Lest she be forgotten, Surfer Girl weighed in with this story. I thought she might have disappeared, since the weather is getting warmer, and she is training to hit the waves and kick some board-boy butt.
She started this evening at Jerry's in Soho. Yep, Jerry's. That place has been there since the Antediluvian, in City years, anyway.
She was hanging with her "new friend, Jerry, himself."
"His nickname is 'The Mayor of Soho.' Love that."
I believe that's true. Jerry Joseph may have assigned that moniker to himself back when he opened the joint in 1987.
Surfer Girl was on the receiving end of all kinds of freebies: booze, snacks, and somehow, a little bit of Ecstasy. Oh, lawd. Well, at least it wasn't Rohypnol, although I expect Surfer Girl could power her way through the date-rape drug any old time she wants to.
"Hey, if it's free, it's me," she told me. "I throw it down and then ask, 'Wait, I'm not going to be tripping my balls off until five a.m.? Because I have to go to work.' Nice that I swallow first, and ask questions later."
"Wasted once again," she added. The party moved from Jerry's, with Jerry, to La Esquina, the underground (literally) resto-nightclub under the taco stand at the triangle of Kenmare Street and Cleveland Place.
Dominick, the bouncer-sized host-impresario, dressed in a pin-striped suit and Ray-Bans, escorted Surfer Girl and Jerry the Mayor, through the kitchen (more Goodfellas style, as in Scores West Side), and then proceeded to kick out some mere semi-desirables and made available an entire table to the foursome or so.
"Do not tell anyone, especially Page Six, that I was hanging with Jerry, because I am deeply embarrassed to be seen with him." She was making a funny. The Mayor is too well-known in those parts.
"Dominick cracked up. He's my new favorite bouncer."
More drinking and dancing, and poking fun at Mrs. Wayne Gretzky - not for her purported gambling, oh no, never - but for the "awful fake fur vest" she was wearing. Important to know Surfer Girl's priorities.
Then there is a lapse (an Ecs-lapse?) in Surfer Girl's narrative. But I surmise that she left La Esquina because her next line was, "Shopping for outfits at Fantasy World on 11th Street and Seventh Avenue South, because a fashion show at two in the morning seemed like a good idea."
She told "the guy who works there to dim the lights because we are so goddamn high. Four outfits and two pairs of knee-high latex boots later," they left for the next destination - a loft inhabited by some person named Martin, whose "ex-Victoria Secret girlfriend (aren't they all?) was away on a shoot."
Evidently a show of some sort ensued. Surfer Girl "in a Catholic schoolgirl outfit, knee-high, four-inch heel, latex boots, cigarette, and a vodka tonic."
Then, Surfer Girl "in a white latex nurse outfit, with a nurse hat, the boots, asking if anyone needed a sponge bath or bed pan."
A few would-be takers, of that I am sure. No dice. Not a chance. Sorry fellas.
Instead, Surfer Girl, escorted by Jerry the Mayor, walked out of Martin's loft and into a yellow cab, her latex boots in hand. Solo.
"I arrived at my pleasure pad at four in the morning. Ahh," she said, "Another quiet Wednesday night in the city."
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