Wass Up?

I wasn't going to address the Wass Stevens "whacking the dude upside his head" story, but since it's on Page 6, I’ll weigh in with my usual cent-and-a-half of useful insight. I texted my old friend to see if he was all right, and he told me he was and thanked me for looking out. Small talk about the culinary offerings downtown aside, there isn't much to talk about. I did get a few phone calls from Strategic Group types who told me they weren't supposed to talk about it, but did I hear? Everyone heard. If you ask Wass what he does for a living, he would absolutely answer, “I’m an actor,” and he absolutely is. Small roles and herpes commercials have now become decent roles in decent movies and TV dramas. He is getting to the point where people on the street say he's an actor instead of a club doorman -- he's weighing the value and connections he garnishes within nightlife with his real career.

The nightclub business is this strange roller coaster-like world. When you get on, the first thing that happens is you strap yourself in and prepare for the ride of your life. You go up a steep hill, and from that vantage point you can see “forever.” But it isn’t really forever—it’s just a little farther than you saw before, and then it’s a fast and thrilling ride with lots of curves and shakes and spills. Your emotions run the gamut of fun and fear, and there are many times that you lose sight of the “real” world. For most, you spend a little time, have a blast, and you end up where you started. Only a very few really make any money, and even fewer actually get anywhere. Like strippers and hookers, nightlife types often lack an exit strategy. Mine has been this writing and designing joints for others to romp in. I’m still in it, but not really strapped in, and my bar rap is sexier. It will only be a very few years before you don’t see me at all. Some will say “thank god,” but none as loudly as me. Wass has an exit strategy. He can really act, and he really does it. I think the thought bouncing around in the head of the best-dressed man the Tombs has seen in awhile must have been, “Is it time?”

The door at Avenue is “the door” in town these days. My spies tell me of Johnny Depp and Jay-Z and Beyonce and Jack “Fucking” Nicholson passing through like it’s their home. It has long-legged intelligent women and people who run a great deal of the world that Wass and I want to romp in. It’s the most coveted place to hang these days, and yet it’s really small. This will invariably result in many rejections at the ropes. Some people don’t take rejection well. What can be said about the “what happened with Wass?” incident—is there any doubt the guy deserved it? Is there any doubt that a line was crossed that a respectable man could not ignore? Shoot, I want to smack the dude myself because I know for a pro like my boy to cross that line, it was a matter of honor or a reaction to a threat or indeed self-defense. I have seen him take it and leave it and suck it up a thousand times because the sweet nectar of clubs attracts not just butterflies but mosquitoes and roaches as well.

I won’t defend my man. He had my old friend, legal beagle Sal Strazzullo, shouting his praises already. Wass doesn’t need to be defended, as everyone who has ever met him knows that he is intelligent, honest, professional, good-looking, well mannered, inclusive man of his word. I don’t need to praise him, and I know from 20-plus years of experience that sometimes things are going to happen at that door. Some asshole won’t take a polite “I can’t help you tonight” and go elsewhere (where he is welcome). Sometimes the security guards don’t step up fast enough and get between you and the ass. Sometimes your personal pride wins out over your professionalism and reason. I do know this: while Wass contemplated that duel between his pleading stomach and his brain, analyzing that stale cheese sandwich, another thought crossed his sharp mind. “Am I going to continue to be in a position where I become that character who blasted that bozo, or do I just want to play him on TV?” Besides the honesty, good looks, and suave wardrobe, Wass possesses another quality—talent. He lights up a screen. When I watched him interact with Mickey Rourke in The Wrestler, I said to myself that it won’t be long before another well-dressed persona opens the ropes for him at the club de jour and the crowd whispers, “I know him”—and welcome back to the street, Wass Stevens.

Photo: Scott Slosar