Unraveling bar's appeal
LAS VEGAS — A bunch of jet-lagged crime writers were standing around drinking beer in a failed clothing store in a back corridor of the Riviera Hotel. The space was empty, but the brass fixtures and faded gold letters on the window were still visible: "Marshall Rousso," the poor sap.
The racks were gone, they'd tacked some black cloth around a couple of tables, thrown in some oyster crackers, and called it "the official bar" of Bouchercon 2003, the annual World Mystery Conference.
"It's the crossroads of the mystery world," observed author Michael Connelly, known for his dry wit. Not exactly a shadowy dive in Chandler's Bay City, but the writers, editors, agents and fans who gathered last week for the event named after mystery critic Anthony Boucher were doing their best. By 4:30 in the afternoon, the air was heavy with smoke from delirious Angelenos who never get to do this at home.
Smoking and gambling seemed to rank high among illicit pleasures anticipated over a weekend of panel discussions, book signings and attempts at personal contact with more than 1,200 attendees.
A crowd had gathered around author Gary Phillips -- either because he was wearing the Las Vegas gambling shirt (dice rolling past a royal flush) or because he was handing out free cigars.
So what is the draw of the Bouchercon bar?
"You can smoke and drink," Phillips said, grinning at the obvious. "It's a place to keep up an image that's not true."
Others were not as bubbly:
"Nobody's picking anybody up," complained David Corbett, who received an Anthony Award nomination for his novel "The Devil's Redhead." "Everybody knows I'm a flirt," he added inconsolably.
But Uglytown publisher Jim Pascoe, dressed in slim, minimalist black, remained a believer. "Bouchercon is about the bar," he insisted. "It's a worthwhile investment to come here, a chance to schmooze retailers, fans and peers. These are the tastemakers of the mystery industry. When a buzz gets around, that's priceless."
So who are the tastemakers here?
Standing, he took a moment to survey the room. "It doesn't have the same kind of power circles and eddies, like Hollywood parties, where you know that group in the corner is talking about something important and you're not invited." He sounded disappointed he wasn't invited.
Clearly, there were no tastemakers. Or publishing industry power brokers. They were all back in New York, drinking good wine.
