Waiter to the Rich and Shameless: Confessions of a Five-Star Beverly Hills Server (16 page)

One
good thing about a restaurant being run by a bunch of penny-pinching schmucks
who won’t pay overtime is that you can always count on getting two days off
every week. They do that not out of consideration, but solely to avoid paying
time and a half.  Mr. P was always thoughtful about scheduling our two days off
in a row. And with all the pent-up stress we’d been accumulating, Jens and I try
to make the most of our weekly vacations. 

Jens
contacted the Maloof brothers, whom he had served many times, and booked us
into their hotel in Vegas, the Palms.  They gave us a great deal on a suite. 
It was the week of the Nightclub and Bar convention and we procured tickets to
the trade show through our liquor suppliers.  We ended up being invited to
every sponsored party having to do with the show. When we arrived, we found the
convention center set up as a playground for sinners and we promptly deployed
ourselves. With free booze everywhere, extreme bartending shows, and gorgeous
brand models like Victoria Silvstedt at the Patron booth, we could hardly
contain ourselves. Speaking to her in my best Swedish, I tried to scam my way
into hooking up with her but all I ended up with was a Patron business card.  The
place was like a great big orgy of tasting booths featuring different kinds of
booze and wine, lighting systems, DJ and karaoke set ups, plastic ice cubes that
blink inside your glass; you name it, it was there.  Anything to lure you into
this great escape from reality and we were all in. To say we were like sailors
on shore leave would be an insult to sailors. We were more like pit bulls let
off the chain, hungry for whatever Las Vegas had to offer.

After
the convention center closed for the night, we headed over to the Hard Rock Hotel
and Casino for the Bacardi brand party. Bacardi owns Dewar’s, Grey Goose, and
seventeen other brands, and what a party it was!  I think Lynyrd Skynyrd played
in a new lineup but I can’t remember. Tons of free booze and gift bags filled
with swag at every table.  Jens and I were already buzzed and completely electrified
by the crazy level of adrenaline in the air.  The Cricket Room’s classic
elegance was a world away from the raucous Wild West atmosphere of Vegas –
exactly what we wanted – and not a word about work had been mentioned since the
previous night.  We needed the escape desperately.  We sure as hell work hard,
so we took the opportunity to play as hard as hell.  It was the only way we
could let out all the accumulated stress, tension, and frustration that the
Cricket Room laid on us day after day.  I considered it a key to my survival.

My
confidence soared as my eyes fixated on a vivacious long-haired blonde in a tight,
full-length, burnt orange dress.  I walked right up to her, dropped some cheesy
line on her that would only work in Vegas, and kaboom! She’s mine! An hour
later, the three of us ended up leaving the party in a cab.  Linda said her
sister was staying in the room next to hers, so we headed to her hotel.  As
soon as we get into her modest room, Jens gets the coke ready, she calls room
service for a bottle of Veuve Clicquot, and the party is on.  It was only eleven
o’clock and we were already cutting to the chase. My radar had been spot on
when I’d honed in on Linda at the party. She was apparently up for anything,
and, um, so was I.

Once
the Champagne and the coke took effect, Jens docked his iPhone and started
blasting some monotonous dance music that seemed terribly fitting at the moment,
even though it wasn’t something I would normally ever listen to.  One minute we
were all dancing and bumping and grinding against each other like a scene from
Dirty
Dancing
, then all of a sudden Linda began bawling. 

Surprised,
we stopped the music and turned the lights a little higher so we could see what
was wrong. Jens turned to Linda and said, “What’s the matter, honey?”

I
added, “Why are you sad?” 

Linda
said, “You don’t understand!  I don’t do this, this isn’t like me at all to
hook up with total strangers like this!  I’m a Sunday school teacher!”

Well,
Pauli, so much for your fucking radar,
I scolded myself.

Jens
almost choked on his drink and strained not to crack up. If you’re a man
anywhere near your late thirties you’ve probably heard this kind of thing
before. Women are only human – they have desires just like we do – but when
they act on them they are considered sluts or tramps or whatever.  Meanwhile men
who score look like heroes to each other.  It’s totally unfair but there has
always been a double standard and probably always will be. But that was the
brilliance of the Vegas line “What happens in Vegas stays in Vegas.” It
acknowledges that adults need some secrecy in their lives and everyone needs to
let off steam now and then. A little walk on the wild side.

