Read The Vegas Diaries: Romance, Rolling the Dice, and the Road to Reinvention for Free Online

wanting to continue on for another week. For as long as I can remember, I’ve always been awkward in social situations. Some people are blessed with the ability to navigate these scenarios with ease; I am not one of those people. It was even more reason to get back to rehearsals and work my ass off. Working hard was the best way to show how grateful I was.
    “I need to book my next job before Dancing is over,” I told my publicist. “I’m not going to last much longer, and I need to capitalize off of this publicity while I can.” Even with the rigorous rehearsal schedule, I still managed to find time for meetings and auditions. When DWTS came to an end—and I never knew which week would be my last—I had tobe prepared, racing against the clock to line up my next act. The show provided a much-needed boost to my public profile, while also allowing audiences to see me in a different light. I needed to maximize the momentum. In addition to talking with a few networks about the possibility of my own TV show, I was being considered to headline a major Las Vegas burlesque revue—a dream come true! In fact, this one (called Peepshow ) was a larger, bigger budget production than Crazy Horse Paris and was offering a three-month contract as opposed to a guest appearance that would last just a few weeks. Apparently my run on DWTS had inspired this new show’s producers to reach out. I dove headfirst into preparing for my audition and figured that if it didn’t work out, I would then reach out to Crazy Horse . I was careful not to count my chickens before they hatched, as according to industry gossip, a few higher profile names were being considered for this particular project.
    Surely they’ll want Brooke Burke, I thought. Everyone loves her . When I heard Lindsay Lohan was in the running, I was convinced I didn’t stand a chance. I couldn’t imagine a star with the potential to garner more publicity than Lindsay at that time.
    Callbacks for Peepshow had me traveling back and forth between Las Vegas and L.A. fairly regularly. Dancing was even supportive enough to fly Dmitry and a camera crew out to the desert to allow me to do my rehearsals there before my meetings. During one such trip, I had a hosting engagement scheduled at Privé nightclub. Upon my arrival, the nightclub assigned me a VIP host, a person responsible for making sure everything went smoothly and to take care of anything I might need. Nancy, an energetic twentysomething with a raspy voice and sparkling brown eyes, greeted me at the private Planet Hollywood hotel entrance with a bellhop and keys to my suite.
    “Welcome to Vegas!” she beamed. She was tall and thin, with an olive complexion and vivacity to spare. “I’m Nancy.”
    Nancy wore her hair in a shiny black bob that fringed under her chin. Smoky eyeliner accentuated her almond eyes, and two or three leatherbracelets wound up around her wrist to where they met the pushed-up sleeve of a worn motorcycle jacket that was cropped short enough to show off her tiny waist. I thought she was really pretty and had a sexy, Joan Jett vibe about her.
    “We’re so happy to have you here! How was your flight? Any issues? And the car service? Did everything work out for you? Oh, please, let me . . .” She stuck her phone in her back pocket and lunged toward my suitcase as I tried to collapse the handle down.
    “Oh, thanks!” I said as she handed it off to the luggage attendant.
    “You like champagne?” she asked. “Of course you do! Who doesn’t like champagne? Let’s go get some good stuff. My treat.”
    As a VIP host, Nancy was responsible for keeping me occupied, happy, and entertained. It was the kind of “only in Vegas” career that cropped up to fulfill a need in the hospitality market. Las Vegas nightclubs were cash cows. Over the years, the savviest owners came up with the perfect recipe for maintaining high traffic and relevancy in this tourist-driven desert town: one part celebrity and two