Out of Paradise - Ch. 4 - Viva Las Vegas Pt. 1

Out of Paradise - Ch. 4 - Viva Las Vegas Pt. 1

The last time I was in Las Vegas was a couple of years earlier with my folks on a summer camping and water skiing trip to Lake Meade and the surrounding areas. A couple of years prior to that, I had met this cute little Vegas chickette while on another summer camping trip with my folks through western Canada following Highway 101 back down the Washington, Oregon and Northern California coastlines (we did a lot of camping when I was a kid). We met up somewhere in between while wandering around on this desolate and windswept Northern California beach. She was also on a camping trip in the neighborhood with her folks and was similarly out wandering around on this desolate and windswept Northern California beach. We ask each other what the hell we're both doing out wandering around on this desolate and windswept Northern California beach and after chatting and strolling and telling each other all of our worldly knowledge, we trade addresses and vital statistics and end up staying in touch over the next couple of years. So, here we are two years later, on a summer camping and water skiing trip to Lake Meade and the surrounding areas. I give her a call. I tell her I'm at Lake Meade camping with my folks and invite her to come out skiing with us the next day. I drive into Vegas in my folks' '68 Mustang, pick her up and spend a superlative day skiing and swimming and basking under the scorching Nevada sun together. That evening I take her back to Las Vegas and we end up at the drive-in watching "Woodstock". What the hell ever happened to drive-in movies, anyway? God, didn't you love having to pee in a Sunkist frozen orange juice concentrate can as a toddler, wrestling with your brother and sister in the back seat of the car watching "Around the World in 80 Days" and later as a teenager wrestling with your girlfriend in the same backseat (different car but same backseat) and making love with a 6 pack of beer (with your girlfriend, not the beer - maybe sometimes with the beer) watching... Uh... What were we watching? So, we get to cuddling and kissing and just about the time Jimi Hendrix  launches into "The Star Spangled Banner", we slide into the backseat and a flash of deja-vu overcomes me. Damn, don't you love it when a plan comes together. Yeah, fond memories of Las Vegas.

We drive up the Strip in Elvis's red '57 Chevy convertible, through the floodlit extravaganza of the neon decadence that is Las Vegas. We pass The Hacienda on the left, The Tropicana on the right, up ahead is The Marina and past that The Aladdin followed by The Dunes, The Flamingo, Caesar's Palace, The Sands, The Mirage and all the high rolling junkies hooked on the smell of dice tumbling 7s across a green felt field of numbers and odds and jellybeans at the end of the rainbow. I've seen it before - A once successful real estate broker, lost it all, his business, his wife, his family, his house on the hill (in his case it was in a valley) and the last I'd heard he was pushing a broom in a casino in downtown Reno. And then, again, there's the kid I once knew with an upturned collar and a ski cap pulled low over his eyes shoveling nickels into his pockets in a Harrah's Club Casino as fast as he can before the security guy catches on. Sometimes you get the bear and sometimes the bear gets you. We arrive at The Silver Slipper, about midway up the Strip on the left and park the red '57 Chevy convertible in the staff parking lot. I dig my pack and Elvis's Fender Stratocaster enclosed in the battered case covered with rock regalia out from among the empty McDonald's hamburger wrappings, drained Budweiser beer cans and spent packets of Marlborough cigarettes in the backseat and head into the casino through the back staff entrance door. Elvis introduces me to Bob, the security guy at the door, all geared out in a fancy black tux with a walkietalkie in his hand and a headset over one ear, tells him I'm his guest for the evening and asks if there was somewhere I can stow my gear for a few hours. Bob takes me to the security room at the back staff entrance door, I drop my gear and follow Elvis, toting his Fender Stratocaster enclosed in the battered case covered with rock regalia still sporting his black leather jacket and mirrored sunglasses, through a maze of 'Authorized Personnel Only' corridors and into the back stage entrance of the Lounge Bar of The Silver Slipper Casino about midway up the Vegas Strip on the left. Elvis drops his Stratocaster backstage, tells me he has another 30 minutes before he's due on and we go out the Lounge Bar for a drink. 

There's about three or four drunks looking rather forlorn huddled over their scotches holding up the bar. We find a couple of empty chairs amongst them, sit down and light up a couple of Marlboroughs. No sooner had the tips been lit when Brenda comes around. I knew her name was Brenda even 48 before Elvis introduced us by her name tag pinned just above her mountainous cleavage on the uppermost edge of her low cut blouse. Brenda gives Elvis a hug, already knowing what he wants, looks at me and I wave my hand for the same. She comes back a couple of minutes later with two Jack Daniels and coke. I'm thinking, Christ, this is the first legal drink of alcohol I've had in my life - Hallelujah - And we toast.  About 30 minutes and another round of Jack and cokes later, still sporting his black leather jacket and mirrored sunglasses, Elvis takes the stage. He picks up the Fender Stratocaster, straps it around his neck and plugs it into a slightly humming Fender amplifier at the back of the stage with an electric buzz and a click. He walks casually over to a microphone waiting stage center, says, "Good Evening" into it to the three or four drunks still looking rather forlorn huddled over their scotches holding up the bar and me and breaks into a pounding, gut wrenching 2 chord bass riff leading into Marc Bolan's Bang a Gong. Whoa, not bad, for a one man lounge act at the Silver Slipper Casino about midway up the Vegas Strip, considering the state he was in, having just arrived from Los Angeles a half hour earlier in his red '57 Chevy convertible, drunk and stoned and totally in his element. The drunks around the bar don't even notice. He then launches into an explosive three chord riff of Sunshine of Your Love by Cream and the house roars in appreciation (not). I order another Jack and Coke from Brenda, listen to his next three or four songs, all blazing renditions of blues and rock classics, finish my drink, say adios to the three or four drunks still huddled over their scotches at the bar, have another glance at Brenda's cleavage, wave adieu to Elvis on stage with a silent applause, and go out onto the Casino floor...