FanFic - Other
"Vegas Crapshoot"
Part 2
by Jim Pennington
Disclaimer: I do not own the Roswell characters and I am using them without permission. I feel wicked every time I do this.
Summary: Sending the Roswell characters to Las Vegas was a mistake. They're too straight-laced for that. But what if they weren't?
Category: Other
Rating: R
"We had an agreement," said Michael. "Beat it."

"Haven't you been listening to me. This could be my big break. Don't you want to come and like cheer me on?"

Michael made another point. The crowd cheered wildly.

"Maria, I'm in the middle of something important," he said while two beautiful girls were crawling all over him.

He didn't care about the most important thing that had ever happened in her life. All he cared about was his stupid game. That's the way space aliens were. When was she going to learn?

Isabel pulled the lever and the slot machine ate another dollar. If blackjack was like math, this was like manual labor. She looked around to see if any one else was having fun. She saw two couples who were kissing and cuddling while they played the slots. It wasn't easy to be a space alien. It was hard to be different.

"Oh, no no no," someone wailed behind her.

She turned around and saw a man dressed in a tuxedo bent over a slot machine crying his eyes out.

He must have lost a bundle she thought.

"Are you all right?" she asked.

He turned and looked at her.

"This is the worst day of my life," he said. "I'm getting married tomorrow. The bachelor's party is in thirty minutes and the stripper just canceled out on us."

Another man in a tux walked up behind him and put his hand on his shoulder.

"It's all right, Glenn," he said. "We still have the slide show. . .the beach photos you and Tracy took last summer."

Glenn bent over the slot machine and started bawling again.

"Maybe I can help," said Isabel. "I'll fill in for the stripper."

"Would you?" said Glenn.

"Yes," said Isabel.

"I'm Glenn and this is my best man, David. What's your name?"

"Brandy," said Isabel.

David was very cute.

"Have you ever stripped before?" he asked.

"No, but all you have to do is dance around a little bit and take off your clothes. How hard could it be?"

"Thank you, Brandy. You're the kindest woman I've ever met," said Glenn.

"How much does the job pay?" asked Isabel.

David put five hundred dollars in her hand.

"OK, blondie, you're up," said the fat, cigar-smoking agent in the light blue suit.

Maria began to sing. She was very good. In spite of Alex's amateurish accompaniment, Maria's throaty rendition of "I've Got the World on a String" went over big with the agent.

"Honey, you've got some set of pipes," he said.

"Well, I a. . ."

"No, I was truly moved."

"Thank you."

"No, thank you," he said. "Now take off your clothes."

"Hey, who do you think you are? You treat her like a lady," yelled Alex.

"I'll treat her like a stripping lady 'cause that's what she's auditioning for."

"Let me see that flyer," Alex said and grabbed it from Maria's hand.

"Big talent, big money," he read. "Oh, BYOG-string."

"No problem," said Maria.

She took off her dress, bra, and panties and put them on the arm rest of a chair. Then she slowly turned around to show the agent all sides of her naked body.

"Very nice," said the agent. "Slender, good muscle tone, and a great ass. The tits are small but you can get a boob job."

"How much can I make as a stripper?"

"You can earn a good living doing it. Of course, the big money is the live sex show but you'll need a partner."


Liz shot another silver ball up the slot. Pinball was getting boring. It was a guy thing. She looked around. She didn't see any guys in the arcade over twelve years old.

Tess was right. She wasn't much fun to be with. That was why she didn't have a boyfriend. Max was the only boy she had ever made love with and now he wanted to be just friends. Even Kyle didn't want her anymore. First there was Vicky Delaney and now he apparently had the hots for Tess. In the whole world there wasn't a single male human who wanted her.

It was because she was so good all the time. All she ever did was what her parents and teachers wanted her to do. Now she was in Las Vegas and what was she doing? Playing pinball in a penny arcade with a bunch of kids. Shirley Temple was right. She wanted to be bad. She wanted to be Jezebel. She left the arcade and went to the bar.

"Could I see some ID?" said the bartender.

"I'm seventeen. I'll have a Shirley Temple," said Liz. She wasn't here to drink. She was here to look for sex.

She took a sip of her drink and looked around the bar. The only other customers were two middle-aged women drinking cocktails. They were talking about PTA activities. At the far end of the bar two pretty cocktail waitresses loaded up their trays with drinks. When the trays were full they stood side by side and marched to the casino with military precision. The bartender was fifty years old and weighed three hundred pounds. Liz decided to finish her drink and call it a night.

Five boisterous men came in and sat at the end of the bar. They looked like they were in their thirties and they were in a good mood. Showtime. Liz couldn't stand up. It was like she was glued to the barstool. So who are you. . .Jezebel or Shirley Temple? She picked up her drink and walked to the end of the bar. She sat down on the corner barstool and said, "Looks like you guys are having a good time."

"That we are, little lady," said the man sitting nearest her.

The bartender served a round of drinks but the men now seemed more interested in Liz than the potables. They were already half drunk.

"What's your name, little lady?"

"Jezebel," said Liz.

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