By Mike Gordon
Advertiser Staff Writer

This was supposed to be my farewell column. The one that announced an early retirement after my first trip to Vegas, my beginner's luck at blackjack and the pile of money I had won.

Instead, I found myself at an airport lounge with a warm beer in my hand, staring out a window. Red and gold lights from a slot machine twinkled on the pane of glass like a mirage as the frantic clink-clink-clink-clink of someone else's winnings taunted me.

It was 6 a.m. on a Sunday. Only two days in Vegas and I was just-this-side-of-broke. My lower eyelids felt weighed down by sand. And I smelled like my last cigar.

But I couldn't stop smiling.

Every man should get a birthday weekend like this. Better yet, every husband should have a Mrs. G.

All of this was her idea. Her intricately engineered secret that took months of planning.

Send her Vegas virgin to the Strip for his 46th birthday. Convince his two oldest friends to leave their Mainland jobs for the party — and make them the final piece of the puzzle, airport surprises. Line up a third friend to serve as decoy, straight man to her punch line.

I was stunned when Mrs. G. explained the itinerary. I was going to Vegas, baby!

Vegas has always been a curious attraction to me, which is strange because I've never been a gambler. The sights and sounds held a mystery I couldn't unravel. Normal rules did not apply, or so it seemed.

To me, it was a man's town, where life was a regular rush of testosterone. In my imagination, some kind of power charged the Vegas air with excitement, risk, even danger.

And yet, I never visited Sin City.

When co-workers heard I was going to Vegas for the first time, they grinned with jealous anticipation. When they discovered it was a gift from Mrs. G., they rewrote the book on disbelief.

Their enthusiasm was palpable. I got all sorts of advice on gambling, on casino etiquette and free beer.

All that disappeared faster than a bad bet as soon as Big Tom and Peter Pan showed up.

I've known these men — captains of industry now — before they could shave. We've got more history than a typical marriage; 30-plus years worth of secrets, adventures, intrigue.

Throw in Big Dog, the decoy friend, and the stage was set.

Show him a good time, Mrs. G. had told them, but make sure he behaves. Surely, they smiled like Eddie Haskell.

Of course, I'm not going to say much about what we did. That would spoil the Vegas mystique.

We packed 72 hours into 48, though. We flirted with chance and street-smart waitresses. We tipped big.

And we bet when we shouldn't have. Now our money belongs to someone else.

I think it was meant to be like that. I think Mrs. G. planned it that way. She and those whacky, grinning friends of mine, they sure know what makes me tick.

You know, if anyone asks how it was, if I blew it all or if I was blessed with beginner's luck, I've got a simple answer.

I hit the jackpot long before I ever got to Vegas.

Reach Mike Gordon at 525-8012 or mgordon@honoluluadvertiser.com.