Shortly
before I met my former husband Steve, his folks retired to Las Vegas from Long
Island, New York. Which meant that for
the duration of our 11-1/2 years together (the last 10 being married), we made
usually twice-yearly pilgrimages to Sin City to hang with Marvin and Bea at
Sunset Park, the over-55 mobile home park they called home. As we would enter the park upon our arrival,
I was always acutely enamored by the abundance of garden gnomes, horse jockeys,
and plastic deer that dotted the rock-covered gardenscapes of the residents. As one can probably imagine, there wasn’t
much greenery besides cactus. But what
the park lacked in flora was made up for in spades by this quaint bit of
whimsical Americana that gets a bad rap.
Somehow it worked here.
The
proximity of Sunset Park to the Strip was ideal. Not too close, not too far. It meant that I might forget I was in Vegas
for a stretch, but when Steve and I wanted some action -- like a buffet dinner
at the Bellagio or a comedy show featuring Rita Rudner -- it was only a red
rock’s throw away. Marvin and Bea were
always sporting in lending us their car.
On our first
visit together to Vegas, Steve introduced me to his casino of choice, the Gold
Coast. It was only a straight two-mile
shot down from Sunset Park, and because it was off the Strip, the gambling was
cheaper (and I’d like to think the odds were better). For the first seven years of our visits, we
could always find $2 blackjack tables at the Gold Coast. Affordable gambling that entertained us long
enough in a night that it justified our modest losses, if indeed things went
that way. There was one memorable night,
however, where I was on an amazing roll.
I was feeling good, not really paying attention to my chips. It was all about the game. I was in love with the action that night and
somehow I was pulling right, sticking right, and often enough, the dealer’s
hand just wasn’t as pretty as mine. I
left the table that night $500 in the black, Jack.
Steve was my
blackjack mentor and coach, and a very good one. He was a smart player. If he himself could not occupy the anchor
seat at a table (which is the last one to receive a card from the dealer in the
rotation), he was always very cognizant of who occupied it. If he deemed the anchor an idiot after a hand
or two (i.e. pulling when he or she shouldn’t), we left the table. I respected Steve’s adherence to strategy and
not impulse, at least when it came to blackjack.
But of
everything that our Vegas junkets afforded, my favorite pastime was sitting
poolside. Sunset Park had a pretty
decent clubhouse and pool. The pool was
a nice size, clean, a comfortable temperature, and an optimal aqua blue. Pool time was my time. And during my time, the pool was usually
empty. I think it was only used each
morning for an hour of water aerobics for the ladies in residence. So by the time I got there in the afternoon,
I had my choice of chaise lounges and umbrellas. I established my camp with a loud and
colorful beach towel (thanks to Bea) and laid out my accessories; sunscreen, a
bottle of water, sunglasses, a magazine, maybe a book. I am not one content merely to sit
poolside. I love to swim, to troll the
bottom, to get wet. Which, true enough,
is not a difficult undertaking in Vegas when it would often reach 100 degrees
during our visits. I love the
water. My mother once said that if I
hadn’t been born a human, I would have probably been born a fish. And besides, I always like to give the sun
something to dry off.
What really
enhanced the poolside experience for me was the music emanating from the
clubhouse speakers. The demographic of
Sunset Park inspired a particular genre and era of sound; generally ‘40s, ‘50s,
and ‘60s. Songs like “The Yellow Rose of
Texas,” “King of the Road,” “She’s a Lady,” and voices of the likes of Rosemary
Clooney, Nat King Cole, and Frank Sinatra wafted over the water, summoning that
bygone “Mad Men” era. If there had been
a poolside bar serving Manhattans, the scene would have been complete.
In many
ways, Vegas defined that chapter of my life:
My marriage, my 30s, my sense of play back then. I was plying the depths of a clubhouse
swimming pool, taking chances at $2.00 tables, finding aesthetic satisfaction
in garden gnomes. What happened in Vegas
stayed in Vegas.
