Such beautiful daylight at 3:00 A.M. On my recent stay in Las Vegas, this sight etched itself on my imagination. The green neon lights keeping the MGM Grand Hotel alit through the darkness of night created a sightline of glowing midday. Then I closed the thick curtains. Waking the next morning I found the draperies working so well it appeared to be about midnight inside the room.

That's Vegas, a very real illusion. James Bond fans have crossed its path both in the literary and film world through the different stories of "Diamonds Are Forever". Researching the area, Ian Fleming went on a memorable trip with friend Ernie Cuneo in 1954, stopping to play a hand in every casino in the town until they'd made a $1.00 profit at them all in a single evening. (Cuneo became Cureo in the novel.)

I did not manage such a feat unfortunately. I was to stay for a few days with a cousin. A personal emergency arose and I did not want to interfere. She was sorry to have something conflict with my vacation and took time to drive me about the town and point out some sights to get me acclimated to the layout.

Now it sounds trite I know, but going to the fantasy land in the desert I could not help but get caught up with an idea. I wanted to be James Bond for a moment like so many do. I concocted a hasty list of things anticipating none might happen. There had to be a moment of danger, a sexy girl, ritz and class, extraordinary food, a big winning hand at a casino, wooing the girl, saving the world and a cool theme song. (The only new song I would hear was played on VH-1 and recorded by the Spice Girls, so I lost there immediately, I figured.)

I set out to complete the list. Las Vegas, translated as "The Meadows," (but to many as "Lost Wages") is a city for a purpose, the purpose of money. Slot machine banks in at least three areas travelers must pass just to retrieve their cases from McCarran International Airport's baggage claim. Extra gratuity for everyone who _thinks_ about being employed in the city. As we drove through the downtown area, the original Vegas, my cousin pointed out to this first time visitor how influential the glitz and gloss are.

I laughed at the Motel 6 with a neon sign. There was the gambling supply store to meet "All Your Wagering Needs." The only train depot found at a casino. The Freemont Street Experience laser light show at Glitter Gulch. And most fitting of the different pace were the churches of "chapel row," featuring instant matrimony programs. One goes as far as drive-thru ceremonies. I saw riding past another one a bride, outfitted in white (!), getting out of her car. Waiting at the door was a nervous acting man staring at his wristwatch and carrying a walkie-talkie. Must have been more true love on the way.

Of course, the casinos are the big draw in the "Entertainment Capital of the World." Even without getting inside some of them on my trip I was impressed with many sights. The Riviera and the Golden Nugget, two buildings falsely looking staid from the outside. Casino Royale, not to be confused with the Royal Casino. Expansive Treasure Island, home of the incomparable Cirque du Soleil. The exquisite Mirage and bright Flamingo Hilton. With its fabulous "Top of the World" restaurant and observation tower the Stratosphere made an impression. Author Connie Emerson said it well, "The city was not built on customer's winnings."

I was truly remiss at missing a few places. The entertaining Circus Circus still going strong. The Las Vegas Hilton, formerly the International Hotel, so I could ride up the elevator a la Connery's double at the Whyte House. And most of all Binion's Horseshoe, highly recommended by many as a sweat and smoke filled casino far away from the revived Strip with soundless slot machines, no maximum bets and old style appreciation of its customers.

As I would not be staying at my cousin's home, I needed a place to stay. She can sucker anyone and used her ability to get me a reduced rate on a spacious room at the MGM Grand in the heart of the Strip, one of their 5,005 rooms, the largest hotel in the world. It was there that I awoke to the darkened curtains, two days to explore the sights and sounds unseen from my Ohio surroundings.

As I did not have much in the way of ready funds and no Felix Leiter to bail me out with a surprise envelope I decided, as a lone traveler, to confine myself to walking distances and to enjoy everything on the Strip. I reasoned that while Ian Fleming may not have loved the commerciality and brashness of the Strip, it propped up the sagging mecca of The Meadows in the nineties and therefore would have earnedhis approval.

