Casino Parties and Fundraisers Tampa, Florida The Party Corp

I’ve made a terrible mistake. I’m normally one of those ‘oh let’s play it safe at all times’ kind of women, but not this time. I think I messed up big time.
I used to be your average ‘Plain Jane.’ I worked at an average desk job, making an average income, in an average town. I was very much a loner with no friends of family to speak of, so I was very surprised a few weeks ago when the ladies at work asked me if I wanted to go on a week-long trip to Las Vegas with them. We had always been cordial and polite, but I wasn’t ever invited to the weekly book club meetings, or the occasional Friday lunch at Red Lobster. I always blamed the age gap; I was early 30’s while they were well into their 50’s. Deep down I knew that it was because of my standoffish demeanor, and possibly my lack of personality.
Normally I would have politely declined, throwing out some random excuse like, “I don’t have any vacation time left,” or “I don’t have anyone to cat-sit for me on such short notice.” My acceptance of their invitation was out of my mouth before I’d even realized I’d said yes. There was an immediate chaos as a whirlwind of women practically carried me back to my desk, my ears full of excited chatter about how much fun this was going to be.
1 hour and a maxed out credit card later, I was booked for 8 days and 7 nights of fun in the sun in the City of Lights. I was a little anxious about rooming with Claire, a woman I barely knew, but I figured a little anxiety was worth getting out of my comfort zone for a week. This would be good for me. I needed this, I reminded myself.
The few weeks leading up to the trip flew by. Before I knew it, I was standing in the lobby of Treasure Island collecting my room key. The ladies from the office were very kind, and included me in every stop on their daily itinerary. Go to this casino this day, see that show that day, eat at this buffet, back to the casino where everyone won a few dollars, etc. Claire and I bonded over night time facial creams and Forensic Files the second night of our stay as we crawled into our beds at 3:30am. The trip was turning out to be a success in my eyes. It was a little overwhelming at times, but I was finally making friends. A grown adult should have friends that don’t walk on four legs and have a tail.
The third day of our trip was the day that changed everything. I wasn’t feeling very well from the heat and lack of sleep, so I decided to stay at the hotel for the day and take advantage of the pool. I laid there on a lounge chair underneath a thick layer of sunscreen when I heard “Oh, shit!” followed by ice cold liquid splashing across my legs. I jumped up quickly, only to have my eyes land on a perfectly average looking man.
“I’m so sorry,” he said hurriedly as he dabbed my legs with his towel. “I was looking off to the side, and tripped on your chair, and well the rest you already know.”
“It’s fine, it’s okay,” I said, using my own towel to soak up the rest of his drink that sprinkled itself across my thighs. I could feel my cheeks burning red with embarrassment, “I should have pulled my chair back further. I was in your way.”
He settled down into the chair next to mine, extending his right hand out, “I’m Paul.”
We spent every waking minute together for the next 3 days and 3 nights. He was everything that I didn’t know I’d wanted in a man. Funny, but not hilarious. Charming, but not cocky. Attractive, but not Tom Cruise handsome. We gambled, ate amazing cuisine, and made love. He laughed when I showed him my terrible Rocky Balboa impersonation, and I stayed up an extra ten minutes each night to watch him sleep. There’s something to be said about watching someone sleep. That’s when they’re at their most vulnerable state, so innocent and peaceful.
Our last day together was upon us before we knew it. He seemed as bummed out as I felt about having to say goodbye.
“Fly out to Florida to see me, Linds,” he suggested as I slowly packed my suitcase.
“I would love to, I really would. I just, I have to work, Paul.”
“Next week. I’ll book you a ticket right now,” he said while pulling my laptop into his lap. His fingers immediately blazed across my keyboard. This was something I’d come to realize in the last few days about him. He didn’t take no for an answer. ‘No’ didn’t seem to even exist in his vocabulary.
“I don’t even know how many vacation days I have left.”
“Doesn’t matter. I’m booking you a one-way open ended ticket. You can figure out your days off before you come down, and we will book your return flight later.”
