Monday, November 03, 2003
Copyright © Las Vegas Review-Journal

JANE ANN MORRISON: Visits to topless pool at Mandalay Bay reveal differing versions of reality

As is the case with many things in life, expectations and reality were dramatically out of sync.

Here's the promise offered at Mandalay Bay's new topless pool, the Moorea Beach Club: "Drift in a silken atmosphere of voyeuristic delight, where there are no limits to sensual experience. Have cocktails while the sun is high. Catnap on overstuffed daybeds. Engage in stimulating conversation over the soothing sound of falling water. Free your mind and see what follows."

That's what a discreet card in the hotel room tells guests.

Here's the reality: One woman was topless. One.

She's not European. She's not a supermodel. She's a 41-year-old businesswoman from Orlando, Fla. And nearly everyone in the Moorea Beach Club was, at least occasionally, sneaking peeks at Laurie Coppinger's chest as she lounged poolside.

Lolling in the spa, Bill LNU (last name unknown) from New York looked over at Coppinger and admitted his disappointment. "They're not that great," he said, referring to her you-know-whats.

Bill checked into the hotel with great expectations: He'd been told that Moorea attracts top-notch models who go topless on the weekends.

But this was the Thursday afternoon before Columbus Day weekend.

Not that there weren't beautiful people there. But they weren't topless. At least the women weren't.

The males in the crowd were of two sorts. About half were young hard-bodies in their 20s looking for half-naked women; most of the other half were soft-bodies on the other side of 50 looking for half-naked women.

As the only woman at the pool wearing a conservative one-piece swimsuit with a skirt, I was practically invisible to both kinds of guys.

So why was Laurie Coppinger topless, doing for free what many Las Vegas women do for pay?

"I'm not a nudist, I'm not a hippy from the '60s, I don't dress provocatively or wear see-through clothes," she said.

But about four years ago on her honeymoon, she and her husband went to Lake Tahoe's nude beach, and she liked the freedom of going nude and the absence of tan lines.

Was it exciting to go topless? "No. If I had perfect boobs, it might have been, but mine are real," Coppinger said. "I'm not the best set, I'm not the worst set."

The toughest part wasn't the stares as she sunbathed, she said. Walking to the bathroom was the most challenging. "When I stand up, everything falls down."

Comfort and security were to be found only in the safety of her lounge chair, even though everyone still could see her.

On Friday, she was not the only brave soul baring herself. She and three other women went topless most of the day, although as the day grew warmer, another two or three shed their bikini tops. Not a one could be classified as a supermodel, Coppinger said.

Coppinger's friend Karen Payer, a 43-year-old paralegal, went topless for the first time on their minivacation. "It was one of those things I wanted to do before I was 40 and never got around to doing," Payer said.

Both of the married women, traveling without their husbands, said they never would go topless around people they actually knew. Payer said her husband "wouldn't want me sitting in front of his friends topless, and I wouldn't want that. How do you get that vision out of your mind?"

"But around strangers I'll never see again, you get more self-confidence," Payer said, unconsciously paralleling R&R Partners' advertising campaign for the Las Vegas Convention and Visitors Authority: "What happens here, stays here."

Two out-of-town nurses spent a lazy afternoon at the Moorea Beach Club but never considered going au naturel.

"I'm not getting any comps or drinks for it, so why should I?" one nurse said, adopting the Las Vegas approach to nudity.

Saturday at noon: One last-ditch attempt to find supermodels relishing "voyeuristic delight."

One woman is topless. She's neither a supermodel nor a porn queen, and the guys in the spa, the best place for a total overview, appear bored as their heads move like periscopes, checking out the talent.

Reality just ain't all it's cracked up to be at the Moorea.

Jane Ann Morrison's column appears Monday, Thursday and Saturday. E-mail her at jane@reviewjournal.com or call 383-0275.