Reinventing Mike Lake (16 page)

24

              I had read that one of the hardest things to do while visiting Las Vegas was keeping up with a normal routine.  It was really easy to get lost in gambling and partying and drinking.  Before you know it, you haven’t eaten a proper meal or showered in three days.  For me, I thought I would be able to avoid many of these pitfalls because of flying solo on this trip, and Bahama. 

              I decided to call my sister and check in before heading out the next morning for another day of exploring in Vegas.  My sister had some pretty surprising news.  After having to be talked in to getting Pinky, she had now been talked into a second dog.  My little niece was turning into quite the negotiator without her uncle around.  Cassidy’s argument was that her new puppy needed another new puppy to play with.  My sister made sure to thank me for that with her own colorful choice of words.

              When I told Chloe I was in Vegas, she got excited.  She had visited there quite a few times with her husband when they were together.  She told me about her favorite things to do, including her favorite restaurants.  I jotted these down, but was listening most when she mentioned food.  She told me the buffets are out of this world, and that most of them have the biggest plates she’s ever seen, wider than a steering wheel.  She also told me that it seems every casino on the strip has a good cheeseburger, but one of them stood out more than the other.  Chloe told me I had to go to the Burger Bar at Mandalay Bay.  I should also choose this place because I can sit at the bar and maybe meet a few people, as it was apparently common in Vegas for people visiting alone to sit at the bars.  I was already worried about being the “creepy old guy,” so I wasn’t sure how I felt about sitting alone at a bar, but the prospect of a tasty burger outweighed most of those concerns.

              At least at the bar I could almost pretend I was sitting with someone because I hated thinking I was being stared at when I was eating alone in restaurants.  I loved burgers, so I decided I would waste no time in visiting her recommendation and determined I would go that same day.  After a quick jaunt with Bahama in the dog run, I headed to the Mandalay Bay.

              Mandalay Bay was just a touch below the level of Bellagio, but it was still a very nice and clean atmosphere.  Comparing the two places wasn’t heavily on my mind though because I was hungry and didn’t care about ambiance at that moment.  I headed up an escalator to the Mandalay Place Shops, which amounted to a mall that also acted as a walkway between the Mandalay Bay and the Luxor, one of the more iconic sights on the Strip with its giant beam of light coming out of the tip of the pyramid structure.  I found the restaurant easy enough.  Seeing I was alone, I assumed, the hostess asked if I wanted to sit at the bar.  I nodded, and she led the way.

              The bar of the Burger Bar was located to the left side of the narrow restaurant.  With the majority of the patrons sitting behind you when you sat down at the bar, and the rest sitting next to you, it was hard to do any serious people watching.  People watching in most other cities in the world may just be a way to pass the time, but here in Vegas, it was literally one of the top 10 things to do.  Seriously, I read it on a website.  When you are in Vegas alone it ranks closer to the top of that list.  Unfortunately for me I could see only a couple people in the restaurant from my vantage point.  But fortunately for me, the ones that were in my view were women and attractive.

              The uniform of choice for the employees at the Burger Bar was a tight corset that left a viewing window for most of the stomach, and a cut that left offered another window for a decent portion of the chest.  Amazingly enough, at the particular moment, I didn’t give the outfit a second thought, as I had worked up quite the appetite. 

              “What can I get you?”  A female bartender asked me as I looked up from the menu.

              “Fat Tire, please.”  I watched her walk over to a corner and grab a bottle.  I forgot to mention their black pants were also tight.  I looked away as she came back.  I’ve never been the smoothest guy.

              “Are you ready to order, or do you need another minute?” she asked.

              “Just another minute or so, thanks,” I replied.  Truth is I hadn’t had much time to look at the menu, instead focusing on her.

