By Alexa Day
Get ready to do some traveling this week. We’re celebrating C. Margery Kempe’s new release, ONE NIGHT IN ROME, with a series of posts, each celebrating a single night in a different destination. I’m delighted to kick things off with a single night in one of my very favorite places: Las Vegas.
Spending just one night in Vegas is actually not that hard to manage. I don’t have to pack much, and it’s only far away in my mind. The challenge is trying to take in as much as possible, as efficiently as possible. Ordinarily, I’d need at least four nights to really do Vegas properly. But if I were to handle everything Vegas has to offer in a single night, this is how I’d do it.
One night in Vegas, I’ll get dressed in my hotel suite after a long, restful bath. The plane ride from reality always takes a lot out of me, and while the limo ride from McCarran helps with the transition, only a luxuriant bath will wash off all that normal.
Then, while all those zillions of lights start to dance on the Strip outside, I’ll put on the dress I can’t wear anywhere else. You know, the one with the sequins. The one with the tiny straps. The short one. The tight one.
I’ll put on the shoes I can’t wear anywhere else, mostly because they only go with this dress. I’m not expected anywhere for a while, so I’m going to go downstairs for a few minutes. The casino’s busy, as it always is, but I’m headed around the corner, just past the restaurant, to a narrow doorway, where the club is. While I’m having a drink in my favorite little booth, I’ll probably run into a good friend or two. They’re here for the same reason I am, so when the time comes, we all head for the elevator together.
The elevator won’t take you where we’re going without the right key card, and it’s a long ride up. When the doors slide open, we’re in a hallway with a door on each end. We want the one on the left. That’s where the music is coming from.
My host gives me a nice, tight hug when he sees me. He has to yell into my ear over the music and the merriment, but I don’t have to hear him to know he’s glad to see me (heyo!).
Now that I’ve been polite to my host, it’s time to cruise the party. I start with a top-shelf drink at the bar, where two fine-looking mixologists are working up a sweat to keep up with us. (Because when in Vegas, one drinks with gusto.) Then I grab a bite to eat. My host shares my fondness for sushi and the human form, so he’s arranged for nyotaimori and nantaimori, along with the other heavy hors d’ouvres. I see a lively game of strip poker near the pool, but I’m keeping away from it. These guys don’t count shoes and jewelry, and I don’t have an awful lot on.
Instead, I’m going to hang out on the balcony with some of my fellow guests, people whose names you’d recognize if I were allowed to drop names. Vegas parties only have a couple of rules, really. You’ve got to know how to keep a secret, and you’ve got to leave your everyday world at the door. No shop talk. No passing around pictures of kids and grandkids. Nothing but the right here and right now … and watching that poker game. Hey, if they didn’t want me to watch, they’d take it into one of the bedrooms.
Dawn is threatening as the partygoers start to pair off and head for the door. All those zillions of lights are giving way to the sunrise. A handful of intimates are all that’s left, scrounging for Bloody Mary ingredients behind the bar or making plans for a red-eyed breakfast downstairs. Before long, everyone’s gone, and it’s just me with my host, sitting on the side of the pool with our legs in the water.
I tell him he always throws an awesome party, and he thanks me. I also tell him how cool it is that he has a pool in this suite all the way up here.
“You know what else is cool?” He leans over toward me, so close that I can feel one of those slightly oversized sideburns against my face. “The bed rotates.”
“Like all the way around in a circle?” A night of yelling over music has left me sounding a little hoarse.
“No amount of talking about it will do it justice,” he says. He gets out of the pool and helps me to my feet. And then he shows me around the suite like a good host, making sure that our tour ends with the rotating bed.
I’d love to tell you what happens after that. I have no real problem with the whole kiss-and-tell. But I do want to go to another of those parties, so that story has to stay in Vegas. You know the tune.
What happens on Lady Smut is a different story, though. Stuff that goes on here, goes everywhere. So follow us and check out ONE NIGHT IN ROME!