Benjamin B.
Yelp
It's 35 degrees outside and I'm standing outside the Shangri-La hotel wearing thongs. The doorman is eying me off, daring me to enter. Oh it's on, white boy. Here I come.
I've got my mum, aunt, brother and cousin with me - just in case you think I'm one of those saddos that goes around drinking in hotel bars alone. Because I'm not. Not normally.
It's a Friday night and girls in slinky dresses totter past, their colossal heels tinking on the marble floor of the lobby. There's a guy with a signature hat in the corner. He looks like he plays bass. The lift spirits us up to level 36 where there's a queue to speak to an unfeasibly attractive blonde girl at one of those little keynote speaker podiums. She looks like Veronica Vaughn from Billy Madison. I'm tempted to pull out a quote, maybe Chris Farley's "That Veronica Vaughn is one fine piece of ass, I know from experience, know what I mean?" but don't think it would go down too well. Not here. Not now.
Turns out the line is for the table-service Horizons Lounge to the right. If we want to mill and drink at Blu Bar on 36 to the left (which has sliiiightly less appealing, although still astonishing, views), we can go right in. We do. She doesn't notice my thongs. There's a big dress code plaque right next to her, but she doesn't notice. Part of me wishes she had.
My aunt, a lush of some repute, orders some bubbles ($11), a McKenna bourbon neat ($11.50), and a few waters (both soda and tap are complimentary). There's a cocktail called Love On The Rock that comes with an uncut diamond ring in it and requires 24 hrs notice to prepare. The price? $10,000. Bargs, mate. Bargs. I ask the bartender how many of those they sell a year. "Hard to say," he replies. "Whenever anybody wants to propose." Thanks. I think.
There's a nice vibe tonight, guys in suits and girls in expensive dresses mingling and laughing. Relaxed. Demure. We stand out. It's okay though. In the little round room with couches along the walls at the end are two very average, awkward-looking men with two very beautiful, leggy, expensively-coiffed women. My cousin nudges me. Seen it dude. Thinking the same thing you are. I feel sorry for them. It looks painful. I want to trot over and drop a couple of jokes, lighten the mood. Maybe chat to one of the women. Who knows.
The bourbon goes down like mother's milk. This is how Jimmy Caan felt all his life.