Free Divas Las Vegas by Rob Rosen Page B

advice on the buffets in Vegas. Yes, indeed,
you can eat all you want for a ridiculously low price at every
single hotel in the city; however, I recommend you pay a
couple of extra bucks and go to one of the nicer places along
the Strip. Remember, you always get what you pay for. At
the Atlantis, we got microwaved frozen waffles, powdered eggs, stale-tasting blintzes, mediocre danish, juice from
concentrate, etc., etc. But hell, it was only seven dollars, all
you could stand. Plus, we were lazy and hungry, and didn't
want to deal with getting into yet another smelly cab just to
go wait in line at one of the nicer places. Anyway, at home I
would've paid the same price for a cup of coffee and a bagel,
so, really, I wasn't complaining-any more than usual.

    "I think my nose is permanently fucked from those
chlorine fumes. This food has absolutely no flavor," Justin
whined.
    "Nope, your nose is fine. This food really does have no
flavor, so eat up fast. I want to go exploring."
    "By exploring do you mean gambling?"
    "Gambling, exploring, whatever. When in Rome..."
    "Ah, good idea. We eat and then go to Caesar's Palace."
    "Not what I was implying, but sure, why not?"
    With that agreed upon, we shoveled down our food and
got ready to head on out to Caesar's, but not before a certain
hotel manager descended upon us.
    "Boys, boys, how on earth are you doing this morning?"
asked Jacques. He was flushed with excitement at our presence. And who could blame him? Still, it was a bit early
for such exuberance. Plus, he slid into our booth, landing
achingly close to Justin.
    "Just fine, Jacques, sweetie," Justin replied, hand on
hand.
    That sent him into overdrive. "Super, just super, boys.
And, hey, if you're not doing anything later, come join me
for the show tonight. We have an amazing tribute to the
oldies of country music. You'll swear that Patsy Cline has
risen from her grave, God rest her soul."
    "Well, I don't-" Justin began to decline politely, but I
beat him to the punch.
    "What Justin is about to say is, I already have a dinner
date, but he is as free as a bird." Speaking of punches, Justin was slamming his fist into my thigh beneath the table and
mercilessly kicking my feet.

    "Oh, that is wonderful!" squealed Jacques in rapturous
delight. "Meet me at the main bar at six. And everything is
on me, Justin, honey. Everything." And he was off before
Justin could collect his thoughts and think of an excuse to
get out of it.
    "You suck," he said.
    "I thought you liked him. What's the problem?" I asked
innocently.
    "If he let me tape his mouth shut, then yes, he'd be cute.
But now I have to listen to that all night long. I'll get you for
this, my pretty. And your little dog, too."
    "Oh, please, take a pill, have a drink, and enjoy the show.
You've done worse things to me a hundred times over. Who
knows, maybe you'll find the love of your life."
    "Not likely. And I hate Patsy Cline."
    "Turn in your gay card now, sweetie. That's blasphemy."
    "Fine, whatever, let's just get out of here before he comes
back and offers us anything else. I hope we run into his
brother again, Mr. Emphysema 2000, because I guarantee
you'll be enjoying the presence of his company for the exact
same show. Fucker."
    "Sure, why not? I've never dated three guys simultaneously. What an adventure!" I shouted, exiting our booth.
    "You want adventure? Join the navy, but please leave
me out of it. Wait until you're dating five guys at once,
then come and see me. I can say from experience, that is
an adventure." He wasn't joking. And I wasn't even happy
about seeing two. Still, it was a hell of a lot better than
none. Besides, what could go wrong?
    We decided to walk to Caesar's. The fumes from our room
had not withdrawn from our heads yet, and we thought the fresh air would do us some good. In Vegas, however, fresh
air is hot and dry. Our lungs, accustomed to cold and damp,
were screaming up at us to hop into the shade and