October, 2008
Sky Bar Café; Auburn, AL
October in Auburn means football and masses of people regardless of the night, but it was early, and still manageable by Sky Bar standards. The hot dog business was good, thankfully, because my corporate income fizzled away with the rest of the waste handed to us by the collapse of the housing market and the subsequent aggressive recession. People were still going to drink, and people were still going to eat.
My travel schedule wasn’t what it used to be, but I had directives in place for Tiger Meat for when I was on the road a lot. The business ran pretty well without me, I just had to give up some of my profits to someone taking my place lifting heavy coolers and carts. I made sure that it was considered a bad night if the girls had to lift more than a loaded hot dog. They were well kept, whether I was there or not.
I was leaving for Las Vegas the next morning, so I sent out a note to the girls telling them if I owed them any money, and they wanted it before I went wheels up, they needed to meet me at the bar by a certain time. My plan was to have a table and just let them join for a few drinks if they felt like staying out a bit, but more importantly, that when I left I was leaving with all wages paid and free to fall off the earth if I was so inclined. I think they were always considering that possibility too because everyone showed up that night at some point.
As the night went on I found myself drinking more than originally planned. There were about three girls at the table when I made a bold statement.
“It’s depressing that I’m going to Vegas alone for my birthday. The first one of you that buys a Jaeger shot for the two of us and brings it back to the table is coming with me.”
With that, the table cleared with the thunder of heavy patio chair legs bouncing across dilapidated planks of wood. Just as the girls scattered in different directions toward their favorite bartender, Courtney leaned over my shoulder and placed two shots of Jaeger in front of me. She pulled up one of the overturned chairs, sat down, and asked, “Why did everyone just run off?”
~
I have a soft spot in my heart for all the girls that worked the Tiger Meat carts over the years. I depended on them, especially when I was out of town, and with few exceptions they always came through. They knew I was specific with my hiring, and the money versus the actual work was certainly good. They didn’t want to let me down.
I would have had fun in Vegas with any of them, but it’s hard to imagine a better girl than Courtney to win the shot challenge, even if it was by sheer luck. Courtney was built for Vegas, and even more encouraging was that she had never been.
~
Departure day came early after a night that lasted longer than I wanted it to. This made giving Courtney my seat in first class even more surprising. She gave me a quick tip of her mimosa-laden champagne flute as the boarding door closed. I closed my eyes and drifted away.
May, 2008 (5 months earlier)
MGM Casino; Las Vegas, NV
The vibrating alarm on my phone reverberated through the plush pillow and gently brought me back to the room. I’ve always been amazed by the attention to detail I practice before bed after a long night out. It’s as if I know that things are going to be a little hazy, so I leave myself a roadmap. A quick glance over the edge of the bed confirmed the success of my “night out” ritual. My shoes were placed perfectly where I couldn’t miss them; my wallet, watch, and room key all placed securely within one of them.
It takes a second to get my bearings, the crisp white sheets pulled almost entirely over my head. The room is incredibly cold – the air conditioner humming in the darkness. There’s a warm body next to me with only some frazzled hair peeking out from under the comforter. No wonder I’m freezing. Somewhere in the night I lost the battle for the bulk of the bed and the comforts of its full dressing.
My friend Sunny was the thief – I could tell by the small amount of her hair that was showing. There were a lot of us on this trip and sharing beds was part of the deal. It was all coming back to me now. My phone, as I mentioned, was under my pillow. I needed to be up long before anyone else, so as a courtesy I set up the muffled, vibrating alarm clock. I’m so good.
Having to tiptoe out of your hotel room at noon to avoid disturbing the four other people passed out there on a Tuesday would usually be a red flag, but in Las Vegas the days and nights bleed together into one large cocktail that tastes the same regardless of the day. I glanced over my shoulder as I left the room and smirked knowing what was going to happen later that night to the unsuspecting subjects slumbering about. Sunny (Daze), a fake stage name I bestowed on her for this night only, continued sleeping in peace with the water bottle I prepared her before we all passed out within arms reach. We spent the night before at JET nightclub, so they needed the rest. In six hours time they would all be given their fake identities for the night; a night that I hoped would go down as one of their best ever. I pulled the door shut carefully with an inaudible click.
