SIN CITY IS TILLY’S KIND OF TOWN
The first few times I went to Las Vegas, I didn’t like it much. I’d go with my ex-husband, Sam. When I was packing for the trip, I’d always try to dress “Las Vegasy.” I’d wear a lot of Cindy Lauper jewelry, and Michael Jackson hats and glittery pointy high heels. I wanted people to look at me and think “Now that’s how a Las Vegas person should dress! She fits right in!”
We’d always stay at Caesar’s Palace, the best hotel in town. The entrance was very grand with the fountains and Greek statues, but the rooms were pretty tacky back then. There was always a mirror on the ceiling and a hot tub in the corner. The room smelled faintly of ammonia.
Sam liked to play blackjack, and I would play the slots. I would walk around touching all the machines to find a good one with my psychic ability, and then I would sit down. I could tell right away if the machine liked me or not. It would start out by hitting cheerful cherries giving me an extra quarter for every two I put in, as if to say “don’t worry Jenny … your money’s safe here …” and then after a few false starts it would begin to pay off … $5 here, $10 dollars there.
Entranced I would sit at the machine until it turned on me, like a relationship gone bad. And I would behave the same way I did in relationships. I couldn’t believe it was over. My elation vanished, to be replaced with grim determination. I would just play until I got back to even, I would vow, and then I would walk away. Of course that never happened. My once agreeable friend had turned into a taunting stranger.
I would sit there wearily feeding quarters into the machine with my grubby black fingers until they were all gone. Then I would stagger up from the machine with a feeling of horror and shame washing over me. A hundred dollars gone! A hundred dollars that I could have spent on shoes! Why didn’t I quit when I was ahead? I would wander off to find Sam. He would see me approaching with apprehension. A black cloud surrounded me. A cloud called “bad luck.” And everyone knows that’s catching.
“Hello Jenny …” he’d say cautiously. “How did it go?”
I would sit down with a huge sigh. “Can I watch?” I’d say plaintively. Sometimes he’d give me some money so I could play too, but I didn’t like that either. Everybody would yell at me when I’d take a card. “That was the dealer’s card!” they’d say reprovingly. “You caused us all to go bust!”
So usually I’d just sit and watch, sipping mournfully on my watered down free drink, as Sam went from winning to losing. His profits would dwindle to nothing because my bad luck was catching.
I knew he wanted to play in private, so I would say vaguely, “OK, now I’m going to… um…” and wander off. There wasn’t much to do in Vegas in those days, (this was the ’80s) there were no fabulous spas or clubs or five-star restaurants. The stores were full of garish merchandise, spangly hats, and jangly jewelry, and besides I had no money left.
So I would go up to the room to watch TV but there was never anything on. Just videos explaining how to win at blackjack and craps, and telling you about the fancy restaurant on the top floor of the hotel that served steak and lobster.
I did like when Sam took me to see Siegfried and Roy though! I couldn’t believe there were girls walking around in public with no tops on! And not embarrassed about it or anything. Just strolling around, half naked, looking really serene. Sin City indeed!
Ten years later, I had a friend who worked at Showtime. “Jennifer do you want to go to Las Vegas?” she said, “I can get you a free room and plane ticket. Only thing is you have to watch a fight.” A free trip? I’m there! I went with one of my girlfriends, and we never even gambled at all. Showtime had a cabana by the pool, and we’d sit and tan, and charge our margaritas to the company. In the evening, we’d go to the fight, and I’d split 40 bucks among the different types of bets, so I’d have rooting interest.
Then the next day we’d get spa treatments. One night everybody went over to Nobu, a new restaurant that was opening, and that’s when I realized the town was changing. It was no longer penny slots, and all you can eat buffets featuring prime rib and shrimp cocktails.
Now of course Las Vegas is my town. We have an apartment here. Sometimes I feel like Sharon Stone in “Casino” or Elizabeth Berkely in “Showgirls.” I am a Vegas insider, not a tourist. I walk through the Bellagio without stopping to look at the Chihuly. I’ve seen the dancing fountains a million times. “The Show in the Sky” at the Rio is just an annoyance, generating pesky crowds when I am trying to get to my table.
My “Las Vegas” costume consists of a ratty T-shirt, cowboy boots, and beaten up jeans. I look at the tourists with compassion. They are who I used to be. Except instead of clutching plastic buckets full of quarters, they are carrying plastic foot-long drinks.
Now I love Las Vegas! I love the excitement, I love the stores, I love the art, and the restaurants and the spas. But mostly I love it, because I have conquered it. I no longer indulge in zero sum games. I don’t have to depend on the slots to make me a winner. I play poker now. My destiny is in my own hands. And that’s a good feeling. 
