Chapter 15
Ever wonder why drug dealers, politicians, models, the super rich, the super bad, the fame whores, the great, the greedy, and the Godless all end up at the same party? They all want to get high; twist the melon. That’s why Tony always had the “best backstage pass” to the most exclusive, most happening, most coked up parties in town. He also had at least half the door and bar staff at these glitzy venues on his payroll. All rock and gravy, if they weren’t there, the gig would be a blow out.
First stop: China Whites. Tony and the guys were ushered through the back entrance. Outside, the line snaked around the corner for at least half a mile. It was a mixed crowd: there were the “do-anythings” for fame brigade, usually twenty-something or younger. They had trademarked, clipped Essex accents with wealthy Jewish or South African parents and tended to have big hair and even bigger attitudes. They all seemed like sisters of Danni Behr with the usual French Manicure and pot roast hue. Then there were the “has beens” out for a laugh and a shag. Clothes too tight, make up too bright, Caprice-style hair extensions, wearing horrible pointy shoes with Cruella de Ville
heels.
No “Sandersons” or “Louboutins” here, just “Faith” and “LK Bennett.” What was it with that tired, old, Sex and The City look that women over a certain age love to ape? It was like an enforced uniform courtesy of Marie Claire’s fashion team. Fact: Puffball skirts and pointy vamp shoes look awkward and clownish on anyone without SJP’s, lean trim torso, or the curvaceous femininity of Kim Cattrall.
Jostling alongside these groups of over eager club “chicks” were the “fellas” of the night, either aging lotharios from the music biz well past their sell-by date, now donning nervous eye twitches and “coke bloat” stomachs, or the usual city boys: Traders, Investment Bankers, Account Executives, they had Florida tans, shiny hair, and snappy let’s-get-high suits on. Close by, a peculiar breed of straight hairdresser, complete with gold wristwatches and boy band hair teased and gelled into easy lay creations. Also in line: super toned, fit, gay, boy toys under twenty-five wearing low-waisted jeans and tight-fitted tees with crass slogans. Some of the crowd brandished neon-coloured VIP wristbands and others had enough cash to try and bribe the bouncers to get in.
This was all theatre, of course, just hype, for the real “stars” of the night were already ensconced in the hip VIP enclosure downing bottles of Roderer Cristal and sipping on chocolate martinis. Tony found himself seated next to a member of the Saudi Royal family
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