Many ignorant people uproot them self because a Utopian vacation misled them to think that they can have a carefree, party lifestyle 24/7. To a lesser extent, others relocate as a quick fix for a sorry life or to run away from trouble. When reality sets in, many become disenchanted, trapped and desperate. Therefore, meaningful friendships in
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| A SHOOTING STAR IS BEAUTIFUL, QUICKLY BLOSSOMING RARITY THAT SOON FADES AND ABRUPTLY DIES. |
My friend Jeff Holland typified my dour conclusions. Like many of the transients I gravitated to, difficult circumstances lured him to the glamour of Vegas...only to get chewed-up and spit out.
Now, as I piece together Jeff's drunken accounts with what I witnessed and later learned, this unfortunate, good person was victimized by what Vegas teasingly promises, but infrequently delivers.
*
The prolonged
cold snap in Manchester , New Hampshire Huxley Building
A solitary smudge against the vast gray facade, window washer Jeff Holland added alcohol to his cleaning fluid to keep it from freezing. Despite three years on the job and being experienced with belts, ladders and an occasional boatswain chair, he was considered a novice by his grizzled coworkers.
His cohorts might have been right because Jeff lost his childhood fascination for tall buildings and was increasingly distracted. His new focus was becoming a fireman but he failed the city's test.
Jeff had worked with house rigs on fifty-story buildings but on this day, he chose to use a portable rig. Mournfully, he looked down at the bustle of
Maybe Jeff was affected by the frigid conditions or that he was preoccupied by his shortcomings as he warmed his hands deep in his thermal coverall’s pockets. Suddenly, a gale rattled the scaffolding. He was unable to brace himself and was knocked over because his hands were “tied-up.” Jeff rubbed his head, ignored the blood trickling from his scalp and tugged at his reliable safety belt. Inspired by this brush with death, he stared up at the cloudy heavens in appreciation of the perceived divine intervention.
Jeff decided to call it a day. In his haste, he prematurely unbuckled his harness from the wall. Instantly, he was shuddered by a vicious gust that caused the scaffolding’s brake drum to slip. The platform’s left side plunged fifteen feet. Jeff fell. Miraculously, he was able to cling to a cable.
Dangling for his life, he heard distant bagpipes playing “Amazing Grace.” Absorbed by the music, he used his Navy survival skills, brute strength and tenacity to pull himself back up. Magically, the platform was restored to its normal horizontal position.
Jeff was suddenly naked as he looked upward towards the louder droning tune. Through the dull overcast, he visualized his own slow-motion funeral procession. The open hearse, adorned with vivid pastel flowers, stood out against the cemetery’s wintry, black and white composition.
In the distance, against a sea of perfectly spaced rows of plain, white cruciform grave markers, an endless series of window washers militarily stood at attention. The brethren held their equipment high and saluted their fallen comrade by forming black crosses with their squeegees.
The wailing pipers faded out as Jeff’s eyes lowered. Entranced by the oblivious masses of the business district below, he urinated. Captivated and warmly secure, Jeff was pleased to watch his stream disintegrate in the cutting breeze.
*
Startled and heavily perspired, Jeff woke up from his nightmare to the crisp sound of, “This is your captain speaking.”
Disoriented, Jeff scrambled towards the jet’s restroom.
The voice added, “We’ll be landing in thirty minutes. On behalf of the flight crew, thanks for flying Delta Airlines."
Jeff slammed the lavatory’s door, his shapely flight attendant took notice. She had flirted with him but despite being loosened up by several scotches, he was flustered and too bashful to respond.
Jeff was a handsome six-footer with a well-toned physique. He resembled a young George Peppard and had layered blonde hair that was highlighted by new wisps of silver.
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| GEORGE PEPPARD (1928-1994) WAS AN ACTOR MOST KNOWN FOR HIS MOVIE ROLES IN, "BREAKFAST AT TIFFANY'S" AND THE "BLUE MAX" AS WELL AS TV's, "THE A-TEAM." |
Jeff’s rural naiveté, shyness and distinct
Back in his seat, he politely turned down his stewardess’ final invitation to show him around town. Instead he turned away and peered into the night through the dirt-speckled window. Jeff wondered about the therapeutic value of this abbreviated emergency vacation. Fixed on the blackened desert abyss below, he tried to separate his surreal recurring dreams from the reality of his near fatal fall.
Jeff snapped out of his trance as the captain announced, “We’ll be landing in twenty minutes, at 10:25 Pacific Standard Time.”
The jet banked into its final descent. Jeff became mesmerized by a faint glow in the void. As if flying into the light, growing floods of neon mystically appeared. Jeff looked down at Las Vegas with religious reverence as the jet passed over the glittery expanse.
*
Armed with
$900.00 to burn, Jeff had problems checking-in at the Tropicana. The front desk manager apologized for the mislaid reservations and upgraded his three nights with a high-roller
suite.
Jeff was unmoved by the room’s swanky Egyptian theme. He didn't unpack, left his borrowed suitcase just inside the door and went downstairs. His heart was pounding as he sat down at a blackjack table for his first exposure to casino gambling.
Jeff was unmoved by the room’s swanky Egyptian theme. He didn't unpack, left his borrowed suitcase just inside the door and went downstairs. His heart was pounding as he sat down at a blackjack table for his first exposure to casino gambling.