I coasted through the first full day, wanting to slowly take in what attractions were about me and hopefully have that Bond adventure begin to unfold. It didn't. A disappointing late breakfast at Nathan's was followed by a long wait to take the Monorail into Bally's. Bally's Resort (which was the original MGM and renamed after the gambling machine manufacturer that bought it) seemed to be constructed like an airport with little personality. I had already checked out the non-gambling sections of the MGM, from its Grand Adventures Theme Park to the Studio Cafe to Catch A Rising Star and they were more interesting.

That evening I walked from Bally's across the corner of Flamingo Road and Las Vegas Boulevard and finally began a promising evening. I bought a ticket to a show and bided time marveling at the layout of Caesars Palace. Though not true, the building seemed circular carrying one around the action, through the Roman themed Forum Shops to the three large restaurants and around to the well laid casino. Some find Caesars corny, but I was like many who loved the audacious spectacle. I saw a man snare $5000 at Mini-Baccarat at a table. Even better were the "Roman" outfits of the cocktail girls offering round the clock service for the gamblers, drinks for tips. And then I reveled in the wonderful show by Tony Bennett at the Circus Maximus Showroom. (I may have spotted actress Elizabeth Ashley in the audience but never got close enough to tell.) He was superb. And his audience was comprised of well dressed folks of all ages.

The fact has become, though, that Las Vegas is a tourist's paradise and tourists don't wear suits or dinner jackets constantly on vacation. The blue jean and sundress crowd is welcomed openly by the casinos who need the people clutching their cupfuls of quarters and frequently reaching for their wallets to survive and expand. My little Wheston sportcoat stood out among the participants on the gambling floor. I had decided before arriving I would attempt to exude a bit more class than my usual 0% standard. Ritz and class marked off my Bond checklist, if mixed with neon and ego.

Turning in for the night I walked out of the eighth floor elevator of the MGM. One step was taken into the long lobby which leads to three separate rows of rooms when popping around a hallway was a stunning woman, twenty or so, in a sequined black nylon rear-hugging lounge singer cocktail dress. She smiled warmly at me and I walked past her to the row of rooms in the 8300's. Then I noticed a man in torn Wrangler jeans was a couple of paces behind her. He had to walk slowly because he was carrying a huge wad of bills in his hand. I laughed to myself when I overheard him ask the "professional girl" if "three hundred and fifty was enough?" Free enterprise is a good thing.

I slid the magnetic, credit card shaped "key" through the lock of Room 8333 and pondered. One full day left and I still wasn't Bond. No stolen nuclear bombs to find. No woman avenging her parents. No cellist with questionable taste in firearms. And worst of all, I had not felt the adrenaline that should be coursing through me. I wanted that fantastic moment, that wonderful evening. I had one more night in wonderland before a morning flight the day after and so many moments still on my list. Fleming himself had only played low grade Baccarat so at the very least I wanted to win a little money. I would explore a few more places and then decide where I would play to win.

I awoke after ten hours sleep. Already nearing midday I took a shower and dressed in the best suit I owned,a charcoal Stafford jacket and trousers with white pinstripes. Thirty minutes later I called my cousin. (Unlike Bond I cannot take a five minute shower.) My cousin had gotten some things settled and met me for an afternoon breakfast at the Tropicana. I had taken a picture of it the first night during the tour she had given me. It had a lovely exterior.

The ugly piss-yellow sun colored interior decor and the oldest imaginable cocktail girls were not as great. I did enjoy the meal however, three well seasoned scrambled eggs cooked in bacon meal with sausage patties and two slices of buttered white toast. It was fine, but not enough to cross off the food requirement on my list.

Departing from my cousin afterwards I took the walkway to the New York-New York Casino. This was, plainly, the mostspectacularly garish building offered in Vegas. The outward building is amazing, with a Broadway style sign announcing the name that sits below a construction mimicking the New York skyline, right down to a Statue Of Liberty replica. The Mirage was more breathtaking but New York-New York was the most imaginative.

The indoor appearance was no less phenomenal. A ceiling swathed in violet and blue light makes one honestly feel as if he is outdoors. The casino area is surrounded by murals and sculptures that mirror New York architecture. I walked through a hallway type area that seemed to imitate Chinatown and walked through to what was the food court area. Smartly decorated, the visitor sees what I can vouch to be authentic reproductions of the Manhattan district with storefronts and delis. I took a seat at a picnic table and relaxed with a drink.