I zipped my suitcase shut, and sat down next to him with a sigh.
“Well, I have always wanted to go to florida,” I said, cozying up to his side just in time to see him finish up the purchase of my ticket.
Paul slid the laptop off to his side and slung his arm around me.
“At approximately 11am on Thursday that wish will be granted,” he whispered in my ear, punctuating his last word with a kiss to my temple.
“Four days,” I said, snaking my arms around his neck.
Those four days proceeded to coast by at a glacial pace. Work wasn’t so bad now that I had a few acquaintances in the office to help make the time go by faster. On Monday the ladies (especially Claire) were full of questions about Paul and our budding relationship, wanting to know every gory little detail. With all of their questioning, however, I realized how little I had answers for. “Where does he work?” “What does he do?” “Does he have family, and what are they like?” “Has he ever been married?” I soon grew overwhelmed with all of the answers I was lacking.
At lunchtime I pulled out my phone with every intention of shooting all of these questions to Paul, only to see that he’d already text me 13 times.
8:01am: Hey beautiful
8:22am: Good morning, gorgeous
8:43am: How’s your morning going
8:57am: I miss you so much, Linds. Hope your day is going good
9:05am: I can’t stop thinking about you
9:07am: 3 more days
9:19am: 3 more wake ups and we can be together again
9:26am: Linds, you there?
9:33am: Linds?
9:41am: I am going to take you to my favorite beach when you get here. You’ll love it. So peaceful.
9:49am: I really wish you’d answer my texts
10:03am: I’m gonna head to lunch. I’ll text you later
10:58am: Back from lunch. Where are you?
I was instantly floored at the amount of attention I was receiving from him. I wasn’t one to really even have an actual boyfriend, let alone be chased by a man. It felt so good to feel wanted. I was always the one who was friend-zoned, or was given the line “You’re like my sister.” It was such a nice and welcome change to be pursued.
Forgetting the reason I pulled out my phone in the first place, I immediately texted back:
11:05am: Hey handsome, sorry my phone was in my purse. No phones allowed on the floor. I miss you, too!
We proceeded to text throughout my entire lunch, making plans for my trip later in the week. After that morning I started keeping my phone hidden under a pile of paperwork. I didn’t want to appear disinterested, so I made sure to make myself as available as possible at all times.
I found out a few things about Paul through the conversations that took place over the next few days. He did have a few distant relatives, but they were scattered across the country and they didn’t keep in touch. His parents passed away years ago in a horrific car accident, and he’s an only child. When I attempted to push for more details about his life, he had the tendency to offer a short answer, or completely clam up and change the subject. Even when I asked what he did for a living, all he would say was that he worked as a foreman for a construction company.
Finally the day arrived for my trip to Florida, and my stomach was a ball of nerves. I must have unpacked and repacked my suitcase 4 times. The last text message I received from Paul was just before I stepped into the terminal to board my flight.
“See you soon,” was all it read.
“Can’t wait!” I quickly replied.
When I arrived in Tampa, my welcome party was underwhelming. I wasn’t expecting flowers, a red carpet, and a flash mob, however, I did expect Paul to be there to pick me up. I left 3 voicemails before resorting to text messages. Finally, after 6 texts, each one getting a little more frantic, he replied simply with his address. I was a little pissed, but more so confused. He’d seemed so excited about my coming out that it felt a little strange that he wasn’t waiting for me to take me to his house. I ended up taking a cab. I had a 45 minute drive to calm myself down, and justify Paul’s absence. He probably had to work, I thought. Maybe he was running last minute errands to free up his time while I was there.
When we pulled up to his address I was slightly taken back at his house. I’m not completely sure what I was expecting, but the simplicity of his house caught me off guard. It was a nice yellow ranch with a brown privacy fence that stretched off a few feet to the sides, then disappeared off to the backyard. There was a basic walkway from the driveway to his front door, and a single palm tree off to the side. No frills, nothing to spruce it up a bit. If it weren’t for the car in the driveway, I’d have assumed the house was vacant.
