It's a Wednesday in August. In Las Vegas. Actually, it isn’t Las Vegas. Strictly speaking, most of the Strip where we are walking is in ironically named Paradise, Nevada. You call this shit Paradise? It's a hundred fucking fifteen degrees.
Later tonight, it will get hotter than that, though I certainly don’t know that yet.
On the plus side, there are mist machines every other block to cool us down. Also on the plus side, and in many cases on the very appealing plus size, there are half-nude showgirls standing in front of every casino to compete with the blazing sun for heat. How they don’t pass out wearing nylons on a day like today is a mystery of the universe.
I'm ambling with two former coworkers - two former managers, actually - Gina and Sherrie, whom I've bumped into at the conference I'm attending this week. We all used to work together, Sherrie as my first boss at the Firm, and Gina who managed me a couple of years later while Sherrie was climbing the ladder.
"Should we go back?" asks Sherrie. "It's just too damned hot out here." We switch directions and start walking back to our casino.
"Yeah, let's get some AC and some drinks!" exclaims Gina, grabbing my arm.
No, no, it’s not like that with Gina. She prefers women. Hell, I went to her gay wedding. When we worked together twenty years ago, at our very conservative company, there was no way she could have been Out about her sexuality, though she had confided in me. She even had to bring beards to company social functions to cover up her real self. The Firm was pretty backwards then, even for the times.
But the times, thankfully, have changed. Now Gina is married to a woman and fully Out, even professionally.
Sherrie has grabbed my other arm. Unlike Gina, whose sleek swimmer build is attractive but not quite my usual type, I really could go for fuller-figured, wider-hipped Sherrie. Already in her thirties even when Gina and I were the young guns at the company, she must be about sixty now. And still pretty fine looking, with gleaming eyes and straight, honey-blonde hair that’s probably dyed now but recalls the color it had in the old days.
We reach our hotel and leave the abominations of the Strip: the half-scale Eiffel tower, drive-thru weddings, pizza vending machines, car vending machines, fake Venetian canals, world's largest Ferris wheel, faux-British Fish and Chips shops, faux Southern restaurants, faux everything except the fucking heat, which is all too real. The Tiki theme of our casino hotel's bar somehow feels less forced, because it’s as expected. It’s about the most normal thing about this city.
We order some Mai Tais and catch up. I haven't worked with either Gina or Sherrie for a long time. Unlike Gina and I, who found our paths leading elsewhere, Sherrie has stuck it out. Now a Partner and VP, she runs half the Firm and probably makes over half a million, not counting the millions more coming her way when she cashes out her partnership.
I think Sherrie may have already had a drink before we hit the Strip earlier. She's not exactly slurring, but acting looser than I've ever seen her, cracking jokes, some of them mildly naughty, and just being a bit overly friendly. For my part, I’m soon feeling the Mai Tai course through my veins, making her look better and better.
Eventually, the conversation turns to how Gina didn't feel comfortable staying at the Firm so many years ago, and Sherrie goes on a fair bit about how she always thought it was unfair that people couldn't enjoy and explore their sexuality. She says she led a lot of the changes at the firm, going on perhaps longer than necessary about how much she loves her gay and bi employees, and how they even have a lesbian partner now.
"It was just so awful that you couldn't be yourself back in those days," she continues. "The Firm was just so stupidly uptight."
"Yeah, pretty sure I'd have been out on my ass if it became known that I so much as hooked up with someone of the same sex at a conference like this."
"Probably true. Now it wouldn't matter so much. Heck, there are probably a hundred guys Joe here could take up to his room,” she taunted, “and no one at the Firm would bat an eye."
Before I get the chance to formulate a retort, Gina gets a flirty gleam in her eye and lobs this one right back at her. "There are at least as many hot women you could take back to your room too, Sherrie. You know, if you ever wanted to try it."
Sherrie smiles and replies, "You're right.” She giggles a bit as she adds, “Sometimes trying new things is a good idea." Her eyes lingering a split second on Gina, she blushes and excuses herself to go to the restroom.
Gina leans in, talking rapidly. "Listen, a couple quick things while Her Royal Tipsiness is gone. First, are there any guys here you have your eye on?"
"Haha, who doesn’t like a popsicle on a hot day?” I joke. Gina punches my shoulder at that one. I had confided my own heteroflexibility back when she came out to me. But it’s definitely something Sherrie couldn’t have known about when cracking that joke.
