Sunday night we passed out. That bed in the Mirage was almost too soft; a pillow top, with a down comforter and lots of pillows. I thought that I would have a hard time sleeping on it because I normally don't like extra-soft beds, but nah.
And we slept late, too, the following morning. We kept the "Privacy" tags on the door until the morning we checked out, which the Mirage actually encouraged... they have a little notice in there that says they will only change sheets if requested, in order to conserve water.
Incidentally, bottled water was a premium out there; $2 to $3 dollars a bottle for what may normally cost $1.50 in New York. And yet, there was water everywhere; fountains, pools, little sprayjets strung up between trees to help cool you down as you walked the strip. But the city seems to have a serious sewage system, or "water reclaiming". It's interesting to be in a planned city.
Anyway. Once we were up, I realized I was having major coffee withdrawal. Finding a good cup of coffee out there was an exercise in frustration. No Bustelo. And Starbucks was infrequent. I found some watered down iced coffee and TheCat and I split a cheese Danish. We were going to go see "The Secret Garden" where Siegfried and Roy keep their retired big cats, but it was too damn hot and we were too damn hungry. We found a diner-type cafeteria in Harrahs which wasn't so bad--I had a pastrami sandwich which almost tasted like home. Walking out of Harrah's, we got snagged--offered the equivalent of $100 plus "free gifts" to go on a tour of a timeshare being sold by Wyndham Resorts.
What the hell... we were a little, well we weren't exactly in our right minds at the time so we signed up, pretending to be "Co-Habs" and that we made over $75K. The tour started at 3P, so we killed time for a bit and then headed over to the tour.
Ah well. I'll just say Brian was a good salesman. Actually, he was "Pretty Fly for a White Guy", and told us all about how he was really from Detroit, had a twin (who was a little more buff than he but looked exactly like him), his mom was a single parent, he never met his dad, he liked to party, how he and his twin were the only white kids in his neighborhood, how he fell in love with and married a Puerto Rican girl from his neighborhood. How on a vacation or something, they got suckered into a timeshare but how much he loved it, and how he now he sells for the same company he bought into.
I'm a New Yorker; I often wonder how much of these stories are true and or genuine, but I also know that a good salesperson can use his own life to relate to the people he's trying to
Finally, he took us in his own car over to see the resort, pausing at a corner which TheCat realized was the very same intersection in which Tupac was killed. Just like my mission in Vegas was to see the Fabulous sign, TheCat's mission was to see the corner Tupac was killed on. He didn't get to pose on it like he wanted to, but at least he got to see it. The resort was actually pretty friggin' cool, though not as spectacular as say, staying in the Bellagio. But there could be advantages....
So, we go back to the office, and the goodcop (Brian)/badcop (Walter, the supervisor) routine began. To me, the whole thing sounded like a good idea, but I've no money. And, I don't know what's going to happen with me and TheCat so I wasn't seriously considering anything. But I could see that TheCat's mind was working, and that it was something he was interested in. And he was pretty good at understanding what the hell they were trying to sell us, cuz by this time I was zoning out and becoming just a little overwhelmed by the whole thing... being referred to as "the bride" and dodging questions about how long we'd been married and shit like that.
The Badcop realized we were unable to cough up $1700 on the spot and tried to dismiss us, but the Goodcop was pretty cool and could see TheCat was actually interested, and went and got a Supervisor. She came over and did some more 'splainin', and next thing I knew TheCat and I had each pulled out some cash and started an equity account that will become the downpayment for the timeshare, plus a free trial of the facilities, etc. I dunno. TheCat seems to understand it. Or he has people who can look at it further.
I texted the Professor that I didn't get married in Vegas, but I did buy a timeshare, which is more legally binding. She texted back we should just go ahead and get married; we could always get it annulled in the morning. TheCat joked along but I realized something in the hours and days that followed... despite his very casual demeanor he's pretty calculating. And should he ever choose to settle down with someone, he would get married, and it wouldn't be in Vegas. I see him being the white Tuxedo type.
