Saturday, July 14, 4:30 p.m.
The text came in while I was working on my next column. “Just a heads up: Baby brother Bernstein is on his way to Vegas, just in case you get a random 914 call.” C’mon, you’ve been there and you know it. Since the moment you moved to Vegas—no one is actually from Vegas, right?!—your couch has likely been a repository for friendships past, your first apartment a crash pad for wanderlusting college roommates and your first home a half-way house playing host to recently broken-up and divorced gals and pals. Why? Because you’re nice. And unless you decide that nice is an emotion that you do not second, you’d better roll out the red carpet and inflate the Airobed because ... the boys are back in town!
Pete is the little brother of my high school buddy Rich. Both have occasionally popped into Vegas, yielding results that have included getting stuttering drunk at Empire Ballroom (twice) and hugging everyone at Tao Lounge. To say the least, I’m taking the kid out, showing him my town, painting it red—
“I have a few guys with me ...” Ah, there’s the rub.
But pulling strings is something true Las Vegans do best! Really, they should put that on the Chamber of Commerce website. I think “IBShmuzn” would make a really great vanity plate. And since I’ll be rolling deep with six guys and only one other female on a Saturday night, I’m not taking any chances. Taking my own Clubinar advice, I call ahead and let Asia Nightlife & Dining know about my ... situation.
Next, I arrive at the door without my entire party. Oh yeah, I’m breaking all the rules tonight! But, I whine inwardly, it’s way too damn hot to wait outside while the guys grab road beer for that long walk over from the Trop. I leave their names with host Jamal and run, ironically, toward the cool air of the club.
Inside, the private dining room is still serving up Chef Steven Geddes’ Euro-Asian cuisine, but Jenny and I dine in our VIP booth. The tables have been cleared away to make way for some scary dancing, and when Pete and his posse finally arrive they will make this scene scarier by courting only the girls who come with their own security force. “Somebody may as well pull some ass tonight,” says Jason as he and Lou trot off with a girl in red. I leave Pete, Dan and the rest to it and go check out Asia, the newest restaurant, nightclub and lounge in Planet Hollywood’s Miracle Mile.
Onstage, DJ Jackie is spinning eclectic tracks until midnight, when D-Double will take over with the hip-hop and Top 40. Upstairs is closed tonight, oddly enough, but on Asia’s industry Wednesday, I am told, locals completely fill the amber zig-zag bar and the myriad of plush seating options—this place is absolutely huge! The three cavernous skyboxes beg for VIP parties, as does the curtained Opium Den with its low seating and tables. Downstairs, both bars are packed, the masses falling upon the passed appetizers and making the most of the last precious seconds of open bar. Owner Michael Bergos has been very generous this grand opening weekend, and he now patrols the venue, keeping an eye on his first Vegas baby. With its two entrances and a nifty dedicated valet access, I can see Asia finding a niche within the locals scene, convenience and ease garnering major points. Tourists will find it an accessible alternative to the big name clubs that generally shake them down for every penny as a matter of course.
I return to find Crunch, the aforementioned rotund sentry, standing by our table, arms filled with the ladies’ purses, spitting Spanish, Hawaiian and Yiddish at my friends. “You don’t know my Yiddish. Pesach, dude. You look like a dude who eats Matzo Brei.” He then threatens to kill my friends if they hurt the girls. Oy vey. There’s gotta be a grift going on here. Moments later our server Amber is mixing up a girly lemon-drop martini. I look from guy to guy to see who would order such a frilly drink. “Oh,” says Amber, “this is for your girl in red!” And there’s the grift. But I don’t want Pete returning to LA without Lou and Jason because Crunch decided make good on his promise. I send her the drink with my compliments; she’s breaking all the rules, too.
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Xania Woodman thinks globally and parties locally. And frequently. E-mail her at [email protected] and visit thecircuitlv.com to sign up for Xania's free weekly newsletter.