I've done a naughty thing. I have purchased fame. Not for me, but as a gift. In this city, celebrities are as common as Starbucks: There's one on every corner. The stars walk among us, the lifestyles of the rich and famous blending and weaving into the fabric of our own lives. If it's our job to, we track their comings and goings; if it's not, then we can choose to ignore them. But no visit to Sin City would be complete without a star-sighting on your camera phone. Through the miracle of media, celebrities are deified and thanks to a man named Johnny, any one of us can be deified too.
"Good evening and happy birthday," says a muscular gentleman with a shaved head to Aaron, my very confused dinner companion at Sushi Roku. "My name is Johnny and I own King Of Clubs Las Vegas. Xania has arranged a special night of VIP services for you." With this, he presents us with Laura, our personal assistant, and two security guards do a sweep of the dining room. They talk into their sleeve-microphones often and guard the ladies room while I pee and whisper hoarsely into the phone with my co-conspirators.
We're right on schedule. Earlier that day, Johnny and I met to stock the limo and go over the plan one last time. At this very moment, a small group of Aaron's friends await our arrival at Joe's Stone Crab downstairs. I receive a pre-arranged phone call as we pay the check. "You're at Joe's? Really! What a coincidence—we're right upstairs at Sushi Roku. Be right down."
"How funny," I remark. "Sonny said he'd be out of town but he's downstairs at Joe's having a drink. Let's stop by before we go to Body English."
"Surprise!" His best friend Heathen rises to welcome us. The rest of the gang, all of whom had given Aaron some excuse as to why they would be unable to go out tonight, are eager to let him in on the joke that is clearly on him. Heads swivel momentarily to examine our heavily guarded table and then turn back to their Stone Crabs. In such an upscale mall, we must be some very small potatoes. "I'm going to get you back!" Aaron says leaking out a bashful smile and slowly turning red after a hired "fan" pleads with security for just one autograph. "Make it out to Star!" she calls, from under the guard's armpit, her shopping bags swinging noisily in every direction.
We make our next move tightly encircled by our security blanket. Very few take notice of our movements until we arrive at the valet to a blinding explosion of camera flashes. Our names are being called from every possible direction, every angle. It's not exactly a comfortable feeling. A wobbly drunk drifts too close. He breathes on me. "And what exaaacly is going on heeeere?" he slurs, looking us up and down for a bit too long. His advances are shut down by a beefy suited arm. I guess he'll never know.
News Flash: Real life has crashed into our fantasy. A guest at the mall has had a heart attack and our limo is blocked by an ambulance. We retreat until the situation stabilizes and the coast is clear. Once again we push through the valet crowd to the car and slam the door on the paparazzi's zealous calls. Nervous laughter for a split second and then more champagne. There is adrenaline in the air but no one addresses it. We don't have time to.
"Johnny! I told you no press! You promised me no press!" Laura barks hysterically into her cell. I imagine Johnny is laughing on the other end as he ferries the photographers to the Hard Rock ahead of us. This is just one of the extra little details he likes to throw in to make the experience more real for his clients. Often, the person who arranges the service isn't present and has to wait for the breathless, bewildered phone call when it's all over.
We pull up to the Hard Rock and already through the tinted glass we see that the faux photographers are in place. But this time there are tons more people around to witness our ruse. When the flashes and the calls of "right here" and "look this way" begin, there's no missing us. The entourage emerges from the limo and we cruise through the throng. Flashes go off from real cameras; we're on someone's vacation film! They have no idea who we are nor do they seem to care but it's spectacle, it's reality show-esque, and that's good enough. Click, click, whrrrr. Someone's out of film. We get one more dose of paparazzi attention at the velvet ropes before we bid a reluctant good-bye to our doting press core. Milking the last few seconds of fame, we saunter past an imposing queue on our way to our booth—security, assistant, and entourage still intact. I get quizzical looks from the nightclub staff who know me and can't imagine why the fuss. Then they see Johnny and throw me an insider's wink. Nudge nudge.
Once inside we blend into the crowd. After many hugs and thanks, and our security, Laura and Johnny take off. "We have another client over at Tao!" Basking in the sudden anonymity, it's hard to ignore the sense of relief. I guess it's OK to be famous if you don't mind having someone stare at you while you eat, surround you when you take one step, and wait patiently while you go to the restroom. Fame truly can be purchased—for real and also for a night. The nice thing about the Celebrity For A Day package is that when the refreshing fog is blasted over the churning dance floor, we're all equal.