"White Rabbits "
Right before Easter, I flew back to OC on a Thursday Night after two hectic days of business travel, first in San Francisco with my Vice President followed by a quick trip to Seattle for some customer visits. I was at the gym when my phone rang. I had been gone since Tuesday, hadn’t worked out since Monday, and really just wanted to get in a hard sweat before I faced the nightmarish digital detritus from the email explosion that inevitably had occurred while I was on the road.
It was Dan and Marton. Apparently our mutual friend Lauren had managed to get our little local crew into a private 7th anniversary party at the Newport Beach “Hooters” restaurant and had a spot at the owner’s private table. Dan was yelling at me to get my skinny butt down to Hooters or I was going to miss the bikini competition. Invitations to private parties are not a regular part of my social life, so I figured what the hell. I thought, let’s see where this leads.
All this sudden socializing started a few weeks ago. Lauren is a new addition to my social circle, a tall and striking blond woman who lives at the end of the Balboa Peninsula. I was introduced after Dan and Marton met her at some local club in Newport Beach and took a liking to them.
Lauren is an interesting woman. Never have I met anyone like her. She reminds me of a Picasso painting: beautiful, off center, colorful, complex, oddly fascinating, and on some level, a bit bewildering because you’re never quite sure just what is coming next. I’ve been spending a lot of time with her lately. She is often found at the center of every party, yet claims to be a social recluse. She swears she needs ten hours of sleep a night, and yet every time I see her she is out until near dawn. She insists she doesn’t party that often, and yet I’ve had to make sure she arrived home safely four times in three weeks. She is a professional pilot, lived in Russia at age 18, has met at least two well known international terrorists, has punched Dennis Rodman in the mouth, and has spent a good chunk of her adult life schmoozing with people in exotic social circles – circles that a shy suburban boy like myself has not had much opportunity to experience.
As I said, I know no one quite like her.
So on five minutes notice, I cut the workout short to spend an evening with Dan, Marton, Lauren and a drunken mob of Newport’s rich and not so famous who holler at emotionally unstable girls with large plastic breasts.
I was underwhelmed by the whole event. I suspect I’m a little too intellectual for the typical Hooters crowd. Then again, I suppose someone doesn’t go to Hooters seeking intellectual stimulation. Regardless, it wasn’t my scene, but I was still up until two in the morning.
I had to work all day Friday, and was not relishing the unforgiving morning and the internal company meeting that awaited me. Friday Morning rolled around (I never did make it to that 7:30 conference call), and I somehow managed to find the resources to remain at least mildly productive. I was on my way to my 1 PM meeting with my local team at the Costa Mesa office when my phone rang again. Lauren had invitations to an exclusive black tie party in San Diego and wanted me to go. Marton was going and was supposed to call me with the details. I told her that I had to work all day (and probably all weekend) and it was highly unlikely that I could get my life together in time to make it to San Diego that night.
Lauren was unsympathetic and insisted I needed to go.
Marton finally called me at 5 PM – just as my meeting was ending. I still had to put together my presentation for the training session next week, and I needed to finish an account plan for all the clients I visited during the week with my VP. Marton told me I had to go and that this is apparently a big event, hosted by a group of wealthy and single San Diego elite who invite three women for every man. Lauren was already en route. Marton was planning to leave by 8 or so (the party started at 9). Get a tux. Your destiny awaits.
Far be it for me to strand in the way of destiny.
So I packed up the laptop, got in the Mustang and ran down the street to Gingis Formalwear. By 6:30 I picked up a nice Ralph Lauren three-button rental, and I was on my way home to shave, eat, and pick up Marton. By 7:45 we were on the road to San Diego. Our little Newport Beach black tie bunch included me and Marton, our friend Emma, Lauren and her friend Margie, Lauren’s Balboa neighbor Kevin, and three of his buxom blond friends whose names I can’t seem to remember now. Now Marton and I had no idea where we were going to stay during this little San Diego adventure. At the time, our bags were located in Kevin’s room on the fourth floor of the Mission Bay Hilton – the venue of this black tie affair. Lauren had a room across the hall.
