Last year on my birthday, K had a surprise party for me at my favorite Thai restaurant in Queens. We had such a great night having delicious food in the patio garden, but then it got even better.
My friend J is a pole dancing instructor for Shelia Kelley’s S Factor. And she’s quite the exhibitionist (along with being somewhat of a devout Christian/Jesus freak and somehow those two things just don’t seem to go together, do they??), but still…we didn’t expect her to spontaneously ‘change’ into her pole dancing panties on the freaking subway platform in order to show us her skillz on the N train.
But she did. And her skills are AMAZING. They delighted not only our crew, but the entire subway car who mostly sat silenced with mouths agape.
What does this have to do with Jayson Williams? Absolutely nothing.
But to illustrate that random, strange, spontaneous things happen in my NYC life and that is how I ended up having drinks with Jayson Williams, former NBA basketball player and oh, right, the guy who may or may not have killed his bodyguard a few years back (he was acquitted, but hey so was O.J.).
K and I had dinner with two girlfriend’s on Saturday night at Suba on the Lower East Side. We had a 9:15 reservation and for an HOUR they told us that they were ‘getting the table ready’. They offered us champagne and then cocktails (and I can’t have either!!!) and then appetizers on the house before we were finally sat at 10:30pm. I sat on the banquette side and was ridiculously close to the table next to me, a 4-top full of BIG, LOUD men. I pay no attention.
Seriously, sometimes I am obliviously blind when it comes to spotting famous people. I can be out with friends and they will point out ‘there’s Liv Tyler, there’s Mario Batelli’ and then I realize it. But by myself, not so much. So when I notice that K and C were whispering and sending glances…and hey so was that table next to them…I figured someone at the table just inches from me was ‘someone famous’. Which one, I didn’t know, but it turns out it’s the one with his large, long leg inches away from mine. Never one to be deterred, I simply put my hand on his leg and said “Hi, sorry to bother you, but I know that you’re someone famous, but I really don’t know who you are and my friends (who are mortified at this point) and I are trying to figure it out.”
Ever so gracious for someone 6’10” he leaned in, introduced himself and then said, “But you’re someone, too. Who are you?”
Without going into all the boring details, he proceeded to keep up the flirtatious conversation, sent over a very expensive bottle of wine (that I couldn’t drink!!) and after dinner invited us to the back room to have drinks with he and his group. By the end of the night, he’d paid for everything, including our dinner, asked my friend C if she would have sex with him (the answer-no-and I don’t think he’s used to that!), talked about Freud, women and what they want, his relationship woes and other things too graphic and scandalous to mention.
It was a fascinating night not only because I've never been part of someone's entourage and it was an interesting way to spend what could have been a very routine dinner and dancing with friends, but also because here’s a guy who grew up on the Lower East Side, rose to stardom for this amazing talent, is worth $87 million, but at the end of the day wonders if his own wife really loves him or is just with him for his money. Sad.
K and I walked home, in heels as there were no cabs to be had, soaked our feet in epsom salts and were happy to not be rich and famous.
You can read C's take on the evening here.
And how was your Saturday night?
