Monday, December 31, 10 p.m.
Without any fanfare, the light pops on inside the closet-sized boudoir, where a busty brunette tarts up, donning silk stockings, adjusting and readjusting delicate lingerie. While we dine just feet away, forks poised midair, she slooooowly applies makeup, dragging out each stroke of her mascara wand as if trying to rival the cuisine for making our mouths water.
Entirely distracted from celebrity chef Kerry Simon’s signature truffled macaroni and cheese, I wonder aloud if she can see out. She cannot, I am told, as demonstrated by one drunk reveler who raps on the two-way mirror before being swatted away by a beefy security guard.
At 11 p.m. we follow host Corey Nigrelli, who leads our party of 12 from the dining room to the Loungerie. For once, I can honestly say I’m rolling deep, though that will later cause une petite headache when we close out the night at Noir Bar!
Just moments after we’ve vacated, the dining room is transformed into a space more conducive to nightlife, the tables lowered to cocktail height. Out come the ice buckets, bottles and carafes. The boudoir light will continue to come on, partner/creative director Seth Yudof says, for a half-hour within every hour. I set the alarm on my Treo accordingly.
In the Loungerie we are escorted to our own VIP table (more like a private suite), where cocktail server Victoria is waiting with a hug and a “how do you do your vodka,” my favorite kind of greeting. After the credit-card shuffle, bottles of Goose, Tanqueray 10 and Moet & Chandon come barreling at us even faster than 2008, which, at this point, is a mere 35 minutes away.
Yikes! On any other night this would just be the calm before the storm; most clubs don’t even pick up until after midnight. But there’s no time to spare. There are toasts to make, funny top hats to wear and blackmail photos to snap. Plus there’s the—“seven, six, five, four ...”
What?! What ever happened to “ten”? Why does the New Year always sneak up on me like that?
“... three, two, one!” is followed by the compulsory kissing and hugging of hundreds of one’s new best friends, and DJ Robert Oleysyck throws on U2’s “New Year’s Day.”
“All is quiet on New Year’s Day,” Bono simpers, not realizing this is Vegas and nothing is going to be quiet about this New Year’s Day!
You couldn’t peel the girls down off the tables, banquette backs and dance platforms if you tried. Every now and again, three lithe and sexy dancers appear atop the platforms and give short, loosely choreographed dance numbers in lingerie and pink men’s dress shirts, showing off just the right amount of everything. Above, helium balloons dance and travel around the low-profile crystal medallion-style chandeliers that dot the ceiling along with abstract tattoo-like designs in 3-D relief.
Strangers keep shaking my hand and wishing me a happy new year. Just 15 minutes into it and I’m wearing a gold top hat and reenacting a scene from A Chorus Line. Really, I just look like a drunk pilgrim. But I’m not alone. Mash-ups and girl-on-girl grinding are the new order of the day. Soon, a conga line slithers by, so those blackmail photos can’t be too far behind! “This is your Christmas card next year,” my friend Zach says, showing one couple a juicy pic he snapped of them in a lap-dance scenario. I can just imagine her parents’ reactions. But CatHouse is bordello-themed, I would argue: sultry, taboo and slightly naughty, just like its name implies.
After hours of doing the vodka tonic tango, most of the guys in our party have dispersed in search of women left alone either by circumstance or their less-than-responsible friends. Vultures. But Journey brings us together, as do Maroon 5 and Bob Sinclar. At 3 a.m., like most other groups, we spill out into the casino and slowly make our way to Noir Bar. “It’s like herding cats!” friend Alex says, oblivious of the irony, and I have to resist the temptation to point out that we did just leave CatHouse. I made a New Year’s resolution to be less catty. Yeah, we’ll just see how long that lasts!
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.