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Même Si

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Planet Hollywood Casino and Hotel
Las Vegas, Nevada
June 2009

Hillary drank her second glass of Chardonnay, savoring every drop of the colorless liquid. She licked her lips as the wine ran smoothly in her throat. Damn, this Chardonnay was good. But she shouldn’t be surprised at all. She ordered for the Gran Montana, and it was worth every penny for its price. And the fact that her tab was already paid for by an admiring gentleman only made the wine taste better. 

She already finished two glasses, but she wanted another one, so she asked the bartender for another glass. He happily poured it to her, and she said her thanks. But before the bartender left, an idea popped up in her mind and called the bartender back.

“Do you have garrotxa?” she asked.

The bartender looked at her, confused. “Sorry, I don’t know what that is, Ma’am.”

“It’s Spanish goat cheese. It goes well with Chardonnay. Especially ones like Gran Montana,” she said.

“Oh, I see. I’ll have to check with the kitchens. We don’t typically serve cheese with wine, but we can make arrangements,” the bartender smiled.

“Thanks, darling,” Hillary winked, sipping her drink.

The bartender left her corner, but she could feel like she wasn’t alone. Call it intuition, gut feeling, whatever. She was sure that she would not spend the night on her own for long.

The bartender came back with an apologetic face. “I’m sorry, Ma’am. We don’t have garrotxa,” he said.

“No worries,” she said. “Do you have brie or camembert then?”

“I think we may have, because I know what those are,” the bartender quipped. “I’ll be back in a moment.”

“Thank you. You’re really such a doll,” she replied, smiling sweetly.

The bartender smiled back and went off to get her cheese. Meanwhile, she took her second sip of Chardonnay. The Chardonnay was probably kicking in, because she could definitely feel that somebody was looking at her. So she tried to find that gentleman who had paid for her Chardonnay. She scanned the room, but she didn’t find any guy who was alone and looking at her. She looked around again. Really, there was nothing. The only one who could possibly be was the guy sitting on the opposite end of the bar, but he was talking to someone else as he took a bite of his croque monsieur.  

Hillary swung back, taking her third gulp of Chardonnay. The bartender returned with a small plate of brie and camembert. She took the fork and stabbed a small bite of cheese. 

“You know, I can make you goat cheese.”

She turned around to find the source of that voice. The guy who was eating croque monsieur was no longer talking on his cellphone, and he was now extremely interested in her.

“Oh really? You sound so confident in your…cheese-making skills?” she teased.

“Of course, I do. I came from the South!” the man said. “We know how to make a decent goat cheese!”

Hillary was a little surprised. She didn’t realize that the man was a Southerner, even though he as a thick accent. She was busy staring at his beautiful, enormous hands.

“Southerner, eh? I bet you eat everything,” she said.

The man shrugged. “Pretty much. Barbecue, catfish, beaver, raccoons, alligators, frogs…”

“Gosh, you guys are weird.”

The man chuckled, eating another bite of his croque monsieur. “Are the food we eat the most interesting to you?”

“I’m sorry,” Hillary giggled. “I am a chef. I am interested in what people eat.”

“So am I!” the man remarked happily. “The name’s Bill Clinton.”

“Hillary Rodham.”

“Nice to meet you, Hillary.” Bill and Hillary shook hands, and Bill didn’t realize that his hand was a bit oily.

“Oh, sorry about that,” he apologized. “I forgot…”

Hillary felt her cheeks blush. He was clearly flustered in front of her, and she found his momentary clumsiness very endearing.

“What restaurant are you working on?” Hillary asked.

“Ironically enough, a Southern cuisine restaurant,” Bill replied. “The name’s Aunt Betty’s. I work as the head chef there.”

“I see. So what’s the house specialty?”

“Biscuits and gravy,” he said proudly. “We make the best in the South.”

“Yum,” she replied. “And what about your specialty?”

“Well, biscuits and gravy,” he said. “When I learned the secret of their famous dish, it became my best dish too.”

Hillary was a little disappointed with his response, but that was neither here nor there. “I should visit Aunt Betty’s sometime.”

Bill’s eyes lit up. “Oh you should! We have the best food the South has to offer.”

“I bet,” she said, drinking another sip of Chardonnay. "I should visit your restaurant sometime."

"You definitely should. New York cuisine tastes a lot different from the South."