So
she was going through the guilt stage which to me meant that she was probably
gonna go through with at least part of the evening’s festivities, but we just
needed to be understanding at this point, comfort and reassure her. I for one
was not willing to just let this one off the hook. I have a “no catch and
release” policy.

I
said, “What are you talking about?  We’re just having a good time right now,
that’s all.  Nothing bad has happened. You’re fine.”  I sat down next to her
and rubbed her arms, and I’ll tell you honestly the more I touched her, the
hotter I got, but I contained myself. 

“Would
you guys mind if I read from the Bible for a while?  Can I read out loud? I
think it will comfort me.”  

It’s
been said – certainly not by me – that men are walking peckers, like heat
seeking missiles always waving around in search of a likely target. So the next
voice that spoke was my dick. His voice was deeper than mine, and much more
authoritative. He sounded like the devil in
South Park.

“Of
course!  We would love that, wouldn’t we, Jens?”  I nodded enthusiastically to
encourage Jens. I could see him eyeing the door, thinking about escaping. But I
knew we could salvage this party and I – read Little Pauli – was not giving up.

“Yeah,
yeah, of course, that would be nice,” he said, holding back his laughter,
probably stunned that my pecker could talk.

She
opened up her Bible, which she pulled from her huge purse, and read a passage
about forgiveness in John 1. As she read she began writhing and the further she
got into the passage, the more she writhed and wriggled.  At this point we
really didn’t know what to do, because it was a very weird and awkward situation. 
I wanted to rip her clothes off and eat her up but I sat there quietly
pretending I was moved by the words she was spilling out.  Once she was
finished she lit a candle and put her Bible away. 

“Thank
you guys for listening.  I knew you were good guys, I could just feel it.  You’re
different, not like the rest of those other bad boys out there.” She said it
teasingly and I wondered if maybe this was some act she liked to put on. Yet
she had seemed sincere and really into the Bible verses.

She
asked Jens to put the music back on and told us she’d be right back, then she
disappeared into the bathroom and I thought I could hear the shower going, but
I really wasn’t sure.  Little Pauli was still very alert and wanted to go in
and join her in the shower.

I
turned to Jens and said “Dude, I think we’re getting laid tonight in a big way. 
I don’t think she has a sister next door, bro!”  

“I
know, Pauli,” he said, rubbing his hands together and bouncing from one foot to
the other the way he does when he gets excited.

“If
we do enough of that shit we can last ‘til morning,” I said as we did another
fat line and washed it down with some Veuve. 

We
both looked up as the bathroom door opened and out came Linda, completely
undressed. Her long hair hung in damp tendrils and her fair skin was glowing
with water droplets. She hadn’t even toweled off. There was a strange, faraway
look in her eyes, but I didn’t look at her eyes for very long; too much else to
take in. I strained to be free, like a racehorse at the starting gate.
Fuck
me, she is hot,
I thought,
crazy or not.

I
turned the lights down and boy did we ever take care of her.  She was a wild
one and there was no mention of a sister! I think she had in mind to do both of
us from the beginning. She looked like a blonde version of the girls on the Lords
of Acid’s
Voodoo U
CD cover. She kept spurting out fantasies as if she were
possessed by a sex demon.   She took us separately and at the same time, we put
coke in places it didn’t belong, along with other things…you can just imagine. Or
maybe you can’t, but I encourage you to delve into your wildest teenage
Penthouse
Magazine
fantasies and that’s what we did. Little Pauli was a very happy
boy, again and again.

In
regular Jens fashion, the next morning we had room service bring up pancakes,
French toast, a Monte Cristo sandwich, scrambled eggs, sausage, bacon, orange
juice, apple juice, five cappuccinos.  Jens and I hid in the bathroom giggling
like schoolboys while the attendant was setting it up – he must’ve thought she
was on a food binge or something. After a huge breakfast, Linda took another
bath and holed up in there for an awfully long time as Jens and I occupied
separate beds watching a rerun of
The Dark Knight
. I ordered three more
cappuccinos from room service and dusted them with cocaine – fuck cinnamon, I’m
in Vegas, baby. What better way to start the day? Wired and fired up just for
the fuck of it.