~
As I sat eating my steamed dumplings against the railing of my favorite restaurant in MGM, I fought back a nervous tension. It had been close to fifteen years since I last saw or even spoke to Jay before a call came through the questionable cell network in Barbados, where I was in residence for a week just a handful of months prior.
“Is this the Todd Gilbert I lived in the Hotel Havana with in Spain back in 1994?” a familiar voice asked.
Facebook, of all things, made this reunion possible. I had exhausted all options over the years trying to reunite, mainly because the name “Jason Lee” is hardly uncommon. Before the Internet, one residence move and you could easily lose someone forever.
We met in Spain and quickly became confidants in an unfamiliar country. We traveled down the coast of Portugal sleeping on beaches. We ran from bulls and toward bars, all the while demonstrating nary a care. When we returned from abroad there were a few trips, him to Auburn and me to Gainesville, where he was in school at the University of Florida. And then, regrettably, we lost touch.
The things you have to cover after that much time has passed, especially at that point in your life, are awkward.
So, how long have you lived in Vegas?
What are you doing for work?
Are you married? Have kids?
There was a lot of catching up to do. We arranged to meet at MGM that day, and I was more than thankful for the reconnection.
“Actually, I just got married in San Francisco a few weeks ago,” he explained. “It was a small, family-only wedding. But we’re having a celebration of sorts this October – like a wedding reception for family and friends. I’d love for you to come.”
October, 2008
Caesar’s Palace; Las Vegas, NV
“Is this your hair?” I asked as a mane of dirty blond locks I found on the hotel room floor cascaded across the width of my outstretched hand. Courtney, a curling iron spearing the left side of her head, glanced at me briefly then turned back toward the mirror with little concern.
“Not technically, but you’ll think it is in a few minutes.”
Our blocks of time getting ready being vastly different, I spent the next hour or so explaining the history of my friendship with Jay and our reunion back in August. Tonight we were on our way to a welcome reception for “wedding” attendees at Nine Fine Irishmen at New York-New York.
Courtney and I arrived on time and were greeted at the door to Nine Fine by Jay’s mother, who hugged me like a bear once I introduced myself. We had never met but stories crossed the pond as one would expect.
Before we could pass through the entrance, Jay made his way through the humming crowd just inside to meet us at the door. It wasn’t more than a few seconds of salutations and introductions before there was an obvious disturbance just beyond the threshold of the party. There was a growing murmur indicating that something was wrong within.
As we all peered inquisitively inward, a girl squeezed her way out with a panic stricken look on her face that contrasted her otherwise radiant appearance. The bride.
Courtney and I watched nervously as she grasped at Jay with both hands in desperation.
“My dad just collapsed,” she explained, her hands shaking on either of his shoulders. “Call 911!”
“I got it,” I said, pulling my phone from my pocket as I ushered Courtney off to the side.
Paramedics were there quicker than I expected, but I suppose medical emergencies of all types are standard in Vegas. I was standing with Jay’s mother and Courtney when the paramedics started to come out with his father-in-law on a stretcher. Jay led the way and came directly to us.
“I have to go to the hospital with Wendy and her dad,” he said, looking through us as he watched the paramedics descending the staircase. “I’m not sure what to do. The party just started so I’m not sure if people will stay or what. I haven’t had a chance to talk to any of the staff.” There were way too many things for his brain to process at one time.
I stopped him mid-thought.
“I got this,” I said. “This is what I do. I’ll deal with the staff and Courtney and I can host the hell out of these people. No one knows us anyway.”
I gestured to the girl to my right, a stranger’s hair falling across her left shoulder. “This is Courtney by the way.”