"How did you know I was from New York?" she asked amusedly, with a little hint of surprise.

"Just a hunch, but a strong one," Bill replied. "You New York girls are so confident."

"Is it a turn off for you Southern men?" she asked playfully. "I know you guys like your Southern belles.

"Not really. It's just a stereotype. I mean, I've dated my fair share of Southern belles but I think I like women from the other side of the country. You know, New York, Boston, Chicago..."

"I was born in Chicago and raised in New York," Hillary quickly said, smiling.

"Really?" Bill grinned. "No wonder why I like you already."

Hillary felt the warmth rise up in her cheeks. "Is that true? Or you're just saying that to charm me?"

"Both," Bill replied. "You're very easy to like."

"And you too," she said. "You're very charming."


"I like you so much that I'd like to buy you a glass of Chardonnay so that you can enjoy this delicious piece of cheese with me."

Hillary called the waiter and asked for a glass of Chardonnay for Bill, who left his croque monsieur unfinished. He sat next to Hillary and took a small piece of the brie.

"You're right. This is wonderful," he said.

"Of course, I'm right. I always am," she said.

"Of course," Bill chuckled. "Who are you looking for? Do you have company?"

"No," she shook her head. "I was looking for the guy who bought me this glass of Chardonnay but I couldn't find where he is". Suddenly, Hillary realized something. "Was it you, Bill?"

"No," Bill said. "I wish I could, but as embarrassing at it is to admit, I am broke right now. I was sent by my boss for a short seminar and this croque monsieur was all I could afford."

"I'm sorry to hear that. What if we drink some more and have some more cheese? On me."

"Oh, don't. I wouldn't want to impose."

"Of course not," Hillary dismissed. "Let's have fun tonight."

Just in time, the bartender brought Bill's glass, which Hillary took and passed to her new friend. She raised her own glass and made a toast.

"To good food and good friends!" she said.

"To good food and good friends!" Bill repeated. They clanked their glasses before they sipped their Chardonnay.

Bill and Hillary spent the evening talking, eating cheese and drinking Chardonnay, not minding the time nor how much Hillary’s tab already was. By the time they realized they were drunk, it was already 2 AM. In her drunken stupor, Hillary managed to give the bartender her credit card and sign the receipt.

As drunk as he was, Bill accompanied Hillary to her hotel room. They bumped into other hotel guests as they rode the elevator and crawled to her room door. When they got to her room, they were giggling so much, and Bill’s lips were on her neck.

Good thing he was drunk, because he could not have done this if he was sober. He nipped the skin of her neck, marking her as if she was his. She let out a sigh that told him that she was enjoying this. She was grinding her hips against his front, and she could be him slowly harden.

“Kiss me, Bill.                                                                   

“Not here, Hillary.”

Of course. She couldn’t kiss him in the hallway, so she unlocked her door and she tugged him inside, letting him feel every inch of her as if he had known her all her life.

Nobody denied what happened that night. But what happened in Vegas might not stay in Vegas. Or at least that was Bill was hoping when he woke up in her bed and left because he had to catch his flight. But he made sure he left his calling card on her bedside table. He was hopeful that there was something more into that night than a one-night stand. He wasn’t able to say it last night but he fell for her. If he was sober, he would have tried to ask her out.   

At noon, Hillary was woken up by a phone call. She got up, her head feeling like it was being drilled. She looked at her phone and saw that it was her boyfriend, Sean. Pissed at the intrusion, she threw the phone on her bed and ignored the blaring sound of her ringtone.

She looked to her side and noticed a piece of paper on her bedside table that wasn’t there last night. She picked it up and saw that it was Bill’s calling card. Her heart sank as she recalled the events of last night. She kicked herself for being so flirty on Bill. She didn’t even care that she had a boyfriend who was waiting for her on the other side of the country. She liked the attention that Bill was giving her, and she let him get to her, even though she shouldn’t because she has a fucking boyfriend.

And now, she felt guilty for leading Bill on. She knew that Bill wanted something more, otherwise he wouldn’t have left with that calling card. Poor guy. He should stick with the Southern belles because midwestern women like her are bitches and break men’s hearts.

Hillary should have had the sense to rip the calling card into two and throw it away. But she didn’t. Instead, she took the calling card and kept in her wallet, behind Sean’s picture.