Sunday, April 20, 11 a.m.
I know it’s pool-party season when I’m up bright and early on a Sunday morning, putting on makeup (what, you think we just roll out of bed and into the pools looking like this?!) and heading out to a casino’s backyard for a long day of drinking under the sun. Well, if I gotta go, I’m going armed. Hidden behind sunglasses Jackie O. herself would have drooled a little over, I’m on my way to Target for the finishing touch—a giant black floppy sun hat. Pool parties are like nightclubs in that it’s all about the haves and the have-nots. I can tell you from experience, it’s better to be among the haves. Start by looking the part.
But I screw up on the approach and turn too soon off Koval into the MGM Grand/Convention Center parking lot. Thus I am forced to hike to Wet Republic Ultra-Pool’s pearly gates. Next time, I will wait for the Convention Center-only turn into the dedicated valet, which, I am told, has a small white sign.
“We definitely need to get a bigger sign,” confirms one of the Angel Music Group cadre that runs this show, sighing just a little as a smile spreads across his face. He’s surveying his new office: a 53,000-square-foot expanse of cream-colored, textured porcelain tile dotted with Japanese blueberry trees, and accented with verde marble, bamboo, horsetail and subtle safari fabrics. He’ll be getting around to that sign any day now, I’m sure.
I check in to Cabana 1, the first of 10 arranged on the outskirts of the pool complex’s two saltwater pools and three warmer dipping tubs. Three more hot tubs are situated as part of the six Supercabanas’ domain, which also boasts a private privy, Astroturf lawns and the view.
Each bright, spacious canvas room is furnished with a honey-stained wood console containing an Xbox 360, a DVD player, an iPod docking station, safe, fluffy white towels and a fridge stocked with six bottles of water, six Red Bulls and six Coronas—all included in the price. The L-shaped couch seats our whole group and the ottoman makes a great table while we sample the lunch menu: Kobe sliders, pizza Stromboli and deep-fried Buffalo mozzarella. Atypical poolside fare, but in small bites, the ladies can eat and still strut their stuff in bikinis and sarongs.
“You couldn’t have asked for a better day,” I tell my girlfriend, entranced by the steady buzz of pool activity. The sun is warm, but the breeze is cool. Guys take dips while the ladies enjoy green chaises set in the largest pool’s shallow continental shelf. I’m horrified to see that suntanning is still in vogue, but the browned skin smells like coconut, and it fills the air as they bake. Contentment reigns supreme.
Colton observes that the khaki-clad cocktail servers—all lithe, long-limbed creatures—have a little more bounce in their step as the afternoon wears on. DJ Scene is throwing out all the classic old-school anthems and rare gems we can stand, and though I groan audibly when Will Smith’s “Summertime” comes on, I smile and sing along all the same, remembering some of my own finest summertime memories.
One host stops in for a bit of shade: “I come to work during the day, I drink from 5 p.m. to 7, I go home! I don’t need to deal with the clubs anymore.” Clearly he’s enjoying his new role. Another speaks of a time when being a host was a rare position, royalty even! But he’s had it with being one of many. In fact, all of the Republic’s higher ranks are populated by successful nightlife-industry veterans. Maybe good dogs really do go to heaven, or in Vegas’ case, they get to run adult pool parties.
Sipping my way through a pitcher of sweet-tart watermelon mojito, with our enchanting server Sonya keeping our glasses plenty full, it’s getting harder and harder to imagine this same day at one of the puddle-size adult pools. Even at its busiest, Wet Republic has the space to absorb a massive crowd. The covered main bar alone could engulf Tao Beach or Bare. As with clubs, it’s just a matter of taste which pool people are drawn to. My group’s agenda for today has us hitting those three in short succession, chasing the sun across the sky, frozen drinks in hand. DJ Scene spins, “So go get your friends/And I get my friends/And we can be friends/Do this every weekend.” Sounds like a plan.