The first moment Courtney and I stepped into the actual party came an hour after we arrived, and we were holding trays of champagne-filled flutes. I huddled the Nine Fine staff to explain the situation and that the party would continue with me as their main contact. The champagne trays were the best way I could think of to introduce us to the group and relay the state of the evening: There was nothing that anyone could do to help with the medical situation, and the paramedics indicated that the patient’s condition was stable. It’s Vegas, and the show must go on.
“This is a little crazy,” Courtney muttered from the corner of her mouth as she balanced her tray over her right shoulder.
“Yes it is,” I replied as we took our first step into the room of strangers.
“I know you!” roared a woman’s voice to our left, buried in the crowd.
“That figures,” Courtney whispered, laughing a little without turning her head from her forward gaze.
A blond woman wedged her way through to stop us in our tracks. “You’re the naked guy from that golf course in Cancun.”
“Sounds about right,” Courtney spat with a laugh as she dove ahead into the masses, her flutes picked off one by one.
The blonde in front of me looked familiar, but there was no way I was going to pull her name from the dark corridors of my memory. I had to assume she knew m, because about five months before that night I was, in fact, standing naked on a golf course in Cancun.
“Did you get paid to do that?” she asked as she snatched a glass from my tray and took a quick swig. “And why the hell are you here?”
“Well, I didn’t get paid. That was a volunteer job.” At no point in Cancun did I assume I would be in Vegas five months later answering questions about that day. “And I’m here because I’m friends with Jay. We used to live together in Spain. As you probably remember I do corporate events for a living, so I told him I’d handle this reception so he could go to the hospital. I didn’t think I would know anyone here. I’m Todd. Remind me of your name?”
“Teresa,” she answered as she set the empty champagne glass back on my service tray. “I can’t believe you’re here. Let’s do some shots when you’re ready.” Teresa funneled her way back into the crowd through a hole Courtney made stepping back out.
“Is this your girlfriend?” Teresa asked abruptly while looking Courtney up and down. “She’s hot.” The blond fireball never stopped moving as the crowd swallowed her before I could answer.
“Naked on a golf course in Cancun?” Courtney smirked. Her tray was empty and I noticed a small scratch sheet of paper filled with drink orders lying in a small puddle of champagne in the middle of it. “Go…”
“It’s not as bad as it sounds,” I explained.
“Well, that sucks.”
“There’s an annual networking event in the hospitality industry for women, many of them suppliers working for hotel chains or what have you. They’ll choose a host hotel and destination and put together a program – in this case Cancun. I was asked by an old friend to accompany her and assist with her ‘marketing’, which happened to be on a golf course where she was hosting a hole. 10% of our time in Cancun was spent on this golf course, and the other 90% in and around the hotel pool or in a local cantina. You can probably imagine how a trip like that goes. Anyway, we were assigned a somewhat isolated Par 3 hole that was patrolled by one of the biggest alligators I’ve ever seen. She had packages of free weekend stays to give away, and we had to come up with creative ways to do so. I was also mixing drinks for people as they approached the tee box, so as the day rolled on things got relaxed to say the least.”
Just then one of the Nine Fine cocktail waitresses came up to Courtney to take the orders she had collected. They laughed and spit out a short back and forth that was too fast for me to hear or understand. It was like they had been working together for years.
“Go on,” Courtney said as her girlfriend made her way to the service bar.
“Well, our collective minds came up with the idea of me staging myself on the green like a target to shoot for. If a ball hit me, the shooter would win a weekend in Aruba. Then there was the added excitement of the roaming alligator, which could charge me at anytime as I stood motionless during tee shots.”
“You’re still wearing clothes,” she pointed out.
“Not for long,” I answered.
“As I mentioned, the hole was pretty isolated, and the drinks were flowing at a decent rate. I stood alone, except for the alligator, about 160 yards from the tee box. At that distance it wasn’t easy to focus on much more than a body standing in the middle of the green. So when the last group of ladies approached to tee off I thought it would be funny for them to look down the fairway to see a clearly naked, although away from focus, solitary man standing as their target.”
Courtney chuckled, “Did anyone hit you?”
“2 people went to Aruba.”
“And that blond girl that has had about three more drinks since you started telling me this story was one of the golfers?”
