…later that night.

Today is the time of my youth,           

I drink wine because it is my solace…

-Omar Khayyam

 

 

 

 

 

 

We are sitting at the Zuai lounge in the MGM Grand. The time is a little after 2 am and something has changed in the mood. I am not focused on the grandeur of the Strip, but on the disease that such an illusion persuades. All the restaurants have closed. All the fun loving promoters have retired to their nightclubs and VIP rooms. All the shows are over. Most of the children in strollers are put to rest. There is nothing left except for the blue dragon. She is still somewhere on the Strip.

We had been walking down the strip, poking our heads into the casinos and progressively watching the prime-time crowds disappear and the legion of younger late night party dwellers emerge. In Caesar’s Palace, this meant watching the flood of bodies press against the velvet ropes of PURE and the security guards, dressed head-to-toe in black, pushing them back or pocketing cash to let the most attractive in. This is the spectacle of the Las Vegas nightclub entrance and it is an amazing thing to witness. Whether it is a chic nightclub or a candle lit Ultra Lounge, the scene and characters remain the same. They are well-dressed young men wearing designer t-shirts shirts and fitted jeans, slightly buzzed from their choice vodka or tequila, with boisterous smiles and eyes locked on the young ladies they encounter. The woman range from blond to brunette, but are more aggressive in their appearance. They wear short dresses or tight jeans and stick their chests way out deliberately to be seen. They put lip gloss on in a compact mirror and balance themselves on 4 or 8 inch high heels complaining about the men who are harassing them but then relishing in the attention they receive. They too have been drinking but are still riding the high of the present festivities.

 

It is the same at The Bank in the Bellagio, Christian Audigier in TI, Tryst in the Wynn, and Tao in the Venetian. All these venues demonstrate perfectly the entrance rituals of Las Vegas. Regardless of the location it is a glorious sight to behold and even more so to participate in. While the liquor is still young in your blood I recommend bringing a full wallet with the intent of using it, making your way to any one of those clubs, and pushing your way until inside.

 

While the liquor is still young, that is.

 

When the drink wears thin or the vertigo weighs heavy, though, there is something new to witness. Around 2 am a second set of women emerge. This group consists of either younger attractive or older middle-aged women wearing tight dresses. They too are flaunting their bodies but in a manner slightly more perverse and less disciplined. They freely approach drunken men with the sole intention of invoking deep carnal urges. They feed off the energy with an equally intoxicating motion of lure. If they are lucky, the prey will follow their instincts and abandon the night with them. At Zuai, there are three such predators sitting in a corner talking loud and sipping on colorful drinks in martini glasses. One of them, a tall red- haired woman, walks to the bar and starts to flirt with a bald headed man. He is part of a larger group of men sitting directly in front of us. They have been drinking continuously since the time K and I walked in.

 

K says that they are ‘working girls.’

 

“Working girls do whatever,” she says. “They just work the room.”

 

From one end of the lounge to another these three women have made their presence known. Now the red-head is ordering drinks for all of her friends, smiling and rubbing her body just enough to get the guys to focus on her torso. Her friends approach from where they were sitting and join in. The group of men, all with gleaming bald heads, clink their glasses, raise their chins and howl into the smoky lounge air.  They cheer the women and joke with them and celebrate by banging their fists against the bar. They are primitive in their joy.

 

Who has the bone? I wonder.

 

“Look,” says K awakening me from my meditation. “Look at them now.”

 

In an instant they have changed the mood and are now rejecting the women. I do not know why. With the same childish grins and cheers they welcomed them with they are slapping the girls’ asses and calling them names.

 

“Go on,” the men say.

 

The women raise their arms and present their open palms while making their way through the groping hands and bellowing groans. They return to their original seat and sit down sipping on their fresh drinks. It seems that drunkenness at this hour was not enough to lure them in. Perhaps in an hour, though, they will have better luck.

 

I turn my head away from them and look around the lounge.  A long winding bar. Laughter and couples hooking up. Young men and women. Older men and younger women. Zuai is a well made space. Nice lounge. There are long gold, blue, and maroon drapes over the entrance. The area is dim lit and dark, but a closer look at the table reveals alcohol spills that have become sticky, overflowing ash trays, and dirty glasses almost everywhere.  Along with the laughter there are sinister eyes that seem to return my glances.

 

 

Someone drops a glass and it shatters on the ground. I return again from my brief meditation. Immediately I search for the women. They have left and are now back on their hunt. One of them, the red-head, has attracted the attention of a young muscular man and his friend. She is stopped and almost falls to the ground by the tug of his hand.

 

“Oh, come on,” he seems to say.

 

 

The girls are not interested as they wave their hands and make motions with their hips. The man pats his hip pocket twice and nods his head.

 

Then something changes.

 

Two of the girls approach the man and with little more exchange the group walks away and down a corridor. Curiously, the red-head is left to stay.  She reaches into her purse and removes a compact mirror. She opens it and begins to spread some gloss over her lips. A thin man wearing a blue button-down shirt and white pants approaches her but she does not seem interested. The man walks away after unsuccessful proposing his desire. Moments later, the red-head walks down the same corridor her friends went and disappears.

 

“Can we leave now?” Says K.

 

K is telling me that the group of bald-headed men is staring at her and has been making suggestive gestures. She says that there are also many men in the lounge who are staring at her.

 

“It’s so disrespectful,” she says.

 

“Yes,” I say. “Let’s leave.”

 

It is 2:45 in the morning. We put down our drinks, semi-filled, and stand up.Here in Vegas, in the waning evening hours, when all the Cirque de Soleilers have gone to their rooms, the wolves come out to hunt. It is the ugly face of drunkenness. It is the dirty remnant of the fun that they started to have at the beginning of the night. It is the blue dragon had led my mind on this new darker tour of the Las Vegas Strip. She stood in front of me and forced my eyes to see her. She assaulted my senses then disappeared into the night leaving a stench that spoiled the festivities I had come to participate in. Now that the hour ripened, the witching hour that is, I can only see people losing themselves in the moment and indulge in their inhibitions. In this indulgence they become decadent and desperate. But those of us who are sober can witness the wolf that is present. On this night it is in MGM. We have seen it prowl many times before, but only now do we recognize its fangs. Only now do we look it in the eye. The destruction of accepted hypocritical moral values. The death of purity in sex and celebration. The drunkenness. The madness.

 

From this we head to our car to escape from the night.