Lounging his way through a Lakers game

Shamefully, pure decadence used to be wasted on me. No longer. At my age (87), I’ve come to embrace over-the-top entertainment as I take a last fleeting grasp for life experiences. It’s like a hobby almost. So on Monday night, as Grant Hill held Kobe Bryant to a mere 40 points, well shy of his record 81, I sampled the fast times at the Hyde Lounge at Staples Center. Here, Dr. Jekyll, is my story:

The Hyde is a nightclub that sits rather high up in Staples Center, invisible perhaps to mortals such as you and me, but catnip for the young, hip and overmoneyed. If Vegas ran Amtrak, this is what all the cars would look like — long slender things filled with fine leather and Italian stone.

Now, by itself, a Lakers game is an American spectacle, the nation’s largest and most insane VIP room. In 500 years, they are bound to look back on all this and wonder, “OK, just who was Dyan Cannon?” Or, “ Dustin Hoffman, was he an actor of some consequence?”

The answers, of course, are “who knows” and “who cares.”

But the Hyde Lounge raises the anthropological stakes considerably. Leonardo DiCaprio, Tobey Maguire, George Lopez, David Beckham, the Kardashians all have stopped by, though anyone with a Lakers ticket can get in, provided you are good-looking like me. It’s not the toughest velvet rope in town, but it’s still a rope. I mean, what kind of world would this be if everyone were treated the same, regardless of appearance?

If you pass muster, all you need to do is pony up another $50 for admission, which includes two drink tickets. Like to sit? A table goes for about a grand (including three bottles). Thirsty? There’s a tarty Dom Perignon listed at $2,800. A life-changing cognac? $3,950. If that doesn’t get your heart beating, you can order a Veuve Clicquot 152 for $10,000. No, I don’t think that’s too much for good wine, and neither should you.

Seriously, don’t go getting all judgmental on me about money and privilege. “Work hard, play harder,” that’s my new motto. And these people work plenty hard. The results are everywhere.

On Monday, I talked to actor Jamie Foxx, for example. It was his first trip here too, and I wondered his impressions.

“There are no words,” he says when asked to describe the club. “Just this,” he says, smooching his fingertips like an Italian mother.

Why isn’t he down on the floor with the rest of the big stars?

“Because when you’re down on the floor, when they put the camera on you, it puts a lot of pressure on your celebrityness,” he explains. “If nobody yells for you, that’s a little embarrassing. I’ve seen people booed in this arena.”

Fortunately, my celebrityness isn’t quite so fragile. Gimme a floor seat. I’ll take my chances.

Meanwhile, Hyde is yet another hot property by nightclub guru Sam Nazarian, who credits Tim Leiweke for coming up with the original concept.

“Tim is the visionary of visionaries of L.A., “ Nazarian says.

“There was no place in Staples Center for people to mingle,” he says. “It was really inspired by the old Forum Club.”

By October, some four months later, Nazarian had overseen the transformation of eight standard luxury boxes into Hyde, a clubby hangout during Staples events — concerts too — and a dance club immediately after games.

It’s a significant risk, since no arena in the world has tried anything like this, Nazarian says.

On Monday, Willie Hall, an Antelope Valley contractor, is here for a repeat visit with his pal John Sanders and nephew Nathan Thompson, a center for the Tampa Bay Lightning of the NHL. They’ve got a table and bottles and ice. You can’t see the game action from their table, but there are flat screens everywhere. Since it’s a stadium feed, there are no graphics showing the score, which is pretty ridiculous.

“But you know, they treat you like gold here,” says Hall, who has attended four games at Hyde this season.

Meanwhile, Johnny Lima, of Brkich Construction, is wooing a dozen clients at a table overlooking the Staples floor. He has been frequenting the club since it opened and thinks the place is starting to loosen up some of its velvet rope policies, which he sees as vital to its success.

“I can bring people here and I can entertain,” he says. “The service is good, and they have a great time.”

When Monday’s game ends, a curtain closes Hyde off from the rest of Staples and it morphs into a standard L.A. nightclub. The DJ goes to work, and groups of young women take to the crowded floor to dance — little babe-kabobs of twirling arms, sequined tops and flying hair.

And, no, Grant Hill probably couldn’t cover them either.

chris.erskine@latimes.com