Viva Loss Vegas

January 5th, 2009

Holding the smooth, polished metal frame in my proud hands, I lifted it up onto the hook on the wall Oli had just hammered in for me, and let it hang before me.

My very own platinum record. Hanging in my swanky new Las Vegas apartment, 10 minutes walk away from The Strip. The best designer furnishings. A fan base that would die for me. A successful solo career to show off. And a bank account fit to burst.

Just for this album, A written Cliché, going platinum in it’s first month of release, I had received over a million dollars, plonked right into my account. And then there was the album sales, and the amount the introductory tour made…It would be bragging to tell you my exact balance now.

“Well done mate,” Oli said, in his thick British accent, patting me on the back as we stood in front of the Platinum record, admiring it. “You’ve finally made it,”

Oliver Sykes was my British best friend. We’d met at the 2006 Warped tour, when I had just left Escape the fate, so I was in the audience (With backstage passes, because I used to be in a band) and he was just starting up with his band, Bring me the Horizon. It was Bring me the Horizon’s first bout over in the States, but they managed to land an early spot on one of Warped‘s smaller stages. I watched him on stage on the first morning with the rest of his band, their grimy, heavy metal grinding at my ear drums. I admired his powerful, blood-curdling scream, and was shocked to find out, when I met him after the show, he was only 18 years old. And from meeting Oli onward, I spent all my time at Warped with them. I had got along fantastically with Oli from the word go.

I smirked. “Thanks Oli. How do you feel about going out on the strip to celebrate?”

Oli’s brown eyes lit up. “That’d be amazing, can’t say I’ve ever been in a Casino. But don‘t you wanna veg out in your new apartment?”

“That’s ‘cos you’ve never been old enough, pipsqueak,” I joked. “But I really wanna go out on The strip. It’s amazing at night. Please, come with me?”

“I dunno if I can be arsed with the paparazzi…”Oli started, fiddling with the sleeve of his hoodie.

“Oh come on Oli, don’t be a pussy. Grab your wallet and come out with me. The drinks are on me,” I winked, before taking one last smile at my platinum record, grabbing my credit card and waltzing out the door, whether Oli was following me or not.

$$$

Vegas on sunset-It was a feast for my eyes.

Approaching the start of the strip, you could see the flashing lights and the neon tubes glowing against the dull buildings harboring them. Not a single sight or object was boring. So glamorous, so chic. So over the top. And all this was set on a orange and purple sunset background.

People always talk about the lights; the blinding lights everywhere you look. And I always thought it was such an exaggeration. But seriously, they were right about the lights. As we pulled onto the strip, and I was presented with the spectrum of colours, all around me, flashing, glowing, and sparkling. Moving advertisement signs waved as my car went by, and everything around me became a blur; too much to take in, as we delved further into central Vegas.

“Fuck,” Was all I could say to a stunned and overwhelmed Oli who sat beside me, his head swinging from window to window, trying not to miss a single thing.

“Where shall I drop you off?” My Chauffeur asked, craning his head around to talk to me in the back of the car.

“Uhh,” I muttered, dumbfounded. I looked around for somewhere to start, and just around the corner was The Golden Nugget Casino, standing out on the strip. It lived up to it’s name; I’d never seen so much gold in my entire life.

“Here,” I said, feeling drawn to the casino. Oli just looked at me, still stunned.

“This is fucking brilliant, mate,” He breathed, opening the door to unleash us onto the sidewalk, and through the Casino’s golden double doors.

$$$

Even as a famous person, I felt out of place in this incredible building.

Everyone in the room was dressed in designer formal wear, golden floor length dresses and neatly pressed shirts. There were people everywhere, throwing wads of green dollars onto craps tables, holding poker cards close to their chests, poised in their poker faces. The atmosphere was electric, and you could smell money in the air. You could feel richness as you walked through the hoards of people.

I took an immediate liking to it all.

The fact was, I fit in perfectly here, since I was famous. It just didn't feel like that. Just walking past the set of roulette tables, I saw 3 famous faces. George Clooney flashing his pearly white teeth at the adoring women around him. Angelina Jolie leaning over to grab a set of golden dice. Anthony Hopkins sipping his martini, his glassy eyes scanning the room.

I could definitely get used to all this. I was hanging with the big boys now.

Oli, who walked beside me, was still overwhelmed by the surroundings. I tried to stay calm, but he was squeaking every time he spotted someone “off the telly” as he would say in his thick British accent.

“Oh my god Ronnie! It’s fuckin’…that guy off the telly!” Oli exclaimed. “At the bar!”

I grinned, not saying anything, just marveling at the sights around me. The roof was low, but covered in tiny little white lights illuminating every face and every dollar in the room. We came to the bar, and Oli picked up a white card menu, engraved in gold with ‘The Golden Nugget’ on the back.

“Hey, this sounds great.” Oli leaned over to let me see the menu as I seated myself on a brown bar stool.

“‘The Diamond Martini. A dash of premium dry vermouth laced with premium grain vodka, completed by a frozen lemon wedge.’” Oli recited. “Mint, I’m having one of those. You?” He passed the menu over to me, and I ran my fingers down the edge of the sharp card, feeling it’s exquisite quality.

“I think I’ll have a Deep Blue Sea martini.” I picked, finally, as the concept of Blue Ice American Vodka, blue Curacao and pineapple juice simply made my mouth water. Checking the menu as I passed it back to him, Oli ordered our drinks as I began to meander between the tables again, finding one where I might possibly fit in.

“So, what first?” Oli said, passing me my glowing blue martini. Taking a sip, my whole body succumbed to it’s sweetness, and I shuddered.

“Shit, Oli this is gorgeous.” I gulped. “And strong too,” As I felt the strong vodka slide down my throat, burning as it went down.

I caught sight of a roulette table to my right, with barely anybody on it, so I urged Oli to tag along as I inspected the table. The clerk eyed me as I approached, pushing a woman with a silver sparkly dress on’s winnings toward her with a stick.

“Welcome, Mr. Radke,” The clerk said, and I was taken aback. “Place your bets,”

Oli nudged my hip, and I grinned. “Thank you sir,” I said, taking a seat. I forgot what it was like to get recognised, sometimes. Getting recognised in a big, flashy casino like this, though was an entirely different experience. We were in the most high class environment you could possibly imagine, surrounded by celebrities with trophy rooms fit to burst and Hollywood stars gracing the golden Hollywood sidewalk, but I, Ronald Joseph Radke, got recognised. Not by anyone special, but it was still one of the most special experiences in my life so far.

And these kinds of experiences, were only just beginning.

I placed a $50 bet on Red 1, placing my equivalent amount of chips on the table. I smiled nervously up at the other players, one of them being Oli, who had bet $20 on Black, as the clerk said “No more bets, please,”

He threw the tiny gold ball bearing into the roulette wheel, and I watched it as it jumped and spun around in the bowl, beginning to feel dizzy as numbers, reds and blacks rushed by my eyes as I watched. I was enticed by it.

The ball began to slow, and my heart began to race as the ball stopped abruptly on my square. Red 1

“Winner, Mr. Radke” The clerk almost cheered, pushing $150 worth of chips toward me.

I could definitely get used to this.