We were at the W last night, in a sea of black leather jackets and perfectly dishevelled hairdos. I was trying to keep the sand of the Beach (the upstairs, outdoor bar with the fire pit) away from my Prada heels, which were making their quarter-annual appearance out in the world. The weather was pleasant and accented well by the heat lamps, and I did my best to smile seductively and condescendingly at guys trying to pass off the oldest and most unsuccessful lines on me. Among the winners were, "Wow... this girl is a phenomenon... I have never opened up this quickly to anybody!" and "I can't believe I just said that... " All this, when I stood there politely sipping a "Stoli-Raz-7" and keeping absolutely quiet while he hemorrhaged the allegedly intimate details of his life. The clincher was that his nickname was "Hollywood" -- the secret being, that Hollywood is in fact his mother's maiden name, and her family used to own the farmland that is now the Entertainment Capital of the World.
What a great coincidence, and what a brush with greatness to meet this guy, and his legacy, all atop a downtown hotel having your ordinary Thursday night cocktail. Then some more deep secrets -- which I am so heartlessly airing out on the internet -- about how his family made their fortune in the Mafia, and were the first Irish family to be part of La Cosa Nostra.
I guess this guy didn't really know that he had met probably the only girl at the bar who had a thing for old Hollywood and all things Italian. These stories passed through me like sand through a sieve, as this man, not yet 30, talked about things that could only have happened in the 1930's. When he began pontificating about the virtues of making money without a college degree, my friends and I decided to switch bars.
On the way down the stairs, I saw the next bevy of dolled-up twenty-somethings making their way up the stairs, and I thought, "Hollywood won't be lonely after all!"
It's funny, to see another group of people not unlike the group you're with, separated only by a couple of hours, and foresee that they're about to live the night you just had. That's the way the bar scene goes. Just another Thursday night.
posted by Lucy Sloan @ 2:22 PM
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