It had been a long day of wine tasting at the Hilton, literally more than a thousand wines to choose from. And there was Billy O’ Rourke’s new tequila served by hot girls via cold ice luge—you get the picture. So later as I sat at the Circle Bar at the Hard Rock Hotel one can easily understand why I might be content to sit and watch Fedor knock out yet another MMA opponent. I can’t wait to see Brock Lesnar and Fedor come to blows, my money will be on Fedor who doesn’t bother with product endorsements, although his right hand might just be the cure for Brock’s foot in the mouth disorder. Anyway, I just wanted to sit, drink (more) and watch the fight.
“I have no interest in watching MMA, let’s roll to Hofbrauhaus and drink some beer and…” said my buddy Isaiah, an exec. at The Venetian.
“You go, I’m watching the fight. I’ll come over when it’s done.”
So I’m talking to Ken the dentist visiting from San Diego to my left when a kid, by kid I mean 22-year-old, pulls up next to me in the seat Isaiah had just vacated. I was hoping for someone of the female variety, obviously, but he seemed decent enough. I was slightly alarmed that he ordered a beer rather than a real drink, like Ken and I, but I reminded myself that the youth of today, well let’s face it, they’re little girls when it comes to vice. Anyway, I included him in the fight conversation with Ken and unlike my buddy Isaiah he did indeed have an interest in some good old ass kicking.
“So what is there to do around here,” he asked.
“This is Vegas, what is there not to do?” I responded. “You’re not from around here are you?”
“I’m from Sweden, I’ve been here for four hours…”
“You’ve never been to Vegas before?” He shook his head. And that’s when I notice two average looking young girls eyeing me, they had “college kids playing hooker in Vegas” written all over them—so I waved them over. I figure that I don’t really give as much money as I should to charity, but I make up for it by helping kids like these two get through school. And since I was feeling particularly philanthropic I nodded toward my new friend from Sweden, thinking that he might like to get a proper start in Vegas.
“So do you want to go up to your room and get naked, the four of us?” asked part time college hooker number one.
They did a little whispering in Sweden’s ear.
“I’m just a student…” he uttered, nervously.
“They looked at me. “I’m trying to watch a fight here.” They left and I turned to Sweden. “How much did they want?”
“Six hundred, for both.”
“They were worth three hundred each all day long. If I didn’t just do a threesome at the Hilton I would have picked up the check.”
“How did you know they were…uh…uh…”
“Pros. I’ve been coming to Vegas since I’m three and I own blogsincity—it’s my job to know these things.”
“I want your job…” he sighed, then continued. “My friend that I came with fell asleep up in the room and I lost a hundred and twenty gambling.”
I’m such a sucker for a sob story and let’s face it blogsincity is kind of an unofficial ambassador. “Do you like gentlemen’s clubs?”
“I love strip clubs,” he answered, his face aglow.
Fedor caught Brett Rogers with a right in the second, down went Rogers. “C’mon I’ll take you to the best gentlemen’s club you’ve ever been to.”
I called Treasures to let them know I was on my way. They offered to send the limo for me, but I was feeling okay to drive.
A Few Minutes Later
“This is your car?”
I nodded. “Beats the hell out of a Saab, doesn’t it.”
“I can’t believe this…It’s like a dream. I come to American and now I’m hanging out with a famous writer—and driving in this car, this is crazy man.”
And then, top down, I rolled toward Treasures with Sweden riding shotgun, which I hoped would not be too upsetting to the ghost of Howard Hughes, who’s grown accustomed to the seat. If Sweden only knew the company he was really keeping.
Now given that there is no vice, which doesn’t hold some interest for me, I think of gentlemen’s clubs as the closest I’m ever going to come to good clean fun. And for the distinguishing gentleman there is no club as distinctly elegant as Treasures. There is a time and place for clubs with fully nude eighteen-year-olds and clubs with a bunch of young lasses that look like they’ve jumped from the pages of Playboy onto your lap, but given that I’m pretty sure that Sweden is in Europe, geography is not my thing, I felt that the European feel and vibe of Treasures was just what the fight doctor ordered for my young friend.
I said hi to Alson, Nick, and my old buddy Jacko Smiley, all of whom I’ve known since the days of producing “Stan Lerner’s Night Tribe” at the Rio Hotel and Casino. It’s always good to see the boys and even better to sit at my table—that would be table 37 for my readers who enjoy excessive details. Jacko, who always knows just what I’m looking for, sent what I term my Mrs. Rights—two of them anyway. Both Riley and Mercedes are what dreams filled with precipitation are made of. My hart warmed as Mercedes took Sweden off for a VIP adventure. And I have to admit that I was almost overwhelmed by the thought of what it must be like to be a proud father, and yes it’s a reoccurring theme of this blog, but I really think I’d make the coolest dad ever.
“I wish you were my uncle or something,” said Sweden.
I held back tears. “Hey, it’s no big deal. I just wanted you to have a good impression of America and Americans—you can’t believe all the bad press we get.”
“What are you talking about? I’m going to move here when I’m done with school. This has been the best night of my life. And I’m going to tell everyone in Sweden about your blog…Maybe I can work for you.”
I raised Jack and Coke number twenty. “I’ll drink to that. But if you want to work for me you better never let a two for six hundred hooker deal get away.” We laughed and toasted.
“I promise boss, never again.”
“You hungry? Because in Vegas, if you roll with me, breakfast is always around three or four. Of course sometimes it has to be room service, if you know what I mean.”
“I’m up for anything.”
So I took junior for a ride down the strip to the Bellagio for breakfast feeling good about doing a good deed. See good deeds are like bouncing a ball, you put your hands on it for a moment, send it the best direction you know, and then you just never know where that ball bounces to—hopefully to a great place.
And although I usually just stick to storytelling, I enjoyed taking Sweden to Treasures so much, I’m going to make this a part of blogsincity’s mission statement. I have a bottle table at Treasures every Tuesday and Saturday—late night. If any blogsincity readers want to join the party just text me at 213 400-4559 and let me know. You can ride in the limo with my posse and you won’t have to pay to get in—but the Mrs. Rights are on you!!!