We climbed out of the tent in the cool of daybreak. The morning view did not disappoint.
First thing we jumped into the lake enjoying our first taste of shower the entire trip. Clay slid between my toes and I sank into the foreign muck. Adam floated on the surface to avoid the squish.
Following suit, I watched the clear blue sky fade behind the jagged surroundings. My toes sparked with anticipation for salt water.
Driving in Vegas, there was not one Nevada license plate to be seen. Instead California plates repeatedly enclosed us on the strip. With a sea of tourists, I ignored my usual anxiety for blocking traffic to make a turn or one again taking the wrong street.
No one knows where the fuck their going.
We arrive at the expansive Venetian. This is Vegas on Labor Day weekend. The line to check-in looked like the wait for Magic Mountain. The entire place was crawling with people.
Avoiding the throng of people near the fountain, I go to a check-in booth off to the side. The woman informs me that we are in a VIP suite, would I like to follow her into the designated VIP check-in.
Yes, please.
Try to remain calm. Did I mention this is my first time to Vegas?
Inside are families sipping on coffee and perusing the snack bar. I wait for our bags to arrive via Adam and sip on iced tea. He and I giggle all the way up the mirrored elevators.
Vegas hotels are mazes to keep their guests trapped and confused. They are designed to keep you boozed and spending money, while you have no concept of time or location. I would proceed to get lost in my own hotel on several occasions.
The decadent hallway is suggestive of The Shining with blood-red carpeting and a sense of lingering debauchery. We arrive at the presidential suite.
We push through the double doors and I stifle a scream.
My sister’s entire apartment could fit in the living room. Floor to ceiling windows light the living room complete with full-dining table and grand piano. A remote powers the hidden television, surround sound music and the drapes.
I run into the master bedroom to find an overstuffed bed and more couches for lounging. This gives way to a marble bathroom, walls covered in mirrors. I stop to admire myself from all angles at once.
Vegas exploits narcissism.
The shower can easily fit eight comfortably with a perfect view of the action from all the mirrors.
This connects to the sauna and another dressing room with plenty of closet space for my bags. There are of course TVs in every, single room.
I am still screaming.
Running through the living room to the other bedroom, yes the other bedroom, I find Adam in disbelief. There are two double beds and yet another full bath with another Jacuzzi tub. The shower is too small for me, so I claim the master bedroom.
The space screamed decadence and sex in every way you would want it to.
Adam and I enjoy our separate rooms and the luxury of having a real shower. I laugh the entire time. Naturally, I utilize both shower heads and the steam just because.
I jumped on all of the beds for about twenty minutes wearing the provided hotel robe.
We counted five toilets, two showers, two Jacuzzi tubs, three beds, six TVs and one grand piano. I could have never left the room and been completely content.
The afternoon was ours for the taking.I took multiple showers and a bath.
We head up to the pool deck that spans across the roof of the Venetian connecting to the adjoining hotel, the Palazzo. Chairs cover the entire place literally stacking people on top of one another with wading pools scattered about.
Despite the heat people are piled into hot tubs. A suggestive blow-up doll is thrown into a tub crowded with children. After no personal success, a pleasant pool attendant finds us chairs to lie in. We got drinks to celebrate our luck.
It pays to have a sister with connections.
Due to the holiday weekend, none of the provided VIP passes would get us into the secluded pools for free. At least not Adam.
Tempted by the famed Tao Beach, I leave Adam to fend for himself and guard our things. Walking-up to the line I bypass a collection of bare-chested men waiting for entry.
“I can just get in for free?” I ask as the doorman straps a bracelet on my wrist.
“Girls get in free. Welcome to Vegas.”
If Facebook were an actual place, it would be the pool deck at the Venetian. Half naked twenty-somethings filter around cabanas staked with booze and bikini-clad girls dancing on their lounge chairs. It’s all about status.
Finding myself without any purpose, I go to find Adam and continue to soak in the sun.
Adam snoozed while I went to pick-up sister from the airport. I got lost both ways with sister getting very frustrated on her iPhone’s lack of help on directions.
I almost hit multiple pedestrians wandering about and sipping on tall souvenir drinks.
My favorite part about Vegas is you can drink everywhere, including the streets. At the liquor store the cashier asks if I want to open my beer before I leave, pointing to the chained down metal bottle-opener. Of course.
