Wednesday, December 28, 2005

...and One To Go. ~ Part Two

# 2 ~ The NYE I Could Have Become Mrs. Jeremy Piven, Until that Coked-Out Bitch Ruined it for Me
It was the year before the Eel incident, but at the very same club. We had just opened a few months before, and place was struggling to make a name for itself. The company that owned it hired a party promoter to sell out NYE for us, and let me tell you, this guy was GOOD. By nine o'clock, the club was jumping, and celebrities poured in as quickly as I was serving up the champagne.
All the hot Chicago guys were there: Schwimmer, Piven, Cusack & Chelios. At the time, these men were at the top of their game...well, maybe not so much Jeremy Piven, but hey, that's what he had Cusack for, right? We had set them up in the VIP area, and lucky me, I got to be their bartender. They were all having a great time, and they tipped me VERY, VERY well.
As some point, Jeremy Piven walked up to the bar and thanked me for taking such good care of them. I handed him a Miller Lite & said, "Of course! By the way, I'm a huge fan. I even loved you in that God-awful PCU." I thought I may have offended him for a second, but he quickly proved he wasn't one of those asshole, holier-than-thou celebrity types. He walked around the side of the bar, got down on his knees, and with a Miller Lite in between his hands, he said, "Honey, if you loved me in PCU, you'll love me unconditionally. Will you marry me?" Of course, I said yes. He was hot for me. Really, he was. I SWEAR!
But of course, as it goes in any great movie moment, we were interrupted. My manager came up and said, "Trix, I need you to go in the ladies' room and check on a customer. A couple of girls complained that some bitch is all fucked up in there." GREAT. Just when things were getting good. Shit. Shit. Shit.
The women's room was small. There was just enough room for two stalls, two sinks, a full length mirror, and Sadie, the 350 pound attendant with all of her shit. Walking in there was like walking in to girly hell. Everything we do that we would by no means want a man to see takes place in that room. Hiding the panty lines, repositioning our breasts in our bras, picking the spinach out of our teeth...every disgusting thing we'll never admit to doing gets accomplished in there.
When I opened the door, Sadie was yelling at the top of her lungs through one of the stall doors.
"Gurlee, you bettah wake yo sorry-ass up & get on out heah! Theys otha gurlees out heah gots to pee. You heah me, Gurlee?"
"What's going on, Sadie?" I asked.
"Dis gurlees bin in heah fo turty minutes now. She not answerin! You gots the key?"
"Yeah Sadie, I've got it. Just relax. I'll take care of it."
I unlocked the stall door, and I swear to God, I've never seen anything like it before, and I hope I'll never see anything like it again. On the floor, propped against the toilet was a passed-out blonde. She had one hand floating in her own vomit in the toilet bowl, and the other was perfectly straight against the wall of the stall. Her panties were down around her ankles and her skirt was bunched up over her waist. Funny, but I distinctly remember thinking at that moment, "Hmm...not a real blonde."
On top of the tank was a mound of cocaine, the size of which I'd never seen. Next to it was her American Express card. It seemed to me that she never got the chance to dig in to it. No lines cut. Well, that's fortunate. She must have just been really wasted on booze. I smacked her in the face a few times, telling her to wake up and asking her name. Nothing. Passed out cold. She was breathing, though. I grabbed her purse & pulled out her wallet, looking for an ID.
"Anyone in here know this girl?" No response. "Ok, Sadie. I need you to stay here & keep an eye on her. I'm going to go get the manager & have him call an ambulance."
"Miss Trixie, you best hurry. She don't look so good."
I went to the DJ booth and told TB to announce her name and ask her friends to meet me in the restroom. Then I told the manager to call an ambulance. I saw Jeremy on my way back. Who was that bitch talking to him? Shit! Gotta get back to the drunk girl.
When I got back, her stupid bimbo friends were there, screaming, crying & making a big show of the situation.
"Do you know what she had to drink?"
"Some champagne. And a couple of Cosmos. We did some shots, too." Oh, Jesus. No wonder she's in this condition. She couldn't have weighed more than one hundred pounds, and probably hadn't eaten in days to fit in to that dress.
"Did she take any drugs that you know of?"
"We did a couple of bumps before we left the house." CRAP.
Sadie handed me a couple of wet towels, and I began cleaning her up. I pulled her hand out of the toilet and wiped the vomit off (SO GROSS), and I pulled her panties back up and pulled down her skirt. Looking back on it now, that might not have been the right thing to do. A healthy dose of embarrassment might have done this idiot some good.
The paramedics arrived, and I told them what I knew. I gave them her ID and they took her out of there on a gurney. By that time, she was conscious & mumbling, so I was pretty certain she was going to be okay. Sick as hell for a few days, but okay nonetheless. I also spoke to the police. With the amount of drugs that girl had in her possession, it's no wonder the paramedics called the cops.
When it was all over, I stepped out in the alley to have a cigarette & relax. Oh, Crap! Jeremy!!! I almost forgot. I ran back inside, and when I'd reached the VIP, he was nowhere to be seen. I asked the door guy if he'd seen him, and he informed me they'd left while I was dealing with the bimbo.
No goodbye. No nothing. My Droz, my sweet Doug Hughley, my darling future Ari Gold had left me, and I knew I'd never see him again.
So, Rachel Goldberg, if you're reading this you coked-out bitch, thank you very much for ruining my life. I'll never forgive you.
TOMORROW'S POST: Trixie in Never-Never Land

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