“She was in the final group,” I clarified.
“That’s crazy.”
“Yep.”
~
“This is complicated,” Courtney whined, looking down at the outfits spread across the bed in front of her. We were on to the second night, which was the wedding reception.
“Let me get this straight,” she continued, “we’re going to a wedding reception with family and friends – grandmas, aunts, uncles – then taking a party bus to The Strip and clubbing? All this without me being able to come back here to change?”
“That’s correct.”
“You’re really testing me, Todd.”
“So, that’s the outfit you’re going with?” I asked. She was wearing a very cute and sensible cocktail dress with heels, gripping a clutch purse. A lot of her hair, once again, belonged to someone else.
“For the reception, yeah,” she explained. “I’m bringing two other dress options for later.” She followed my wandering eyes as I combed the area looking for the bag she was going to make me haul around all night. She offered a wry smile while holding up her palm-sized clutch purse to break my gaze.
“In here, dude,” she explained while wagging the clutch in front of my face. “Let’s roll.”
~
The wedding reception was a relatively simple affair with food, a lot of wine, and of course, dancing. The shock of what went down the night before passed, and luckily, the father of the bride recovered without this story having to end in a horrible way.
I went ahead through the early evening festivities staying true to my modus operandi of indecisiveness where open bars are concerned: A water, a beer, a glass of red, and a glass of white, circling my plate like troops amassed at flank.
We sang, we danced, and we had a great time with the people from the night before who were still relatively confused about who we actually were. Near the reception’s end, Courtney slipped into the bathroom with her clutch purse and returned in an entirely different outfit. We were ready for afterparty.
It was bar after club, and club after bar, until one by one, the rest of the group peeled off. Earlier that day I reached out to a connection I acquired through one of my corporate events that proved to be integral through the handful of years I frequented Las Vegas. After initially meeting and working with Lia, we never saw each other again. She just became an electronically linked source of access on an invisible end of my phone. I would text her where I wanted to go and within minutes I’d receive a name of a person to talk to at the door to be led in, unencumbered by lines or cover charges. Usually I’d give a name that wasn’t mine, like “Todd Bordini” for instance (See: Sunny Daze and the Shadow Box Dancers”. Once I uttered the name, there were no questions, no explanations. Something like this is imperative in Vegas, especially for a guy that usually travels alone. Showing up with Courtney, or any young girl with a clutch purse for that matter, will usually render people like “Todd Bordini” unnecessary, but I reached out to Lia all the same.
Courtney and I easily navigated the entrance to TAO and made our way to the bar and eventually the dance floor. I cheerleader-boosted her onto one of the platform boxes and the night moved along as most club nights do. It was the right way to end the weekend.
The last thing I remember was the music suddenly stopping and a projector screen lighting up over the dance floor. A scene from Family Guy commenced, but it wasn’t one I recognized. Stewie came across the screen and said something, and then Brian the dog poked his head out and started singing as he snapped his fingers and sashayed across the screen. Still struggling to remember the episode, it finally hit me that it was a specific scene tailored for this night. The lyrics Brian bellowed included, “partying at TAO tonight”, in the familiar Sinatra-like voice of the show’s creator, Seth McFarlane. At about the time I realized this, a spotlight hit the side of the screen and McFarlane himself started walking across the raised platform singing the very words I was hearing. The crowd went crazy and I remember being pretty blown away by that myself.
Admittedly, this Family Guy finale to the evening took place at a point in the night that was then, and is especially now, pretty cloudy in the recesses of my mind. I swear this happened, but have no real proof that I didn’t just really want it to. Something like this certainly occurred, because I wouldn’t be able to construct that from nothing. I do know that Seth McFarlane’s birthday is the same week as mine, and the way I remember it, he was there celebrating as I was. Courtney has since backed me up on this.
And so we returned to Auburn and the business of street hot dogs. The girls got the week’s schedule on Monday as they always did, and with it came the realization that I didn’t choose this trip to effectively disappear – a realization that was becoming more and more surprising to them as the months and years rolled on.