Breakfast At Tiffany's

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« Confessions of a Nobu Virgin | Home | ‘Breakfast’ in Paris-- Six Feet Under »

Girls Gone Wild

Part of: Hollywood , LA , Seinfeld-esque

Breakfast: water


by Tiffany Stone

Kate and I were standing at the not quite open bar at the new restaurant/ club, Oyster. No party could suck with unlimited Veuve Clicquot. (In my world, Champagne was the new vodka.)

The club had an aphrodisiac theme. I stared at the small group of people surrounding us. It was the bottom of the barrel because the party had just started. No one looked appealing to converse with, and there were no attractive men. We had gotten to this party early, because there was another party at 11:00 at The Sky Bar.

Kate flipped over her bracelet watch. “We have another ten minutes.”

I hated waiting for a free drink, and watching Kate twitch around like she had ADD was painful. It made me want to smack her.

“Then we need to walk around or something. This is embarrassing,” I sulked.

“Eww. See that guy over there?” Kate said as she slightly flipped her head.

There was a group of guys that all looked like frat boys—not my type. I shook my head, no.

“The one in the baseball cap drinking Amstel Light.”

I already didn’t like him. Kate whispered in my ear, “That’s the coupon guy!”

I looked at her blankly.

“The Avalon guy.” The Avalon was a new Hollywood club. I had ignored my invitation to opening night because I didn’t feel like driving across town.

“Remember. He started yelling at the publicist for not having a gift bag for him.” Kate’s eyes dilated, “And he used a coupon for our dinner at Acapulco’s…”

“Oh, yes.”

Kate clicked her acrylics on the pole we were leaning against. They were painted red instead of her usual French manicure.

“I’m going to ignore him,” Kate said while opening her purse and rummaging.

I always marveled at people who were good at playing the “on ignore” game.

“But didn’t he just see you?”

Kate ignored my question and started quickly walking towards the other bar.

At the other bar, I checked out the fashion for the evening—mostly black, white and grey. Everyone blended with the colors of the club. (If I had a club with an aphrodisiac theme I would decorate it with lush colors or at least red with neutrals.) I was continually surprised that film industry people dressed so conservatively. I brushed lint off my black pants. I was wearing a funky red Chinese top.

Outside, double fisting it, Kate and I chose the first available table. Of course, minutes later, the guys we least wanted to talk to sat down. My guy was wearing a Missoni jacket. Don’t ask me how I saw the label while he was wearing it. My eyes were drawn to his pointy, black canvas boating shoes. I wondered if he knew they were for boating.

My guy, Charles, broke the awkward silence, “I’m going to Milano Friday.”

Oh, no. Charles was obviously an incessant talker. I was bad at getting away from them. No wonder his friend, Max, hadn’t said a word.

Kate chirped in, “Where’s that?”

“Italy. Did you know that Italy started clothing outlets? That’s where I got my Prada shoes from. They were originally $600 and I paid $260,” Charles said earnestly.

I squelched my laughter. There was no point in buying ugly designer clothes or shoes just so you could say they were designer.

“Um, so what do you do?” I asked to center myself.

“I’m an actor-writer-director and part-time tutor.”

This cliché had finally worn thin. There weren’t that many multi-talented people out there.

“If you could only do one of those jobs (I almost said dreams) for a living what would it be?”

“That’s like asking me which one of my parents I love more.”

“My mother,” I said not missing a beat.

“My father,” he laughed. “I’d be a director.”

I got more energy from this triumph.

“Are you a writer?” Charles asked.

“Yes, how did you…”

“The twenty questions thing.” Now Charles was grinning. Gross, his teeth were yellow.

“Kate, let’s get some more champagne,” I suggested.

On the way to the bar, a bouncer intercepted us. “Hey, you ladies want to come into the VIP room?”

“Of course,” Kate said and kissed the bouncer on the cheek.

“You don’t have to thank him, we did him a favor,” I said walking down the steep stairs. The VIP room was empty except for four guys and one girl.

“I wonder what kind of VIP’s they are,” I said under my breath.

I already wanted to leave. The music was too loud, but I couldn’t stop Kate from moving toward the group. I reluctantly started shaking people’s hands and sat down by the one guy I could hear over the music.

“How do you enunciate so well?” I yelled.

“Speak from the diaphragm,” Jay said and demonstrated by making his chest concave.

I tried to, but my voice still sounded like I had laryngitis. I’d have to add voice lessons to my list of things to do before I died. I really was impressed by his intonation and pitch.

