HurlyGurley!
Holly GoNightly
May 14, 2008
George Gurley, The New York Observer scribe and BlackBook contributor (see his interview with Christina Ricci), is one of the figureheads responsible for the baffling lure of the Beatrice Inn. He's the one I associate with all those nights I manage to lose a bit of my dignity between waltzes on the dance floor (tangos with the stairwells) and all of those clever conversations I seem lose myself in after the second Stella Artois. But arriving at the Beatrice at a respectable hour of 10pm last night for George’s surprise birthday hurrah gives me a strange sort of imperviousness. As much admiration I have for the disarming journalist my own projected cocktail count will not leave any room for finding myself chatting away past 4am. And this time, there will be no negotiating with the stairs on my way out.
“I’m going to get fucked up,” are the first words out of Tracy Westmoreland’s mouth when I timidly approach the bar. The onetime Siberia owner and regular on FOX’s “Red Eye With Greg Gutfeld” is stirring a vodka tonic feverishly as if he’s about to down it with regret. Gutfeld reveals his glass of white wine. “Don’t let the wine fool you, I’m right with Tracy.”
The surprise entrance is nearing and I begin to wonder how George’s fiance Hillary Heard is managing to lure George in to the Beatrice at such an early hour. Tracy’s conclusion; “Because George is dumb and Hilly is crafty.”
Apparently so, as he enters the back room to a brightly-lit birthday cake—I didn’t have time to count how many candles were present, but apparently there were 40 of them. The look on his face is one of sheer surprise. He moves through the dimly lit room, hugging and kissing friends including his fashionable mother, Page Six’s Paula Froehlich, New York Social Diary’s David Patrick Columbia, BlackBook Editor-in-Chief Steve Garbarino, among others.
It all seemed so sophisticated. Then came the gorgeous bobbed waitress with our refills. Then came the pretty young things dancing on the couches. Then came the admission that one soldier booked a hotel nearby because he knew he would not be making it home for the evening. Then came me negotiating, once again, the stairs on the way out.
Photos via NewYorkSocialDiary.com
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