Here’s your next story from single life in New York. Before I begin, I want to tell you all who have linked to me that I know who you are, and once this blog is officially moved to www.velvetindupont.com, I am going to add all your links to the new template.
It’s 1997. A very young and naive Velvet is at a jazz club with a bunch of girlfriends in Stamford, Connecticut, just over the New York border. There are a few seats at the bar, but they are not together. Two girlfriends get seats together and Velvet sits around the corner of the bar and can still easily talk to the friends, but there’s a couple on the corner.
A bunch of men walk in to the bar. Unless you were living under a rock at the time, you would have immediately recognized the type in track suits, thick gold chains and crunchy hair as refugees from Long Island. They piled up to the bar, infiltrating any pockets of space remaining between myself and my girlfriends. They were on my left, they were on my right and they hijacked the bartender to feed them their Zima’s.
I’m not sure what happened, or how it happened, but the bartender signaled to the bouncer that these goons were to be tossed out. The bouncer immediately descended on the crowd and told them they had to go. Another bouncer arrived as back up. From my left, from my right and from behind me, punches were thrown. Track suits were manhandled. Gold chains were snatched. Crunchy hair came dangerously close to taking out an eye. Zima’s were spilled. The men were eventually ejected from the bar faster than trash gets dumped in the Long Island Sound. We all know that just because you are a wise guy from New York, doesn’t mean you can beat the ass of the Connecticut Ghetto.
After it was all over, the two bouncers came back up to me and asked me if I was ok. Somehow, I hadn’t been touched in the melee. I turned to my girlfriends, sitting just across the corner of the bar from me and asked, “I wonder why they came to ask me if I was ok?”
Nicole said, “Velvet, I don’t know how you remained unscathed in that massive brawl, but you did. I will forever have this vision, made possible by the spotlight from above the bar, shining directly on your head with everything around you one big haze in the darkness. You sat, surrounded by mafia-wannabes tossing punches with two giant bouncers as you sipped your gin and tonic, swaddled in your faux fur coat. Priceless.”
What did we learn from that story?
Sometimes Velvet is completely and utterly naive about danger on the left, right and in the back. And sometimes in front of her face.