I still don’t know the name of this party. I met the host – one of them at least – a short and jovial round fellow with gray hair and a never-ending entourage of attractive party girls who left lipstick on his cheek. Where else they left lipstick is not something I want to consider at this time. Supposedly it was a benefit for abused children. This I found at least somewhat apropos considering how many emotionally (or chemically) abused women were in attendance.
Each guest was supposed to bring a stuffed bunny rabbit as a gift. I have no idea just who received these gifts. I just know there was a huge table of stuffed animals in the ballroom. This I also found amusingly apropos. Little stuffed white rabbits leading a collection of shiny celebrants into the ballroom. Like little Alice, The Mighty Jimbo let these rabbits lead him into this exotic social wonderland.
Lauren was well known at this party. She moved effortlessly from table to table and cheek to check through this well-heeled collection of lawyers and businessmen, racecar drivers, models and daughters of millionaire Italian wine moguls. The room was filled with beautiful people in evening gowns and flashy men in tailored tuxes. Trophy wives and trophy girlfriends. It was a scene I hadn’t been around but instantly recognized. It was “Bright Lights Big City”. It was a more than a little “Less Than Zero”. It was buxom cocaine addicts and the wealthy men who keep them fixed. Hell, it wasn’t my scene, but it was social adventure for sure. I was into the rabbit hole and made up my mind to see this thing through.
I ran into a good friend from OC at the party. She had a room on the first floor of the hotel and offered to let me crash there since I had currently no place to stay. I figured it was a good option. At this point I was just going with the flow of things, curious how the evening was going to turn out.
The vibe of the room was intoxicating and chemical. It was visceral. It was a place to be seen. Make eye contact. Who’s going to hook up with whom? Who’s in what bathroom doing what to whom? Isn’t that Leslie Ann Warren? Was that Dean Cane? Did you see her kiss that girl? Who is doing coke? Who has got some x?
Lauren was floating around the place wearing an amazing gown that made her the center of attention – as if she needs any help with that. Random women she knew would pass by and be greeted with erotic kisses on the mouth. Everyone seemed to know her. Everyone had a story about her. But one thing was for sure – Lauren was no stranger to this kind of party. Me, I took everything in stride. And like I said before, I was gonna see where this night took me.
It took me to the host’s after party at his suite in the hotel. This, my suburban friends, is where a party’s wheat is separated from the chaff. This is when the party girls come to shine (amongst other things) and the party boys who finance these little events come to reap the shallow rewards of affluence. And The Mighty Jimbo was stuck right in the middle.
That’s about the time I met Toni. Toni isn’t her real name, but I’ll just run with it for now. Toni walked up to me, introduced herself and asked me for a grape. I was binging on grapes from the party’s buffet table. I offered her the whole bunch. Apparently, this was the right response for I was now Toni’s date for the night.
It was about two in the morning, and the after-party was really filling with people. Toni spent the whole party at my side. Toni is a tall, leggy 36-year old woman with almost pornographic breasts. She was wearing a skin-tight, two-piece blue gown that exposed her tiny stomach. She was also very, very high. She pulled me aside and started asking me all kinds of questions and telling me all about her life, who she knows how she knows them, her three kids, her ex-husband she lives with now and her past adventures with Lauren.
And do I have any cocaine? And how can my eyes be so big if I haven’t got any cocaine?
I have big eyes – what can I say? And I certainly don’t have any cocaine. Three drinks is my idea of a big night out. All other forms of chemical alteration are strictly taboo.
Normally a question like that would be queue to exit stage right. But the rabbit was guiding me further into the hole. And she was, well, she was hot, and I was a little intoxicated, and well, you get the idea.
Toni started parading me around the party. I was her new friend Jim with the “big heart”. Apparently I have a big heart. How she knows about the size of heart I can still only guess. All my friends, Marton, Lauren, etc, were all convinced The Mighty Jimbo might the chance to prove just how mighty he was that night. Admittedly, I was beginning to think there was a pretty good chance of that as well.
