This last visit to Vegas was the first time in twenty-some-odd years I went there alone. Amber was busy with schoolwork and while it would have been nice to have her along, I was okay by myself. I'm an only child, a never-wed male and a professional writer of almost half a century….so I'm can be comfy with Alone as long as it isn't permanent. At times, I like the sheer self-indulgence of it: Eating where and when I want, sleeping where and when I want, working when I feel like working.
But I'd forgotten about playing Hooker Dodgeball. As I mentioned, I like to walk a lot when I'm in Vegas and it's not easy for an all-by-himself male to traverse The Strip without being approached by a prostitute or one of their "agents." I used to have that happen in New York, too.
The first few times it happened in Manhattan, some solicitors did not easily take "no" for an answer. One lady on whom everything was skin-tight except for her skin followed me down 44th Street for about three blocks, loudly describing her skill-set in language that would have caused Larry Flynt to say, "Have you no sense of decency?" She only gave up when we passed a Ray's Pizza and she realized she was hungry. She stopped trying to convince me I wanted a piece of…well, you finish the joke.
I later described the awkward situation to a friend who advised, "There's only one way to shoo them away. Tell them you've got a wife or girl friend back in your hotel room. That indicates to them you're not desperate for female companionship, plus they'll know you can't take them back to your room."
That made sense so the next time I was approached by a woman in "that" profession, I said, "Sorry but I have a girl friend back in my room." The hooker looked me up and down and said, "You do not have a girl friend back in your room!"
I sighed and said, "You're right."
I managed to escape her fleshy sales pitch. I managed to escape all such propositions but none of the ladies ever seemed to believe it. Every time I said it, the courtesan replied, "You do not have a girl friend back in your room!" Every damned one of them. They must have sensed I read comic books or something.
Then in May of 2013 when I was briefly separated from Carolyn, I went to Las Vegas with a woman I thought was quite adorable. When we walked down the street together, I was unapproached by hookers or their bookers. I just had to fend off the far more annoying offers to sit through a presentation about why I need to invest in a timeshare vacation home. As far as I'm concerned, selling those should be illegal and selling one's body should be legal.
That trip, my friend and I were staying at the Monte Carlo, which is no longer the Monte Carlo, and the second night of our two-night stay, we turned in around 4 AM. Less than three hours later, she woke me up and in a raspy voice moaned, "Claritin-D." Allergies had kicked in and she couldn't sleep without some of that stuff. Which meant that Mark had to get up, get dressed, go out and hike down the boulevard to the CVS.
"Hike" is the wrong word. Mark stumbled out onto The Strip where he — which is to say, I — was reminded how odd Vegas is at that hour. The sun was kinda halfway-up but they hadn't quite turned off all the nighttime neon…so it felt like the world hadn't quite decided if it wanted to wake up or not. At that hour, I always see a lot of couples who've stayed up all night returning to their hotel rooms. The guy's always staggering and holding a three-foot-long daiquiri glass with about an inch left in the bottom. The gal's always barefoot and carrying her shoes.
In the CVS, I was trying to locate Claritin-D. In the same aisle, there was a woman who could not have dressed more like a hooker if it was a sketch on The Carol Burnett Show: Tight "hot pants," leopard-print halter top, shoes that added 8" to her height and a bright orange day-glo wig that added another eight. She asked me if I knew where they kept the Maalox. I pointed it out to her. Then she asked me if I was interested in going out on a "date" and she somehow even pronounced the quotation marks around that word.
I have never in my life had the slightest desire for that kind of "date." Nope, sorry, thanks but no thanks. But I did think that if I ever did, my first would not be arranged in the antacid aisle of a drugstore at 6:45 in the morning while I had a woman I loved waiting for me in a hotel room, and it would not involve a prostitute with Acid Reflux Disease.
Not thinking too well at that hour, I gave her my standard turndown — "Sorry but I have a girl friend back in my room" — and waited for her to tell me she could tell I didn't. She looked me over and instead, she said, "Yeah, I guess you do." It was the best a person in her profession has ever made me feel but I still didn't give her any money.
Instead, I located the Claritin-D, took it back to the Monte Carlo and gave it to my friend. She responded by sleeping until we had to pack hurriedly and check out but it was still kind of a wonderful night. This was in 2013.
So last week, I'm once again walking solo down the Las Vegas Strip and, sure enough, a young woman steps into my path, tells me I'm cute and asks if I want to go out on a "date." She pronounced the word with even more unhidden hidden meaning. I knew if I said "Sorry but I have a girl friend back in my room." she'd respond with "You do not have a girl friend back in your room" but I said it anyway.
I was wrong. The script has changed.
I said, "Sorry but I have a girl friend back in my room" and she said, "You got a picture of her on your cell phone? Because if she's hot, I'll do you both for a hundred dollars." Who says you can't get a bargain in Vegas anymore?