Over the past couple of days I have attended the unveiling of new white tiger cubs to be on display at the Siegfried & Roy Secret Garden at The Mirage, and crossed paths with Britney Spears at the CineVegas party at the Simon at Palms Place. In one event I was able to observe the rare, exotic, mercurial, sometimes uncontrollable entertainment sideshow. The other was the white tiger event.
I’d heard murmurings about Spears throughout the day from those attending the festival at the Palms (Brenden Theaters, specifically), that she was in town and heading for the hotel. It was like tracking a Space Shuttle landing. I’d taken a dinner break at Nove, the fine Italian eatery near the top of the hotel, where the restaurant was still twittering about Spears’ visit there – I’d missed her, coincidentally, by less than 30 minutes. I was told she had a young blonde friend with her, along with a few members of security personnel, who were described mostly as “bald,” that grooming practice still evident in Spears’ life, apparently.
Later, at the party at Simon, I was walking along the pool area (where a guy was performing a fire-spouting act so close to the crowd that you could smell the butane he was spitting into the air) and I saw George Maloof walking my way. I was about to ask where I could find the men’s room when, several paces behind, I spotted Spears. I don’t know if you ever saw the documentary Gimme Shelter, a chronicle of the Rolling Stones’ 1969 U.S. tour, when the Hell’s Angels cut through the crowd to deliver the band to the stage for its ultimately tragic performance at Altamont Speedway. This sort of resembled that, with the entourage knifing through the thickening crowd to deliver Spears to a private (hah!) cabana near the back of the pool deck. For her entire stay at the party, Spears sat in that roped-off area, watching the flat-screen TV while hordes of guests craned their necks to get a look at the star-crossed pop star, mother of two and Friend of George. No one dared tried to snap a picture of her, but even the most jaded Vegas scenesters were buzzing about her very presence at the party. One woman I was talking to a few feet away actually told me she was a big fan of Spears music, at which point I said, “Oh yeah! She records music!” And makes videos and, every odd year, performs live. I’d almost forgotten. The last time Spears committed any real news at the Palms was more than a year ago, when she plodded her way through a poorly lip-synched performance at the MTV Video Music Awards at Pearl Theater.
Later, as we left the hotel, I ran into Maloof again, near valet. We shook hands and congratulated him on the party. He seemed uncommonly distracted, probably because standing at valet, awaiting some form of transportation, was Spears and her security force. I walked by, trying to get a look at her eyes. I can’t tell you if she was exactly happy, trashed, bored or bemused, but there didn’t seem much spark there. It was late, the show was over, and it was time for this tigress to be led back to her natural habitat. Whatever that is.
Previous Discussion: