Divas Las Vegas (7 page)

And, since Justin is practically made of money, he feels the same way. Only more so. And he plays the dollar slots.
Yikes! That I simply cannot do. Nickels and quarters are
one thing, and trust me, even that adds up to big bucks in a
short amount of time, but dollars are a whole other kettle of
fish. That's major gambling in my book. I do, however, enjoy
watching other people toss those large coins into the slots.
And the sound of a dollar machine paying off is so much
louder and clunkier than its smaller-denomination counterparts. Though, sadly, most of the casinos pay off in paper
receipts nowadays; the noise of your winnings is nothing
but a recorded tape. Anyway, when a nickel machine pays
off big, say, hundreds of coins, you really haven't won that
much money. But when a dollar machine pays off, now that's
some heavy-duty cash. My friend simply lives for that large
payoff. I, on the other hand, am just hunky-dory playing my
penny-ante games.

So, with me at my quarter slots and Justin sitting on a
stool behind me playing the dollars, the two of us sat and
drank and gambled happily for over an hour-shifting
stools every so often if a machine wasn't paying off, or, if
a machine paid off big, as the true gambler will tell you,
moving on to another one, as the odds are against a machine
paying off two times in a row. In the short amount of time
we sat there, I was down about forty dollars. I have no idea
how much Justin had lost, but judging by the scowl on his
face I'd say it was a considerable amount.

"I'm done for now, Em," he announced, plopping down
on a stool next to mine and finishing my gin and tonic.
"Let's go sit in the lounge and listen to some music. I'm
getting carpal tunnel at these machines and my index finger
is simply throbbing."

"Sounds good to me. I've lost enough for now, too."

We left the money-sucking devices and walked a short
way to the casino lounge. A lovely woman, bedecked in
a shimmering emerald evening gown, was belting out the classics and chattering blithely to the beleaguered gamblers
sitting before her. We sat down and ordered a couple of
drinks, but I could hear the noise of the slots behind me,
drawing me back, begging me for my quarters. It was all I
could do to not run to them.

If gambling is a disease, I was riddled with it. I ached
to dump my quarters into the slots. I burned to pull the
"arms" of the twinkling machines. I sweated in anticipation of my next big win. I throbbed... I throbbed... Well, I
throbbed because I had turned around in hopes of running
back into the casino, when who should I spot but our new
friend from the plane, Marvin, standing in the distance and
looking absolutely adorable.

"Well, well. Isn't this a pleasant surprise?" I said, pulling
on Justin's shirt until he turned around to see Marvin as
well.

"Oh, yes, this is a pleasant surprise," he concurred.

"It's not a surprise at all, though, is it?"

"What? Are you implying something?"

"No, not implying anything. Clearly stating, yes. I know
you too well, sweetie. This is no coincidence. Vegas is small,
but not that small."

He paused, looked down at his drink, then conceded,
"Well, he might have mentioned that he'd be here right
about now. But you know how groggy I get when I fly. I
could be mistaken."

"You get groggy because you dope yourself up and drink
yourself down. And you're never mistaken when it comes
to men. Now let's go chat with him before someone else
snatches him up." Though that was highly unlikely considering the crowd at Paris. Single gay men were about as rare
in the nicer casinos as, say, in a Utah church-male tabernacle choirs excepted.

"Howdy, Marvin," I beamed. "Great seeing you again
so soon."

"Whoa," he said. "It's like being at the Rose Bowl parade.
You wait around long enough and a prize float is bound to
come by." Damn, he was fine. My heart was fluttering and I
nearly spilled my drink in all the excitement. (Nearly.)

"What are you doing here?" I asked him.

"I told your friend Justin that I'd meet you guys in the
casino tonight, and here I am."

"My friend Justin, huh?" I huhed, and gave Justin a
quick jab in the arm. "No, my friend forgot to mention it. It
must have slipped what's left of his mind."

"Well, what with all the confusion when we got here and
all, I must have forgotten to tell you," Justin tried. (Lied is
more like it.)

"What confusion is that?" Marvin asked.

"Long story," I answered.

"Let's just forget about it," Justin interjected. "We're
all here together now, and this place is utterly too straight
and too boring. What say we move this gathering to a more
respectable location."