The recuperating window washer swilled scotch there for six hours. He appeared sober as he cashed out his winnings. Outside, with over $1,500.00 in his pocket, he gave the bell captain a twenty to hail a taxi.
“Take me to a nudie-bar,” he told the cabby.
Jeff was transported to Club Vulcan on
Inside, he was ordering his second drink when a nubile blond came to dance in front of him. Like a robot, she went through a series of gyrations. Jeff tucked his last three dollar bills into her G-string. To get more singles, he flashed his wad.
The girl cooed, “I’m Desireè, come with me for a private dance.”
Jeff was led through a locked door, to a corridor and into a cubicle. In addition to her personalized performance, he paid $100.00 for “half and half.” He was satisfied and he gave her forty dollars extra before returning to the Trop.
At 6:00AM, Jeff found his way back to the same blackjack table. He kept drinking. While struggling to stay awake, he won another $350.00. Jeff cashed out.
In a stupor, a wrong turn brought him to the other side the casino. Three conventioneers whooping it up at a craps table called him over. They encouraged him to join in but Jeff declined.
A pot-bellied man in a fez put a red chip on the pass line and announced, “C’mon kid. Don't be shy. We need some beginners luck. Shoot off this.”
Jeff hemmed and hawed until stepping up.
He peeled off fifty dollars and slurred, “I’ll buy my own chips.”
Clueless Jeff was enthralled by the new game. He netted $200.00 in ninety minutes after tipping the helpful dealers $162.00.
Jeff refused the delegates’ breakfast invitation and reached his room at 10:00AM.
Twenty-five stories up, Jeff stood out on his terrace and sucked in the warm, clean air. Captivated by the overview of the city and too hyped-up to sleep, Jeff experienced an epiphany and made a series of local telephone calls. Revitalized, he rushed downstairs and stepped into another cab. Jeff was again whisked to
*
In front of the Farnsworth and Son, Window Washing headquarters, Jeff squinted in the bright sunshine
while readying his credentials. He squirted Binaca in his mouth and entered the glass-faced, semi-detached, two-story
headquarters.
Jeff strode through the atrium and approached the receptionist. In a heavy
Up close, Jeff didn’t notice the minor acne scarring on her shiny complexion. However, he did see remnants of a black eye and a faint line above her right eyebrow where eight stitches hadn’t fully healed. Yet when she spoke, her wild, eager eyes caused Jeff’s stomach to flutter.
Despite being the only female under sixty on the payroll, sexually frustrated Loretta received little attention on the job. This was due to the reputation of her jealous and truculent ex-husband.
Artie Logan and I were craps dealers at the Stardust Casino. He had earned the nickname “Hostile Artie” because of his belligerent, bullying style of soliciting tokes, (tips). Through scare tactics and sarcasm, he induced players into toking while simultaneously intimidating his fellow dealers to follow his lead. His threatening persona was completed with a gravelly voice and was accentuated by snarling leers.
Artie, (53) had been a decorated
Hostile Artie’s barrel-chested body was a near perfect vee. His brutish good looks featured a pointy cleft chin and curly auburn dyed hair.
Logan was a motorcycle enthusiast and golfed with the casino’s hierarchy. This clever networking gave him high-level “juice.” Therefore, Artie had a license to steal.
Artie's was an untouchable so his antics were rarely challenged. Any attempt to tame the beast, (by a lesser supervisor trying to make a name for himself), backfired.
Artie’s home life began to unravel when he regularly failed to achieve erections. Through a paid informer at Farnsworth and Son, he physically took his frustrations out on his wife and any man to whom she was too friendly.
*
During his interview, Jeff didn't commit to a permanent move to Vegas. He left Bennett Farnsworth’s office without a promise of employment and advanced to the reception desk. Loretta in
anticipation of his return, unfastened another button on her blouse. Jeff arrived as Loretta posed, bent over a file cabinet, swaying her hips to a top-forty radio station.
She was digging for a phantom file and asked, “How’d it go?”
She was digging for a phantom file and asked, “How’d it go?”
Jeff spoke to her back, “I dunno, Mr. Farnsworth said he’s expecting to get the Hughes Corporation contract.”
“It’s true. If we land that baby, they’ll need plenty of help,”
Jeff said, “I love Vegas but I have complications.”
She plopped down on her swivel chair and sighed, “What is it, wife, girlfriend?”
Jeff faltered as he gaped at her ample cleavage, “No, no nothing like that. It’s a b-big move and I'm ready for a career change.”
Loretta's ex had been a firemen, so it was a good thing he didn’t mention the other career he was pursuing.
Impetuously, she pressed down on her intercom and stated, “Benn, I have a splittin' headache. I’m takin’ a early lunch.”
She ushered Jeff out the door before he could express his reservations.
At her car everything became clear when Loretta fondled his buttocks and asked, “Where’s dat darlin' little accent from?”
Jeff stammered, “B-Baa Haabaa.”
She laughed, “Where?”
He strained to minimize his regionalism and said, “I moved to
Loretta mused, “Livin’ up there and bein’ so athletic, yuh must be an expert skier."
“Remember, I’m a window washer. I hate the cold.” Jeff innocently added in terms of hockey and basketball, “I like indoor sports.”
