What Happens in Vegas

‘That’s my bum!’

Have you ever said something aloud and immediately wished you could delete it? That you could somehow re-swallow the words before they reached anybody’s ears? That was me right then.

It’s not like I hadn’t made that exact same exclamation for the exact same reason dozens of times before. It’s just, usually, I hadn’t been sitting on the sofa of my new girlfriend’s parents who I’d met for the first time a few hours earlier.

It had gone pretty well up to that point. Vick’s dad, George, was a traditional man and I’d matched his handshake, discussed the choice of A-roads we took without letting on that we’d just followed whatever Google said and I couldn’t retrace the route again without it if you put a gun to my head, and politely bit my tongue when he referred to the shop on the corner by an abbreviated term for its owner’s assumed nationality. In return, I’d been treated to three pints down the George & Dragon and was currently holding a glass of whisky I knew would give me heartburn within moments of the first sip.

Vick’s mother, Jean, was the most welcoming lady I’d ever met and the gravy smell from the kitchen had me almost in tears with anticipation. She was entirely made of wool and perfume and I wanted to spend the rest of my life in her company.

‘What was that, dear?’

Jean was also a little deaf and had immediately paused the film so as to ask what I’d said, meaning we were now all staring at my frozen bare behind on a 42-inch screen on which the brightness was set far too high.

I said nothing, hoping somebody might come to my rescue, but it was clear I’d been cut adrift and no lifeboat was coming. Vick was staring at the screen, the back of her neck having turned as red as the cheeks which filled it. George’s eyes had simply unfocused in some sort of lizard-like defence response.

‘I was in LA,’ I said.

I was in Vegas, you could clearly see the Luxor pyramid just to the right of my birthmark.

‘We didn’t know, but they were shooting for this movie.’

That much was true.

I was committed now. I could see Vick had relaxed very slightly at my changing of the location but she still wasn’t sure how I was going to get out of this. To be honest, neither was I.

‘It was quite funny really.’

We certainly thought so, at the time. Until it wasn’t.

‘The actor who was supposed to, erm, be that part, was ill, but, well, erm,’ I could sense George wanting to bark at me to speak clearly. ‘They had to get the scene shot that day so they started approaching any of us guys who looked a bit like him to, erm, fill in.’

None of this was true.

There was no sick actor. There was no actor at all. This scene was intended to be entirely arse free. It was a simple background scene at a hotel swimming pool in which the camera panned across the crowd to the leading couple kissing in a helicopter just above. The production crew had been around a little while before getting everyone to sign release forms and provide contact details. They had made it clear it was a one-shot deal so if we all behaved as they asked we’d get $50 and they’d make the bar free for a bit. I’d covered myself in a towel and slipped off my trunks as soon as the crew member had walked away after pointing out the cameras so we could ‘ignore them’.

We’d been drinking since breakfast.

‘I was 19.’

I was 31 and it would take them four seconds to confirm that on IMDB; less if they carried out a simple saggy-flesh and bum-hair density visual check.

‘They paid me $200.’

They had hotel security escort us off the premises, issued lifetime bans, and had a porter bring our belongings from our room in garbage sacks which they joyfully dumped on the tarmac as we sat on the kerb. They’d then asked for the towel I was wearing to be handed back.

‘I got a personal thank you card from the actor.’

I had a snotty email several weeks later from an editor who had spent four days unsuccessfully trying to cut the scene around my perky posterior. It’s framed and on the wall in my guest toilet. Vick had already told me four times it would need to come down if her parents ever came round.

Not a single other person had spoken in what felt like days. My life-size rear was still backlit and dominating the corner of the room.

‘The lawn needs mowing before it gets dark,’ George said, getting up and leaving the room without making eye contact with me. 

Vick watched him leave and then turned to look at me, she did not have an expression of pride.

‘I’m a little tired,’ she said. ‘I’m going to have a lie down before dinner.’

‘Shall I join you?’ I asked.

‘No,’ she said quickly. ‘You stay here.’

That left just me and Jean. The wonderful woman smiled at me and turned back to the television. She let her hand hover over the play button for a moment longer than needed before pressing down and sending my bare backside into resumed twerk.

I swear she licked her lips.

She let the shot move on and reached for the TV guide.

She picked up the highlighter pen which sat beside it.

‘So,’ she spoke purposefully, ‘have you appeared in anything else?’