Every year since forever, the International Council of Shopping Centers holds a May convention in Las Vegas. This event hosts 35-40,000 participants and now fills up the convention center with massive booths, displaying new and existing shopping center projects.
In the late 70’s, the developer’s booths were in the hotel suites along the Las Vegas strip. Back to back, rapid fire meetings were held for retailers looking for shop space, landlords looking to lease space and vendors selling their wares. I was working for developer, Melvin Simon and Associates, and for a couple of years was responsible for our leasing suite at the original MGM Hotel.
I scheduled the food, drink, rooms and everything associated with almost 3 days of deal making, involving over a thousand people in our suite alone. We also had Ed McMahon present for several hours a day, serving as our corporate spokesman and celebrity greeter.
The first time I was in charge, my boss, Fred Simon, told me to get an advance of a couple of thousand dollars for tips, to keep the wheels moving. He chuckled, placed his hand on my shoulder and suggested since I was a miserly, Protestant gentile from Sherman, Texas, I should get some Monopoly money and stand in front of a mirror, practicing giving out tips. He also explained the need to be mindful of hookers.
Fred told me the prostitutes of Las Vegas were pretty bold and would often just show up at these deal making suites. They knew this was a lucrative convention and the attendees were on an adventure away from home, with pockets full of money. He told me stories of “ladies of the evening” showing up at 9AM, blending into the crowd of deal makers in our suite and propositioning men waiting for a meeting. In one instance, an attendee brought his wife and found himself being offered “sex for sale” in front of his spouse. Another time, a retail deal maker brought his “temporary niece” with him to the suite and left her in the living room seating area, as he went on to his meeting. As the “niece” waited, she propositioned men for engagements later in the day.
None of this would be as likely today. The hotels have beefed up
Now, I am the worst at identifying “law-breaking ladies.” I was at lunch in Vegas with my children years ago and an older man was at a table with half a dozen provocatively dressed young women. I commented this big family must be on vacation and was certainly dressed up for a day of touring Las Vegas. My 3 children guffawed and assured me they were “professional girls” and this man was their “agent”. “HERE?…at 11 in the morning?”
“Yes, dad…(geez, you’re naive).”
The women on the Simon staff, working with me in our suite, assured me they could recognize potential “harlots-for-hire” and I could deal with it accordingly. So, the 2 1/2 days of deal making begins and all is well. Ed McMahon sat by our bar, talking with attendees and sipping Budweiser. I am vigilant in my effort to spot “sporting ladies” in our suite and my group does not alert me to any problem.
On the final half day of meetings, the crowds have dropped off and a retailer came into the suite around 8AM. He looked awful…unshaven, smelled of alcohol, body odor and is generally disheveled. The woman accompanying him is equally “fragrant’’, obviously a call girl and is falling out of her too short, low cut, WAY too tight, spangly dress. She looks bleary eyed, hung over, dog tired, still semi-drunk, with runs in her hose and is limping. This guy checks in with the Simon scheduling attendants and leaves the woman on the sofa as he goes to his meeting.
Our staff and Ed McMahon chuckle, look at me with a knowing nod, which says, “Spring into action, Buckaroo…this is the real deal and if you don’t do something, as bad as she looks, she will begin propositioning men while her ‘escort’ is in his meeting.”
I walked over and asked, “May I be of assistance?”
She loudly burped, buried her face in her hands and said, “Man, I am dying…do you have any aspirin?”
“Yes, I do…may I get you something to drink, as well?”
“Is it possible to get a Bloody Mary?”
“Of course.” I motion to our bartender, who produces the aspirin and drink. I then called over one of the male employees we had working in the suite. “This young man will escort you down the hall to the seating by the elevator.”
She said, “I am waiting for Larry and he said he would be right back.”
“I am afraid that is not possible. I need this space on the sofa, as it is reserved for business meetings. I will tell Larry where to find you.”
“Mister, I have a bad hangover and you’re not being very nice.”
“What are you talking about? I am thinking of you! Why sit here? Go to the secluded, dimly lit seating area, nurse your hangover, take your aspirin and sip the medicinal cocktail. We will send Larry along when he is out of his meeting.”
“OK, OK…I’m leaving.” As she limped out of the suite she muttered, “I don’t know why I couldn’t wait here.”
Ed McMahon took a break and left at the same time as our “Mr. Big Mouth” employee, who is escorting her out. As they walked down the hall, Ed said the young man told her, “You couldn’t stay because Buck doesn’t want hookers in the suite.”
“HOOKERS? HE THINKS I’M A HOOKER?”
I was already out of the room when that verbal exchange occurred and soon one of the staff finds me and said a guy named Larry is in the living room looking for…HIS WIFE!
(Gulp)…Maybe it wasn’t his real wife…maybe she is his “pretend, temporary” wife. Our guy who met with Larry told me it WAS his wife. He saw them come in and he has known them for a long time. “But Buck, that’s not the worst of it. Ed McMahon said the kid you sent to walk her down the hall, told her you thought she was a prostitute.”
I go out to the living room to face the music. One of our staff told Larry his wife was at the end of the hall by the elevators and he left to find her. This is bad. I threw a client’s wife out of our suite because I thought she was a “painted woman of the night!” A disheveled, hungover “soiled dove” was really a disheveled, hungover wife and probably mom, who just dresses like an unkempt hooker at 8 in the morning.
I was shaking my head and wondered how bad it was going to be. Larry was going to punch me in the nose or worse.
At that moment, Larry returned with his grumpy, ill-fitted wife in tow. Our Simon deal maker that had met with Larry ran over to intercept him, before he came after me. Larry shrugged him off, turned to his scantily clad bride and asked, “Which guy was it?”
I am stammering, embarrassed and am dying for the floor to swallow me up. I felt faint and saw my career careening out of control. Like the song from The Doors…”This is the end…my only friend, the end.”
Larry’s wife pointed to me and Larry said, “You think my wife looks like a hooker?”
My snappy response was, “Uh…”
He continued, “I appreciate you getting her aspirin and a Bloody Mary. We had a WILD night and I ran out of time before my meeting with your people this morning. I have to admit, right now she does look suspect. She is still a bit “tipsy” and fell a couple of times on our way over here, but last night when we went out, she looked great! I’m afraid we partied WAY too hard and should have tidied up before we came here.
But, I am going to get a lot of milage out of this story…
Thelma was escorted out of the Simon suite with Ed McMahon, because she was thought to be a hooker! Man, that is fantastic!”
Thelma, still in pain, looked none too pleased, but remained silent and sipped her drink.
I enthusiastically responded, “Well, uh…no problem, Larry. Think no more of it. Come back anytime, with your charming bride.” (as Handel’s Hallelujah Chorus was playing in the background of my mind.) I had our photographer snap a shot of Ed with Thelma and Larry to commemorate the occasion, had Ed sign a personal message, framed it and sent it to them.
I realized, I can’t tell a brazen street walker from a provocatively dressed house wife, in a dress significantly too small, who stayed up all night, drinking and “howling at the moon” with her husband. (But then, neither could Ed McMahon.) She and Larry did look like a car hit them and dragged them down the Las Vegas Strip, but that is none of my business.
So, do what you will ladies of the evening and ply your trade wherever you need, you will have no more of the “jaundiced eye” from Mr. Bucky Busy Body…I resigned my post as a prostitute detective. This was a close call, could have gone very badly and I have been reminded of the lesson once again…”live and let live”.
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