After a glorious 7 hours of perfect slumber, I awoke at 6 am totally crispy and ready for the day. This seemed odd and, feeling rather adventurous for a Sunday morning, I rolled myself a massive joint and sprinkled some of the dried toad goo on there just for kicks.
I sat down on the bathroom floor to smoke it, I had on my precious Hunter S. Thompson Weird Hollywood Youth tee that bore an image made of sacred geometry depicting HST in front of a school bus numbered 666 with little children frolicking off in the background and a pair of zebra striped underpants. I was ready for a preview of higher dimensions.
The toad would be the only waking witness to what happened next – I sparked and hit that thing like a maniac, holding in every drag. First, it felt like my brain was pouring serotonin. I was enveloped in a cocoon of love and warm, squishing feelings. Another hit and everything turned to little neon pixels and strings, another and the ceiling opened up and poured out geometric patterns and beautiful swirling colors.
Another hit and the colors and patterns formed a hallway that looked like Temple Run. Another hit and I was being pulled down that hallway far, far away from the bathroom floor. It was so beautiful, the silence took on a texture that sounded a bit like the whoosh of the astral plane, just at a slightly lower frequency. I was so immersed I hardly noticed that back down on earth I’d dropped the lit joint into the bathroom trashcan.
The clock said I only laid there for a few minutes, but it was hard to understand that because I felt like time had eroded entirely. When I came back down it seemed like time had never been anything but a unit of measurement. I enjoyed re-assimilating into my body, the cold white tile of the floor gave me a final rush all over.
I picked myself up and stumbled back into the room, Gonz and Marcus still weren’t back so I took the opportunity to pass out again in their bed this time. It was instant, perfect sleep of the deepest order – it must have been because I did not smell the smoke. Fish woke me up.
“HANKINS!” he screamed, I jolted awake in a panic because he would only use my last name in an extremely severe moment. “What’s that smell?!”
I smelled it too, smoke and something chemical. I grabbed my glasses off the bedside table and sat up. Through the voyeur window in the bathroom I could see the flames coming off the trashcan. “HOLY FUCK!”
I jumped up and made it in there just as one of the hand towels hanging over a little rail under the sink caught on fire. The flames were melting the little black round plastic bin, I could see Mr. Toad through the flames hiding way in the back corner next to the shower.
My first instinct was to start dumping glasses of water on it, but the burning hand towel was developing a huge flame. I pushed it off the railing and into the trashcan, grabbed it from the bottom (it was fucking scalding) and threw it in the shower. Fishman was right behind me screaming, “TURN ON THE WATER! TURN IT ON!”
I don’t know what the fuck was in that trashcan that was burning so insanely, but I had to lean in and reach over a 3-and-a-half foot flame to turn on the shower. When the water hit the flames the hiss was violent, immediately smoked filled the bathroom and a fire alarm went off.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, we HAVE TO GET OUT!” I screamed. Fishman and I looked each other straight in the eye. This was no time for panic, we had about 3 to 5 minutes to clear out of this room before security or the fire department or the fucking police came. Less than 10 seconds after we started making moves, the sprinklers came on.
Imagine it all in slow motion set to Mozart. The pipes opened up and water rained down upon us while the shriek of the beep-beep-beeping alarm was wailing in the background. Fishman’s man-instincts told him to protect the hardware first – he had Marcus’s DJ rig in its case in 30 seconds and was shouting at me to secure the laptop. I shoved my computer and charger into my suitcase, grabbed anything I saw on the floor and threw it in. I grabbed a pillowcase, ran to the bathroom and pushed everyone’s shit off the counter into it.
Fishman had Marcus’s huge black road case, pop-up rack and rolling suitcase along with his own backpack and suitcase and was frantically trying to get it all out the door. My purse, suitcase, backpack, the pillowcase plus all of Gonz’s shit was way more than I could carry. In a feat of strength, I put my backpack on my front side and her duffle back straps over my shoulders so I could carry it on my back and dragged the rest behind me. “TO THE STAIRS!” Fish cried, already halfway down the hall heading away from the elevators.