I made my way to the front door, after retrieving my bags and paying the cab driver a hefty sum. I knocked on the door, eagerly waiting an answer. A few seconds later I knocked again. I leaned off to the side to see if I could peer into the front window, but thick curtains blocked any view to the interior of the house. Just as I was about to knock a third time, the door opened and there stood Paul. I immediately threw myself on to him, wrapping my arms around his neck, and kissing his face. “I missed you so much I’m so happy to see you It feels like it’s been forever,” poured out of my mouth.
It took me a few moments to realize that he wasn’t returning my hug. Instead, I could feel a gentle pat-pat-pat on my back.
“Hey, are you ok?” I asked, pulling back a little to look at his face.
“Yeah. Come inside,” he nodded, breaking my embrace and grabbing the bags. I followed him inside and quickly noticed how dark it was. There weren’t any lamps on, and the only light coming in was the moon light that squeaked through the cracks between the curtains. It took a few seconds for my eyes to adjust, but from what I could see the interior was as simple as the exterior. Minimal furniture, and literally no décor. Not even a potted plant. I stayed a few steps back as we made our way into the master bedroom.
“You’ll sleep here with me,” he said gruffly, setting my bags to the side.
“Of course I will, silly,” I giggled as I wrapped my arms around his waist. As quickly as my hands met, his were there pushing my arms away. “What’s the matter?”
I stood there, dumbfounded, as he shook his head, and crossed the room to lay in bed.
“Um. Aren’t you happy to see me?” I had to practically force the words out of my mouth.
“Just get changed and come to bed, Lindsey.”
I stared at him intently. On the outside I probably looked calm, but inside my brain was swimming with insecurities and doubt. Slowly, I pulled my pajamas from my bag, made sure to change with my back facing him, and slipped into bed.
A few days went by, and his standoffish behavior continued. The first few days I chalked it up to the newness of being reunited, and the stress having to get acquainted to our being together outside of vacation. Paul had gone from being funny and sweet, to quiet and withdrawn; his joking turned to silence and cold glares. I tried to talk to him about the sudden behavior change, but was met with the bedroom door being slowly closed in my face.
There have been other subtle changes as well. Every night since I have arrived here he always receives a call from a man at 11pm. It’s the same routine every night: his phone rings once, he answers after the full ring, he talks in a hushed tone very quickly for about 1 minute, and then hangs up. I could hear the urgency in the man’s voice on the other end, but it was too muffled for me to make out any of the words. Of course, I had asked Paul about these nightly calls, but I didn’t get an answer. I tried to peek into his phone a few times, but I didn’t know his passcode.
Paul also stopped sleeping very much. He didn’t appear to work very often, as he was only gone for a few hours during the day. I wasn’t sure if he was sleeping at work, but he was definitely not sleeping in bed at home. He would just lay there.
A few nights ago I woke up in the middle of the night to use the bathroom, and found I was alone in bed. I called out to him, but he didn’t answer. I made my way through the house, checking every room, only to find it empty. I even checked outside to make sure his car was still in the driveway. On my way back to bed from the restroom I noticed a glow coming from underneath the bedroom closet door. I opened the door to find Paul sitting cross-legged in the center of the closet, facing the back wall. His hands were placed on his knees, and his back was as straight as a board.
His head, though. His head was tipped back as far as it could go, eyes staring widely at the ceiling. His mouth hung slightly open, unable to completely shut from the overextension of his neck.
“Paul?” I gasped.
He didn’t answer, didn’t even move a muscle. I inched forward and spoke a little louder.
“Paul, honey, are you ok? What are you doing in the closet?”
Still no response. A bundle of uneasiness settled just below my bellybutton. I slowly eased my hand towards him.
“Honey, you-“ I started to say, fingers just an inch from his shoulde,r but was interrupted.
