AB starts to get into the game
Sunday morning, what’s left of it, begins with a text message from a girl back home:
sunshine, i didn’t want 2 bother u on ur trip, but i have had a very traumatic experience and feel ur advice before the morning is crucial. please call me wen u can find 5 or 10 min. thanks.
My head hurts and the room is still spinning. I take a deep breath and find my way to the shower. A few minutes of hot water makes the headache a little better. It takes me a moment to realize I still have my sunglasses on. I decide that keeping them on is the more prudent course of action.
Crawling back into bed, I give the girl a call.
“Thank you for calling! I really needed to talk to you. This is all your fault.”
“My fault.”
“Yes, if you hadn’t left for Vegas, this wouldn’t have happened. I would’ve been having fun with you instead of going out with friends.”
“What happened?”
“I got a DUI. I was so scared. They handcuffed me and everything. I’ve never been handcuffed before this week, and now I’ve been handcuffed twice. First by you and the then by the police.”
“Heh. I wonder what will happen to you after I put you in the leg shackles?”
“That’s not funny.”
“Don’t worry, I’ll come and visit you in prison . . . we can even have conjugal visits!”
“It was really scary. What should I do?”
“Get a lawyer.”
“My friend says to ask for a public defender because it will give me more time.”
“Doubtful. Besides you make too much money, go out and hire one. Did you do field tests?”
“Yeah.”
“Did you talk?”
Meek little voice, “Yes.”
“What did you say?”
“I called him an asshole that even his mother couldn’t love.”
I laugh, “That’s not going to help.”
Small voice, “They’ll use that against me? I apologized later.”
“Oh yeah they will.”
“So what do I do?”
“Go hire a lawyer, and not anyone that your friends say is a great guy either. You want a weasel.”
“I do?”
“Yes you do. You’ll probably get a deal, it’ll be fine.”
“I’ve never been arrested before.”
“That’s why you’ll get a deal. Lots of people make a stupid mistake.”
She talks on for sometime after that, asks me what I’ve been doing in Vegas. I deflect the conversation back to her and what she’s been doing until I feel it’s time to go.
Another text pops up. This one from an Ex.: “How’s the bachelor party?”
Even in my state, I can come up with a way to mess with DMW. She knows DMW, and more importantly she knows his fiance. I text back: “For the sake of DMW, I have been sworn to secrecy.” That will fix him. The beginnings of a plan forms in my mind.
I join AB, DMW, BB and UMG downstairs. I don’t feel like eating, but I force some food down. BB is heading back today so he wants to stay close to the casino and gamble. DMW is on the phone sniveling to his fiance, which from now on I am going to refer to as Typical American Woman (TAW) for short. I am starting to hate the guy.
I am not the only one. AB is so pissed he’s eating his breakfast like a lion rending his prey and he fills me in on DMW and what happened when I left. AB says he needs to get his sunglasses, I follow him to his room.
There is no way I am going to hang with DMW and UMG. Either he or DMW left the t.v. on when they left the room. Pink is on the set singing her song Please Don’t Leave Me. I love that song, it is so typical of women in our culture to sing about being a complete bitch to the man in her life and then saying plaintively, “Please don’t leave me.” when the guy finally grows a pair and leaves her.
For all you fools out there that thinks that Pink is just damaged goods, and she isn’t the typical woman in our wonderful civilization, I will concede that you are right. She isn’t typical. She’s more honest.
I notice that the show she’s on has her husband watching, he had left her, and then gotten back with her (why the guy would do that, I have no idea). The guy looks like the tattooed creature you would expect, complete with soul (sucking) patch, assuming my alcohol addled brain saw that clearly enough, except he’s grinning like a Beta at his wife.
As she sings the song, she gestures to the male guitar player in her band, not her husband. She even gets on her knees before the guitar player begging him not to leave. She just publicly humiliated her husband on television. Things do not look good for him. Any student of Game (calling Larry Auster) can see what’s coming.
Except for BB, we all head to the Stratosphere to check out the rides. Turns out the wind is too strong to do them, so we end up in a sports hall with several football games playing at once.
DMW is complaining about his feet. I order a drink, AB leans over to me and says “I’m not spending the day watching fucking football in Vegas. This is my vacation, and I’m not spending it doing something I can do at home.”
I laugh in agreement.
We spend about fifteen minutes there and then ditch UMG and DMW. The relief we felt was palpable.
“Dude, this got to be the lamest fucking bachelor party ever. In Vegas of all places.”
“It’s pathetic.”
“When TAW calls me and asks me what DMW did on his bachelor party, I’m going to tell her the truth, and how worthless DMW is.”
I grab his arm. “No, dude, you’re not going to say that. What you’re going to say is: ‘TAW, DMW’s my friend and whatever DMW did is between you and him.’”
AB blinks and a big smile comes over his face. “I love how you think.” He starts laughing.
“If she asks me, I’m going to say: ‘No matter what DMW did in Vegas, you know he loves you.”
AB is cackling now. “Serves the fucker right. Taking the high road, what a pussy. That guy is so gay.”
“You’re insulting Gays.”
“You’re right, he’s grandma DMW.”
“You’re insulting my grandma now. I think we should call him DMWgina.”
AB chuckles and repeats that.
