A Tale of Two Hookers, continued
Thanks for all the kind comments and emails on yesterday's post , I’ll finish my Vegas story today.
The Las Vegas police said that it's a common thing to have prostitutes attack women for money and cell phones, but that didn't make us feel any better. The Venetian gave us the bum rush insisting that if we didn't need medical attention than we had to leave their property. I begged them to escort me inside so I could ID those white crack whores who did this, but the guard said no, we had to leave. They were ever so kind enough to escort us off the property to the taxi stand.
My friend and I were crying a lot, part of it was the alcohol, part of it was being so surprised at the unprovoked attack, and part of it was feeling like these guards didn't believe us or care. And, we were in some pain. We sobbed to the cab driver, we sobbed to the hotel desk at the Rio, and we sobbed to lady at the gift shop. It was all fairly pathetic, but I remember just wanting someone to listen and tell us what we should do. Our friends in our room did just that and if they hadn't been there it would have been even more difficult. We filed a report with the police and the Venetian.
The next morning I was just really shocked. My friend who was attacked and I had breakfast together and tried to sort it out, tried to find a reason why we might have caused this to happen. We couldn't think of any. Shit happens, I guess.
And, after a morning breakdown on Friday, I decided to “suck it up” and find some moments of fun. I played a tournament and enjoyed it even though I was running on about 30 hours without sleep. My friend who had been attacked came by my table to say goodbye. I could tell just by looking at her that she felt as horrible as I did. “I’m a little upset,” she whispered. I just nodded, “Me, too.” She had to leave that morning to go back to LA, I have a feeling we both went through the same emotional ebb and flow despite being hours apart.
I didn’t get to wear any of my fun, slutty clothes because of all the bruises on my arms. I had my friend Virgile Kent's sunglasses with me (aviators) and they cover the two red and purple bruises under my eyes perfectly. In Las Vegas, it's pretty acceptable to wear sunglasses all the time. People stared a little at night, but it wasn't any big deal. It worked fine at the poker tables as well, even though I always think non pros with sunglasses on are a little lame.
I went to an amazing Prince concert, saw some cool card rooms and had a good dinner with friends. I met some new friends up at the Sahara and had a nice time playing in a tournament there. Many enjoyable moments.
The whole thing still seems unreal and there are waves of anger and sadness that I try to just fake through. I didn't want anyone to hug me or talk to me about it. The human ability to burry emotions is pretty amazing.
I love my grandma's comment to me after I told her about the incident: "And you didn't fight back, punch ‘er or somethin’?" I had no idea my grandma was such a gangsta. And, no, I just wanted it to be over and didn't want those guys who were watching to get involved, too. As I said, it could have been much, much worse.