Loretta took it as a sexual reference and beamed, “Really.” To be cute she added, “Do yuh think I got a accent? I thought I lost it in the move from Red Hook to duh
Jeff sensed that he was getting teased, “Baa Haabaa is in
“Good,” she countered. “We’ll see how much of a maniac yuh are. Let’s go back to yuh hotel and orda room service.”
*
In the Tropicana’s crowded elevator, Loretta read aloud from a menu while squeezing Jeff’s posterior. Inside his luxurious suite, she was awed by golden replicas from King Tut’s tomb. She imagined him as a wealthy eccentric and that his blue-collar mentality was a fetish.
Jeff strode past his valise as Loretta kicked off her pumps and ordered lunch.
In the Tropicana’s crowded elevator, Loretta read aloud from a menu while squeezing Jeff’s posterior. Inside his luxurious suite, she was awed by golden replicas from King Tut’s tomb. She imagined him as a wealthy eccentric and that his blue-collar mentality was a fetish.
Jeff strode past his valise as Loretta kicked off her pumps and ordered lunch.
She spun in place on the faux-alabaster tiling before calling out from the wet bar, “Whatcha drinkin'?”
“Scotch rocks.”
She poured herself some Bailey’s and brought the drinks into the extravagant master bedroom. Loretta jumped back first onto the bed and her feet rose straight up. Jeff took note of her spread legs and to the dark patch at the vertex of her opaque pantyhose. He was reminded of the “V” from Club Vulcan and fled to the sanctuary of the terrace.
In the short time he was out there, Jeff found contentment in overseeing the ebb and flow of ant-like hordes scurrying along the strip. Unclothed, Loretta came up behind him and kissed his neck while reaching around to undo his jeans.
Jeff remained rigid while looking down at
He gulped, “No ma’am.”
Loretta undressed him and worked her way down while kissing his torso. Jeff prodded her to the left as not to spoil his view of the city. She was performing oral sex on him when lunch arrived.
Jeff ran back and forth, before wrapping a towel around his loins. Loretta hid her nudity on the balcony and laughed as Jeff opened the door with his erection poking the terrycloth. To hurry the proceedings along, Jeff assisted in pulling the cart into the room. He bent to sign the check and the towel fell away. Jeff was mortified as he returned the bill. Poised, the stoic waiter extended his right hand and loitered in the doorway. Jeff grabbed a twenty-five dollar chip off the glass-covered, imitation onyx, lion-shaped coffee table and handed it over as a tip.
The waiter dryly said, “Thank you. Enjoy.”
Loretta interpreted his generosity as more evidence of Jeff’s affluence. Food was now the last thing on her mind.
She used her index finger to beckon Jeff back outside and said, “Now...where was I?”
“I believe you were giving me head.”
Immersed in pleasure, Jeff surveyed the street below. At the moment of climax, he decided to move to
Before adjourning to the bedroom, Loretta called work, “Benn, something at lunch made me gag.” She looked at Jeff and they stifled their laughter as she continued, “I need to lie down. I’ll take something for it now and maybe I’ll come...” She added a fake cough and continued, “...in tomorrow.”
*
On the terrace, distant bagpipe music could be discerned as Loretta from her knees, pressed Jeff against the railing. In a final explosive spasm, his
body snapped the flimsy barrier. In a
panic, he plummeted and woke up grasping for non-existent cables.
Disoriented, Jeff sat up and gasped from this variation of his recurring dream. Loretta was confused and unsettled by his erratic rise from his short nap.
Jeff dabbed at the moist filminess around his abdomen and said, “C’mon, let’s take a shower.”
She rubbed the damp Bailey’s that Jeff had smeared all over her body and giggled, “Pour some more in my belly-button and lick it out like a puppy.”
He said, “Okay.”
Soon, they advanced to the bathroom.
Later, in the casino, barefoot Loretta was wearing only her skirt and blouse. Rejuvenated Jeff continued to endear himself to her as they drank and played blackjack all day. Jeff had won another $400.00. On their way to the Tropicana's steakhouse, Loretta refused his offer of half the proceeds.
They each finished a shrimp cocktail. Loretta dug into her Caesar Salad and crock of onion soup. Jeff poked at his T-bone but drank his dinner instead.
Disoriented, Jeff sat up and gasped from this variation of his recurring dream. Loretta was confused and unsettled by his erratic rise from his short nap.
Jeff dabbed at the moist filminess around his abdomen and said, “C’mon, let’s take a shower.”
She rubbed the damp Bailey’s that Jeff had smeared all over her body and giggled, “Pour some more in my belly-button and lick it out like a puppy.”
He said, “Okay.”
Soon, they advanced to the bathroom.
Later, in the casino, barefoot Loretta was wearing only her skirt and blouse. Rejuvenated Jeff continued to endear himself to her as they drank and played blackjack all day. Jeff had won another $400.00. On their way to the Tropicana's steakhouse, Loretta refused his offer of half the proceeds.
They each finished a shrimp cocktail. Loretta dug into her Caesar Salad and crock of onion soup. Jeff poked at his T-bone but drank his dinner instead.
Later, they window shopped at the casino’s row of exclusive boutiques.
At the jewelry store Jeff suggested, “They're closing. C'mon inside. Let's find something you like.”
She said, “No.”
During their playful bickering he said, “If you don’t let me buy you something...”