“Okay, maybe not you.” I jab back. “But I kinda have my eye on Sherrie. Or at least I did, until whatever that last comment was supposed to be. Maybe you have a better chance with her than I do.”
"Going for the older women now, huh?"
"Best kind,” I reply.
"Ok, second thing: I like older women too. Especially virgins.” She's obviously referring to Sherrie’s apparent lack of experience with women.
“I’ll be happy to step aside and let you initiate her into your little ‘club,’” I reply with a grin. “No shortage of guys at the bar that I could ‘initiate’ at a conference like this, like in Sherrie’s dreams.”
“That is not what I meant.” Gina’s grinning even wider and more mischievously than I am.
“Wait a ... are you suggesting we gang up on this sweet little old lady?”
She gives a really evil smirk.
“Oh, how naughty.” After a pause, I caution, “You do realize that a man would be present? Partaking in these festivities in intimate proximity to you?”
“I'm not completely disgusted by men, Joe. Like you, I can’t get enough of Taco Tuesday …” I shoot her a look for this trite food analogy, “… but I never hated Weiner Wednesdays.”
Her hand runs a few inches up my thigh as she says this. My mind shifts into overdrive trying to process this new development. First of all, is Gina not a full Kinsey Six? I, of all people, should have considered the possibility: come to think of it, she originally came out to me as bi, not gay. Knowing that gay people do sometimes initially come out as bi, perhaps I had subconsciously dismissed the bi angle too readily.
Secondly, I’ve never considered Gina’s sexual attractiveness, because she was locked away from that part of my brain in the dungeon of the Impossibilities Department, but now …
The Impossibilities secretary in my brain runs out of the elevator screaming, dashing down the hallway and flinging a file folder onto the front desk of the Opportunities Department. The receptionist quickly rubber-stamps the document inside, makes two copies, drops them into mail cylinders, and sends them - THOOMP! THOOMP! - through the hissing pneumatic mail tubes up to Speech Center and then Blood Flow.
They haven’t exactly reached the Digital Age back there, but they can still act pretty quickly in an emergency.
“So you’re looking to give Sherrie the full menu, then?” I reply, my trouser tenting simultaneously. “The Vegas buffet?”
“Well, just as long as you keep in mind that Sherrie is the main event tonight,” she cautions as we see Sherrie exit the restroom. She quickly adds, “And I’ll want her for the duration. How about you stick around until … well, you know, you have to take a male recovery break … and then you can excuse yourself?”
Fine by me. I quickly agree to this win-win situation as just as Sherrie returns, excusing myself to the restroom so Gina can work on her.
When I come back, both women are talking animatedly. Gina gives me a surreptitious wink, but no further indication of the progression of our plan. We continue talking about old times for another hour, drinks mostly worn off.
Except possibly in the case of Sherrie, who is still acting overly friendly, occasionally complimenting one or the other of us on something or other and touching a hand with hers. At a couple of points, she even runs her hand up my thigh.
Okay, that makes her the second woman to do that to me tonight - except the second time, Sherrie’s hand continues high enough to briefly contact my shortlimb. This leaves no doubt that I could bed her if Gina weren’t in the picture, but can we pull off the double feature?
The conversation turns to the hotel itself, and Sherrie describes the twenty-second story view from her suite, overlooking the Strip in both directions.
“Oh, I’d love to see it,” says Gina, giving my leg a nudge under the table to indicate the next phase in our diabolical double-team plan.
“You should come up, Gina. I’d love to show you everything,” replies Sherrie, a bit flirtily. “And you too, Joe,” she adds, appearing to compose herself. “You should both come up.”
She shoos us out of the booth, declaring, “C’mon, I’ve got a bottle of bubbly chilling up there, and the furniture is much more comfortable for lounging than this sticky little booth.”
She’s a little wobbly as we walk down the hall from the elevator, grabbing both of us around the waist for support. “Thank you for helping a little old lady back to her room,” she jokes.
Her room proves to be palatial, even by Las Vegas standards, with a view better than I’d imagined: downtown off in the distance, planes taking off in the other direction, and all the assorted architectural atrocities of pyramids, castles, desert canals, misshapen hotel towers and needles in between, lit up by a billion lumens of every color discernible to the human eye.