We nodded our heads in agreement. Marvin took the
lead and headed to the casino exit. We gladly followed.
Luckily, for us anyway, he looked just as yummy from the
back as from the front. Certainly a good trait in a man.

"You fucker," I whispered in Justin's ear.

"It was going to be a surprise," he whispered back to me,
and then mouthed "Surprise!"

I shoved him forward and outside the casino. No
harm, no foul, I figured, and let it go. Besides, I was happy
that Marvin was with us. Maybe the evening was finally
becoming profitable.

"Where to?" Marvin asked.

"Well, I've lost enough money for one night, so let's
avoid the casinos. How about a disco?" I suggested.

"A disco it is, then," Marvin announced, and started
hailing passing taxis.

I dreaded another stinking cab, but cigarettes and Vegas
go hand in hand. There are people smoking everywhere
you go. There are ashtrays over practically every urinal
in every bathroom in every casino, guaranteeing that you
never have to put out your cigarette if you don't want to.
It's a wonder that Philip Morris doesn't have its own hotel/
casino. They could call it Marlboro Country, and could
hook up individual lung machines to the slots. Their mascot
could be the Kool Camel. They could have the Benson
& Hedges dancing smoke machines. The possibilities
are endless.

I think Justin had had enough of stinking cabs as well,
because he suggested the disco at the Aladdin, which was
close by. Right next door, actually. So Marvin stopped
hailing and we jaunted on over to the hotel.

The Aladdin was easily my favorite hotel on the strip.
I say was because now it's Planet Hollywood, but not way
back when all these events occurred. Planet Hollywood
is nice, but much more sterile than its predecessor. In any
case, the disco was amazing. We walked in and I felt like
Barbara Eden on acid. They had the genie motif down pat. A
mesmerizing light show practically drenched the dance floor
with rotating beams of gold and red and blue and glorious
orange lights. It was so bright in there that all I could make
out was the hands of the dozens of dancers as they swayed
overhead to the rhythmic techno beat. Surrounding this
beautiful sight were overstuffed, circular, pink and babyblue couches. Young, chicly dressed men and women were
lounging comfortably on these while drinking from overly
tall hurricane glasses. And everywhere, I mean everywhere,
there were sheets of multicolored chiffon draped down from
overhead. It was plush and exotic and sinfully decadentlooking-just the way we like it.

Naturally, we headed straight for the bar. (Straight being the optimal word for it. We were obviously the only gay boys
there.) A handsome, dark, and ever so young bartender,
dressed in nothing but a purple and gold vest and gold satin
pants, glided down to us, right past the waiting hordes of
revelers, and asked for our drink orders. That could mean
only one thing.

"What can I get you gentlemen?" he asked, oozing charm
in a deep, rich, foreign accent. We were riveted.

Marvin ordered first. "I'll have a Thousand and One
Nights," he said, after perusing the thematic drink menu.

"Ooh, what's in that?" I asked, excited at the prospect.

"Everything and lots of juice. Might as well go all the
way, right?" Marvin answered, winking flirtatiously at me.
I couldn't have agreed more and ordered the same.

"And you, sir?" the bartender asked Justin, with a playful
grin stretched across his splendid face.

"Please, don't call me sir," he said, seductively, leaning in
close. "Master will do just fine."

"Yes, Master, what can I get for you?"

"Ah, now, that's better. I'll have the Three Wishes."

"Wise choice, Master. Your wish is my command." He
crossed his arms and bowed. Then he was off to fix our
cocktails, which couldn't have come too quickly for me. The
close proximity to Marvin was making my mouth as dry
as a riverbed in the Sahara. (No, not the casino, the desert.
P.S., stay away from the Sahara casino unless you like your
gambling in a geriatric fashion.)

Moving on, maybe I should describe Marvin to you so
you'll have a clearer understanding of my wanton lust for
him. First off, his full name is Marvin Tanenbaum. And
yes, as you might have guessed, he's Jewish. Jewish men, by
and large, are, in my opinion, hot. Not to mention exotic.
Granted, growing up in Kansas, the closest I ever came to
exotic was a kiwi fruit I once ate at a wedding; so I think
you can appreciate my eagerness.

