Steve Marcus

Bill Paul, founder and chief executive of Fantasy Car Share in Las Vegas, stands Thursday in the Mercedes party van his “country club”-style business rents.

By Brendan Buhler (contact)

Sat, Aug 2, 2008 (2 a.m.)

Steve Marcus

This $400,000 Rolls-Royce Phantom is a top-shelf Fantasy Car Share ride. At the low end is a $60,000 Lotus.

Maybe you would like to drive around town in a Porsche 997 Turbo, a Lamborghini Gallardo or an Aston Martin Vanquish S, but for whatever reason — no room in the garage, it can’t haul the kids to soccer and how often would you drive such a glorious toy? — you don’t actually own one.

For you, my friend, there is Fantasy Car Share, a Las Vegas club that sells access to its $3 million fleet of torque-turgid beasts.

It would help to be, if not stinkingly, at least pungently, rich.

How rich?

The “nominal” application fee is $1,500. That much gets you into the clubhouse facing I-15 from Dean Martin Drive, where you can look at the pretty cars but not drive them. That will take more money.

How much?

Well, that’s hard to say, precisely. More valuable cars cost more to drive and it costs more to drive on weekends and holidays — there’s an online calculator to help you with all of this — but roughly speaking, a hypothetical supercar on an average day costs about $800. So, for four days a month of dinosaur-fueled fun, depending on the cars and the days, you’re looking at about $40,000 a year, not counting that nominal application fee. The company, however, will let you buy as much or as little wheel time as you want.

Fantasy Car Share opened its doors in March, in what was then not a great economy and has since turned into a terrifying economy.

We asked founder and Chief Executive Bill Paul if an awful economy hurts him, because who’s going to spend thousands on luxury when canned food and shotguns are hot commodities, or if it helps his business that the rich are merely cutting back on ridiculous exotic sports cars by renting instead of buying.

“Both theories apply,” Paul said, “but the people who have money are still spending money and, obviously, we’re not a low-end operation.”

And what is the low end of fantasy cars?

“The cheapest — ” Paul stops himself, “I don’t want to say ‘cheap,’ that’s not a good word — the least expensive car is the Lotus.”

The custom Lotus Elise costs a mere $60,000 or so and is lightweight enough to drive like a bright yellow bouncy ball. On the other end there is the Rolls-Royce Phantom, a $400,000 leviathan in dark blue, blessed with such tonnage and suspension that not even your conscience will feel a bump when you make road pizza out of a proletarian.

The are sound economic reasons for going the exotic car-sharing route, if your definition of sound economics extends beyond food and shelter to include Maseratis and mistresses. For instance, say you’re paying $40,000 a year to play around in the club’s 12 cars. At that rate, it would take 75 years to have paid enough to buy the cars. Instead, you’re paying only for the time you spend with the cars.

You could think of it as an automotive luxury time share, right?

“It’s more like a country club. We prefer to call it a country club,” Paul says. “It’s like you can call and reserve a tee time.”

Paul says another reason for the “country club” comparison is members get to meet and mingle at club parties, and hang out playing billiards and watching sports.

And beyond the Lambo and the Lotus, the club’s members (so far there are fewer than 50) get access to other weekend toys, like the speedboats and the ATVs, the party van and ... what?

A party van? Yup. It’s a big and black Mercedes van.

And what puts the party in a party van?

“There’s the handicap access pole,” Paul deadpans. That would be the floor-to-ceiling chrome pole, mounted in the two-bar van, under the twinkling colored lights and visible to the four HD cameras mounted in the van to film, oh, whatever one would film in a party van.

There are also two flat-screen TVs, in case you prefer to watch.