No one blinked or even attempted to argue with him.
He slipped a jet-black credit card into the folder and handed it to the waiter. There it was, the mythical American Express Black Card, available by invitation only to those who charged a minimum of $150,000 a year. I had only just learned about it myself. It was mentioned in a blind item, as in, ‘Who needs a Black Card when she has a daddy with bottomless bank accounts?’ in reference to an anonymous socialite’s daughter. No one else appeared the least bit interested.
‘We ready?’ Elisa asked, smoothing her dress over her adorable little hips. ‘We’ll need two cabs. Leo and Skye, why don’t you grab the first one? Davide, Bette, Penelope, and I will meet you there. If you get there first, I’d prefer the table closest to the bar on the left, okay?’
‘Oh, listen, I think I’m going to head home,’ Penelope said. ‘Dinner was great, but I’ve got to be at work early tomorrow. It was so nice meeting all of you.’
‘Penelope! You absolutely cannot go home. The night is just beginning! Come on, it’s going to be a great party,’ Elisa shrieked.
Penelope smiled. ‘I’d love to, really I would, but I just can’t tonight.’ She grabbed her coat, gave me a quick hug good-bye, and waved to the rest of the table. ‘Davide, thank you for dinner. It was so nice meeting all of you,’ she said, and before I could tell her that I’d call her later, she was gone.
We all stumbled into our preassigned cabs while I managed to nod and make hmm sounds at the appropriate times. It wasn’t until we were actually standing outside the velvet rope at Bungalow 8 that I realized I was slightly drunk from dinner and, having almost no experience whatsoever with remotely cool nightspots, was in a perfect position to do or say something really, really humiliating.
‘Elisa, I think I better head out,’ I said feebly. ‘I’m not feeling great, and I need to be up early tomorrow for—’
She emitted a high-pitched shriek and her sunken face came alive. ‘Bette! You’ve got to be joking! You’re practically a Bungalow virgin and we’re already here. Going out is part of your job now, just remember that!’
I was semi-aware that the thirty or so people in line – mostly guys – were staring at us, but Elisa didn’t seem to care. Davide was doing some sort of clap-high-five-knuckle-bumping greeting with one of the bouncers, and I found that I was incapable of anything but the path of least resistance.
‘Sure,’ I muttered weakly. ‘Sounds great.’
‘Sammy, we’re on Amy’s list tonight,’ Elisa announced confidently to Davide’s bouncer. He was about six-three, two hundred twenty pounds, and happened to be the exact same guy who’d been working the door the night of Penelope’s party. He didn’t appear to be particularly amused by the chaos at the door, but as soon as Elisa unwrapped herself from him, he said, ‘Of course, Elisa. How many of you are there? Come on in. I’ll have the manager get you a good table.’
‘Great, honey, thanks so much.’ She pecked him on the cheek and grabbed my elbow, leaning in close to whisper in my ear: ‘These guys think they’re special, but no one would ever even talk to them if they weren’t working the door here.’
I nodded, hoping he didn’t hear us, even if he did deserve it. I glanced up and saw him peering back at me.
‘Hey,’ Sammy said, nodding at me in recognition.
‘Hey,’ I replied cleverly, managing to refrain from pointing out that he didn’t appear to have a problem letting me in tonight. ‘Thanks for that umbrella.’
But he didn’t hear me; he’d already turned away to rehook the red velvet rope and announce to the remaining hordes that their time had not yet arrived. He said something into his walkie-talkie and pulled open the door. We cruised past the coat check and were immediately enveloped in a cloud of smoke.
‘How do you know him?’ Elisa asked as Davide greeted everyone within a twenty-foot radius.
‘Who?’
‘The door loser.’
‘Who?’
‘The idiot working the door,’ she said, exhaling what appeared to be more than a lungful of smoke.
‘You seemed to like him enough,’ I said, remembering how warmly she’d embraced him.
‘What else am I supposed to do? It’s all part of the deal. Such a waste of a face. Do you know him?’
‘No. He was pretty hostile to me at Penelope’s engagement party a few weeks ago. Made me wait outside forever. I know I’ve seen him somewhere before, but I can’t place him.’
‘Hmm,’ she murmured, sounding less interested with every passing second. ‘Let’s get a drink.’
For one of the hottest clubs in the country, it still didn’t look all that major. The whole place was one rectangular room, with a bar at the far end and about eight tables with banquette seats along each side. People were dancing down the middle of the room while others congregated at the bar, and only the high all-glass ceiling and rows of palm trees made me feel that we were somewhere a touch exotic.
‘Hey, guys, over here,’ called Leo, who was tucked into a couch in the far left corner, just as Elisa had requested. A hidden DJ was blasting 50 Cent, and I noticed that Skye had already settled onto some guy’s lap and was grinding rhythmically to the music. There was a sort of minibar set up on their table with scattered bottles of Veuve Clicquot, Ketel One, and Tanqueray. Carafes of orange, grapefruit, and cranberry juice were provided for mixers, as well as a couple bottles of tonic and sparkling water. Penelope had mentioned the prohibitive cost of her party, so I knew that we were paying many hundreds of dollars a bottle.
‘What can I make you to drink?’ Leo asked, coming up behind me.
I wasn’t risking another uncool drink order, so I just asked for a glass of champagne.
‘Coming right up,’ he said. ‘C’mon, let’s dance. Skye, you coming?’
Leo stood, but in the last six minutes Skye had progressed to a full-fledged make-out with the random guy she was straddling. We didn’t wait for an answer.
The crowd was almost uniformly beautiful. Everyone fell into a ten-year age range, from mid-twenties to mid-thirties, and they’d all obviously been there before. The women were tall and thin and completely comfortable baring wide expanses of thighs and ample décolletage in a decidedly untacky way. The men danced at their sides, moving their hands over hips and backs and shoulders, never perspiring, never letting a girl’s drink run low. It was nothing like the one rebellious teenage night I’d spent awkwardly camped out in a corner, terrified of the writhing masses at Limelight.
By the time I’d finished scanning the scene, Leo had already selected a beautiful dark-haired guy. The two of them danced with a model-hot straight couple, all four of them moving perfectly in tune against each other’s bodies. Occasionally they’d reposition themselves so the ‘girls’ would be facing one another, grinding.
I went to the bathroom, and before I could see who owned them I felt a pair of arms wrap themselves around me. I caught a glimpse of waist-length wavy hair, a sort of mousy light brown color, and I smelled the scent of smoke and mouthwash in equal parts.
‘Bette, Bette, I can’t believe how long it’s been!’ the girl shrieked into my shoulder. Her chin was squished against my breasts in a way that was fairly uncomfortable considering her identity was still in question. She hugged me for a few more seconds, and when she pulled away, I could not have been more surprised.
Abby Abrams.