Jeff lifted the front of her skirt to expose her vagina.
She kissed his mouth hard and cooed, “Yuh don’t scare me, I’ll do yuh right here.” To mask her grandiose ulterior motives, she freed herself by stepping back and gasped, “I don’t want things...”
“It was a partnership. You won it. You deserve it.”
She pecked his cheek and said, “No...really.”
“Then I’ll pick out a friendly token...”
“No! Dis shithouse is a rip-off. If yuh really wanna do somethin’ for me, take me back upstairs.”
They fell asleep in each other’s arms after another impassioned session.
Jeff’s sleep was again sabotaged, this time by a commercial fishing themed nightmare. It started with the black and white image of a childhood friend being swept overboard in a storm. Somber bagpipes played as an empty gray coffin was filled with colorful fish.
Startled, Jeff woke up. Loretta slept as he slipped out and returned to the casino. His curiosity led him to roulette and his beginners luck continued.
At 6:30AM, Loretta awoke satisfied, refreshed and alone. She frantically dressed and eyed hundreds of dollars in chips and cash. She ignored the money as an impulse flashed through her mind of a comfortable, long-term relationship with a wealthy stud. She stormed past Jeff's unopened suitcase and the untouched room service cart. Loretta was scampering down the corridor as she started buttoning her blouse.
*
Jeff had tea-bags
under his glossy eyes, when Loretta found him stuffing nickels in a slot machine. He was barely able to
keep his head up, when he presented her with a beautifully wrapped gift.
“Sweetie, how long yuh been here?”
Jeff pulled the handle and shrugged, “C’mon open it.”
His machine lined up three plums. A shrill buzzer accompanied dozens of nickels being spit into his metallic hopper.
In an emotion-filled voice Loretta garbled, “How...when...where?”
He said, “Pawn shops are open twenty-four hours.”
She sat on his lap and clawed at the gift box’s ribbon as Jeff pondered aloud, “How much money is eighty-four nickels?”
Loretta could only manage an elongated, “J-e-f-f,” as she gaped at the large heart-shaped pendant.
“Read the inscription.”
Loretta was taken aback; it had been a long time since she had received a present.
A tear rolled down her cheek as she recited in a husky crackle, “Loretta, the girl of my dreams.”
They were locked in a passionate kiss as a crippled porter vacuuming the area disturbed their mood. Jeff noticed that the woman was dragging her right leg and gave her his plastic bucket of nickels.
This small act solidified Loretta’s opinion of his kindness and wealth.
*
On the way to breakfast, Jeff shared his decision to move to Vegas.
She let her skirt ride up as she shimmied into the booth. Jeff locked on her pubic patch and scooted next to her.
They were groping each other when Jeff ended Loretta's elation by saying, “My flight back to
"I thought we had three days?"
Jeff smiled, "The faster I leave, the quicker I come back."
The waitress said, "What can I get you nice folks?"
Jeff exclaimed, “I almost forgot. Where’s the Poker Room?”
Energized, Jeff hustled away and got the last seat in a “10 and 20 Texas Hold ‘Em” game.
Loretta went up to the suite, called-out sick and showered. She found Jeff slumped by fatigue with an impressive pile of chips in front of him. She was reminding him to budget his time as his right hand wandered under her skirt.
Jeff probed her upper most, inner thigh and announced while pleasuring her, “One more hand.”
He was dealt the nine and queen of spades. After a round of modest betting, Jeff was one of the five players who “opened.”
The “flop” revealed a queen of hearts, seven of spades and two of clubs. An Asian man with a bigger chip stack than Jeff peered at two queens in the hole. He bet twenty dollars and the other three folded.
Jeff encumbered by sleep deprivation and inexperience tossed in twenty and yawned, “Call.”
On the “turn,” the three of spades was dealt. Expressionless, the Asian connoted a slight wince by Jeff. He read weakness and studied the odds. He ruled out losing to a straight or a full house. His “trip queens” were remotely exposed to a higher three of a kind or a flush could beat him.
To intimidate Jeff, the poised veteran stared him down and uttered, “Twenty more.”
Jeff never considered what his adversary might be holding. He was so locked into catching another queen that he didn’t notice the flush draw.
He thought: I’m on a roll. It’s my last hand. What the hell.
Jeff tossed in twenty dollars and said, “Call.”
On “the river,” the dealer turned over the ten of spades.
Jeff blinked in disappointment and mouthed, “Shit.”
The man read his reaction and was certain Jeff didn't have a flush.
After a deliberate pause the man said, “Another twenty.”
Jeff reflected upon his whirlwind experience.
He blindly decided to go down fighting and said, “You’re bluffing. I’ll see you and raise you twenty.”
The savvy pro feasted on casual tourists and slid forty dollars to the middle and said, “Call and raise.”
Jeff snapped, “I call.”
The man revealed his two queens and the dealer said, “Three ladies.”
Angered by the sight of his anticipated queens, Jeff flipped in his cards face up and groaned, “Jesus H. Christ.”
His opponent stood and snarled, “You’re good.”
Jeff was perplexed, “Where’s he going?”
The dealer pushed the sizable pot to him and
said, “A flush beats trips.”
