Consider this...
two weary women searching the streets of
Chelsea for a small respite, an island
of peace and a small libation, when, entering
a likely establishment,
they find themselves in...
At the service bar, two waiters are discussing
the festivities of the previous night.
Apparently, Dean Martin and some friends
finally closed the bar around 4 am.
The bartender, joining the conversation,
called the the revellers
"Mr Martin, Miss MacLaine and Mr Davis"
There were also a few unnamed hangers-on
(in 2011 they would have been called "entourage")
and a man referred to only as "the Chairman" - I'm pretty sure he wasn't Mao!
We were shown to a banquette, and our server extracted himself from his conversation
long enough to ask us for our
order and to tell us we had missed
"one helluva party" last night.
You question my memory? I have pictures!
Judging by the age of the clientele and the food
they were served:
Yes, it's a big photo, but it was a big lobster!
What were we to do?
Surrendering to the overwhelming atmosphere,
I ordered:
A MANHATTAN!
Really, how could I not?
Not long after the Manhattan, we extricated ourselves from...
and went on to buy Tom's shoes!
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