Back at the suite, Sister and I run around the room laughing and screaming some more.
We were to go to XS nightclub and had to be promptly ready at nine to get in. Sister’s client not only hooked us up with the room, but put us on the list.
It turns out that meant we could get in, but we would pay 50 dollars for girls and 200 for guys. Oh, hell no. We scramble for plan b.
Kelley, a friend of sister’s, entered the room disgruntled and stressed. She was our fourth in the room and had an entourage of antsy ladies that would be meeting us for the evening.
Adam and I got ready much too early, so he was sent out to get pre-drinks. Left to my own devices while the girls finished their faces, I dance circles around the piano, the furniture and end-up shimmying in front of the windows with a view the Vegas strip before my eyes.
We are about to pronounce Adam dead and leave without him when he finally gets back with the liquor. He explains his wild goose chase to a “nearby” liquor store down the street. He ended up going so far, a nice group gave him a ride back to the hotel.
We haven’t even started the night yet.
The front desk put us on the list for Tao, a nightclub inside the hotel. We wait in an impossible line outside in the heat. Looking at the crowd was like watching an elaborate still life painting melt before your eyes.
We get up to the front and the doorman scrutinizes Adam’s shoes. His black suede sneakers just will not do. He won’t be getting in with those things.
No one warned me you don’t bring boys to Vegas.
He of course has no other shoes, despite my no so subtly telling him to bring nice clothes to go out in. I didn’t even think about shoes and apparently he didn’t either.
I hate to say it, but we left the man behind.
Our herd of ladies, pushed inside. Rented sectionals flowed over with paper thin girls and muscle men too wide for their arms to rest. We were not allowed to even sit near the furniture.
While we danced the night away, Adam created entertainment.
He explored the casino prowling blackjack tables posing as an international Scottish music sensation. I must admit his accent is damn good. He actually convinced some girls that he was legit.
Bringing them up to the nicest room in the hotel didn’t hurt. He serenaded them giving the piano the most attention it’s probably ever gotten.
Us ladies got separated. I got blisters from walking the entire length of the Palazzo/Venetian. The trip ended with a locked room and me without a key.
The repeated doorbell failed to gain any attention.
Devastated, I started to walk back to the front desk in hopes to gain entry. Exiting the elevator on the main floor, I found a triumphant sister and Adam came stumbling my way. They had valiantly gone looking for me.
Our troupe lumbered down the gilded hall and back to our Tara. Adam and I watched the sunrise over the Vegas strip sitting before the immense windows in our hotel robes.
Morning came and Adam I go to raid the VIP lounge for food before taking him to the airport. Women overstuffed with collagen wearing string bikinis and stilts for shoes, saunter by.
Guests shift their eyes at one another like competitors at the craft table. A concierge brings fresh sandwiches out and the guests attack. I approach an empty display in a matter of seconds.
A petite Asian woman hobbles past me, plate overflowing.
Once more to the airport. Again I got lost there and back.
The strip is a feat of its own. One must fight through bodies and vendors to get anywhere. Drunken crowds stagger through the streets grabbing pamphlets about the best hookers in town. I secretly felt dejected for never being offered a flyer.
Massive complexes are themed to be exotic locations from around the world. Distraction and perplexity are key. Light shows over man-made lagoons stopped crowds in their tracks making it that much harder to get to your destination.
The girls waited for me a restaurant sharing a hefty salad that I mustered-up the courage to partake.
A slight girl to the right of us dined alone. She breathed in a salad, bread and an impossible bowl of pasta to our disbelief. She shouted at the shocked waitress for the bill before half of ours was enjoyed. Exchanging a look with the waitress, we finished our joint meal.
Another night of indulgence food, drinks and dancing. Confetti fell from the skies and bodies moved together to primal beats. Strobe lights cut movement into still photos.
We all fell in love at one point that evening, even if only a fleeting moment.
You know what they say about Vegas.
I managed to get back to the pool the last day and enjoy as much of the desert sun I could stand. Kelley and sister flew back together, leaving me to end the last portion of my trip alone.
This is way it always ends.
Exhausted and besieged by the strip, I drove towards the city of angels. Another life of success and decadence. Of sun and sand and surf.
Images of water danced behind my eyes as drove home.
