Part 17 (2/2)

'h.e.l.lo, sir,' he greets Stevie. 'I am Adrian and I am delighted to be your chauffeur today. Sir, it is an honour to have such a talented man ride in my limousine. A real honour.' He shakes Stevie's hand vigorously. I am worried that it is his strumming hand and Adrian might inflict serious damage. 'I love a winner, sir. I love that,' Adrian a.s.sures Stevie in his lazy drawl.

'I haven't won yet, mate,' says Stevie, who is clearly a bit embarra.s.sed by the fuss his finalist status for the King of Kings compet.i.tion is bringing him.

'Sir, you're a winner, I can feel it in my blood. Vegas is a city of winners,' insists Adrian.

I feel it would be rude to point out the obvious that Vegas has far more losers than winners numbering among its visitors and inhabitants and, as there are fifteen 'Elvises' competing, for fourteen of them, Vegas will be a city synonymous with losing after Sat.u.r.day night. Still, I like the chauffeur's confidence in Stevie and want to believe he really can spot a winner.

We sit in the back of the limo and drink fizzy wine that is not quite champagne; the not-quite status doesn't bother anyone except Bella, who says she can't drink so early in the day anyway, and couldn't even if it had been Cristal. I know this is a lie but haven't the heart to point as much out to her. Besides, I have no idea what time of day it is. Here in Las Vegas it may be two thirty in the afternoon, but back in London it's about ten thirty at night. Surely, that means this is an acceptable time to have a drink.

As we drive I split my time between reading out bits from my guidebook and staring wide-eyed at the scenery. Not that I'm thinking about the arid landscape, spasmodically punctuated with billboards advertising the biggest, best or cheapest of something or other. Instead, I am falling into delicious daydreams about just how brill it is to be me.

The last six weeks have been a total s.h.i.+ndig, completely golden. I'm so chuffed by the ease with which Stevie has glided into my life. When he and I are alone, or with Eddie, I find myself thinking lame-brained things like I've found my soulmate. I mean, that's just plain dorkish, isn't it? Soulmates. 'The one.' All that stuff. At my age I should know better. But that's just it, I've never known better! He makes me feel as though I have infinite choices, unlimited possibilities. His smile is a door opening. I am confident about myself, him, our relations.h.i.+p, everything really. It's all effortlessly slipping into place.

I force myself to stop grinning like some sort of imbo and try to concentrate on the guidebook.

'We could catch a show,' I suggest, feeling only the tiniest bit self-conscious about using the expression 'catch' in this context. My philosophy has always been when in Rome, do as the Romans do. I hadn't realized how much I missed travelling until I was on the plane, but I love it. I love everything from the funny smell that lingers on your clothes after you've been in a plane, to the strange coins and notes, the different languages and accents, the wonderful sense of possibility. I love the thrill of arriving in a new country, grabbing a map and starting an adventure. And while first-cla.s.s travel is new to me, something I only dreamt of in my backpacking days, the excitement at new smells, faces and climates, is just the same.

'We could do, we're free tonight and tomorrow,' says Stevie. 'I have a dress rehearsal on Friday evening and, of course, the main event on Sat.u.r.day, but there's nothing to stop us seeing a show if that's what you want to do. What were you thinking of?'

'I don't know there's everything. Music, magic, comedy. Hey, this place offers dirty girls and cold beers.' I point to an advert in the book and giggle at the audacity of such a straightforward appeal.

'There's no Shakespeare or even Noel Coward, though, is there?' Bella cuts through my giggling. 'So there isn't quite everything.'

Bella once saw a production of The Doll's House and has an English Lit degree so she's a bit painful when it comes to theatre visits.

'Ah, but did you know that Noel Coward once performed here?' asks Philip.

'No, I didn't,' admits Bella. I see her struggle to adjust her predetermined view of Vegas as sleezy and cheesy and reconcile it with this new information. I decide to help her out by changing the subject.

'Or, we could go to a nightclub. The choice is huge. Anyone fancy BiKiNiS Beach and Dance Club, a fourteen-thousand-square-foot indoor beach party? The mind boggles. Cleopatra's Barge, with a floating lounge, would you believe?'

'I'm too old for togas,' says Philip with a grin.

'Me too,' I agree.

'You're a baby,' he counters, with his usual charm and sincere wish to be kind.

'Sadly, it's universal law that women should stop showing spare flesh far earlier than men.'

'I disagree,' chorus Stevie and Philip. We all laugh.

'There's Club Armadillo, a Texas Station gambling Hall, Club Madrid, Club Rio, Coyote Ugly bar and dance saloon, somewhere called Curve, where fas.h.i.+onable attire is required, apparently.' Although I am only up to D in the alphabetical listing of the clubs available for us to visit, it's clear that Las Vegas is a playground for grown-ups. It is a city full of fun and temptations. 'Dragon, that's in our hotel. Another one called Drais. The guidebook promises lots of beautiful people at that one.'

'How shallow,' mutters Bella, and then she grins. 'We should go.'

We drive to our hotel, which is simply called THE Hotel. I love the arrogance. THE Hotel is a hotel built within another hotel, the Mandalay Bay crazy, huh?

The foyer is a ma.s.s of stunning slabs of dark marble, we walk for a hundred miles through it to reach the desk. I'm quite surprised at how tasteful it is. The hotels pictured in the guidebook are chintzy and tacky, although sumptuous. This hotel is much more stylish, yet everything is still vast and opulent. The colours are muted and the materials are leather and walnut rather than Dralon and gold-embossed. The plant pots are about a metre wide and two high. The leather armchairs could comfortably seat entire families. I feel like a shrunken Alice in Wonderland.

