Welcome to Fabulous Las Vegas

Faith - Part 3

Christmas in Las Vegas was never the snowy scene that the rest of the country enjoyed, but I never felt like I was missing out. Instead of having white capped evergreens and hills for sledding, we had barrel cacti and plenty of space for all terrain vehicles. The Mojave winter brought a dip in temperature and the rain we so rarely got; while everyone else struggled with blinding snowstorms and record breaking freezes, I was surrounded by a carpet of breathtaking winter annuals. It was a trade I was more than happy to make.

But the casinos were not interested in a faithful Las Vegas Christmas. Even outside The Venetian, there was an enormous white Christmas tree that was ostentatiously changing colors. Stepping inside was like stepping into a gothic snow globe – the city’s iconic architecture was adorned with clusters of evergreens with soft lights and red bows. It was dim, and the streetlamps illuminated a suit-clad violinist playing on a stage of dazzling white steps. Fake snow and red berries clung to the false greenery snaking up the columns, and massive snowflakes with complex patterns hung from the ceiling. 

Carmen’s eyes darted around, unsure of what to take in first. “This is amazing,” she squeaked. “I can’t get over how realistic this all looks – don’t you feel like you’re in the real Venice?”

“I wouldn’t know. I haven’t been there,” I shrugged.

Brandon shook his head. “Me neither.”

“I mean, I haven’t either,” Carmen quickly added. “But this place can definitely fool me. It just looks so real.”

“I don’t know,” Brandon said, looking around. “Doesn’t it seem a bit…off to you? Maybe I just need to really absorb the atmosphere, but everything is just a bit…I don’t know, hyper-real?”

“Yes!” I yelped so fervently that I startled myself.

Carmen and Brandon both jumped a bit and exchanged glances.

“It’s like I could almost believe this,” I explained, gesturing around myself, “but there is just one detail that’s too uncanny or too fake, and I’m pulled out of the experience.”

“Uncanny,” Brandon snapped his finger, “that’s the word I was looking for.”

“Uncanny?” Carmen frowned. “No way, that’s for robots and dolls and stuff like that.”

“There’s an uncanny valley for what we deem acceptable for a robot to look like, how close to human it can get,” I said. “There can be one for places, too.”

“The uncanny valley for places that look like other places,” Brandon mused.

“I’m all for philosophy and the life of the mind and stuff like that,” Carmen said, waving her hands. “But for Christmas Eve, can we just focus on the Christmas trees and pretty snowflakes?”

“Fun killer,” Brandon teased, and silently, I agreed. That tiny snippet of conversation had woken up a part of me that only Daniel seemed to bring out. I was impressed by how easily Brandon was able to keep up, but I was also a little unnerved by how passionately I reacted to his comment.

You miss Daniel, I reasoned. Write to him soon, and you’ll get over this.

We crossed a bridge and headed for the Christmas themed shops. We browsed hand painted European ornaments, whittled wooden nativity scenes, and tiny toy train sets. Carmen spent half an hour alone gazing at Venetian masks that, while admittedly gorgeous, were difficult to justify the price tag.

“This is just so charming,” she sighed dreamily and pointed to a table across the room. “I mean, that’s a massive white peacock right over there. Just because. And Averie, there’s a little white owl next to you.”

I whipped my head to the right, but like the peacock, it was fake – or perhaps stuffed. 

Performers dressed as various Venetian court members – nobility with eye masks and massive wigs, jesters in belled hats, acrobats with painted faces – interacted with the crowd and posed for pictures. Each was costumed lavishly in white, gold and silver. Two ballet dancers did a small show for onlookers, the male dancer effortlessly picking up his female partner and posing in the end.

We made our way deeper into the hotel, along the fake waterway. Gondoliers ushered their passengers down the canal, crooning Italian love songs in slightly overdone accents.

“Let’s do that!” Carmen exclaimed excitedly.

Brandon paled. “I’m out. I get seasick ridiculously easily.”

She turned to me. “Averie, are you in?”

I shook my head. “I’m really not one for boats, especially not gondolas.” 

Carmen shrugged. “Well, you two suit yourselves. I’m going on a romantic gondola ride with myself. What are you two doing in the meantime?”

I looked up at Brandon, suddenly realizing that not going with Carmen meant that I was stuck alone with him. We had also exhausted The Venetian’s attractions, save for dining, gambling or gondoliering.

She didn’t register my sudden panic, though, mistaking silence for indecision rather than frantic brainstorming. “I’ll text you and we’ll meet up,” she said, shrugging and turning away. “Maybe at the Bellagio? We’ll figure it out."

She left for her gondola ride, leaving me alone with Brandon. “Well,” he said with a shrug, “what now?”