A few sleepy ravers and furious-looking grownups were starting to spill out into the hallway where, thankfully, the sprinklers had not gone on. Seemingly, it was only raining in our room. A soaking Fish and I pushed past all of them toward the stairwell. I still had no pants on nor did Fishman, he in his boxers and an ill-fitting, faded-yellow Rage Against the Machine t-shirt from 9th grade and me in a pair of neon green underpants and tank top, braless and running for my fucking life.
Once secure in the stairwell, we collapsed for a moment, Fishman let go of his suitcase and it rolled down half a flight. Both of us were desperately trying to catch our breath, I barely managed to gasp, “What’s our next move?”
“We need to put pants on so we can get out of here without arousing suspicion,” he reached into his backpack and handed me a pair of board shorts.
“Then what?! They have your fucking credit card on file for incidentals, dude! What are we gonna tell Gonz and Marcus? We didn’t even pay for this room.”
“Soon as we get out of here I’m going to cancel that card,” Fishman said on an inhale. “Tell Gonz to do the same for hers. Call her once we’re outside, and give me anything you can find that’s dry.” Exhale.
We toweled down the electronics with some dry t-shirts buried at the bottom of Marcus’s suitcase before going on our way and prayed that nothing was fucked here. Marcus was never going to forgive me if his CDJs were damaged, and surely the Universe wouldn’t allow it – DMT was supposed to be on our team. I was confident we could expect a miracle here.
The schlep down those stairs was one of the toughest physical challenges I’ve ever engaged in. I can’t remember what floor we were on, but it was in the 30s. In my heart I was laughing my head off, but I needed every ounce of breath and strength to continue on and keep it together.
When we escaped out through the casino floor to Las Vegas Blvd., the light hit us and we could finally laugh because we were fucking free. We started laughing 10 steps out the door and didn’t stop ‘til we collapsed on a bench around the corner. Fish opened up the road case to let everything dry in the soon-to-be-scorching Vegas sun. We had the natural inclination to head north, toward the Bellagio fountains, which were waking up to do their first dance of the day. It was 7 am.
I was not looking forward to making The Call to Gonz. Fortunately, I didn’t have to, because suddenly she and Marcus were stumbling into frame heading south. Both were dressed in all black, they looked like they were coming from a party- funeral. “WHAT!” I yelled, jumping up to greet them.
“Oh this does not look good,” Gonz said gravely, before slipping back into her then-current state of blackout Vegas wasted. “Can you believe fucking Bill’s got blown the fuck up? Like ACTUALLY?! We tried to go to Drais and it’s just Not. There.”
“Hey guys,” said Marcus calmly, sitting down on the bench next to Fishman. He had on a tank top that looked more like a dress over black jeans with tiny round gold frame glasses that reflected me back at me 150,000 times over. “What’s all our stuff doing out here?”
“Well, bad news guys – we can’t ever go back to that hotel room,” I said, calmly as I could. “Mistakes were made in there that can’t be undone. We have to move on now, cancel all the credit cards associated with the room, and hope the bastards don’t have us on camera making a run for it.”
Gonz just burst out laughing and Marcus, who seemed like he was scheduled to be the calm one about it, did a complete 180. “WHAT DO YOU MEAN?! Why is my stuff just open like this? WHAT IS HAPPENING?!”
“There was a small fire,” I said slowly. My hands actually had a thin layer of melted black plastic from picking up the can that perfectly traced the fine lines of my handprint. “As we were getting everything out, the sprinklers came on.”
She lost it then, Gonz was wailing laughing, she got down on her knees to slap the sidewalk and I guess try to get ahold of herself, but she couldn’t. “H-oww?” she managed to get out between bouts of hysteria.
“MY SHIT GOT WET JUST NOW?! ARE YOU FUCKING SERIOUS?” Marcus was spiraling. He was maybe going to cry. I didn’t know how to console him, we wouldn’t know what was what ‘til we got it all plugged in. Luckily Gonz was keeping it super light, I offered to call AMEX on her behalf.
“Marcus, it was literally the first thing in the room to get covered, it would be the equivalent of a little rain – not going to hurt it,” said Fishman the diplomat, in perfect politician crisis-management mode.