Toni introduced me to her far too sober sister who proceeded to lecture me about getting her baby sister home at a reasonable hour and how she would hunt me down like the dog that I am if anything should happen to her. Keep in mind, Toni is 36. She followed us around the party like a stalker, peeking her head around corners to make sure I wasn’t doing anything to dishonor her naive and innocent, twice divorced, coked out baby sister. She even went so far as to memorize my driver’s license. What the hell was I thinking showing her my drivers license?
Toni dragged me upstairs to the bedroom in this hotel suite. There she met her friend Christina who just emerged from the bathroom with some boy. Also not her real name, but again, I’m using aliases to protect the innocent – or not so innocent. Christina was another buxom party girl and no stranger to the nightlife and all it’s sins. I would later learn that Christina thought I was hot and was interested in getting together with me. The validity of this information was questionable considering the level of illegal intoxication under which it was provided, so I’ll just run with it for now. It makes for a better story I suppose.
Soon after arriving upstairs, Toni began arguing (loudly) with the apparently lesbian daughter of the host in the hotel bathroom who had also wandered up to the room. This was the cue that the party was over and the crowd began to break up. It was sometime after three. Leaving the hotel room, Toni, Marton and I made our way to the after after-party party. Toni split with Christina (and left wearing the jacket to my tux) apparently to score some more blow. This was my assumption at this point, but all things considered, a pretty good assumption. The room soon collected way too many people for hotel security to be comfortable with, and we all found ourselves back out in the cool night air.
Leaving the room, Marton and I ran into Toni and Christina in the lobby of the hotel. Christina left for destinations unknown with the random boy from the bathroom on her arm, and Toni asked me to get a hotel room with her. Considering I still had no idea where I was to stay for the night, I thought this is probably a good idea. Admittedly, I thought this was a good idea for other reasons as well, but we won’t get into that now.
The hotel (as expected) was sold out. Marton figured he had better find his own way to a bed for the evening so he left for either Kevin or Lauren’s room. I wouldn’t find out until later. He had been told that Margie (who was staying with Lauren) wanted no boys staying in the room with her – an odd request for a night like this. This of course didn’t stop Lauren from bringing some lawyer boy she met at the party up to the room, which subsequently left Marton wondering where the hell he was gonna sleep.
I had other problems to deal with. Toni and I went up to the sixth floor where she and her sister and sister’s boyfriend were staying for the night. Toni dragged me into the bathroom where she produced a tiny cellophane baggy containing a murky white crystalline substance. Now although I’ve never been to this block before, I have certainly been around it, and recognized this as something other than cocaine. Speed. Crystal Meth. About the least sexy of all drugs and it soon found it’s way up into Toni’s nasal cavity. I was spending an evening with a tweaker. Great.
Again, right about then I should have listened to my better instincts and hightailed it from Toni’s company. Cocaine might keep you up, but speed – speed puts everything into hyperdrive and lasts a hell of a long time. It also kills your libido. But at this time I was delirious from sleep deprivation, still feeling the effects of the three Kamikazes, and I was just dying to see what would happen next. Besides, Toni still had her amazing and scantily clad body wiggling hyper-kinetically in front of my face.
The drugs were taking effect and Toni began machine gunning question after question to me, who I am, what’s important to me, have I been in love, where I work, what my family is like, where I live, and on and on and on until she came all the way back to her first question for which she has already forgotten the answer and started over fresh.
After about a half hour of this chemically induced interrogation we emerged from the bathroom to find Toni’s sister romantically, uh, involved with her boyfriend. Now it seemed she wasn’t so interested in what happened to Toni as long as we could give her some privacy for about an hour or two.
Again, at about this time, I thought I ought to split.
Instead I agreed with her sister and took Toni down to my friend’s room on the first floor. She was in there with her date for the evening, gave me a big “way to go Jimbo” smile and then left with her man, subsequently leaving me a alone with tweaked out Toni who was now in geosynchronous orbit of planet Methamphetamine.
I was exhausted and collapsed on one of the room’s two double beds. Toni began undressing me, her bald little boy with a big heart, and proceeded to give me a foot massage, a hand massage, a head massage, off course all while continuing her rapid-fire interrogation. I was getting desperate for sleep, and really, really wanted her to shut up, so I did the only thing I figured would get her to keep quiet. I kissed her on the mouth. She didn’t object. Although she did try to talk during the kiss.