I may have seen another star there among the approximate 25 million annual tourists, though a possible sighting of porno actress Victoria Paris may not match everyone's definition of celebrity. Like every other casino I had gone to I dabbled with a few small bets. Winning small. Losing small. Some video poker. The occasional slot. A nice twenty-eight dollar plus pickup at Pai Gow poker after three straight pushes. (The house gets a five percent commission on a winning hand, explaining why it was not a thirty dollar reward.) I was being careful with the pitiful amount I had with me in funds. The first rule of Las Vegas is to always carry only the amount of money you can afford to lose. As Ernie Cureo told Bond, "there was one guy left Vegas with a hundred Grand...only thing, he had half a million when he started to play." And real life stories usually do not involve more than three numerals left of the decimal point, unglamorous as it sounds.

Then I looked up from the table. The sight was delicious. She was gorgeous, straight golden hair past her shoulders, thin build, quite tall, approaching twenty-five, lengthy legs in tight fitting casual wear. She seemed to be talking to friends standing across from her when I happened to spy a little man in a fancy jacket pressing a wheeled "Change" cart coming toward her quickly. He obviously could not see well over the umbrella mounted on the cart and was nearly upon her. I do not recall thinking as I sprang from the chair.

The little man apologized profusely after I had managed to grab the girl and avoid an accident. She thanked me. She had come with three girlfriends from Sydney, Australia and was oblivious to the cart because of the blaring sounds of Marvin Gaye's "I Heard It Through The Grapevine" forced from the in-house sound system.

Hey, sexy girl and moment of danger off the list. And even a woman from a foreign country with an accent, extra points!

I found my damsel in distress was named Melinda. Her friends, all fetching, and she had visited the Grand Canyon, gone to Hoover Dam and were finishing their excursion to the west in Las Vegas. After a few moments of talking and calming down, I asked Melinda to dinner.

As much of a lowlife everyman as I am I probably had appeared somewhat dashing. I had slicked the hair back as well as possible, shaved off the goatee I normally sported and with the suit was dressed well past most of the crowd slogging into stools and stroking cents into the slots. Melinda played the role of fair maiden and accepted. Her friends giggled and said they hoped she came back.

We walked back over to Caesar's Palace ("Enough New York cuisine," she laughed) and dined at the Palatium Buffet. Okay, it is not gourmet central to most, but considering what money I had I could consider it expensive. Bearing that I had prime rib, roast beef and turkey in one sitting I could mark extraordinary food off the checklist.

Melinda was impressed with the selections and tore into a lobster. I did not need conch chowder to feel flirtatious. I smiled slyly and said, "Beautiful and hungry, too. Likes traveling. In peril. Any other traits I should be aware of?"

With a fine and sensual mouth curling into a sweet smile, Melinda whispered back in a babydoll chirp, "Nothing I want you prepared for tonight."

Australia is a damn fine country.

(pause) {stare} (pause)

Ummmmmm, oh, right, the list. Wooing girl gets a partial check.

It was at some point over the triple chocolate layer cake dessert that I realized that list was actually occurring and nearly complete! The evening had been smashing, Melinda was wonderful company and the adrenaline was now thrashing at the muscles like saliva on Mr. Wint's wart. Now for the coup de grace. After the breakfast with my cousin I had decided on going for the big win at the MGM Grand.Since I was not going to Binion's, my decision was based solely on her claim that the MGM is a tough place to win any money. The devil called luck was a needed companion. As I was looking at its reward from across the table I decided to press on.

I told Melinda I wanted to try to play a couple of tables that night and fully owned up to wanting the pretty girl on my arm. She delighted in being an "American's tart" and said I had a few games to play that night. I walked her back to New York-New York so she could change into something less comfortable. The way she phrased it was she could not have "a rangy American getting more blows than me." My puzzled look remained until she said "blows" meant "whistles."

After minutes waiting in the lobby away from the bluster of whirring lights I saw Melinda walk down a flight of stairs with her friend Emily. Dressed in a periwinkle evening styled gown and heels and freshly upswept hair, Melinda was ravishing. Emily wished us a good night as we made our way out of the casino and to the walkway to the MGM overlooking the sparkling lights of the city and the warm desert air bereft of humidity being lightly stirred to wind at our backs. Time for the end run.