Two beautiful female receptionists greet us with the kind of cool professionalism I would a.s.sociate with New York, if TV programmes are anything to go by. They direct us to our suites and tell us our luggage will already be there, which I doubt but turns out to be true. The USA certainly is the country where service is taken seriously. The beautiful receptionists wish us a nice day. We return the pleasantry and they chorus, 'Uh huh.'

The suite is breathtaking, far more palatial than I could have dreamt of. The main bathroom is bigger than my sitting room. I run around opening cupboards and wardrobes. I gasp at the size of the TV and bath. I marvel at the variety of beers in the fridge. I bounce on the bed, climb into the bath (fully clothed) and generally run around behaving like a child on Christmas Eve. I only stop now and again to snog the lips off Stevie.

'I know it sounds naff but I want you to know, Stevie, that you're already the King of Kings in my eyes and you will be no matter what happens on Sat.u.r.day night,' I say, as I pull away from a clinch.

'Really?' he asks, with great seriousness.

'Really,' I a.s.sure him, with a great grin.

I start to rummage through my case, searching for my cozzie. I want to get to the pool as quickly as possible. I have an appointment with the afternoon sun.

'Give me five minutes and then I'll be ready for a dip. I told Bella and Philip we'd meet them by the pool.'

Stevie looks disappointed: clearly after the long lingering kisses, he was imagining we'd christen the suite first. 'Can't we just spend some time alone together?' he asks, as he puts his arms round me and backs me towards the bed.

'No, you randy b.u.g.g.e.r, we can't. I want a suntan. And despite it being July, because I live in London I haven't changed from my pale blue shade yet and I'm striving for a golden bronze colour.' I gently but firmly push his hands away from my b.o.o.bs and continue the hunt for my cozzie.

'OK, OK, I know a determined woman when I see one. But I'm too fidgety and excited to sit by the pool. Let's go sightseeing instead. Alone. Alone is the important bit. Selfishly, I want to keep you to myself.'

'Oh, I don't know.' I do, really. I want to be alone with him too, but it seems a bit rude.

'Come on, Laura, we've brought them here, they can look after themselves for a bit. Besides, I bet they fancy a bit of quality couple time too.'

I allow myself to be persuaded, mostly because what Stevie wants is what I want too.

Vegas is hysterical.

It's b.l.o.o.d.y hot without the luxury of air con, even so we reject the monorail and decide to walk along the Strip. We start, as is tradition, at the famous neon sign that states 'Welcome to Fabulous Las Vegas, Nevada' risking life and limb running in front of cars to secure our photo opportunity then we cross back to the west side of the street and start to walk north. Instantly we are thrust into one of Vegas's busiest junctions, where Tropicana Avenue crosses the Strip and connects casino hotels on all four corners. Thousands of pedestrians ride up and down elevators and escalators or rush and stride across the elevated walkways. Stevie and I stare at one another slightly fazed and momentarily purposeless.

'Look at that, we're in New York.' I point to a hotel fas.h.i.+oned as the New York skyline.

'That's so Vegas, baby,' laughs Stevie. 'You can see the Statue of Liberty, Brooklyn Bridge, even the Empire State Building and you don't have to leave Nevada. You've always wanted to see the Empire State Building, haven't you?'

'I still do. I'm not going to be fobbed off,' I joke even though I'm secretly pleased that Stevie has remembered my ambition. We spend a few moments admiring the Chrysler Building, Times Square and the Manhattan Express and then wander on. It quickly becomes apparent that Vegas is a city that's all about more. That which could be said is shouted, that which could be sung is belted out. Las Vegas, even on a hot afternoon, is a twinkling, flas.h.i.+ng and glittering extravaganza. The city soars and scrambles, up, out and across, while neon signs of every shape and size imaginable jostle for attention.

The fantastical playground is a source of constant surprise. Stevie and I are amused by just about everything we see; it would in fact be impossible to take any of it seriously and still be certifiably sane. Only in Vegas can you see the Arc de Triomphe, Montgolfier's balloon, the Eiffel Tower, the Colosseum and an Egyptian pyramid without having to walk further than twenty metres. Only in Vegas can you watch a perfect dawn and splendid sunset, every hour, indoors, while doing your shopping, or stand by the kerb as a volcano erupts every fifteen minutes, or watch a sea battle between scantily clad sirens and nasty-looking pirates.

During this show a super-fit guy starts chatting to me about the weather (a bit of a non-starter, I thought, as we are in the desert and the weather is basically hot, day in, day out). I hold tightly to my bag, wondering if he's going to grab it and dash off. It's not until Stevie stares him down, and the guy merges back into the throng, that I understand. 'Was he coming on to me?' I ask. Stevie nods and grins. I blush, embarra.s.sed. 'Did I lead him on?' I had chatted in an animated way, it's natural, I'm excited. 'Did I come across as flirty?'

Stevie laughs. 'It's not your fault! The man has eyes, and you're gorgeous. He was bound to try his luck.'

I'm gorgeous. The thought makes me giddy but, even so, I spend the rest of the day avoiding eye-contact with tasty men and worrying about VPL. I have not thought about Visible Panty Line for years. But, if I'm the sort of woman men chat up in the street, I might be the sort whose a.r.s.e they look at too. No one wants to be objectified but I find it difficult to be indignant. Stevie's attention and affection are creating a halo of attractiveness around me and I like it. I like being desired.

We continue on our sight-seeing tour, stopping to feel (fake) rain fall in The Palms Casino Hotel and to watch the fountains of Bellagio, where a thousand gallons of water spray from thousands of spouts, all of which are ch.o.r.eographed as part of a music and illumination show. We see a double-sized statue of David like Michelangelo's wasn't impressive enough? We walk by shop after shop after shop. We stop in many of them but even I, with my skill in browsing, feel satiated by about seven thirty, when we find ourselves, hot and sticky, in 'Paris' and desperate for a rest.

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