by Amy Atkins
Six of us are planning a vacation together. We were originally going to spend a few days lounging on the beaches of Mazatlan, but the plans for the free condo and plane tickets fell through (bummer, no?), so we've regrouped and are leaning toward a trip to Las Vegas. I've never been and though I am fully aware that the Veags of 2008 in no way resembles the Vegas of the '50s, in my mind, it's still a romantic place.
While on this trip we will probably graze at an all-you-can-eat buffet, play penny slots and drink house vodka, but I like to imagine visiting the Vegas of long ago.
My group would dress for dinner--the women in silk dresses and pearls, the men in sharkskin suits. We would dine on steak and lobster at the Golden Gate and then catch a show at the Copacabana. We would sit at a front row table, whispering to each other over our martinis about how great Dino looks and how Frank is at the top of his game. We would move to the casino, sitting at a $20 minimum blackjack table sipping Glenfiddich until our heads and our eyes were heavy, we would meander back to our hotel rooms, where we'd pull the daylight curtains closed and sleep until the last possible minute when we would have to pack quickly so we could catch a plane back home.
Atkins out (of dreamland and back to reality).