Thinking
Linda would come out fully clothed and ready for us to get the hell out, I was
surprised to see her half-naked in a deep purple teddy with garters.  I quickly
shut off the TV, Jens cranked the music and a whole lotta fuckin’ started all
over again. Luckily we had plenty of rubbers in our gift bags but we were
getting close to running out and Little Pauli does not play in the rain without
a raincoat.  Linda, who’s now our new and only religious leader, was thoughtful
enough to pack her lube and her sex toys along with her Bible. Kinky!

We
made it back to our room at the Palm around two in the afternoon to shit,
shower and shave. I called Linda and we made plans to meet her at the VIP Stoli
party at ten that evening in the Ghost Lounge at our hotel.  We never brought
up the question of whether she had a sister or not.  She and her inner demon
were enough for the two of us.

I
took a nap.  I’m not sure what Jens did, but when I woke at eight he was
sitting on the sofa counting pills out onto the glass-topped coffee table. I
think he was channeling Hunter Thompson in
Fear and Loathing
...

“Hey,
Pauli? You think Linda likes X?”  He laughed his devilish laugh.

I
replied, “I sure hope so!” 

We
met Linda outside the club and we were glad to see she was punctual. Sometimes
you meet people in Vegas and they just disappear on you.  She was five minutes
early, and alone, which was a good sign to us. 

Jens
whispered in her ear, “I got some X!” She squealed with delight. She looked hip
and ready to party, wearing dark blue, skin-tight jeans with some kind of cool
sparkly motif on the back pockets and seams; a cropped, low-cut, black lace,
spaghetti-strap top; a Manhattan-style, dark grey, sur la tete beret; her hair
was in schoolgirl pigtails.  She topped it all off with a short, fitted jean
jacket on top and a Burberry cashmere scarf wrapped around her bare neck.  This
chick was not only hot looking and adventurous as hell with sex, drugs, and
rock ‘n roll, she knew fashion. I wondered briefly if she’d marry me. Little
Pauli was up for it, as usual. 

We
all popped some X, did a few lines of coke, and drank free Stoli lemon drop
shots dusted by yours truly by the dozens.  We all danced together, and I was
secretly hoping Jens would find another girl so I could be alone with Linda and
her demons, but he was probably hoping I’d do the same, so it ended up being a repeat,
only this time we
really
took it to the limit. 

We
all went back to our suite at the Palm around 12:30 am, so high that we didn’t
know what to do with ourselves.  I say that facetiously, because we knew
exactly what to do. Apparently the Sunday School teacher bit was abandoned
because she only carried a small clutch purse this time with no room for a
Bible of her own. This time we aggressively undressed her before she even had a
chance to find the Bible in the bed stand. It was like sexual combat; we
wrestled and fought for access to orifices and body parts, like crazed maniacs,
and I think we all sustained some minor injuries. Not-so-little Pauli still has
a small scar; I’m not sure how that happened but it was totally worth it.

I
don’t recall whose idea it was, but we proceeded to tie her up (gently),
blindfolded her, and had our way with her for hours on end.  She loved every
minute of it, calling out for us to send in the entire football team and the
like.  It was the most nonstop sex I had ever had since I was nineteen and
moved in with my first girlfriend in Copenhagen. 

In
the morning, calorie-starved and drained, we ordered everything possible from
the breakfast menu again and had a lot of laughs.  We found out that Linda was
from a wealthy Maryland family, that she lived in Philly, and did indeed teach
Sunday School, which we pretended sounded perfectly normal. She was also a
fitness instructor and part owner in a gym out there, so it was no wonder she
was in such good shape.  She didn’t mention her age but we guessed she was in
her early thirties.  The more I got to know her the more I liked her. Hey, she
might never cure cancer or win a Nobel Peace Prize, but she sure saved two
over-stressed men in one wicked awesome weekend.