*
On the flight,
Jeff had his first meaningful sleep since his accident. Back home in Manchester
*
Weeks later
at the Stardust, I dealt my only night with “Hostile” Artie Logan. Artie was going on a motorcycle trip to Catalina Island the next morning. He needed an early start and made a one-shift switch with a dealer from my crew. From the start, Artie chirped about his weekend.
Our boxman asked, “Where do you get the bridge?”
Artie crowed, “Numb-nuts, it’s a fuckin’ island, yuh take a ferry.”
I said, “It sounds great, have fun.”
“It’s more of a business meetin’,” Artie cited. “I’m friendly wit a coupla of L.A. Kings hockey players; we might open a bar.”
Between dice rolls, Artie name dropped, (and mispronounced) other potential celebrity partners. In an unclear kaleidoscope of numbers, he projected the value of his small percentage.
Our boxman asked, “Where do you get the bridge?”
Artie crowed, “Numb-nuts, it’s a fuckin’ island, yuh take a ferry.”
I said, “It sounds great, have fun.”
“It’s more of a business meetin’,” Artie cited. “I’m friendly wit a coupla of L.A. Kings hockey players; we might open a bar.”
Between dice rolls, Artie name dropped, (and mispronounced) other potential celebrity partners. In an unclear kaleidoscope of numbers, he projected the value of his small percentage.
Artie stopped the dice to stress a final point, “That means, you saps’ll die here with your fuckin’ dealer aprons on...”
Our floor supervisor Devon Sweet interrupted, “Shut up and get a roll.”
Sweet was an ambitious but misled man. He was motivated by the concept that firing Artie Logan would put him on the fast track to upward mobility. To undermine Artie, Sweet's standard operating procedure was to stand over Artie to inhibit him from soliciting tips. This shift wouldn't be different. Still, on Sweet's watch, we got off to a great start...without Artie's strong-arm tactics.
To bait
Artie’s menacing glare gave way to a foxy smile, “We shudda had ten on duh hard four.”
Sweet wasn't sharp enough to rebut and was called to the other table he was responsible for. He kept looking over his shoulder at Artie but Logan didn't care. Instead, Logan felt compelled to go into hyper drive, to get more bets (tokes) for the dealers.
Artie was no beggar. He serviced his players while
mixing in a clever, yet unrefined sardonic wit.
It was almost unbelievable but Logan
Artie stared at his only non-tipper’s cheap hairpiece and cracked, “Now we know why the wombat is an undangered species.” In the middle of paying this chinless milquetoast his place bet
The player sensed that he was being razzed and hesitated in picking up his $35.00 payoff. Artie, careful that Sweet wasn’t looking, swooped down and snatched ten dollars.
“Thank you sir,” Artie proclaimed. “We’ll ride duh six witcha.”
The stunned nerd, having been robbed could only manage, “Hey!”
"Hostile" Artie made certain Sweet was preoccupied and said, “Sir, I ain’t here for my healt. Get wit duh program.”
Artie's hard-case was hushed as the hot roll continued. He decided to press all his $25.00 place bets to $30.00.
My eyes bulged out of my head, as Artie refused the action and lashed out, “Press like a man. Wanna joik-off? Go behind dem slots and leave me out of it.”
Intimidated and without complaint, he reverted to standard presses.
The groundwork was laid. Soon Artie’s ugly duckling was our most generous player. Sweet came back and saw a fountain of gratuities pouring in without any prodding. Powerless to stop our juggernaut, Sweet shook his head in dubious disbelief.
At midnight, a withered senior couple walked by our busy table.
The husband was lagging behind as the woman bellowed, “Go sit. I wanna shoot dice.”
Like an exhausted pack mule, the old man lugged three plastic bags of souvenirs to a slot machine stool. For the next forty minutes, he sat there studying the floor.
His bent-over, witch-like wife used a cane and wore thick glasses. She had a bulbous protuberance on the edge of her long crooked nose and her scary appearance was completed with wild, salt and pepper hair. To squeeze into our busy table, this woman ordered the players about in a shrill nasal voice.
Twenty minutes after settling into the action, she startled all of us by screaming, “Harold!”
Hubbie snapped to attention as if awakened and called out, “Should I get the car now?”
“No you idiot.” She counted her chips and yelled, “I'm up one-fifty, got fifteen on five and nine and two bucks on the hardways.”
He pretended to be interested, waited until she stopped yammering and only managed, “But...”
“Sit down and shut up,” she commanded in her cantankerous voice. “Go back to sleep. I’ll let you know when I’m ready.”
We were entertained by her nagging theatrics. Even Dev Sweet smiled as the beaten-down man resumed his pathetic position
Moments later, a chubby woman (45), slumped forward by bad posture bopped down the aisle, to the beat of a song in her head. She had round-framed glasses, wore a tattered,
“Hostile” Artie Logan looked up and spewed, “Look at duh fuckin’ gut on dat bitch.”
Everyone turned to watch her come straight to the old woman at our table and say, “Hi Mom, where’s Dad?”
The crone barked, “Har-rold!”
To instigate her wrath, Dev Sweet swooped down and said to her, “I can’t believe my dealer said that. On behalf of the Stardust, I am sincerely sorry...”
Artie’s eyes blazed as the woman cut Sweet off, “You leave him alone! Sorry, schmorry, he’s just speaking the truth.” She turned to her daughter and whined, “Rin-nayyyy, see how others perceive you?”