“Are you an actor?” I loathed that I had asked the question, but people who were this perky and were not actors were usually certifiable. I felt like we were in a musical.

“Yes. I do voice-overs,” He said with pride.

That was refreshing.

“Oh, that must be cool—less competition.”

“Not really. I actually thrive on the competition. I’m lucky that I’m so successful. I’ve got a beautiful house in the hills, a nice car…”

With that, Kate was suddenly on top of us. “I’m an actress. Who did you study with?”

Kate was so close that I got a piece of her hair in my mouth, and her breasts were blocking my view.

“Howard Fine. He’s the best.”

“Oh. I studied with the Scientologists at The Beverly Hills Playhouse. I only did it to have Milton as my teacher.” Kate was now leaning over me.

The conversation was taking an ugly turn. The last thing I wanted to do was listen to two actors comparing notes—dullsville. I would not get a word in edgewise. Kate could have him. He wasn’t my type anyway.

“I’ll be back,” I said not planning on it. There were more people upstairs and food. I was starving. When I had gotten my fill of sushi and oysters, I moved over to the plush sectional sofa in the club part of the space to watch people dance. There was a screen with dancers behind it. The go-go dancers could have been Lara Flynn Boyle. What was this city coming to? Actress- thin go go dancers!

“Things can’t be that bad,” a voice whispered in my ear. I jumped back and my full glass of champagne spilled out. There wasn’t an open bar anymore, and anyway there was no Veuve left, only some cheap brand. And now there was a Latin- lover type sitting way to close to me with his arm around the back of the couch just waiting to move to my shoulders. His breath smelled like wintergreen mouthwash.

“What do you think of those go go dancers?” I said trying not to be a bitch.

I moved over a foot, but he moved as well.

“I’d have to see their faces,” he said, cocking his face at an angle to see me—that’s how close he was.

“Don’t you think they’re too thin?”

“My last girlfriend was 5’8” and 110 pounds.”

Why was this always the case? Countless men had told me these same exact statistics. Like, “She’s a model and blah, blah, blah, or she runs 5 miles a day and is blah, blah, blah...” Who were these women who advertised their weight to their boyfriends?

“Oh, so you like skeletal women.”

Casanova was tall and thin. Wouldn’t two bony people having sex injure each other?

The cocktail waitress came by and Casanova didn’t offer to buy me a drink. A minute later he realized his mistake.

“Oh, I should’ve asked you if you wanted a drink.”

Duh.

I had been at the party for over two hours and was getting testy. How long would it take for me to wrangle up Kate? I liked to leave parties before they were dead. I was lucky if I could get Kate to leave when a party was dying. Plus, we were supposed to have left for the Sky Bar half an hour ago. I excused myself to the bathroom.

In the VIP room, Kate was nowhere to be found.

“Do you know where my friend is?” I asked a random group of people.

I had to yell three times before anyone heard me. They pointed to another room. I went in to discover Kate and Perky making out and groping each other. There was a gross older guy on the side watching. I quickly looked away from him.

“Kate, let’s go.”

Kate and I waited half an hour at The Sky Bar, even though we were on the list. The only people getting in were people who called their friends inside on their cell phones. I didn’t have my friend’s cell phone number on me, and the bouncer wouldn’t even budge. Everyone in line was beautiful. I was missing a party with beautiful men. Sometimes Kate was truly a liability.

Forty-five minutes later, Kate was dragging me towards the picketers at Ralphs. The supermarket union workers had been striking for weeks now.

Kate needed to buy water, Ibuprofen, and Red Vines. I hadn’t seen Kate this drunk for a long time. I could use some Advil myself. My hands turned ice-cold, and I shivered as we neared the picketers. They were blocking the entrance.

The one cute picketer, a Keanu Reeves look alike, wearing a baseball cap started, “Ladies you don’t really want to go in there.”

Kate smiled, picked up her top, and flashed the mostly male group. The guys clapped and whistled. Miraculously the path to the doors were parted.

“Whoa, that was a good idea, Kate.”

I beamed with pride like she was my daughter. The two women in the group gave us the evil eye.

Kate giggled, “My inner slut is coming out again. I’ve missed her.”

Uh, oh. I looked around. There wasn’t anyone who caught that. No one seemed to be in the market.

“Kate…” I said about to reprimand her, but Kate was already skipping toward the end of the aisle—being Kate.

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