As I said, I did not have Her Majesty's bankroll at my behest to make the dramatic win against an angry Drax or stunned Le Chiffre when I walked inside the MGM Grand casino, so private tables of poker and Baccarat were out. Roulette is charity for the casino. Pai Gow seemed inappropriate for the evening. I do not have a great grasp of craps. And love for Bond aside, I refused to go for broke with the wretched United States' "Mini-Baccarat." It does allow low fund bets but putting money on a line only to have the dealer flip over cards over without any decision making from the bettor is a fancy version of a coin flip.

So blackjack would be the game. I knew I did not have Tiffany Case dealing for me but Twenty-One certainly had the best odds on player versus dealer in my mind. I had $100.00 I could reasonably put in play so I forced my mind to be realistic. Perhaps I could double it. Maybe just a bit more. No thirty million payoff this evening.

I selected a table with no players seated after a fat man got up and sulked away. A bored 40ish female dealer with a Laotian appearance stood behind the table fanning out the decks of cards she had when I sat in the third chair from the right. Melinda placed a hand on my left shoulder and stood behind me.

The dealer placed the cards in the shoe as I looked at the blue placard posted on the table. Fortunately for my nerves it read "Minimum bet $10 Maximum bet $1000." I had forgotten to check before getting a chair. Still, I did my best to act mundane. Anxiousness is certain death in this town.

Twenty dollars was laid down on the betting circle as I received my first two cards. King and two. I hit and drew an eight. Standing on twenty I saw the dealer break with twenty-three. The next twenty dollar bet was a win when I doubled the bet on a draw of another twelve and the dealer lost nineteen to eighteen. In Las Vegas, a dealer must draw on sixteen and below, draw on any seventeen that contains an ace but no ten, and stand on anything else seventeen and higher.

"So far so good." I then saw half of my eighty dollars that lay on the green felt disappear when the dealer reached "21" in three blasted hits, the last a perfect five coupling with the visible sixteen she hadshowing. The remaining $40.00 was immediately pushed forward into play and more immediately snatched by the dealer as I busted, going against myself drawing nervously on a fourteen. The dealer had an eight facing me as I took the losing card.

Typical of my life! Looking like a complete loser, all of the winnings on the dealer's side, the beautiful Melinda not looking as proud as when the game had commenced. Time for some guts, dammitt. I placed out $60.00 more I carried, unwilling to give up that last twenty and have nothing at all to show after entering the MGM that night.

The cards, as Fleming wrote, have no memory, and I won that hand. I bravely raised the ante to an eighty dollar payoff and that win added my chips on the table to two hundred dollars. The next hand was a "push" or tied hand, no money being exchanged. I was wary and laid out just fifty. It returned another winning deal and now I had brought in 1.5 times my original "bank" of one hundred dollars.

I figured I should make a last stand and walk away. At that moment an older gentleman, withered from life, sat down on the far left chair. He plunked out $500.00 in cash. Cursing the old bastard for the pressure he was placing on me I looked at Melinda fleetingly, her eyes blinking concern.

Blaming God for the constant batterment of societal pressure we all seem to succumb to I placed all $250 on the betting line. The dealer did flash a sign of concern but did not turn to the pit boss, the person who watches the dealers. A sudden jump in a player's wager usually is an indication of card counting. But she did not make any motion, correctly guessing I was reacting to the cantankerous curmudgeon. I also refrained from saying, "Baby needs a new pair of shoes."

The cards were dealt. The dealer showed a ten of clubs. I looked at the deuce and seven in my hand. I took a hit and nabbed a red ten. Nineteen. The old man stood without a hit. The dealer turned over her other card and totaled seventeen, an automatic stand and a win for me.

The old man hissed and threw his cards up on the table. He had held on fifteen. He stood up dejectedly as his $500 became an MGM coup while I now had that very amount on my side. Melinda kissed me on the cheek. I had five times the earnings I had begun with! It was coming true. Melinda started to take a step as if I were through. I probably would have been finished, but for a momentary glimpse upward. The old man's umber eyes contorted from the table to me and back. This was a hard nosed person. I heard a voice inside tell me, "Wouldn't it be nice to win another hand while he stood watching?"