“I can’t see it,” he said. His voice was so low, an entire octave lower than usual. I don’t know how he was able to even talk with his neck stretched so far back.
Sleep talking?, I thought.
“But they are open,” he replied in his dream state.
I wasn’t normally one to eavesdrop, so the feeling of guilt that settled across my shoulders was expected.
I, again, reached out to touch him, to wake him. “Paul, honey, you need to come to bed,” I said gently.
He flinched when my fingers brushed his skin, as if I’d burned him.
“Lindsey, go to bed,” his voice, now a bit louder.
“But Paul,” I started.
“GO.”
I jumped so severely from the force in his voice that it knocked me off balance, sending me backwards into the closet door. I fumbled clumsily with the door knob, my eyes glued to his unmoving stature, to the very second before the door was shut. I returned to our bed, careful to stay on my side. I tried to stay awake, waiting for him to come back to bed, but after an hour I’d fallen asleep.
The next day I was determined to talk to Paul about what had happened the night before, but was again met with silence and a closed door. That night I took extra time getting ready for bed, intending to seduce him into being the man that I thought I’d fallen in love with. I sauntered my way out of the bathroom to the best of my ability, and found him lying in bed.
The moonlight snaked its way into the room through the slight part of the curtains casting a sweet glow as I tiptoed across the floor. The closer I got to the bed, the better I was able to see him. He was lying on his back, arms crossed across his chest, staring at the ceiling. I slowly eased my way under the covers and scooted up next to him. My fingers caressed his side as I showered the side of his face with kisses.
His body remained unaffected, his face a blank slate. I leaned my body over his slightly, closed my eyes, and pressed my lips to his. His once warm and soft kiss had been replaced with tight lips. I lifted my lids to see that he was still staring at the ceiling.
“Paul,” I whispered.
Nothing.
I repeated his name, more forcefully this time, staring into his eyes. He didn’t even blink. It was like he was looking right through me, as if I wasn’t even there. His once loving brown eyes were now cold and completely empty of any emotion. If his body wasn’t warm to the touch I would have questioned if he were even alive.
Frustrated, I rolled away from him, back to my side of the bed.
Tears stung my eyes as I whispered, “You can’t ignore me forever. I don’t know what’s going on with you, but if you don’t stop this I’ll just go home.”
“You’re staying,” he said as he rose out of bed, crossed the room, and shut himself in the closet.
“What?” I called to him, knowing I wasn’t going to get a response. I, again, slept alone.
The following morning Paul left a little earlier than usual for work. The second I heard the deadbolt slide into the lock I bee-lined it for the closet, determined to figure out what was going on in there. As I crossed through the threshold of the bedroom, I glanced back at the front door to make sure all was clear. Once I felt that I was safe, I tiptoed my way towards the closet door. The air of the room seemed to grow thicker with every step I took. A brick of dread settled itself into my lower abdomen causing my legs and arms to feel feather light.
I reached out and grasped the doorknob, pulling the door open a few inches. The light was still on as I peeked inside. It was void of any clothing. In all of the excitement from last night, I failed to notice that the closet was completely empty. I slid the door open a few more inches and eased my way inside. To the left were bare shelves from floor to ceiling, and to the right was a single horizontal rod. I placed my hands on the walls and felt around, pushing every few seconds to see if there was any give, but found nothing.
I knelt down to the floor and slid my hands along the carpet on the floor, working my way along the edges. As my hands passed the bottom shelf in the back corner, the front piece of wood moved the tiniest bit. Excitement immediately overpowered any dread that I had felt as I worked out that small flap of wood, exposing a hidden cubby. It was only about 3 inches high and 6 inches wide.
I lay my head on the floor to peer in. Tucked a few inches back I could vaguely see the spine of a book. I reached in and pulled it out to examine it. It was soft, brown, and leather bound. I held it gently as I passed it from one hand to the other, searching.
The front, back, and spine were blank. Cautiously, I opened the cover. There, on the inside of the front cover where one would usually write a sweet dedication, was a simple marking. It was like nothing I’d ever seen before, a hook like symbol with a few dots.