A little spaced out by what happened, we wandered out onto the strip, bought some tequila for the room--not Patron or Corazon but something 100% agave. A very strange biker dude--huge--with kohl under his eyes looked at the bottle being purchased and said "I drink that shit everynight before I go to bed. For the past 20 years." He only looked about 30 or 35 years old. I'm not sure whether or not that was a good thing or a bad omen....
We decided that Monday night would be the night that we would hit some clubs, and we had gotten various passes and comps to various clubs along the strip, but since we were in the Mirage, we went to Jet since it was on the property.
It got a little interesting. TheCat said later the tequila made him evil since it's not his usual drink. And I can generally hold tequila, which is why I drink it. But I freely admit that while I have never ever done anything drunk that I wouldn't have seriously considered sober, tequila makes everything so much easier to consider. And it tends to act like a truth serum.
(By the way, it helps tons when you really like someone and you happen to think they're hot... particularly when you didn't really think they were your type. Except you realize, oh yeah... totally your type. But that's about all I'm gonna say about that.)
Anyway, we get into the club after standing on line for a bit (the comp passes we had didn't put us on any fasttrack lines), me pointing out to TheCat all the enormously fake boobs I could find. And there were a bunch. Vegas definitely makes people dress sluttier than they would ordinarily, so people watching was fun.
Once inside it became pretty clear TheCat wanted to dance with other people in addition to me, which truthfully, probably wouldn't have bothered me under other circumstances. As I tried to figure it out later--and told him--I think it's just I'm an all-or-nothing chick. I need to know exactly where I stand, or don't. And whatever is happening with us is sort of coasting along and doing it's own thing--which is cool and all--but it's a whole new thing for me, not having any real definition. So I felt extremely unsettled. And while I certainly wasn't going to stop his flow, I wasn't going to stand around and watch it either, so I broke out, working my way through the club till I was on the opposite side, dancing with a few guys along the way. I ended up in a corner dancing with a tall heavyset Chicano dude from LA, who happened to be really nice. But next thing I knew I felt hands pulling me out from the Chicano, who merely stepped aside, and looked up to see TheCat had come after me. And yeah, that felt kind of good. Cuz I had kind of halfway expected to eventually have to work my way back to the hotel room on my own. I've had similar experiences, is all I'm sayin'...
We hung out for a little bit after that, but I could feel TheCat wasn't too comfortable so we left. My feet were killing me so I took my shoes off and walked barefoot through the lobby, the cool tiles feeling really good on my poor beat-up feet. My silver strappy sandals looked good but they weren't made for dancing. TheCat took his shoes off too--in solidarity, he said.
We played a few slots and then we went upstairs.
So here's the thing...
I've been saying that I was reluctant to really go into details about me and TheCat for various reasons. And, whatever happens in Vegas should stay in Vegas. And in a year or two, should TheCat and I not be be dealing with each other in the same way, reading all this is going to be extraordinarily painful for me. Yet, here I am writing a lot of detailed stories. (But actually, there's a whole lot I'm NOT saying, just for the record.) But the things I do write... I guess I write cuz I'm an exhibitionist, or cuz it helps me put it all in perspective, or whatever. But also... I'm pretty jaded when it comes to guys. And when you're jaded you make a lot of assumptions about things. But basically, I like to be proven wrong, cuz I still want to believe. And whatever ends up coming out of all this, so far I can honestly say I've been spending time with someone who has consistently blasted a whole bunch of assumptions. And I sort of feel like I give him props by writing about him, and I sort of feel like he's long overdue on some props.
Talking is a big deal to me, and most guys don't really like to talk. Or get antsy about listening. Or you talk and nothing really changes. But maybe that was just TF. And in other circumstances what happened downstairs in the club would have stayed down there, or turned into a huge fight, but instead I found myself--for the first time in God knows how long, decades, probably--honestly telling a man exactly how I felt, and what I wanted out of life. Deep down shit that I don't even write here. Tequila had completely eradicated the gates in my head and there was nothing standing between he and I.
And he didn't tease me, or make me feel bad or stupid, or dismissed. And he didn't say it was never going to happen, or storm out or leave me hanging. I didn't wake up the next day thinking FUCK I shouldn't have said that. He merely listened, and absorbed, and a day or so later when he started to ask what I wanted, he stopped himself and said "well, I do know what you want."
Big huge points for TheCat.