The whale and his entourage quickly pass through the gold doors, but I hang back. They didn’t notice me tagging along in the large banquet hall, but I was sure those goons would note my presence in the small VIP lounge.
Tracy crosses into the room, glances back at me hiding behind a $100 slot machine, and then leans in to whisper something to her old man. The whale reaches into his pocket, pulls out a wad of cash, flips a couple of bills off the top, and hands them to the woman. She grabs the money, kisses him on the cheek, and steps back into the high roller slot area just before the VIP doors close in front of her.
Now that the coast is clear, I step out from behind the slot machine, and Tracy hurries over to my side.
“So where’s the party, music man?” The woman is baring a devilish smile, and I can’t believe my luck.
I hold out my arm and grin back at her. “Follow me, lovely lady.” ;D
It appears I’m gonna make it to that club opening after all….
------
The VIP entrance to “The Pump” is tucked in a non-descript alcove on the lower floor of THEhotel at Mandalay Bay. The red velvet ropes guarding the exclusive elevator are short, giving but the illusion of a line… probably because, there is no line.
A couple is purchasing tickets at the counter, but beside Tracy and me, the stuffed shirts occupying the alcove look to me like staff.
Shortly after arriving, a VIP host appears from behind the velvet ropes and ushers us past the counter and into a small hallway. A moment later, the doors swing open and all five of us crowd into the even smaller elevator. With no view at all, I’m relieved to know that the ride is express, directly to the 64th floor.
The club’s foyer is dark, it’s black leather interior and gleaming tile floor are softly illuminated by red overhead lights.
Although they did strategically place white lights in the floor at potentially hazardous footings, Tracy nearly fell while skidding down a short unlit landing. Fortunately, I was there to catch her. The view is amazing---stretching all the way down the strip and out past the bright island of lights into the neighborhoods beyond. I look down at the Luxor next door and notice how the flashing lights lining all four corners, dance in unison on up each side to its peak.
Gazing down the boulevard, Excaliber’s white castle is dazzling bright, reminding me of a light display at Disney’s Magic Kingdom. Across the street, The Trop, is dwarfed in the forefront of the MGM. The black façade of the massive, sprawling complex is accented with minimal lights, creating the illusion of a black void on the strip, in contrast to the flashing neon surrounding it.
The skyline of NewYork NewYork is as familiar to me as the real thing. But looking past Lady Liberty and over the tower, I am struck by a seamless illusion that causes me to pause. The three towering cranes standing sentinel over the partially completed suites at Caeser’s are framed perfectly against the background of the NYC skyline.
I have stood in awe at an almost identical view from the Empire State Bldg.I stand looking out over the city for a moment longer, breathing in the crisp night air, before Tracy tugs on my arm and we head to the bar for drinks. The bar is slightly elevated. The bank of windows on one side offer the same stellar view of the Strip as the patio did, but without the wind and chilly temperatures.
Squeezing inbetween separate couples chatting, I am in the process of flagging down a bartender when I feel a tap on my shoulder. Believing it is someone with the same idea, I turn to get their drink order and find myself face to face with a smiling dark-skinned gentleman clad in an equally dark turtleneck and jacket. In the black décor of the club, he appears to fade into the night, his wide smile giving the illusion of floating white teeth.
I ask what he is drinking.
For an answer, he asks a question of his own. “What are you wearing?”
Huh?
I look down at my crisp shirt and black jacket---I had changed into more appropriate attire before we left Caesers and dumped my carry-on with the bell hop—but I have no clue what the man’s talking about.
He leans in and takes a deep breath of my scent before proceeding to tell me that I walked by his table and he had to follow, finishing this declaration by asking me to join him.
WTF?
I politely decline, but I’m starting to get freaked out and look around for Tracy. She’s engaged in a conversation with another woman at the bar and doesn’t notice this weird exchange.
The man then thinks I need a little persuasion, and he deftly flashes his bling-bling watch declaring it still early, but would I like to go to a VIP club.
I remark that I have just arrived---AND I’m with a WOMAN before quickly turning back to the bar just as the server finally reaches me. Oh—THANK GOD!