She thanked Artie, tipped us $5.00, gathered her clan and left.
Thwarted, Sweet endured Artie’s evil-eye the last two hours.
We scored that night and set aside $45.00 each to make “lay-offs,” (illegal “tips” that table-for-table craps dealers give their supervisors for allowing them to hustle tokes). Our custom was to meet our recipients across the street at the Silver City Casino bar.
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| ACROSS LAS VEGAS BOULEVARD, THIS INTERNET PHOTO FROM 1981 SHOWS HOW CLOSE SILVER CITY AND THE STARDUST WERE. |
Our crew made its first payoff off as Artie chased an Irish whiskey with a short beer. He was telling the bartender about his
Sweet said, “Artie, I was there when you guys ‘locked-up’ a ton of money.”
Sweet was not on our list and Artie wasted no time by blasting, “Mr. High and fuckin’ Mighty wants some dough, eh. Well yuh goddamned hippo-critical bastard, yuh can drop dead! Yuh know, yuh got a pair of brass balls struttin’ around prim and proper tryin’ to stop us from makin' a buck and then expect to be cut-in for a taste. Believe me Dickhead, your shit does stink.”
Sweet rasped, “Calling a customer a fat bitch’ll look good on your write-up.”
“Dem management guys don’t give a rat’s ass about yuh,” Artie declared. Yuh jus' a gofer. G’head write me up but if yuh tink we’re layin’ off dime one to yuh...”
“I can fire you any time I want.”
They exchanged vulgarities before Artie exclaimed, “If it weren’t for you, we’d've made twice as much...goddamned faggot.”
Sweet, (a married man with a child), ignored the dig concerning his unsubstantiated sexual orientation and retaliated; “Can’t get it up, can you big feller? So you take it out on your ferocious wife’s face.”
Like an animal, Artie lunged. It was a struggle but the three of us restrained him.
He relaxed when someone said, “He’s just trying to bait you.”
*
Unrelated to
Artie Logan, my entire regular crew was fired the next night. I would be unemployed for six weeks.
*
Jeff Holland returned fromNew Hampshire
Still, Loretta kept him on the side for an occasional “thumping” until she realized his pick-up truck was the only thing he owned. Jeff was cut loose for good after he asked for a loan.
*
At the Frontier Casino’s pool, on a chilly February afternoon, hotel guests scattered about in swimsuits sunbathed on unpadded chaise lounges. Jeff along with two coworkers joined them on a break. They unzipped their coveralls and stripped down to gym shorts as he related graphic details of Loretta’s sexual repertoire.
At the same time, I was in the middle of my daily quest for a new job. I had already been rejected at theMarina
I got snubbed at the Frontier. Again, they didn’t even let me fill out an application. I was returning to my car as Jeff, back to work on the twenty-second floor, acknowledged the futility of his new lifestyle. He looked down and thought he should be helping people.
*
Jeff Holland returned from
Still, Loretta kept him on the side for an occasional “thumping” until she realized his pick-up truck was the only thing he owned. Jeff was cut loose for good after he asked for a loan.
*
At the Frontier Casino’s pool, on a chilly February afternoon, hotel guests scattered about in swimsuits sunbathed on unpadded chaise lounges. Jeff along with two coworkers joined them on a break. They unzipped their coveralls and stripped down to gym shorts as he related graphic details of Loretta’s sexual repertoire.
 |
| *INTERNET PHOTO* IN WINTER, IT WAS COMMON FOR VISITORS FROM FRIGID CLIMATES TO GATHER AT AN EMPTY CASINO POOL, TO SUNBATHE EVEN IF IT WASN'T SUNNY. |
At the same time, I was in the middle of my daily quest for a new job. I had already been rejected at the
I got snubbed at the Frontier. Again, they didn’t even let me fill out an application. I was returning to my car as Jeff, back to work on the twenty-second floor, acknowledged the futility of his new lifestyle. He looked down and thought he should be helping people.
*
Outside Mr.
Farnsworth’s door, Jeff whispered to Loretta, “Can I borrow $450.00? I want to go to craps school.”
“No!” Loretta snapped.
“I swear it’s not for gambling.”
“I don’t give a shit. I wouldn’t lend you fifty-cents and I definitely ain’t givin' yuh that kinda money.”
He grabbed her upper arm and pouted, “Listen.”
She wrested her arm free and snarled; “Don’t you ever touch me again!” She ran to her desk. In the top drawer, lying among bent paper clips and stray cigarette ashes, she withdrew the heart pendant. Loretta dangled the elegant gift as if it were carnival bauble and shoved it into his hand. “
“Hock dis, you friggin’ nightmare!”
Jeff started to apologize. Loretta turned her back and entered the sanctuary of her boss’ office.
“No!” Loretta snapped.
“I swear it’s not for gambling.”
“I don’t give a shit. I wouldn’t lend you fifty-cents and I definitely ain’t givin' yuh that kinda money.”
He grabbed her upper arm and pouted, “Listen.”
She wrested her arm free and snarled; “Don’t you ever touch me again!” She ran to her desk. In the top drawer, lying among bent paper clips and stray cigarette ashes, she withdrew the heart pendant. Loretta dangled the elegant gift as if it were carnival bauble and shoved it into his hand. “
“Hock dis, you friggin’ nightmare!”
