Chapter 26: The Tao of Dangerous Living

When you put your foot upon the path, you are not assured of arriving at your destination. But that you will never arrive is assured if you do not put your foot upon the path.

The depths of depravity

The suite the hotel upgraded for me was a nice perk. When I got back to change clothes, the bed was turned back and there was not just a mint on my pillow, there was a heart-shaped box of chocolates. Cinnamon was absolutely moaning as I paraded around the room showing her all they had done with the VIP package through the micro camera in my button.

“I just don’t know why they upgraded me to this suite,” I said at one point. Cinnamon cleared her throat before she responded.

“I may have mentioned you were a big producer,” she said guiltily.

“When?” I asked. I’d made my own reservations.

“I sort of found out about the trade show when I was scanning things to be sure I knew as much as I could about what was going on there. You were on the plane and I knew you’d need a cover story, so I called the Venetian, pretending to be your assistant.”

“You are my assistant,” I said.

“I’m Deb Riley’s assistant, but technically not Riley Finn’s. I said I’d been on vacation and found out you’d made your own reservations and you’d be so mad at me when you found out what you got and would they please save my little ass and upgrade your room and not let you know I was responsible.”

“And then you registered me for the convention and pretended to be surprised. You are evil, Cinnamon.”

“Anything for you, Sugar.”

There was a knock at my door and it was time to leave for the party. I glanced at the clock, confirming it was nine-thirty. Right on time. It seems that none of the fun stuff here starts before then.

“So, how did you become a security guard, Shamir?” I asked my body guard as we walked away from my room.

He glanced sheepishly at himself. He’s a hunk. “I was a lousy engineer,” he said. “One night I came in here to play cards and a guy at the table got pretty drunk and rowdy. I can usually tolerate that but he assaulted a woman at the table. I picked him up and threw him out of the casino. I had security all over me, but the woman went straight to the management and demanded they release her hero or she’d sue the casino for lack of protection of their patrons. The dealer and the pit boss both backed her up. So, they offered me a job instead—on condition that I don’t play cards here again.”

“Well, it seems to have worked out well for you,” I said.

“Oh, better than that,” he answered grinning. “I married the woman.”

“Good for you!” We arrived where there was a line waiting to get into the club, but Shamir bypassed it and went to a VIP line as I gripped his arm intensely. “Listen, Shamir. I might come off as in control, but I’m pretty new at this. I’d appreciate it if you stayed near the club in case I get overwhelmed and have to escape.”

“I don’t know what you are planning,” he said, “but your assistant already gave me detailed instructions. I’m not allowed inside the club during the party, but I’ll not leave the area. You have my card and your assistant has my number.” Shamir quickly sketched out a plan of the club and the available exits for me—most of which I recognized from Cinnamon’s briefing. The guy was good but my assistant was stellar.

“You don’t have casino business that will call you away, do you?” I asked. “I got off at two o’clock this afternoon,” he said. “I’ve been on your clock since then. Your assistant made the arrangements.”

“Bless you, Cinnamon. Bless you,” I said.

“My pleasure,” said the voice in my ear. “He wasn’t supposed to blab all that. I think he’s whipped.”

I left Shamir at the entrance and was escorted into the party by one of the doormen. He told me to enjoy myself and the doors to the private party would open in an hour. Even at a quarter till ten I was an early arrival! The woman who greeted guests from behind a big tub with rose petals floating on the water appeared to be wearing nothing but a couple of strategically placed petals. I ignored the food and drinks that were offered by every passing waiter. Instead I went to the bar and ordered a bottle of Perrier. I watched the bartender pop the top and took it from his hand. I carried it away with me with my thumb over the opening. I’ve learned my lesson about even harmless drinks in public places. I was seated and food simply arrived at my table. Apparently, the normal cost of getting into this party included dinner.

I had thought Rick, Deon, and their five women were pretty sleazy, but here in the club it was them multiplied by a hundred. Maybe by a thousand. The restaurant portion was huge. Everyplace I turned, people were lounging in little booths chatting with each other while stripping. I saw a man and woman dancing on a table drop their clothes as they danced to the incredibly loud music and the cheers of the men and women sitting around them. They both ended up in g-strings and she had pasties that barely covered her nipples. I was amazed it didn’t draw a bigger crowd to her table, but in the next row of booths, I’m pretty sure no one was wearing anything.

After eating some surprisingly good food and fending off a dozen men interested in ‘dancing’ with me, I headed toward the entrance to the private party where people were showing their invitations before being let inside. I snatched a straw from the next bar I passed and dropped it into my Perrier. I took a long refreshing sip of the sparkling water and deposited the bottle on a topless waitperson’s tray. I honestly didn’t notice whether the top was male or female.

Private suite

Tao is amazing. Three floors of lustful corners and coves, the top of which was the private party. I showed my invitation and was allowed into the nightclub. It was a little quieter here and less crowded. But the tables were occupied predominantly by men in suits. The women circulated among the tables in ever less clothing. There were professional sex workers of every variety. Some performed on stage, some on film, and some in any bed where there was money. The biggest porn producers were surrounded by sycophants—both male and female. You could tell they wielded big bucks because they were the only ones in their booth or at their table who spoke. Everyone else laughed on cue, cuddled on cue, stripped on cue. By midnight, I imagined, the party would be one large drunken orgy.

I was swept up in an eddy of people that swirled me around a guy Cinnamon identified as Jeremy somebody who had been a porn sensation. Now he was an old and kind of ugly guy who seemed to have a pair of hands on every girl he could reach. Cinnamon chirped in with a comment about someone or to caution me about getting to close to someone, but most of the time she was respectfully silent and watchful. I’d hung the fake button on a chain around my neck and it was picking up most of what I saw with its infrared capture.

Where the restaurant seemed to revolve around a huge dance floor and loud music, the night club opened out onto a rooftop pool area with a giant Buddha hovering over the water at one end. There were tall palms open to the chilly night air. The skies were crystal clear and despite the forty-degree weather, the heat lamps spaced around the area kept people warm and comfortable. A few people were generating their own heat. There were beds all around the pool. They called them cabanas, but under the little heated tent, there was just one big bed on which everyone piled. I heard a familiar voice and drifted toward one of the cabanas.

I just walked by the first time. The bed was packed. Deon was there along with three other younger studs and Rick. Piled onto the bed with them were nearly a dozen naked or nearly naked ladies, all drinking champagne that another waitress kept pouring as if from a never-ending fountain. It took me the second time past to realize what I was seeing. It wasn’t so much an orgy as a revival. Rick was talking, occasionally joined by the mellifluous tones of Deon’s voice taking over. The women weren’t the youngest in the club. They were all older. One or two a lot older. Some a little overweight. Some were middle-aged housewife types, still lounging around nude.

I’d done enough research on Georgia’s porn over the past two weeks to know what I was seeing. These were the one-time porn queens—the women who survived as starlets only to find that there was no money and no good life unless they kept working. And the pay went lower as they aged as the sex acts grew more grotesque. These were women who wore too much makeup both on and off camera. They were proud to have all their own teeth and not to be on the streets. They had wardrobes full of clothes meant for much younger women, most of which were a size or two too small for them.