Chapter 1
Welcome To Fabulous Las Vegas
The young
lady at cashier counter is another employee Troy did not introduce me
to on our walk through the store after conversation with Chad at
Mr. Vegas fashion boutique where I’m
applying for sales position. She avoids eye contact listening to me talk in
foreground of setting alive with sound of radio as background audio.
“He’s here,”
she announces picking up telephone after listening to last word of my
introduction.
I’m lucky
Earth Child is not doing the hiring. If she is less impressed with me only
conscience stops her from showing it. On island of space next to cashier
counter, I wait for job interview while she looks past me looking over--around--behind--and above me--committed to ignoring my presence.
“David?” Mr.
V walks out from back office of store.
He extends hand in greeting--hand met
by mine in reciprocal grip.
“Yes. I’m
here for interview.”
“I’m Rob.
Come with me.
“I’ve talked
to Troy and Chad about you. So how long have
you been in Las Vegas,”
as he speaks I listen while sizing him up. Family resemblance suggests Rob and
Chad Johnson are brothers from Caucasian mix of ethnicity as American male (same
pride in maleness evident). Rob about 6-feet tall--younger brother Chad maybe
two inches taller. Both are representative of 50’s age with Rob the oldest
version of Johnson brothers.
Mr. V is
wearing open collar Polo dress shirt with slacks. A gold bracelet not watch and
diamond nugget ring on left pinky are jewelry worn. Face is distinguished by eyeglasses
in Wayfarer Polaroid frame. His head of hair is too curly brown for natural--most
likely salon styled look. Mr. V is more studious in appearance and demeanor
than casino culture stereotype of Las
Vegas male.
We talk
mostly about Downtown--gambling in Las
Vegas--his fondness for betting the horse--until
sudden shift in conversation is signaled by inquisitive question. “Air Force
guy?
“What made
you join?”
“To get away
from home.”
“Good
reason. It’s why I left New York.”
“Talked to
recruiter Career Day as Junior. Passed Air Force entrance examine that year.”
“Why the Air
Force?”
“A friend of
mine from street I grew-up on--three years older joined--both him and his best
friend. Wanted to be like them. No one in my circle had a clue about the
times.”
“The war had
nothing to do with it?”
“It did and
didn’t. Didn’t know what I wanted to do with my life other than be a man. Had always heard old folks
say, join the Army--Army make a man out of you. And I didn’t want
to get drafted--high school to the jungle--had seen it happen.”
“How did
that make you feel?”
“With two years
of R.O.T.C.--you’re watching yourself turn 18 to get drafted.”
“Did joining
the Air Force make you a man?” asked Mr. V, leaning back in chair raising feet
to rest on desktop.
“I’m still
trying to be one. The Big Airman in the sky made me appreciate what it means to
be American--not just a transplanted Southerner.”
“I didn’t
join the service--didn’t get drafted. Am I less American? Stand a chance of
being a man?” he questions.
“My father
didn’t either. He’s a man in my eyes.”
“How did the
Air Force workout for you?” Mr. V pushes chair back away from desk--
lower his legs from desktop to floor.
“I was crew
chief for F-4 Phantom as First Termer--Staff Sergeant Taylor--the pretty pig was my baby,” momentary pause overcomes me. “Military bearing--job competence--that’s
the Airman. Soldier psyche is not
instilled--patriotism is.”
“Were you
stationed at Nellis?”
“No. My last
duty station was Luke AFB Arizona.”
I’m facing
him seated on other side of desk--dressed for occasion in jeans, Eagles T-shirt
with leather vest--bare feet in deck shoes--two hours into celebrating birthday
drinking at the Horseshoe before following Troy back to work to apply for job.
“Why did you move to Las Vegas?” interview
continues.
“Air Force
Homie left Phoenix
to move here. He’s a crap dealer--told me he likes it. I came to
check-it-out.”
Looking at
my application on desk Mr. V chuckles at comment. “The spirit of youth,” he
says with smile as if thinking out loud.
“Where do
you know Troy
from?”
“We met
hanging-out Downtown.”
“Here at Mr. Vegas you won’t be working with
tools. What makes you think you can make a living selling clothes? Have to
handle people.”
“To stay in Las Vegas I need a job. I
want to come in from the flightline--the mechanic.
This is my chance to do something else. Troy
does alright selling clothes. In high school I worked part-time at clothing
store on Beale Street
in downtown Memphis.
”
“Troy is Big Book here--has been for the last
three years. Has a decent life with what he makes at Mr. Vegas. His own place--drives a nice car. Sharp dresser--money
in his pocket. Crap dealers on The Strip can do $500 and up on weekends in
tips. But you need juice to get out
there. “Yeah. Homie works Downtown at
Union Plaza.”
“Plaza is step up from break-in house. To get there with year of
experience--he must be sharp. Tips go $50 up week days. Weekend $100 plus.”
“Casino work doesn’t appeal to me.
Too much like military. Being a dealer is not my gig.”
“Are you done moving around? What do
you think of Las Vegas?”
“Haven’t
thought about leaving. More about making-it
to stay. Get my own apartment.” I tell him holding eye contact with Mr. V from
my side of desk
“Enough of
that. You’re a smart guy. You’ll make-it. We’ll talk more later,” he opens desk
drawer--drops application inside--closes it.
“Are you a
basketball fan, David?”
“Big time.
Jocks are celebrities to me--high school--college--pro--big sports fan.”
“Chad
and I are Rebel Boosters. Players came around a lot more when Sweet Pea was at