“What’s our move, Fish?” I asked, grateful he was taking charge since I had no financial ability to remedy the situation.
“Bellagio. Bernie Fishman was famous there and if there’s even one room in the inn they’ll give it to us at the preferred guest rate.”
“Even if they don’t have one yet, it’s Sunday – a bunch of people will be clearing out,” I added, desperate to reassure everyone cause I felt like such a goddamned idiot.
“Let’s do this,” Gonz sighed, suddenly totally coherent and standing. We picked up all the shit and headed up, up, up the long driveway of the Bellagio and through the golden front doors.
We took over a round white leather bench in the center of the lobby underneath the glass flowers pouring out of the ceiling. It looked exactly like the trip I’d just been on only stagnant. Fishman was doing all the talking on this one. Even though I couldn’t hear him, I could tell exactly what was going down.
Act. 4, Scene III: Fishman Pulls Out The Big Guns To Achieve The Impossible
Fish: Hi, good morning – how are you today?
Front Desk Lady (FDL): Welcome, sir! I’m doing wonderful, how are you?
Fish: Oh, well I wish I could say I was doing the same – there’s been a bit of an incident over at the Cosmo and we’re having to switch hotels right away.
FDL: My goodness, I hope everything’s alright.
Fish: Well, we’re safe here now and that’s all that matters.
FDL: You came to the right place, we have a lot of rooms opening up tonight.
Fish: (chuckling) Of course, but we just ran for our lives from the trigger- happy sprinkler system at Cosmopolitan. We’ll be needing a room right now.
FDL: Oh my! I’m sorry sir, but we can’t get you checked in until 3 pm.
Fish: I understand, I need to speak to Edward if he’s in please.
FDL: Edward the GM? (she raises one eyebrow and takes a very serious tone).
Fish: Yes, my father Bernie Fishman is an old friend of Edward’s and long- time preferred guest here. He just passed away and I know Edward would want to know. Perhaps he can do something to help us. (The first big gun.)
FDL: I’m sorry to hear about your father, sir, but Edward doesn’t work on Sundays.
Fish: That sucks, I’ll have to call his cell then and no one likes to be bothered at 7:30 on a Sunday morning. (The second big gun.
FDL: You’re right, and it seems like a waste since he’s just going to tell you the exact same thing.
Fish: (gets his phone out) Hope you’re right or this probably won’t be the best look for you. Job-wise that is. (Third big gun – now all 3 guns are blazing.)
FDL: (watches him scroll through contacts for a second, Fish is sure to let her see his thumb land on Edward Bellagio GM) Give me a moment, Sir.
Fish: Thank you. (He gives her a ‘fuck you’ with the eyes and watches her walk through the pink marble-façade door to the back office.
(Enter Gonz, stage left) Gonz: I want a room too.
Fish: You can for sure get one after 3 pm, you’ll probably have to slog it out with us ‘til then. We’re making miracles happen here.
Gonz: Yes, expect miracles – that’s what Pyro Molly keeps chanting.
Fish: One miracle at a time, though.
Gonz: I’m going to sleep one goddamned night without having to listen to your fucking T-Rex sounds.
Fish: My what?
Gonz: Your snoring – it sounds like 2 T-Rexes fucking. (Enter FDL just in time to hear that little comment.)
FDL: Ok so you’re extremely lucky, Sir.
Fish: (puts on shit-eating grin) I knew I would be.
FDL: We’re going to turn over 1 of the early-checkout rooms for you and it will be ready in an hour.
Fish: And charge us the minimum preferred rate?
FDL: Yes (she says through her teeth, just chomping with hatred).
Fish: Edward will be so pleased when I tell him how much trouble you went to in order to make this happen for us (glances at her nametag), Tamara.
Gonz: We’ll be needing a second room as well.
FDL: Yes, ma’am (stares death rays at Gonz) – we can get you checked in after 3 pm. Would both of you like to go ahead and pay for that reservation now?
Gonz: Ab-so-fucking-lutely. (dumps out contents of wallets on the pink marble desk including her AMEX she used at Cosmo, which she promptly chucks over her shoulder) Well that one won’t be working!
End Scene