Jeff started to apologize. Loretta turned her back and entered the sanctuary of her boss’ office.
*
I was unable
to find work for weeks until I was hired downtown, at the Vegas Club. While working at that toilet, I saw Dick Paynlewski. We chatted during my break. I hadn't seen him in the two years since he was my boxman at the Holiday International.
Dick said, "I'm supplementing my income as a craps instructor at the Valley School of Gaming. I can’t pay you but if you’re ever around, you might find it interesting to help out.”
I came in to visit and one of Dick's students was Jeff Holland. He was about to graduate so Dick asked me give him a workout and smooth out any rough spots.
From that meeting, a friendship blossomed. I introduced him to the casino manager who hired me and Jeff was put-on. When he got his first paycheck, we celebrated at the Ambassador Inn Casino.
Jeff had been pounding double scotchs and playing blackjack when he howled to me across the small casino, “Steve, this is the first time since I came back that I’m winning.”
I came over, saw that he had run $80.00 into over $1,200.00 and said, “This is a perfect time to leave.”
Jeff doubled his bet to the house maximum and said, “Just one more..."
I said, "A hundred dollars! You’re crazy.”
The casino’s big bosses paced behind the dealer as Jeff crowed, “The less you bet, the more you lose, when you win.”
The hovering managers watched the next hand come out.
Jeff toppled his empty drink when he won and slurred, “See! No guts, no glory.”
I said, “Okay, good. Let’s go.”
Jeff wanted to stay but after some coaxing, he turned away from the table. He seemed in control while sitting but fell as he stood up.
A security guard helped me get him to his feet and propped him to a pillar as I cashed out his chips. Jeff was muttering obscenities as the guard and I guided him to his truck.
My car was parked at his apartment so I was forced to drive his manual transmission. Jeff was incoherent as he instructed me on my maiden voyage with a stick shift.
Along the way, he confided how his near death experience led him to Vegas as we bucked and bounced downFlamingo Road
I escorted the stumbling zombie to his apartment. I kept him upright long enough to drop him on the sofa. I thought Jeff had passed out but he was playing possum. Soon after I left, he staggered back to his truck. Fate led him toSilver City
Jeff played blackjack there. By 4:15AM, he lost his previous winnings, original bankroll and entire paycheck. Penniless, Jeff shuffled to the bar and was denied a free (50c) drink. At the same time, from across the street, Stardust dealers filtered in. "Hostile" Artie Logan passed him and sat down a few feet away.
Jeff pounded his fist on the bar, “At least gimme a goddamn beer.”
The bartender whispered, “Go home. Sleep it off or we’ll put you out.”
“I’m Jeff Holland. I just lost two grand in this dive. You can’t throw me out.”
Artie Logan recognized the name from his spy at Loretta’s job.
He muttered, “Dis little prick's gonna pay fuh bangin' my Loretta.”
Artie said, “Hey buddy, maybe I can help yuh. Follow me.”
In an alcove hidden behind the “Big-Six” wheel, he wanted to be sure this was the right, Jeff Holland.
The dealer was standing dead so Logan quietly said, “Dese morons tink yuh intoxerated.”
Jeff was wasted but he still did a double-take and said, “Intoxerated?”
“What I mean is, they ain’t gonna soive yuh no more. C’mon outside, I got an ice-chest full o'beer in my car.”
Jeff looked through narrow slits and nodded.
Artie put his arm around Jeff’s shoulder, “Yuh one o'dem high-rise winda washiz, right?”
“No.”
Surprised, Artie scrapped the idea to rough him up.
Jeff hiccuped, “I’m a craps dealer but I used to wash windows.”
Artie sighed, “Oh. Maybe yuh know my, er, uh neighbor?" Fuming he added, “Loretta Logan?”
Jeff's eyes opened wide, “Know her? Let me tell you, she’s a cool lady in the living room and a hot bitch in the bedroom.”
He growled through a false smile, “Let’s go pal and get that drink.”
Jeff was lured to an alley behind nearby retail stores and was cold-cocked. While he was down, "Hostile" Artie buried his motorcycle boot’s steel tip twice into Jeff’s side until he heard his name being called. Artie’s crewmates grabbed him.
Jeff was left moaning in the fetal position.
Logan was led away as he looked back and bellowed, “But dat bastid spodomized my wife!”
Suddenly with a surge of energy, Artie broke away. He was about to kick Jeff's head but was corralled again.
Some time later, Jeff's quivering body was discovered by passersby and was rushed to the hospital. He suffered from cracked ribs, a split lip and other minor bruises.
The police didn't question Jeff till he was sober. Still, he couldn’t remember Artie or any other relevant details. Even though he never mentionedSilver
City, the cops went into the casino but nobody remembered seeing him.
The next day, Loretta wearing over-sized dark glasses to camouflage her battered face, gave her boss notice. She didn’t prefer charges but filed a restraining order prohibiting Artie from coming near her. Secretly, she moved to the other side of town.
Dick said, "I'm supplementing my income as a craps instructor at the Valley School of Gaming. I can’t pay you but if you’re ever around, you might find it interesting to help out.”
I came in to visit and one of Dick's students was Jeff Holland. He was about to graduate so Dick asked me give him a workout and smooth out any rough spots.
From that meeting, a friendship blossomed. I introduced him to the casino manager who hired me and Jeff was put-on. When he got his first paycheck, we celebrated at the Ambassador Inn Casino.