There was a single ribbon slipped in the middle of the book, so I opened to that page only to find it completely blank. I flipped through the pages before that one, and all of them were blank as well. Every page in the book was unmarked. I pulled all the pages over and studied the marking again. My fingers grazed down the inner cover. My index finger seemed to take on a mind of its own, lightly caressing the symbol. I repeatedly traced the curve of the hook with my fingertip, tapping each dot. With each trace, the air in the closet grew heavier. There was pressure growing behind my eyes and in my ears causing each beat of my heart to sound like the beat of a drum inside of my skull. My throat muscles began to tighten, and I arched my neck back slightly in an attempt to alleviate it. The book tumbled from my hands onto the floor, and almost immediately the pressure in my head began to slightly cease.
My hands fumbled along the carpet, pushing the book back to its place in the cubby. I, as carefully as possible, put the wooden plank back in its place, and crawled out of the closet kicking the door shut behind me.
I lay on the floor for what felt like hours, until my body felt normal again.
Later that afternoon I found myself still alone, which was unusual. Paul rarely left the house for more than just a few hours, and he had been gone most of the day. No matter what I did to keep my mind busy, it kept trailing back to that empty journal in the closet. It trailed back to that strange symbol that marked the front of the book. Back to the possessing affect it seemed to have on me physically. I felt the overwhelming urge to crawl back in there and run my finger over the slight curvature of the hook; to place my fingers lightly over the dots.
I fought that urge, instead busying my brain with mindless daytime t.v. shows and dusting the long planks of the fireplace mantle that remained undecorated and untouched. I had attempted to text Claire, my friend from work, but I kept receiving an error message. I tried to call her, but was given the ‘We’re sorry, all lines are currently busy’ response. My phone was rendered useless, and tucked back into my purse.
Numerous times throughout the day I would find myself back in the master bedroom next to the closet door, unsure of how I ended up there in the first place.
Paul finally came home later that evening, his hands full with Chinese takeout and a dozen roses.
“Linds, I’m home! I brought dinner.”
I stood frozen in my spot in the kitchen, confusion anchoring my feet to the floor.
“Hey,” he said as he leaned around me to place dinner on the counter, “I brought you these.” The roses were placed in my hands, a kiss placed on my temple.
“Paul, I-“ I started, unable to form a full sentence.
“Orange chicken with a side of rice, and 4 eggrolls with a side of sweet and sour sauce. Your favorite,” he said as he pulled out plates and the appropriate silverware.
I set the roses on the counter next to me, and stared briefly at Paul. He was back. Not just back from work, but actually back. He must have felt me staring, because he looked over at me and gave me that warm smile that made my knees go weak. Relief flushed through my body, and I threw myself at him wrapping my arms around his neck. Unlike a few days ago when I’d arrived on his doorstep, he wrapped an arm around my waist, and his other hand lazily rubbed up and down my spine.
“I missed you. I missed you so much,” I whispered, afraid that if I’d used my voice that it would crack and give away the immense amount of emotion I was feeling at that moment.
He chuckled. “You just saw me this morning.”
“No, not –“ I started, but he cut me off with a chaste kiss to the mouth.
“Come on, Linds, let’s eat. I’m starving.”
That night was the best night we’d had since Vegas. We ate dinner hurriedly, as Paul was eager to get to the bedroom. I was just as eager, as I was really in need of the attention and connection that making love would provide me with. The last few days were so full of confusion, that I was desperate to feel any kind of reassurance of love. I’d needed the soft touches, the whispers of sweet nothings, the skin on skin contact. I fell asleep quickly afterwards, our limbs tangled together, and his fingers grazing my lower abdomen.
I woke a few hours later to use the bathroom, quietly chastising myself for not going before falling asleep. I rolled to my side, intending to steal a kiss before getting out of bed, and found that I was alone. My eyes instantly shifted to the closet door, the same glow creeping out from beneath it.
