Caesars Boardwalk Regency, one of those Atlantic City hotels built around its casino rather as a spider's web is built about the spider, has hired an interior decorator - who has, in turn, hired an ''environmental psychologist'' - to improve the trap. It seems that the present ambience - art deco - does not stimulate the gambling patrons to lose their money fast enough to please management.
The interior decorator, Robert DiLeonardo of Cranston, R.I. - with the help of his anonymous environmental psychologist, to be known henceforth as E.P. - has defined his mandate thus: ''to create an atmosphere that relaxes the morality of people.''
Management must have loved the ring of this manifesto, for, according to the figures of the Wall Street Journal, $7 million has been invested to carry out the strategies of Mr. DiLeonardo and his friend, E.P.
If we've succeeded in translating designer's rhetoric - a foreign language in itself - the ambition of the decorating duo is to make the Caesars customer feel like one of the more decadent Roman emperors: Nero as a high-roller.
To this purpose, the new lobby is being lined in Italian marble, with a Roman statue here and there to put the bread-and-circus crowd at their ease. All windows will be eliminated so that ''people won't be able to relate to time. Once they step inside, they'll be in an adult Disneyland.''
Now there are always the lotus-eaters who - whether they've come to rest in Atlantic City or Boise, Idaho - check into their hotel room, click on the old TV set to an ''I Love Lucy'' rerun, and promptly forget where they are or why they've journeyed in the first place. Mr. DiLeonardo and E.P. have prepared a fiendish ambush for such dropouts. The suites will be so garishly colored, so brilliantly lit, and so noisy that their inhabitants will run, not walk to escape the psychic inhospitality.