Jeff had been pounding double scotchs and playing blackjack when he howled to me across the small casino, “Steve, this is the first time since I came back that I’m winning.”
I came over, saw that he had run $80.00 into over $1,200.00 and said, “This is a perfect time to leave.”
Jeff doubled his bet to the house maximum and said, “Just one more..."
I said, "A hundred dollars! You’re crazy.”
The casino’s big bosses paced behind the dealer as Jeff crowed, “The less you bet, the more you lose, when you win.”
The hovering managers watched the next hand come out.
Jeff toppled his empty drink when he won and slurred, “See! No guts, no glory.”
I said, “Okay, good. Let’s go.”
Jeff wanted to stay but after some coaxing, he turned away from the table. He seemed in control while sitting but fell as he stood up.
A security guard helped me get him to his feet and propped him to a pillar as I cashed out his chips. Jeff was muttering obscenities as the guard and I guided him to his truck.
My car was parked at his apartment so I was forced to drive his manual transmission. Jeff was incoherent as he instructed me on my maiden voyage with a stick shift.
Along the way, he confided how his near death experience led him to Vegas as we bucked and bounced down
I escorted the stumbling zombie to his apartment. I kept him upright long enough to drop him on the sofa. I thought Jeff had passed out but he was playing possum. Soon after I left, he staggered back to his truck. Fate led him to
Jeff played blackjack there. By 4:15AM, he lost his previous winnings, original bankroll and entire paycheck. Penniless, Jeff shuffled to the bar and was denied a free (50c) drink. At the same time, from across the street, Stardust dealers filtered in. "Hostile" Artie Logan passed him and sat down a few feet away.
Jeff pounded his fist on the bar, “At least gimme a goddamn beer.”
The bartender whispered, “Go home. Sleep it off or we’ll put you out.”
“I’m Jeff Holland. I just lost two grand in this dive. You can’t throw me out.”
Artie Logan recognized the name from his spy at Loretta’s job.
He muttered, “Dis little prick's gonna pay fuh bangin' my Loretta.”
Artie said, “Hey buddy, maybe I can help yuh. Follow me.”
In an alcove hidden behind the “Big-Six” wheel, he wanted to be sure this was the right, Jeff Holland.
The dealer was standing dead so Logan quietly said, “Dese morons tink yuh intoxerated.”
Jeff was wasted but he still did a double-take and said, “Intoxerated?”
“What I mean is, they ain’t gonna soive yuh no more. C’mon outside, I got an ice-chest full o'beer in my car.”
Jeff looked through narrow slits and nodded.
Artie put his arm around Jeff’s shoulder, “Yuh one o'dem high-rise winda washiz, right?”
“No.”
Surprised, Artie scrapped the idea to rough him up.
Jeff hiccuped, “I’m a craps dealer but I used to wash windows.”
Artie sighed, “Oh. Maybe yuh know my, er, uh neighbor?" Fuming he added, “Loretta Logan?”
Jeff's eyes opened wide, “Know her? Let me tell you, she’s a cool lady in the living room and a hot bitch in the bedroom.”
He growled through a false smile, “Let’s go pal and get that drink.”
Jeff was lured to an alley behind nearby retail stores and was cold-cocked. While he was down, "Hostile" Artie buried his motorcycle boot’s steel tip twice into Jeff’s side until he heard his name being called. Artie’s crewmates grabbed him.
Jeff was left moaning in the fetal position.
Logan was led away as he looked back and bellowed, “But dat bastid spodomized my wife!”
Suddenly with a surge of energy, Artie broke away. He was about to kick Jeff's head but was corralled again.
Some time later, Jeff's quivering body was discovered by passersby and was rushed to the hospital. He suffered from cracked ribs, a split lip and other minor bruises.
The police didn't question Jeff till he was sober. Still, he couldn’t remember Artie or any other relevant details. Even though he never mentioned
The next day, Loretta wearing over-sized dark glasses to camouflage her battered face, gave her boss notice. She didn’t prefer charges but filed a restraining order prohibiting Artie from coming near her. Secretly, she moved to the other side of town.
*
Jeff went on to fail the
Jeff took his friend’s advice and passed the firemen’s exam in another municipality. By the first frost, he had fulfilled his dream and became a firefighter in neighboring
*
Thanks to Facebook, Jeff and I have been reunited.
He said back in 1982, Loretta informed him that it was Artie who assaulted him. Jeff didn't pursue the matter. Instead it strengthened him to stay out of casinos. He likes to tell people, “I look down at Las Vegas and everything it stands for. Hell, it's not even a nice place to visit!”
Today, Jeff is happily married and has an adult son. In February 2014, he retired from the fire department as Lieutenant Jeffrey C. Holland.
He said back in 1982, Loretta informed him that it was Artie who assaulted him. Jeff didn't pursue the matter. Instead it strengthened him to stay out of casinos. He likes to tell people, “I look down at Las Vegas and everything it stands for. Hell, it's not even a nice place to visit!”
Today, Jeff is happily married and has an adult son. In February 2014, he retired from the fire department as Lieutenant Jeffrey C. Holland.
1 comment:
Very cool story. Love the "Where are they now ending".
Glad things turned out for him, they don't always.
Jim Thorpe
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