              I don’t know when I didn’t feel guilty looking at or thinking of another woman since my wife died.  For a long time, I felt that I was disrespecting her even though she told me she fully expected me to get married again.  She would always add as a joke, that always had a ring of seriousness to it, that I need a woman to take care of me.  When she said that, it made me wince, because I didn’t want there to be anyone else but her taking care of me, but as the months turned into a year, and now almost two, I realized she was probably right.  A woman had always taken care of me – from my wife, to my mother, to Jean for the last month, or so.  For my entire life there had been very few moments when I didn’t have a woman to thank for my mere existence. 

              When the attractive waitress returned, and I had found enough time to stop leering at her, I ordered the Kobe beef burger and a combination of three different types of fries with various sauces.  The burger, the most expensive I had ever bought in my life, came in at around twenty bucks, but it was worth every penny.  My sister had picked a winner.  I remember wondering between bites what other food gems I had missed out on by not talking to my sister.  My gut appreciated us making up for lost time.

              Between bites of burger, I talked with the bartender who took my order, Jen.  Jen didn’t look exactly like her co-workers, or many of the other ladies that make up the service industry in Las Vegas.  Don’t get me wrong, she was very attractive, and it wasn’t just because of the corset and tight pants.  She had long lean limbs indicating that she was no stranger to the gym.  Her smile was genuine and warm.  She wore light make-up, not nearly as much as her co-workers.  Her hair was cut shorter than most women, but not short enough to be considered a “boy cut.”  Her short hair made her warm facial features stand out.  As I drank more Fat Tires, they began to stand out even more.

              She looked different than most of her co-workers because she seemed a bit older, but again, I don’t mean that in a negative way.  She had an air of confidence that was not manufactured.  She was very comfortable with herself. 

              I wasn’t sure this was what my sister meant when she said I would find company sitting at a bar in Vegas, but I was more than happy to be talking to Jen between bites and not the burly man on the stool next to me.  My luck of late, as documented, hadn’t been great with ladies, but at least at this moment my trusty sidekick Bahama had no chance of jumping after manatees.  Still, I kept the conversation superficial, and what I considered safe.  I told her I was a traveling writer, and about my time in the Keys.  She seemed equally superficial in her answers, rightfully so, perhaps not completely trusting the guy in Vegas by himself, but also said she was a bit of a world traveler. 

              As I continued drinking I began fearing that it was only a matter of time before I did something stupid, like fall off my stool, or spit a french fry in her direction.  I began planning my retreat.  This was the most normal conversation I had had with a woman in over two years and I wanted to be able to have something to draw back on whenever I decided I was ready to play the field again, if ever.  Despite my warning to myself to leave before embarrassing myself I didn’t stop talking with Jen until just a few minutes before The Burger Bar was ready to close.  Yet another reason I had to thank my sister for recommending this place.

              Jen handed me my bill, and I could see that about half of the 6 or 8 beers I had consumed had been comped by her.  My first comped drink in Vegas!  I had arrived.  Best part was it hadn’t cost me a cent in gambling losses.  I thanked her probably one too many times, before leaving a tip big enough that would have been plenty to pay for those 6 to 8 beers.  I remembered when she handed me back the receipt she looked at me almost expectantly, but I figured I must have had some dipping sauce residue on my lip or something.  Before I could risk embarrassing myself anymore, I stuffed the receipt in my pocket, thanked her for the 34th time, and headed out.

              For the first time since I had been in Vegas I gambled, attributing that decision to the buzz I was feeling and because I wanted to sober up before driving home.  I considered a cab, but I thought that the cab fare would be astronomical from here to my place in Henderson.  Plus, for the life of me, I couldn’t figure out the address of where I was staying, and had no desire of explaining step by step directions to the cabdriver through the slurred speech I had acquired over the last few hours.  While sitting at a 25 cent blackjack machine, sobering up, I remembered a story from my 21st birthday.

              I had gone home for the weekend solo, my wife, who was my girlfriend at the time, having to stay behind to do some field work with a horse or something.  My best friend from high school, Ryan, was also home that weekend.  Ryan and I drifted apart during college because he went to school in New York, and after this particular story I can’t remember us ever hanging out ever again.  Our little city was always too small for Ryan and everyone who knew him felt the same.  Last I heard, he was working in an office in a skyscraper in NYC as an investment banker.  Regardless, our friendship went out with a bang.

