I’m being followed by Jay-Z. I’ve circumnavigated the Venetian’s rooftop pool complex and gone through the billowing crimson curtains when I overhear that artist/impresario Jay-Z is on my heels. Knowing all hell will break loose the second he arrives, I nod hellos to the working media and risk making them a little jealous. “See you inside, I’ll be at the bar.” Grand opening day though it is, I want to soak up all that Tao Beach is radiating without working the red carpet. I think I would prefer a red drink.
“Bloody Mary, please,” I order after a long wait. It’s good and spicy. “Mmm, breakfast,” I purr to girlfriends Abby and Jade, who are sitting pretty on barstools in the shade, nursing their own Marys.
The bar is slammed three-deep with darkly tanned ladies who shimmy just a little while they wait for their mojito or frozen blended treat. This season, everything is massive: massive tote bags, huge sunglasses and boobs and lips that seem to dwarf their owners. The trend does not escape the notice of scores of guys who ogle all from behind sunglasses, watching with the delight of a 6-year-old on Christmas morning as incredible rooftop winds whip skirts up to eye level, revealing all manner of Pilates-tightened flesh.
Diddy joins Jay-Z in the opulent cabanas, as do other celebs such as Tommy Hilfiger and Will Ferrell. “The water’s just decoration,” says one lovely, though I think if the thermometer could creep past freezing, there might be more people swimming in Tao Beach’s monogrammed namesake. At 4:40 p.m. a brief sun shower confuses the tipsier of the gathering, and I get a smile as Diddy leaves, off no doubt to do something very Diddy, like buy a jet. Or a small country.
But the winds only increase in their intensity, and the temperatures only plummet as night falls on Tao Beach, and I once again arrive just seconds ahead of Jay-Z. “He’s following me! It’s getting embarrassing,” I joke, taking refuge on a landing in the very red stairs that wind from Tao up to the Beach. After their dinner, Jay-Z, Nelly, and Jermaine Dupri pass, buffered by a thick schmear of entourage. Ashanti is somewhere around, as are Diddy, Sacha Baron “Borat” Cohen, Fred Durst and even John Cusack.
“I’m so tired! F--k!” Jay-Z says to no one in particular and, just by chance, me, as he huff and puffs his way up the staircase. A blast of ice-cold air greets us, as does the familiar beat of Bob Sinclar’s “World Hold On.” From his pagoda above the pool, the DJ must have seen him. Instantly we vacate house and go straight to hip-hop with Jay-Z’s own “Show Me What You Got” before Akon’s “Smack That.” Love songs, both.
At the bar, some of the same faces are still churning out drinks, sweating through their work despite the cold. Over 70 serene Buddhas peer down at me under the amber glow of frosted-glass pendulum lights, as if to say, It’s warmer when you’re enlightened. I eavesdrop on the conversations around me, and hear the quote of the night, as one host reports what Real Time host Bill Maher allegedly said when a Tao exec wouldn’t accept a gratuity: “You know this country is f--ked up when they won’t take a tip in Vegas.” That’s how Vegas urban legends are born, of course.
Around 2:30 a.m. some kind soul provides towels for the ladies in the least clothing, and a collective “Awww, man!” sweeps through the crowd. They won’t be so cold when Sunset Sessions kicks off at 5:30 p.m. on Sunday, May 20. Another gust, another degree drops. “May weather sucks,” is the post-fight joke of the night, especially for those who bet on De La Hoya.