the going was rough. He claimed to have appeared in
over a hundred movies and at one time he owned a big ranch. Max knew Las Vegas like the dealers knew the dollars; he arranged for us to see all the big shows.
The Folies de Paris was a great extravaganza and the MGM show was indeed grand, but the evening with Raquel Welch was particularly spectacular. The curtain went up on Ms Welch standing at the
top of the biggest staircase I’d seen. She then proceeded to walk down it while singing ‘You’ve either got it or you ain’t’. By the time she reached the bottom and had
finished her song, it was quite clear to everyone that she had everything anybody would ever wish to have.
‘It’s all surgery,’ somebody said when there was a lull in the thunderous applause.
‘I don’t believe that,’ Gloria objected. ‘That simply could not be true.’ Then she leant close to my ear and whispered. ‘But if that’s the case, as soon
as I get back to New York I’m gonna have surgery too!’
Later we dined at a Japanese restaurant which looked like the peak on Mount Fuji. To the strains of piped Nippon muzak, we crossed a bridge over an oriental babbling brook and were seated at a
table three feet off the floor. Scalding towels, geisha girls, samurai and lanterns were extras on the menu, but we did not get around to those. When Gloria was recognized by a posse of gangsters
playing with their chopsticks and New Jersey broads, she decided it was time to leave.
‘I don’t wanna get wrapped up with any gangsters,’ she said when we got to the door. ‘I met one once who gave me diamonds but I sent them back. I didn’t wanna end
up in the East River.’
We went back to flutter away our two dollar chips at the blackjack and drink the free drinks handed out by the cocktail girls.
‘Another large Scotch for yer thoughts! You’re awful serious aren’t yer?’
‘Thanks, Debbie. I’m sorry. I was just thinking about someone I know.’
‘Oh well, maybe you ought to think about somebody else.’ She ran her hands around the curves of her body and gave me a sexy wink.
The club was starting to fill up now. More people were crowding around the gaming tables and a group of flash Greek gangster boys came and sat around the bar. A roar of approval came from the
direction of the craps table, for some high roller the dice were very hot, and a lecherous laugh erupted from the gangsters as Debbie reached for a glass.
‘Oh I’m glad that’s over with,’ Eileen said when she joined me. ‘I’m absolutely shattered. That bastard at the blackjack table tried to pull every trick in
the book.’ She frowned. ‘But he knows that I’m on to him,’ she added with a glint in her eye. ‘I bet he hates me guts. Anyway, let’s get out of this place.
I’m gasping for a ciggy and a drink. Let’s pop. I’ve just got to pick up me things.’
I followed her to a room which had ‘Private’ written on the door. Dominated by a blinking fluorescent strip, it was narrow and small. A formica-topped table supported a redundant
Kenco coffee machine; a mound of handbags, umbrellas and coats were piled up on a cupboard; a few drinking glasses, saucers and cups, some full of cigarette ash and stubs, were on a tray in the
middle of the floor, and three high metal bar stools were shoved against the wall.
A young man, one of the croupiers, was slouched in an armchair watching television in the corner. The picture was snowy and the volume too loud.
‘Pete, this is Kenneth, Kenneth, this is Peter.’
Kenneth looked forlorn. His face was pale and gaunt and, judging by the way the pupils of his eyes seemed to revolve, I imagined that he worked the roulette.
While Eileen found her coat and got herself ready to leave, I sat on one of the stools and leant my head against the wall, feeling sweaty and claustrophobic. I was glad when it was time to
‘pop’.
‘Eh, don’t forget this,’ Debbie shouted as we passed through the bar on
over a hundred movies and at one time he owned a big ranch. Max knew Las Vegas like the dealers knew the dollars; he arranged for us to see all the big shows.
The Folies de Paris was a great extravaganza and the MGM show was indeed grand, but the evening with Raquel Welch was particularly spectacular. The curtain went up on Ms Welch standing at the
top of the biggest staircase I’d seen. She then proceeded to walk down it while singing ‘You’ve either got it or you ain’t’. By the time she reached the bottom and had
finished her song, it was quite clear to everyone that she had everything anybody would ever wish to have.
‘It’s all surgery,’ somebody said when there was a lull in the thunderous applause.
‘I don’t believe that,’ Gloria objected. ‘That simply could not be true.’ Then she leant close to my ear and whispered. ‘But if that’s the case, as soon
as I get back to New York I’m gonna have surgery too!’
Later we dined at a Japanese restaurant which looked like the peak on Mount Fuji. To the strains of piped Nippon muzak, we crossed a bridge over an oriental babbling brook and were seated at a
table three feet off the floor. Scalding towels, geisha girls, samurai and lanterns were extras on the menu, but we did not get around to those. When Gloria was recognized by a posse of gangsters
playing with their chopsticks and New Jersey broads, she decided it was time to leave.
‘I don’t wanna get wrapped up with any gangsters,’ she said when we got to the door. ‘I met one once who gave me diamonds but I sent them back. I didn’t wanna end
up in the East River.’
We went back to flutter away our two dollar chips at the blackjack and drink the free drinks handed out by the cocktail girls.
‘Another large Scotch for yer thoughts! You’re awful serious aren’t yer?’
‘Thanks, Debbie. I’m sorry. I was just thinking about someone I know.’
‘Oh well, maybe you ought to think about somebody else.’ She ran her hands around the curves of her body and gave me a sexy wink.
The club was starting to fill up now. More people were crowding around the gaming tables and a group of flash Greek gangster boys came and sat around the bar. A roar of approval came from the
direction of the craps table, for some high roller the dice were very hot, and a lecherous laugh erupted from the gangsters as Debbie reached for a glass.
‘Oh I’m glad that’s over with,’ Eileen said when she joined me. ‘I’m absolutely shattered. That bastard at the blackjack table tried to pull every trick in
the book.’ She frowned. ‘But he knows that I’m on to him,’ she added with a glint in her eye. ‘I bet he hates me guts. Anyway, let’s get out of this place.
I’m gasping for a ciggy and a drink. Let’s pop. I’ve just got to pick up me things.’
I followed her to a room which had ‘Private’ written on the door. Dominated by a blinking fluorescent strip, it was narrow and small. A formica-topped table supported a redundant
Kenco coffee machine; a mound of handbags, umbrellas and coats were piled up on a cupboard; a few drinking glasses, saucers and cups, some full of cigarette ash and stubs, were on a tray in the
middle of the floor, and three high metal bar stools were shoved against the wall.
A young man, one of the croupiers, was slouched in an armchair watching television in the corner. The picture was snowy and the volume too loud.
‘Pete, this is Kenneth, Kenneth, this is Peter.’
Kenneth looked forlorn. His face was pale and gaunt and, judging by the way the pupils of his eyes seemed to revolve, I imagined that he worked the roulette.
While Eileen found her coat and got herself ready to leave, I sat on one of the stools and leant my head against the wall, feeling sweaty and claustrophobic. I was glad when it was time to
‘pop’.
‘Eh, don’t forget this,’ Debbie shouted as we passed through the bar on
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