Grey Goose Guzzling & Greenhouse Grumps

Every company has that person who holds it all together. Over at BlackBook, for me, it's Bridgette Bek who somehow has answers to all my pressing problems at her fingertips. If something or someone is lost or if I don't know which square peg to bother with my round hole (no homo, props to Lil' Wayne, yo), I always turn to Bridgette to set me straight. It seems I am the black sheep of BlackBook. Every so often, BlackBook honcho Ari Horowitz, along with his lovely companion Laurel Cummings host a soiree at his beautiful indoor/outdoor apartment. I am never invited until the afternoon, day of. Once in awhile I get a "I didnt see you last night" from one of BlackBook's sharp pencils. Yesterday was no different so I scrambled to get a date and showed up just a little late. The weather was perfect for the shindig, and the huge crowd sipped ridiculously potent Grey Goose concoctions. As my loyal readers know, I only drink two or three times a year -- whenever I have sex -- and with what seemed like a four-to-one ratio of women to men, springlike weather, a hundred bucks in my pocket, and those potent cocktails, I thought my odds were pretty, pretty good.

Alas I left with my date, the beautiful but very taken Norisol Ferrari (like the car) who I had intended to interview for today’s column. She had one or four of those Grey Goose contraptions as well, and our cause was lost. Too drunk to look my puppies in the eyes, I decided to sober up over at Greenhouse where my pal James Coppola presides over a fabulous crew.

I arrived at Greenhouse early and the door people weren’t outside, as usual. It’s a poorly run door, which got really famous this week when a huge crowd of arriving guests were turned away for a book party. Accusations flew that entry was denied because the arriving guests were black. A billion-dollar lawsuit was said to be filed. I asked the doorman who finally let me in what happened, and he gave me a runaround shrug. It was only 11:30 and he’s usually not plastered till midnight, so I guess he was told to keep quiet. I called him an idiot in front of everyone, and they thought I was joking, and I went downstairs. I asked another staffer what happened and was told it wasn’t because they “were black. Anyone who comes here knows that its a very mixed crowd, it’s just that they were very poorly dressed ... if they were dressed nicely or even decently they would have gotten in.” I asked Merlin Bob (an owner who happens to be black) about it, and he told me he was doing a press conference today to address this issue.

The lawsuit is of course without merit. Greenhouse is a very mixed crowd, and racism doesn’t seem to be the reason for the problem. I was turned away at the door—or at least kept waiting for 10 minutes—and I got pull! Unless they were thinking, “There’s that black sheep from BlackBook”? I’m sure this will all be cleared up before this billion-dollar case goes to a judge. Maybe they’ll settle out of court for a lesser sum, like $100 million.

Downstairs I was greeted by bon vivant DJ Michel Cavadias, one of my favorite people in the whole room. It was early and there were like five people there, so we chatted. I was still liquored up and afraid of a stare-down with my chihuahua. So I interviewed him. I was thinking on my feet while laying on the DJ booth floor.