Stealing a Ride on the Party Circuit

When I was temping "Inside the Little Blue Box," one of my job responsibilities was opening up my boss' mail. Catherine held a highly coveted position, and companies doing business with her tried to win her affections by inviting her to a myriad of ritzy parties and exclusive events around town.

A reception at a four-star restaurant for the launch of a new magazine here, a dinner party honoring a famous author there -- the list of delectable invites went on and on. Sounds like a pretty good job perk, huh? You'd think so! But nearly every time I passed the invitations on to her, she would hand them back to me with a note saying, "Please decline." I couldn't understand why she had so little interest in attending these glamorous events!

One Friday morning, Catherine's phone rang and I picked up the call. The caller said, "Hi, my name is Michelle. I'm calling from [didn't catch name of company]. We would like to invite Catherine to an opening this Tuesday, at [such and such] gallery in Washington, DC, and to the reception following it."

DC on a weeknight? Yeah, right. Catherine barely even goes to events in the city - like she's really gonna travel all the way to DC for some gallery opening? Hello, I don't think so!

In a blasé tone I replied, "Do you have an invitation you could fax to us?"

"No, I'm sorry -- I don't. But I think Catherine will be interested in this information. Are you ready to copy it down?" I rolled back my eyes, and thought, Whatever. The woman continued, "The gallery opening will begin at five-thirty, located at [gave street address], in Washington, DC, and the reception following it will be held at the White House, hosted by the President and Hillary Clinton."

The White House? Hosted by the President and Hillary Clinton? How terribly nonchalant I had been!

Avidly, I copied down the particulars, thanked the woman, and then left a message about the event at Catherine's home (she was out of the office that day). I thought for sure that this invitation, above and beyond the others, would entice her.

Nope...she turned it down.

Granted, Catherine's schedule was full on Tuesday, but even so, she was hardly enthused. One of the reasons was because she felt a bit insulted her invitation came so last minute - this meant she wasn't on the A-list, or even the B -- probably only the C. (C-list or Q, I wouldn't have been insulted!)

During my final week an invitation came for an event, hosted by The New Yorker, which I thought sounded especially intriguing: a select few were being invited to the premiere of a new Woody Allen movie. After the movie, transportation would be provided to the post-premiere party (with the members of the cast), to be held at a jazz club in Harlem. Now doesn't that sound like a fun time for all?

I figured the chances Catherine would want to go were slim to none...I was leaving the job at the end of the week, never to return...how about this could be my last hurrah, a little "thanks to me" for being such an amiable temp employee?

When I got home from work I called my friend Todd, whom I knew would be a willing partner-in-crime. He said sure, he'd go, and we could use his name for our RSVP. The next day Todd called the "party hotline" number and left his name plus one.

In the days leading up to the event, several times I asked Todd if he had received a callback. (I feared they might call saying there was a problem with his name not being on the list of invited guests.) He always said he never received any calls. No news was good news, I suppose.

The evening of the event, Todd and I met at a nearby Tower Records, and then walked to the theater together. When we approached the entrance we saw about 20 paparazzi standing in place. This was no shabby affair!

We walked over to a woman carrying a clipboard, who was obviously in charge of the proceedings. After Todd said his name, she looked through her list and couldn't find it. "I'm sorry -- I don't see your name on my list."

"But I called in...."

"Oh, yes -- now I remember. There was a problem with your name not being on the list of people we sent our invitations to. We tried to call you this morning, but there was no answer." Some further small talk was exchanged, and then she said, "Wait a minute...I'll be right back."

She walked away and started talking with someone else. We couldn't hear what they were saying, but we saw heads shaking "No," which didn't make our situation look too promising. But when the woman came back she said, "I can't let you into the premiere -- we're overbooked as it is -- but if you'd like, you can come to the party afterwards. Just come back in about an hour and forty-five minutes. The buses will be loading then."

Todd wasn't sure he wanted to wait around, but I quickly convinced him otherwise. I answered for the both of us when I said, "Thanks...that sounds great."

To pass some time, we went to a Mexican restaurant in the area. Over margaritas, we chatted leisurely while munching on a plate of nachos (how nice, for a change, to not be in a rush). I told Todd that if I had to choose between seeing the movie or going to the party, I'd pick going to the party any day. I mean, how thrilling can watching a movie be, compared to a booze-flowing, live-band-playing party with the stars?

When we came back to the theater, we discovered the buses weren't loading yet because the movie had started late. The longer we waited in the lobby, the more fidgety Todd became. He said, "I'm getting a bad feeling about this...I think I might go home."