We wander around drinking and exploring the strip and bitching about DMW. We run into a group of Asian chicks checking out a display of the Blue Man Group I say to them, “You know, once you go Blue, you can never go back.”
They all start laughing and we talk for a little bit. They invite us to join them at a club later that night. We say maybe and leave them behind.
AB has been drinking and has discovered opening. He approaches women and asks them what they think a guy should do on a bachelor party, and then he brings up DMW’s behavior and asks them about it, and what they think. Every group of women he engages with happily takes part in the conversation. Its dynamic, and although AB is angry, he’s having a good time too.
He really wants to go to a strip show. So we plan on going to one. AB calls DMW and UMG and invites them to join us that evening.
“He’s not going to do it.” I point out.
“He said he would.”
“Want to place a bet? If he comes along, I will buy everyone’s ticket. If he doesn’t you buy mine.”
“You got it.” I almost feel bad fleecing him that way. Sucker.
While we are on our wandering, I notice something about several of the hotel lobbies and the various fountains around the city. Women hang out there, especially the places with the nude or suggestive statuary. I engage a few of them, and I realize I have found my niche in Vegas.
They may be waiting for a husband, or boyfriend, or friends, or just wandering around and shopping on their own, but here they don’t expect to be approached. Here their guard is down. The naked women in the fountains provides me a sexual context. They are receptive to my overtures. Touching in response to my touch. Laughing.
When their friends or family arrive and they leave, they linger for a moment looking at me wistfully, it would take only a little more to get one of these women to ditch her friends and go running along in the giant playground of Vegas with me.
While buying dollar margaritas a black guy turns around and starts chatting with us. “Hey guys, I can set you up for a V.I.P. area in a club. It’s really nice.”
“Naw, that’s cool.”
“Jenny McCartney is going to be there, you can hook-up with her.”
I laugh. I know he didn’t mean it as an actual hook-up, but the idea that a divorced single mother with implants in her thirties with an autistic child is something either of us are dreaming about hooking up with is funny.
The guy thinks I’m mocking him and starts to get offended, “You don’t think I can do that? Its not what you know, its who you know.”
I pat him on the shoulder, “No dude, we’re just too white for you.”
The guy immediately starts saying how our color doesn’t matter. We all bleed the same, we’re all brothers of different mothers. AB is saying “amen” to everything the guy is saying.
Then the guy offers me blow. I got offered it a couple times in Vegas. We decline, but it got me thinking, stuff like that never used to happen. In fact, I used to work with an ex-con and he told me I “smelled like a cop.” When I went into stores, people would come up and tell me “I know you saw me, so I’m putting it back.”
I’ve changed at some point.
We end up back at Hooters and AB calls DMW and UMG and asks them to join us. DMW says that he will.
“He’s going to call in five minutes and say he’s too hungry to meet us and he’s going to catch a bite somewhere close by.”
“No way.” Five minutes later, the phone rings and DMW is ditching us. AB is disgusted. “You were so right.”
I laugh. “I know people, man. I know how they think.”
We’re sitting at the bar. The waitress at Hooters is thin, beautiful with a huge set of fake breasts. AB is practically drooling. I’m looking away and to the left of her. We order some food, AB is ordering the wings.
“How hot do you want them?” Hooter girl (HG) asks.
“Not sure,” AB says while looking at the glory that is woman. “Not too hot.”
“Well, there’s mild, medium, hot, three mile island and 911.” HG answers.
“Mild?”
“That’s just a butter batter, you don’t want that.”
“What’s medium?” AB licks his lips.
“It’s not really hot either, if you want something medium hot, then you’ll like three mile island. I really like TMI, that’s not as hot as the 911, you’ll like it.”
“Sure.” AB answers.
Later, when she brings the food, AB starts to sweat while he eats. “Damn, my lips are burning. This stuff is pretty hot for medium, I’m glad I didn’t go any hotter.”
I laugh and slap him on the back, “You didn’t order medium, you tool, you ordered three mile island.”
“I did?” He seems genuinely puzzled.
“Yeah you did, you were too busy looking at HG’s tits to listen to what she was saying. You were just going along with her.”
He gets a sheepish look on his face. “Shit. You’re right. I wasn’t paying attention.”
“Oh, you were paying attention, just not to what she was saying.”
DMW calls and says he wants to go to the Blue Man Group instead of the strip show. AB is angry again.
“You know, we’re dropping DMW off at home with his fiance when we get back. We should get Hooter T-shirts and wear them when we drop him off. There’s no way TAW will think we went here without him. We’ll also take a ticket from the strip show and place it in the back pocket of his pants so TAW can find it.”
AB laughs, “That’s awesome. I’ll buy the shirts.” He points to one of the 44 ounce plastic drink containers and says to HG. “Can I get that filled with Rum and Coke?”
“You sure can.”
“Great. I want one.” She starts filling it.
I look over at HG, “Is he going to be able to walk if he drink’s all that?”
She laughs, “I’d keep a wheelchair nearby.”
I shake my head, “If that happens, I’m holding you responsible.”
“Me?” She says in surprise.
“Yes, you and I’m coming back if it happens, because it will be your fault.”
She laughs again and hands AB his drink. I pay the bill as he happily wanders toward the T-shirts.
“Maybe I’ll see you later?” HG calls out to me.
“Maybe.” I don’t look back.
The rest of day three is going to have to wait til tomorrow.