That and the fact that he was my type really sent me over
the edge. (Where I teeter on the brink at all times.) He was
about five-eight. Shorter than me, but not by much. I liked
that because it would make it easy to drape my arm around
him and bend down slightly to kiss him on his full lips.
(Yes, I was madly planning ahead, but why not?) He had
shockingly blue eyes that narrowly sat alongside a large,
somewhat humped nose. His face was slender and dark and
beautifully stubbled with a perfect little pointed goatee on
his dimpled chin. Atop his lovely head sat a full mane of
deep, dark, shoulder-length hair. He certainly stood out in
a crowd, that's for sure.

And his body, well, from what I could make out beneath
his comfortable Gap clothes, looked lean and tight and
hairy. I guessed that he was hairy from his arms, which
were covered in a thick matting of curly black hairs. (Are
you salivating yet? The man was fi-ine.) If it wasn't love at
first sight, I'd say it was at least a deep case of puppy lust.
Which, for a man pushing thirty, was largely pathetic. Still,
it felt queasily nice.

Okay, back to the bar.

Our drinks arrived. Tall, frothy, richly colored, and
completely stoked with alcohol. In other words, perfect. I
grabbed mine and Marvin's, and we scooted away from the
bar to make room for our fellow imbibers. Justin stayed and
flirted. The object of his desire seemed more than happy to
neglect his work, and flirted right on back. I was delighted
to have Marvin to myself for however long I could-which,
unfortunately, was only a scant few minutes. The bar was
getting packed with thirsty dancers, and Justin had to
make way.

He came back over to us, leaned in to me, and whispered, "His name's Ahmed, he gets off work in a half hour,
and then he's going to join our little party. So looks like
Marvin is all yours for the evening."

"He was mine to begin with, but thank you for your
generosity, Master."

He was about to argue, thought better of it, knowing
he would get Ahmed as an alternative, and then dropped it
to start working on his drink instead. I gave him a kiss on
the cheek, patted his butt in a congratulatory manner, and
turned my attentions back to Marvin. When confronted
with opposition, Justin always takes the path of least resistance. In other words, a good drink was significantly better
than a good fight. (Amen to that.)

"How's it going, Marvin?" I asked.

"The drink, the music, and the company are all
wonderful. How about yourself?"

Well, I couldn't have agreed more, but rather than tell him,
I showed him. I leaned in and down a tad and grabbed his
goatee. I pulled him toward me. Then, staring adoringly into
his eyes, I planted a deep, soulful kiss on his sweet-tasting lips.
A little presumptuous of me, yes, but I hate missed opportunities. Thank goodness he responded in kind. His lovely tongue
found its way to mine. There's nothing like kissing a beautiful
man while he's drinking a tropical drink. Talk about having
your cake and eating it too.

"Nice," he moaned, our lips still centimeters apart.

"Mm-hm. Not what I pictured from a man who works
for the same network that brings me Sesame Street and
Nova." His eyes were so blue up close. Like sapphires, sparkling in the overhead light. I prayed he wouldn't mind me
using him to help me find the vase, though I decided to wait
to ask him until after we had sex. (Just in case.)

"Not what I was thinking, but good point. Most of the
guys I work with do look like they should be working at
PBS, so I'll take your remark as a compliment."

"Please do. Here's another one." I leaned in again and
laid another wet one on him, this time gently stroking and
pinching his left nipple. I could feel the piercing beneath his shirt. The night, it seemed, was getting better with each
passing minute.

"Get a room," Justin interrupted.

"Got one," Marvin replied, giving me a grin and a wink.
Music to my ears. And speaking of which...

The DJ started playing Madonna's latest hit, so I grabbed
Marvin's hand and thrust him onto the dance floor. I
preferred to keep Marvin away from Justin until Ahmed
was safely on the scene, as Justin was still a dangerous
threat until he was securely in someone else's grasp. Fortunately, Justin still had his drink to finish and I, once again,
was alone with Marvin.

"Nice move," Marvin said, grinding into my hip as he
moved to the music.

"Keep that up and you'll see just how nice I can get."

"Promise?"

"Does a bear shit in the woods?"

"So they say on National Geographic. Must be true."