I quickly made my way to do my business in the restroom, staying as quiet as possible so not to disturb Paul. As I tip-toed past the door heading back to bed, the muffled sound of his voice speaking my name stopped me in my tracks. I pressed my ear to the door and listened intently. A few quiet moments passed, so I gripped the door knob and pulled it open.
The air was noticeably heavier in the small space, and seemed to roll out of the doorway in waves. He sat there in the closet the same way as before. Legs crossed Indian-style, hands on his knees, and his head tilted back, his neck nearly to its breaking point with his mouth slightly agape. His lips began to twitch. I lowered myself to the floor, leaning my back against the door frame.
“I am. I understand,” he said, his monotone voice breaking the silence.
“Yes, Lindsey’s ready. It’s working.” My heart started to race at the mention of my name. Ready? I thought. Ready for what? What’s working? An internal battle was going on inside of my head. I wanted to ask questions, to guide his sleep talking, but I didn’t want to wake him. A moment later the one-sided conversation continued.
“It’s too soon. I have no way of knowing.” His voice was so void of any emotion that it sent chills from the base of my skull down to my tail bone.
“Too soon for what?” I whispered. “Too soon for what, Paul?” I leaned in closer as the words escaped my mouth, and saw the journal I’d found earlier sat open in his lap. A very familiar pressure started to build in my head.
My heart pounded in my chest as each second passed, waiting for his response. My breaths were rapid and shallow; my brain screamed for more oxygen.
“Lindsey will be with child . It is the order. It will be done.”
My heart felt like it dropped to the lowest pit of my stomach. I clumsily stumbled backwards, shutting the door once my body was clear. I sat there dumbfounded for what felt like ages, before finally springing into action. I knew that he would be in that closet for the rest of the night, and only had a few hours left to gather my things and leave.
I ransacked the master bedroom for any items of mine that I could find, and stuffed them into my bag. When collecting my toiletries from the top of the dresser my hip caught the edge, sending it all tumbling to the floor. I froze, waiting for any type of reaction from Paul. The house remained quiet, the closet door remained shut. I gathered the last of my things, threw on some clothing, and walked out the front door.
I ran for the first mile or so in the night, but exhaustion quickly set in and I had to resort to speed walking. I tried my best to stay in the shadows, walking through people’s front yards, staying off of the sidewalk whenever possible. Every time a set of car lights came up from behind me, I quickly ducked behind a bush or the side of a house, convinced that he had found me. And every time the car just continued past me down the road, relief would flood through my entire being.
Finally, about an hour later, I made it to a brightly lit gas station. It was completely dead, with the exception of a young man behind the counter. The cashier was eerily pleasant, and called a cab for me. He acted as if it was the most common thing in the world for a young woman to walk into his place of business with a giant duffel bag at 3am, frantically asking for a cab.
Upon arriving to the airport, I paid cash for my ticket for a plane that left for home in just a few short hours. I spent those hours huddled in the ladies room back stall, listening to the second hand on the clock on the wall tick-tick-tick the countdown to my being on that plane and home free.
That was over 8 months ago. I arrived home to find that I had been relieved of my job, and quickly relocated to a small town outside of Cleveland. The last months of my life have been full of cash jobs, month-to-month apartment rentals, and different small towns throughout the surrounding states of Ohio.
My life is now full of uncertainty and the sharp pang of dread. The feeling that I’m being watched is always there in the back of my mind, filling my nights with horrendous nightmares, and silently urging me to pack my few belongings and get back on the road to a new destination during the day. I sit here tucked away in my small apartment, gently rubbing my swollen belly, attempting to calm the baby boy that is kicking at my ribs.
I fear for myself, but mostly I fear for his little life that has yet to begin. I realize that I am hormonal, and pregnant women have the tendency to have very vivid dreams and nightmares. These nightmares, though, are full of hook-and-dot symbols and men whose eyes glow gold. I can’t help but feel that they are a warning of what is yet to come.