Written by:
Rene Goldberg
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this Issue of Curve:
Vol. 13#8
As Vegas morphs back into the adult playground it once was, hotel-casinos like Treasure Island have adjusted to fit the image — with a series of new television commercials that entice us with a wilder, more grown-up side of Vegas. One spot features a vignette with two women who seem to be flirting with each other. “Sure, I’ve got rules,” one woman says to herself. Then, she looks into the camera and says out loud, “I left them at home.” Can you say “lesbian innuendo”?
Although at this point, none of the casinos in Vegas offers domestic-partner benefits, most have adopted anti-discrimination policies. The MGM Mirage has gone so far as to form a corporate diversity initiative to “acknowledge and value the contributions of all people.” Management at the Mirage assured me that their staff is carefully instructed on how to respond to gay clientele — which (hopefully) means you’ll never get the odd eye when you and your partner request one bed upon check-in.
With sin comes pleasure, and if you’re looking to have a wickedly good weekend, Vegas
can keep you pampered during the day, entertained all night and awake until dawn.
SUNRISE TO SUNSET
Natural light doesn’t seem to exist inside a casino. It could be noon or midnight at the craps table and you’d never know the difference. Where else can you hear someone say, “I’m going to take my lunch break at 4 a.m.”? Time of day is an illusion in Vegas, so keeping your internal clock wound can be quite challenging. Normally, I can’t roll out of bed until housekeeping’s obligatory rap on the door. But if you’re the type who’s up in time for the breakfast buffet, I applaud you.
This town is a demanding mistress, so why not start off your day by being spoiled? If you’re big on “pamper packages,” Vegas is king! If you’ve already hit it big at the roulette table, you can spend some of your winnings at the Via Bellagio, a chic shopping promenade where clothing by designers such as Giorgio Armani, Prada, Chanel and Hermès are sold. Frankly, I’d rather begin my day in the spa, so I opted for Spa Bellagio’s signature treatment: the Lemon Ginger Stone Massage. Heated basalt stones and lemon ginger oil penetrate for a deep tissue experience that will last the whole day. Chamomile tea and chilled aquamarine gemstones placed over your eyes follow. Just the remedy to soothe and reduce puffiness from last night’s binge. I’d recommend the private spa suite, so you and your honey can indulge together. (How romantic!)
After being pampered in the spa, it’s pool time. Many of the pools have “misters” to keep the air moist and cool — well, just barely cooler than the surface of the sun. (Remember, this is the desert.) The sun is especially brutal between 11 in the morning and 1 in the afternoon, so I’d highly recommend avoiding midmorning pool sessions. Plus, it’s easier to win the lotto than to find a lounge chair during peak hours.
I decided to take my chances and headed out one of the pool boys at the Mirage. “Don’t worry, I’ll find you something,” he said, nervously scouring the endless rows of sunburned tourists. Each lounge chair is equipped with a little plastic flag. When you want a drink, simply flip up the flag and a scantily clad cocktail girl comes to your rescue.
Finally, we secured my chair and dressed it with oversized white towels, and I was left to bake. Just my luck: I was about to pass out in the brutal desert heat when the pool closed for the better part of the afternoon. “Who needs skin cancer, anyway,” I thought to myself as I headed back to my room to prepare for what else Vegas had to offer me.
AFTER DARK
Who needs to travel when Sin City has theme hotels that bring you across the globe and through the ages? Where else can you visit Paris, the villages of the Mediterranean, Venice and the ancient Greek gods all in one evening? Sure, they’re cheesy, but you won’t want to miss the volcano erupting in front of the Mirage, the Luxor pyramid and the gondolas floating down the canals at the Venetian. And if you want to get in really good with your girlfriend, I’d recommend catching the Bellagio fountains just around sunset. With water shooting more than 240 feet into the air and “dancing” to the sound of Frank Sinatra, you’re sure to win a smile.
While there’s plenty of fun to be had around every corner, I’ve heard that the average tourist loses $154 every day spent in Vegas. But just like hoards of other gamblers, I’m not listening. For me, gambling is entertainment, so I don’t ever carry more cash than I’m prepared to lose. (Leave the ATM and credit cards locked in the hotel safe!) I’m totally superstitious when it comes to gambling. When I hit a hot streak, I always slide half the winnings in my pocket and don’t take the chips out until I’m at the cashier’s booth. Three losses in a row means it’s time for me to pack it in and, hopefully, I’m headed away with some of their money in my pocket. Once I take a casino’s money, I move down the strip to the next casino. That way, I’m sure to keep their cash and not just give it back at the next table.
While concentrating on two queens (that’s blackjack, silly, not the gay couple at New York, New York), I got a glimpse of a gaggle of 20-something blondes in fitted dresses and strappy sandals rushing after a dashingly handsome young man in a black sport jacket. Coddling a handful of green $50 casino chips in one hand and a 64-oz. daiquiri cup shaped like the Eiffel Tower in the other, he tripped over his own feet, sliding face-first down the red carpeted rows between the gaming tables like a baseball player sliding into home. The casino quieted and all dealing ceased as he chuckled, announcing, “Don’t worry, folks, I haven’t spilled a drop. Resume your indulging.” The harem of girls scooped him up as the casino erupted in laughter. Just then, the dealer hit a one-eyed jack and busted. Like I said, I’m superstitious, so I snapped up my girlfriend and my winnings and followed the clumsy Casanova through the casino to the cage, where we cashed out in unison and struck up a conversation. “Nice slide, all-star,” I say.
Next thing I knew, we were off with the Casanova and his entourage to one of the new ultratrendy, but very straight, L.A.-style bars: Tabú at the MGM. Luck was with us and we scored a prime cocktail table. At Tabú, we ordered a full bottle of Absolut that came with our very own dedicated negligée-clad waitress to mix Cosmos right at the table.
As she poured my drink, I noticed the images of finger-size bobby pins projected from above onto our cocktail table. They seemed to float across its surface. She set my martini glass down and the pins seemed to bounce off the glass. I realized that the tables were like an interactive game. I flicked one of the pins and it shot across the table in a spin. Next, the surface was spotted with waves of water that rippled when I put my finger to the table. The ripples spread to the other side of the table. Needless to say, we were entertained until the wee hours when our bottle was tapped.
I strolled into work the next day, ready to brag about my winnings and already daydreaming about my next visit to Sin City — and my plans for hitting it big.
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