The pool at Circus Circus hotel and casino in Las Vegas has a mirror opposite. It’s only a few dozen yards away, on the other side of the refreshment cabana, and both are crowded during pool hours which end at 7pm. I jumped into only one of the pools during my seven-day visit to Vegas, the one day during which I visited that rather cramped and crowded pool area. I think it was around mid-trip and by that time I started doing this thing where I imagined the majority of women walking around as call girls and it happened that one day at the pool too. I still don’t know if I was right about this, how accurate a perception or how off a misperception this was, but since I was there in the hot climate and since I think about sex a lot anyway and since after walking through a few casinos in the very upscale hotels and noticing that, indisputably, there were hundreds of call girls hanging around in them, I just sort of got predisposed to seeing the women there as, quite possibly, working girls.
I had never been to Las Vegas before and there are a lot of things going on there that are really quite interesting, but my call-girl alert initiation happened the first night I arrived. I was hungry after all the traveling and decided to walk across the strip from the hotel to this 24-hour diner. It was called the Peppermill Diner. The décor was very 1950’s, a look that always kind of appeals to me. Formica tables, a lot of turquoise, little fake palm trees, plastic booths that had a slight glitter thing going on inside the plastic, I mean what do you expect in a town like Las Vegas .
The table I was seated at was a round booth, and I noticed a majority of the tables were like this, and strangely you wound up feeling this sense of privacy in your little round booth even though technically there were other booths rather close to you. The one to my right was close enough for me to see two young girls, each twenty-something, one white and one black, sitting with a black man. Their pimp, had to be. The first thing I heard that got my attention was one of the girls saying “Oh they had me all foamed up”. I think the white girl said that. The black girl said they wanted all kinds of sick shit, you wouldn’t believe it. Her hair was in ringlets and had very badly applied, obvious red-streak highlights, though perhaps this was a look that attracted men. She was repeating something she apparently had to yell to this client or clients; she said This is my face. Then she said to the pimp Are they crazy, there’s nothing more important to me than my face. She had a southern accent. One of the girls said something about boundaries being all busted up and one of them also said something about wanting to go back home. The remark about boundaries was interesting to me, indisputably an understatement in this case. Again the black girl said How come they couldn’t understand that this is my face? The pimp said absolutely nothing the whole time I was eating my dinner, a salad with some scallops in it I think it was, who cares. I imagined that the pimp was treating them both to dinner to make them feel better after having had an apparently very rough night, one during which they could have just as likely ended up dead or beaten up from the sound of things.
At another table was a business-looking guy talking to another guy and the business-looking guy said Of course I would never want you to do anything you’d be uncomfortable with. He was oozing that sort of fake positive energy that doesn’t fool anybody.
Leaving the Peppermill for now, a diner I never returned to during my trip, I will relate just a bit more on this call girl business, and excuse me for sounding a bit one note here but this tits and ass stuff is just so in-yer-face in Las Vegas that to leave it unreported is an exercise in total denial. Anyway I never asked anyone to confirm my suspicions on this but it seems there are virtual armies of young call girls marching through the lobbies of the really swank hotels. Will someone correct me if I’m wrong here? The heavy make-up, those little white strapped purses that hang to just above elbow level. The high heel shoes, the very short dresses, the cleavages down to the naval. These are whores, right? Hello? Anyway, The Encore and the Wynn, this pair of hotels which are connected by a vast lobby lined with dozens of expensive boutique stores, is where I was first witness to this phenomenon. They outnumber the casino patrons, these chicks. Besides all the accessorization I just mentioned, they look rather milk-fed and wholesome. I’m thinking about the relationship with the casinos, how this town is built on doing anything at all to get people in there to gamble. So yes, the lightbulb goes off. Of course they are welcomed here. It is part of the Great Big Plan, the Arrangement, the Great Big Cycle of Money. The juxtaposition of this adorable, almost cult-like community of Midwestern, girl-next-door looking girls with my little overheard episode from the first night, what a cornucopia the world is, it’s downright Dickensian.
Waiting on line at the Bellagio hotel for their reportedly to-die-for lunch buffet. It is a long line, it will be a long, hour and a half wait, and the line extends out into the casino of course. I have my paperback with me, Ayn Rand’s “The Romantic Manifesto”. I look up from the paperback and there is a gal sitting in front of slot machine looking at me. She has on those high heels, her midriff is bare. She’s really very pretty, again in the girl-next-door way. She has one of those little purses. She sort of smiles at me but I look back down at my paperback. When I look up a few seconds later I see her gesture down to the floor with her finger. I try to read her lips. I think she is saying “you’re staying here?” The fact is I am not staying at the Bellagio but I’m not going to pay this chick a few hundred bucks to be anywhere with me so what’s the point of mouthing the word No back, I just bury my nose in my book again. A few minutes later I notice her get up and walk up to the guy who is standing in the line in front of me. I can easily hear from their rapport that they are husband and wife, and she hadn’t been looking my way at all, she was looking at her husband. Dressed like a whore. I am not judging how she was dressed at all, I admit that it was sexy, but isn’t that all whore stuff? Is there some thing I don’t know about where to have fun and fit in in Vegas the women tourists decide to dress like whores, and is it possible this legion of whores I thought I was seeing were really just young housewives, having fun doing hotel lobby shopping?
This is just the call girl / whore report, the trip was about a lot of other things but I don’t want to cram. This was the Las Vegas Memorial Day week first-time-to-Vegas whore report, is all, no big deal just some sociology-lite.
1 comments:
Loved it!
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