"A 'bad feeling'? What are you talking about?" Todd was in serious need of a pep talk, and I poured it on full force: "C'mon, it'll be fun! The buses are going to take us there and back -- what have we got to lose? We're all dressed up, we've come this far -- why not wait a bit longer? And if you go home, what are you going do...watch TV? You can do that any night."

"Alright, alright, I'll stay."

"Good," I said, "you better!"

Not even ten minutes later the buses started loading. En route, I felt that silly, excited feeling reminiscent of a kid going on a field trip.

When we reached our destination, the club "Jimmy's," a hoard of paparazzi was waiting there as well. I know I wasn't someone they were particularly (okay - at all) interested in, but nonetheless I tried my best to walk with grace in my heels, because all eyes were on the new arrivals entering the club.

It was already hopping inside. We checked our coats, and looked around. John Waters and Samantha Morton walked past us (they're both stars in the movie). I said to Todd, "I'm going to get a drink. I'll be right back."

I made my way over to the bar. As I was waiting for my drink, a nice-looking man next to me said hello, and asked, "So, how was the movie?"

"Oh, I didn't see the movie...but that's okay. I'm not too crazy about Woody Allen these days. I loved his 70s movies like Bananas and Sleeper, but recently? I thought his last movie was just awful."

"Well, if you didn't see the movie, how did you get invited to this party?" I smiled, and refrained from answering. He commented, "Ah, ha -- I see this makes you uncomfortable for some reason."

"Nah, it doesn't," I said, "I'll tell you. Actually, it wasn't my invitation. I'm a temp, and the invitation was sent to my boss. I knew she wouldn't be going, so I did."

Intrigued, he replied, "Oh, really? At least you're honest about it. What company are you working for?"

Hmm...should I say the company's name? Eh, who cares. It's a big company, and if I tell him, I doubt he would know who the invitation was sent to. "I was working at [name of company]."

"Oh -- so you worked for Catherine! We're good friends. She's great, isn't she?"

My jaw dropped. "Uh...yeah...." I mumbled, feeling like my cover had been blown sky high. "Uh, how'd you know? Who do you work for?"

"The New Yorker."

I remembered Catherine having lunch with a guy from The New Yorker -- I had put his new business card in her Rolodex when she'd returned. Now it was my turn to surprise him. I said, "So, you're David."

"Yes! I am!"

Even though I was big-time busted, I thought the unbelievable coincidence was amusing. I added, "You had lunch with Catherine not too long ago...so, you're the Publisher?"

"Close. Associate Publisher."

The bartender appeared with my drink, and we chatted for a bit longer. Before parting ways I gave him a cutesy smile and semi-pleaded, "Don't tell Catherine...."

"Don't worry, I won't. Enjoy the party!"

I walked back to Todd, and drink in hand, we headed to the second floor. The upstairs was a huge room with a bar on one side and a scattering of candlelit tables throughout. Live jazz music from downstairs was being piped through speakers. Todd and I sat at an empty table, and chatted until we finished our drinks. Nothing too fabulous was happening upstairs, so we decided to check out the scene downstairs.

We noticed a lot of activity in the back area of the club. As we made our way to the back, we soon realized why the area was bustling -- it was near the kitchen and food was being served. (That'll do it any day.) Most of the waiters weren't making it out of the area with their plates of assorted soul food, because guests were snapping them up as quickly as they were coming out.

After we had our fill, we decided to head to the front again. I turned around and suddenly my eyes met Uma Thurman's. It was startling to see her "in the flesh" but not completely unexpected, because she was one of the stars in the movie. Next I saw Ethan Hawke, her then-husband.

The highlight of the evening was Ruth Brown. She was introduced as "a great blues-singing legend." Indeed, she was fantastic. Midway through her performance, I glanced at my watch -- it was ten-thirty, nearly the time we were told the buses would be leaving to take us home. I was enjoying Ruth's singing so much that I didn't want to leave.

I found Sylvie (the woman we had spoken with in front of the theater), and asked if any of the buses were going back later. "Yes, they're staggering the departures. I'm sure you'll be able to get a ride until at least eleven-fifteen."

I thanked her and joked, "I feel like you're my chaperone!"

Todd left on the first bus, but not me -- I eked every minute I could out of Ruth's performance, until I had to dash out and hop on to the last bus, moments before it sped off into the night.

The bus dropped me off a block from my apartment. As I walked home, I felt elated from my fun "night on the town." Although it would have been nice, and more proper if I'd actually been invited to the party, as things turned out it was equally as fun to have crashed it. Hmm...think I've found my new calling?

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From: [Laura's brother]
To: Laura's NYC Tales <laura@laurasnyctales.com>
Subject: Re: A Party story before 12/31

laura, you're a loose cannon. i can't believe you did that. the part about you being nonchalant when your boss was being invited to the white house is a riot.

glad it worked out for the best!

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