A few hours later, the torture was over and I finished my shift. By then it was midnight, and the number of gamblers in the casino had decreased to a level where the Sidewinder started closing tables, including mine. The croupier made the announcement, and the three or four people still there shrugged, picked up their chips, and moved to another table.
All except Mark, that is. Before I could make a hasty exit into the elevator, he walked over and looked down at me on the platform. "Hey, Ashley," he said in a low voice. "I just have to tell you, you were fantastic!"
"Oh, please!" I replied, finally letting the ever-present smile drop off my face. Immediately I reached up and began massaging my cheeks, which were actually sore from being held in such an unnatural position for so long. "That was the most embarrassing performance of my life!"
"Don't sell yourself short," he said, and for a moment I thought he was trying to make a really bad attempt at a joke. He didn't seem to notice his pun, however. "You looked like a pro down there. Everyone loved you. Didn't you see how everyone reacted to you?"
"No, not really," I replied tersely. "I was too busy trying not to trip over these insane heels, which if I don't take off sometime in the next five minutes, I'm gonna scream!"
"Well, they looked great on you," he said, looking away from me. "Everyone else thought so, too. I heard some of the things people were saying. You're the best-looking roulette girl they have."
I looked up at him, surprised at that remark. Was that him talking, or was he repeating something he'd heard? "Oh, please, Mark, don't embarrass me more than I already am," I replied, annoyed at the demeaning remark, and yet somewhat flattered, too.
"Well, that's just what I heard," he said defensively. "Not that I don't agree, of course--well, um, I mean, er, that is--" He paused, tongue-tied, and I realized that once again, he was nervous for some unknown reason.
Now I put my hands on my hips and narrowed my eyes. "Just what the hell are you trying to say, Mark?"
"Nothing," he sighed. "I just mean, I was standing there looking around, and all the other roulette wheels had just a few people, and yours was packed. Those gamblers really liked you, K--er, Ashley. No matter what you thought about yourself, you were great!"
Okay, now I knew what he was up to. He was trying to build up my confidence! It was a nice try, I thought, but I could see right through it. I couldn't have done all that well, could I? Nah, those other roulette wheels must have been ones without shrunken women at them, I told myself.
Regardless of that, it was sweet of Mark to make the attempt, and I let him know I understood by giving him a little smile. It actually hurt my face to do that, now that I'd stopped for even a few moments. Damn, my cheeks were sore! "Thanks," I told him, and meant it. "I appreciate it, Mark, I really do."
He returned my smile, then got serious again. "All right, just one other thing," he said. "Are you okay with--with being, you know, less than a foot high?"
Three or four days ago I would have reacted poorly to that question, but today, I just shrugged. "You're a lot bigger than you were Friday," I told him, "but it's just another level of size difference. I think I'm getting used to it, slowly but surely. I didn't like having to run around down on the table next to all those hands, though, and I really didn't enjoy climbing back up on the platform."
"I figured you wouldn't," he said. "You could have just let someone lift you back up, you know."
"Yeah, I know," I replied. "I'm just not ready for that yet."
"Are you sure?" he said, looking down at me almost hopefully. "We could practice again right now, as long as I'm here."
I looked around. There weren't any other customers, and the croupier was cashing out his box. A couple of security men were loitering around nearby, keeping an eye on Mark, who was obviously too close to me for their comfort.
When Beth had picked me up earlier, I'd felt the familiar fear, but now, it seemed different somehow. I'd just endured four hours of prancing around at eleven inches high, in these ludicrous boots, and already felt thoroughly humiliated. What more could this hurt? Besides, I still felt bad for my reaction Friday night, which I knew had made Mark feel like he'd really screwed up. If nothing else, I owed it to him to show I didn't hold it against him.
Actually, the truth was, I was tired. I was exhausted from the shift at the table, my back and shoulders were sore from having to constantly handle that stupid ball, and of course my feet ached from standing on tiptoes all evening. But most of all, I was tired of being afraid all the time.
Raising my thumb, I pointed at my hand and then at Mark. "Go ahead," I told him. "Pick me up. Just be careful, okay?"
He looked surprised, and once again became nervous. "Are you sure?" he asked. "I mean, before, you were--"
"Just do it, Mark, before I change my mind, okay?"
He reached his hand down to the platform very, very carefully, and slid it over next to my tiny body. He hesitated, apparently afraid to wrap his fingers around me, possibly because he thought I might bolt again and hurt myself in the process. It was almost like he thought I was too delicate to touch.
I gulped, feeling a wave of panic at the sheer size of his palm, but forced myself to stand firm. In fact, I actually backed up into his hand, leaning back against it tentatively, and this time he was the one who almost pulled away.
Then he saw what I was trying to do, and he tilted his palm sideways, allowing me to sit down in it with my legs dangling over the side. I leaned back, my hands pressing against the meaty part of his thumb, and he lifted me up into the air, staring down at me in awe, with that strange expression on his face once again.
You know, fear is a funny thing. Sometimes it just paralyzes you, leaving you breathless and unable to act. Other times, it makes you run away as fast as you can go. It's all part of the built-in instinct to keep you out of danger. Sometimes, though, you get so sick of it that it just leaves you numb. That was how it was now. I was afraid, terrified in fact, as Mark stood there holding me in his palm, looking down at me with that funny look on his face. But I didn't really FEEL anything. It was like I KNEW I was afraid, but was so used to it, it didn't really matter.
In fact, the most overwhelming feeling I was having was relief at being off my feet. God, my toes hurt! I knew those boots had been painful, but I'd had no idea! I pulled my legs up onto his palm and started massaging my toes through the soft material, forgetting, at least for that brief moment, where I was.
As the pain slowly drained away, Mark pivoted his hand sideways, and I realized he was still staring at me, his mouth slightly ajar. In fact, he looked like he was hypnotized or something. Then I realized what he was doing. "Enjoying the show?" I asked in an irritated voice.
"What? Oh, sorry, K--Ashley," he sputtered, almost forgetting my cover name again. He started to turn red. "It's just that you're so--so--"
"What?" I asked, but I knew what he was thinking, since it was written all over his face. He'd been staring at my body! I should have been angry, but strangely, I was too flattered to be annoyed.
He didn't answer, but instead lowered me back to the platform. I stepped off, cringing as those damn heels hit the surface and I had to stand on my tiptoes again. I stood there for a minute, waiting awkwardly for him to say something, and finally realized he wasn't going to and came to his rescue. "Oh, never mind," I said, unable to resist flashing a grin of amusement in his direction. "I'm going to go get out of this stupid outfit now. I'll talk to you again tomorrow, okay?"
"Sure," he replied vacantly, his face about three shades of red darker than normal.
"Oh, and thanks for the lift," I told him honestly. "It really did help. See you later."
With that I got in the elevator and headed downward, leaving him standing there with an embarrassed and confused look on his face.