(6 of 8)
In a struggle replicated in most families, Vegas is changing faster than the older, more conservative gaming-control board wants. Two billboards that the Hard Rock put up this year--one had a naked woman lying on a blackjack table with a card in her mouth above the line THERE'S ALWAYS A TEMPTATION TO CHEAT--were yanked by the board. The casino agreed to pay $300,000 to settle a complaint that claimed the Hard Rock's ads had damaged the state's image. This, remember, is a state where some cities have legal whorehouses.
And yet there are so many strip clubs in Vegas that many of the dancers commute from other cities. They are such a part of the Vegas mainstream that high-end strip joints often have tables not only of couples but also groups of women. Japanese tour buses stop midday at the Palomino Club so the riders can check off a requisite Vegas experience. The Spearmint Rhino Gentleman's Club, which has a clothing boutique where men can buy outfits for their favorite performers, employs a host, Rico Connor, who liaisons with casino hosts to help them entertain their high rollers. Strip clubs are so institutionalized that an FBI sting to find Mafia connections instead discovered that two clubs were funding the campaigns of local politicians in exchange for their pushing laws to make it difficult for new clubs to open.
Sapphire, billed as the world's largest strip club at a cavernous 71,000 sq. ft., opened two years ago with a party attended by Rachel Hunter, Carmen Electra, Dave Navarro and Tommy Lee. It used to be a mega-gym with a regulation basketball court until the owners decided to turn it into a club. "In real estate, the land goes to the highest and best use," explains co-owner Peter Feinstein. Now instead of collecting gym fees, he charges women $60 to $100 a night to sell $20 lap dances, along with the more profitable revenue stream from drinks and a $5 ATM fee that almost makes usury a sin again. He does not, however, get the $20 entrance fee nonlocals pay at the door; that goes right to the back of the casino to the taxi driver who dropped his riders off at the front, as it does in all Vegas strip clubs. Driving a cab in Vegas has become less about ferrying passengers than strip-club promotion.
Pointing out the group of couples coming inside, Feinstein says, "Basically, this is an R-rated nightclub." I decide to give it a shot. I start talking to a table of Orange County, Calif., elementary-school teachers, all female, who have brought a friend to take her mind off her divorce. The conversation is going well, as I find out that this is the first strip club most of them have ever been to, and they find out that I'm married and have never kissed anyone else since meeting my wife. For a guy alone at a strip club, I am coming off like Alan Alda.