I ended up making out like a teenager with a very beautiful woman very high on of any number of chemical intoxicants including but not limited to cocaine, speed, alcohol and nicotine. I was still wondering what the hell I was doing while she damn near sucked the bottom lip off my face. She occasionally came up for air to ask me who taught me how to kiss, and if I had any children and how much money I make.
Then Harley walked into the room. Harley was staying in the room and just found two people he didn’t know in his room, making out on his bed. Harley and I had briefly met earlier, so after a quick double take, he recognized me as his roommate's friend and apologized for disturbing us. He told me he really needed to get some sleep and began getting ready for bed. Toni decided to climb off of me and, being a good neighbor, tried to help Harley with his shoes, socks, jacket, etc. and even began giving him the speed massage/interrogation treatment as well.
Again, I figured right about then would be a good time to leave. But again, I stayed to see it through. It had been a couple hours since we left Toni’s sister, and I hoped she was finished with whatever freaky stuff she and her boyfriend had been doing. I grabbed my wallet, keys and cell phone and left the room with Toni. I did not, however, take my shoes, socks, jacket or vest, or a key to the room. It wasn’t my room after all. Harley told me he was going to sleep and would be there for the remainder of the night. I told him I would be back in a little while to get my stuff, and/or crash.
It was at this time about five in the morning. I took Toni back up to the sixth floor and into her hotel room. She wanted me to stay the night (what was left of it), but I could see that she was still nowhere near recovered from the drugs and was not going to be sleeping anytime soon. She dragged me into the bathroom again, turned out the light and began making out with me on the sink.
It was then that I learned that Toni couldn’t have sex with me because she lives with her ex husband and that would be cheating. I was curious how her tongue in my mouth wasn’t considered cheating, but I have learned never to argue with someone on drugs. Reality doesn’t apply. She told me it’s OK for her to have sex with a girl, but any type of sex with a guy would be considered cheating. And since she doesn’t want to cheat, it’s why she does drugs. It stops her libido.
Right then I thought that I had definitely followed the white rabbit way too far into the hole, and it was time for me to crawl, dirty and disheveled, back out and back into reality.
I bid Toni goodnight – she again asked me to stay and insisted she could sleep - but I was no longer fascinated by the events of the evening, I was pretty much repulsed by it all.
It was 5:30. I headed back down to the first floor and knocked on Harley’s door. No answer. I called the room. No answer. I tried my cell phone – no battery. I was left in the hallway of the Mission Bay Hilton with no shoes no socks, no jacket to my rented tux, no overnight bag (as it was located in Kevin’s room) no battery to my cell phone, no room to sleep in, no idea what Kevin’s last name was, no recollection of his room number, and no sense of self esteem as I suffered the consequences of a less than honorable evening. I suppose I could have called Lauren, but I didn’t want to wake her or anyone in her room just because I got left out in the cold.
So I hopped a hotel security cart to my car located a few blocks away, crawled into the back seat and slept until 7:30. I changed into my dirty gym clothes – still in the car from Thursday Night, and walked back to the hotel. About 8 AM I went and got myself some breakfast at the hotel restaurant. I was in the zone at this point. The zone is that time after an all-nighter where you find yourself walking around in daze, only partially conscious but totally aware, responding only to external stimuli.
At that time I was well past caring whom I was going to wake up. I wanted my overnight bag and a fresh change of clothes. I wanted the remnants of my tuxedo still locked in the hotel room downstairs. I wanted a shower and a nap.
I called Lauren who had been up for over an hour already and had been calling me regularly on my non-functional cell phone, nervous as to where I ended up. Little did anyone know that where I ended up was cramped into the back seat of my car.
I had spent the night curious how things were going to turn out and was appalled at the result. No white rabbit led me down that road. I led myself. And I was furious about it and had only a headache and this story to show for it. I was curious as to how things would turn out, and as is often the case when doing things you know you ought not to be doing, they turned out exactly as I should have expected.