              Ryan decided he was going to drive me over the state-line to West Virginia so we can go to a strip-club, where they were legal.  He told me not to tell my wife-to-be – I did anyway, she was fine with it believing “boys will be boys” – and we hit the road for the two hour drive. 

              Telling the talent at a strip club that it’s your birthday can go one of two ways.  It can be amazing if you like the attention.  Or, it can be a horrible experience, for the same reason.  It was quite a different experience from having the staff at Applebee’s sing “Happy Birthday” to you, which is how I spent my 20th birthday.

              I experienced both of those feelings – amazing and awkwardness – over the course of the night.  As these things go, the drinks flowed and the humiliation ceased to matter anymore.  I have slight, foggy memories of our trip to West Virginia, but I couldn’t tell if those memories came from Ryan rehashing them for me, or me actually remembering them. 

              I had been on the stage, and at one point had three of Sandy’s employees on me and wrapped around me in some fashion.  I also went back to the private room, but was so out of it at this point that the lady felt bad for me and returned me to my friend.  Also, I didn’t have my wallet on me deeming me pointless to the woman.

              I didn’t have my wallet on me because earlier in the night when one of the girls was dancing for me I had presented her with my entire wallet because I was having a problem taking a dollar bill out of it.  Ryan says the lady thought this was a joke and sort of just smiled, but didn’t return the wallet right away.  Ryan high tailed it across the room, from the bar to the stage, to retrieve it for me.  In short, if Jen would have kept feeding me Fat Tires she could have had a huge tip, including credit cards.

              After playing Blackjack until I felt sober enough to drive back to the apartment, leaving a big 75 cent winner, I walked out to the valet.  On the drive home I wondered how many other people in this town have had the “how drunk am I?” talk to themselves before getting behind the wheel.  I made a plea to myself that I wouldn’t do that anymore if I got home safely.  I did.

              I took Bahama outside to the dog run, with the plan to let her stretch her legs for a few minutes.  Thankfully Bahama seemed sympathetic of my plight, walking back over to me after doing her business, ready to go upstairs.  When we got back to my room I emptied my pockets, put their contents on the dresser, and crashed into bed.  It wasn’t until the next morning I realized there had been a reason for Jen’s longing look before I left the Burger Bar.

25

              I woke up the next morning feeling more than a bit hung over.  After a hot shower and a complimentary continental breakfast I was beginning to feel a bit more human.  I took Bahama out to the run, owing her from last night.  This time Bahama stayed longer because a business executive looking type was out with his dog.  While he was on the phone, Bahama and his mutt wore themselves out before both tapping out and heading back to the leg of their respective owners.

              Back in the room I wanted to make sure I had remembered my wallet and credit card from the night before, now that my mind belonged to me a little more than it did last night.  I went to the dresser where I had unceremoniously dumped the contents of my pockets.  I spotted loose change, wallet, and phone, and grabbed a receipt to throw it into the trashcan.  Just as I was getting ready to ball it up it, some writing on the receipt caught my attention and I thought I had spent more than I originally comprehended.  When I looked at the receipt I realized my bill wouldn’t have amounted to 10 numbers, no matter how many beers I had.  It was Jen’s phone number.  On a receipt.

              Only once in my life had I been impacted so much by a phone number on a receipt, and I married the owner of that number.  I stumbled back a few steps and sat on the bed and stared at the number.  And stared.  And stared.

              A million thoughts went through my head, all of them revolving around my wife.  I knew that eventually in my life I would pursue another woman, but in no way was I prepared for it to come in the same form as the girl I had wished to spend the rest of my life with.  I mentioned that my wife had told me it was okay with her to pursue other relationships once she passed, but I didn’t expect it to be so soon. 
Soon?
  I questioned myself.  It had been nearly two years.  But with me just now coming out of my shell it seemed like much, much sooner.