It had been the week from hell. Oh hell, it had been the month from hell. I needed a break from work, my apartment, my boyfriend, my cat, my life. If I didn’t get away, someone was going to die. And, I really didn’t care who – my boss, my boyfriend, or my cat. I made some quick calls to the girls and sent out the command – Vegas this weekend, no getting out of it.
Friday afternoon we loaded the car and hit the road. Katie arrived packing a pitcher of Cosmo’s to help us ward off the desert heat. Amber, Jill and Heather (a friend whom Jill swore was a real wild one) climbed into the back seat and we took off, like a bunch of Thelma and Louises after some hard core fun.
The Strip at dusk greeted us as we pulled up to the Hard Rock Hotel. We dumped our stuff, took a quick survey of the suite, stripped down to our skimpiest strings and made a bee-line to the Jacuzzi. There was still a pool scene, we were the new girls on the block and the party was about to begin. Cocktails somehow just appeared and quickly we were the stars of the show, befriending the players claiming to be media guys from LA. Ok, two can play the game. We claimed to be fashionistas from NYC. All except the wild one, Heather, who had by then made her way to the pool and a group of girls who clearly like their own team best. We wouldn’t see her again for hours, but that’s another story.
The guys were planning an evening of clubbing and said we were their tickets in the door. Okay, this was getting interesting, we decided to see where the night would take us. Several hours later, dressed like the downtown club girls we claimed to be, we hopped in the guys’ limo and headed to check out how Coyote Ugly in Vegas measured up to the New York original where we were “regulars.” A few $20’s slipped to the guy at the velvet rope and we were in the door. Score one for the guys. The place was rocking and the girls behind the bar were putting on the show. Hard bodied, gorgeous and tough minded, these girls had the act down and our guys were getting hooked, especially by the one who poured a drink down her top and another down some guy at the bar. Music pounding, we lured the boys to the floor and cram-danced in the small space.
The guys had a case of ADD, so back in the limo and off to the Ghost Bar at the Palms. I don’t know how these guys did it, but some names were mentioned, some money exchanged hands and up we went in the private elevator. Maybe they really were media guys from LA? The elevator opened on a scene of sheer decadence. The lights, atmosphere and these good-looking guys were going to lead us down a path of trouble, but for the moment we didn’t care. For a fleeting second my boyfriend and the cat flashed through my mind. It only meant one thing – the energy was starting to heat up. Could be dangerous. They got us a VIP table and we ordered drinks, again. The room was starting to move and it wasn’t just the vibrations from the music.
So far these guys had been perfect hosts, but I was beginning to get a little woozy and wondering what we might have gotten ourselves into. Time for the “band of girls group trek” to the ladies room. “Ok, I think they have more in mind than just showing us a good time,” I blurted in my stupor. We had to ditch this scene and quick. We slunk to the door, down the elevator and out to the Strip, jumped in a cab, but no idea where to go.
The driver saw a quick opportunity to take us for a ride, deposited us at the Olympic Gardens and wished us well. Here, the guys may rule the runway but the ladies have their way. We were finally free to be wild and with a fresh infusion of alcohol, the hooting and hollering started. We were slipping all the money we saved with the big spenders into G-strings, when who should slide up to the bar, but wild Heather. And, she wasn’t alone. Connected at each hip and looking very cozy were two of the girls from the pool. She promised to be in front of the hotel by noon the next day and took off. We laughed and hooted her on, hooted for the guys and to a night that would definitely be noteworthy.
But, she’s another story.