I left the two hundred-fifty dollar bet hanging, not wanting to end on a note of being removed from increasing the stakes. The old man stood there lifelessly seeming to chuckle like I had erred in playing to spite him. The cards were flipped as Melinda returned to her position of support. The dealer showed aQueen of diamonds. I had a pair of aces. Before I could stop myself I heard a tone approximating my voice calling, "Split."

On hindsight, it was the feeling of shock Bond felt when he bancoed the bank he'd convinced Largo to buy in "Thunderball." I could not believe I had done it. Two aces.

A split is allowed when you draw two cards of the same denomination (and face.) You then have two separate hands and two separate bets. You draw on one hand until you are satisfied or go bust, then the other. The difference here was that a split with aces only allows you one hit on each ace. One solitary card to marry with it. Good if you draw high, usually fatal if you end low. It is the one split most dangerous to try because of that lack of control. And I'd done it, two bets equaling all my chips were in play, pinned upon the next two cards in the shoe.

My stomach moved. The old man was very intent, anticipating a big loss. Melinda saw the movement of chips to back up the maneuver and tittered with concern. The big moment had arrived. I bade my visage still, my hands steady on the counter. The first card appeared. A blessed jack of clubs! Now forthe gambit. The dealer pinched the blue backed card and dealt it over to me.

Double twenty-one! Now to wait for the dealer. Only a push, a tie, could deny me the win. And the ten point Queen was showing for the female dealer. It was met with a six upturned. Being under seventeen, the dealer had to draw. The next card would decide it. Anything but a five. The dealer, in the breadth of a second seemed to quietly smile at me before turning over the three of diamonds.

Nineteen to my double twenty-one. That gave me two winning hands of $250 apiece. I had begun minutes before with one hundred and now had multiplied it by ten. Melinda was beaming. I stood up and thanked the dealer for her splendid service. She rapped the chips I left her as a tip on the table indicating to the hidden cameras it was meant for her. I took special delight in catching the stare of the old man's eyes burning with a roaring fire despite no sign of a spark. I went to cash in my take. Had I been James Bond, he was certainly the enemy.

I walked arm in arm with Melinda. We saw the assorted prostitutes (ahem, escorts) who gather in every casino, here by the bank of telephones near the elevators, all clutching pagers, wearing clothes their mothers wouldn't wear to bed much less in public, and looking adrift in the psychotic atmosphere. We saw the college kids looking tired from too much alcohol consumed and too little money won. We saw the aged couples aimlessly plunking quarters and nickels into whirring machines, losing more than they are ever likely to win. At that moment all I cared for was Melinda. I had gotten to live the fantasy.

The list had been completed. Melinda liked the Spice Girls, she said, so I got to count the song "2 Become 1." I had saved her from danger. She was beautiful and with me. We had loads of ritz and class and had supped on fine food. And I had gotten the surprise win at Twenty-One. Okay, I didn't actually save the world, but I had saved the dealer from the old man and that ought to count somewhat.

I turned and looked into the sea blue eyes and asked the Australian goddess, "So, do I get any luckier tonight?"

Melinda sized me up and queried in her accent, "Do you think you can turn me over like a playing card?"

Without a hint of laughter I pulled her close to me and quietly asserted, "Don't bet against me."

That's pretty much the story. Melinda saw me off the next morning, my cousin was impressed when I told her of the winnings and I had a delightful weekend vacation. I recalled the actual cards as best I could for this story.

That moment with Melinda, crazy as it sounds, made me feel like James Bond. I knew I wasn't. Maybe it was a dream. Maybe I was lucky. Maybe I was caught up in an adrenaline rush. Most likely it was the atmosphere of a real Las Vegas casino, with pumped in pure oxygen, no windows or clocks, color schemes and supposedly smells that entice and encourage you to gamble. Not exactly an Ian Fleming story. But as Melinda and I went to MGM Grand's room 8333 that night I felt like it was an adventure. It is true I am not James Bond, though. His adventures always end rated PG-13.

disclaimer - All descriptions of various casinos mentioned in this article are opinions of the author. All photographs are owned by the author and are not intended for reproduction or promotional use. The reproduction of the official MGM playing cards he purchased at their gift shop are used without their consent but with loving appreciation.

©1997 Michael Reed