robust with a stomach that hangs over his trousers. Layers of heavy gold chains hang around his neck, several with pendants large enough to be doorknockers. His hair is black, thinning and slicked back. They catch sight of his gaudy, loose-fitting, gold nugget watch when they arrive in front of him and СКАЧАТЬ