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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Humor  |  House: Booksie Classic
Late night escapades with Mick at the Essex House.

Submitted: January 28, 2012

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Submitted: January 28, 2012





Access + Excess: Stumbling into a superstar


by Sophia Smith  •  October 25, 2011 @ 7:00am


Just as many guys from Western New York preparing to take those final steps on the road to marriage make the bachelor party road trip to Las Vegas, plenty of local ladies enjoyed their final weekend of freedom under the bright lights of the Big Apple.  When I lived in New York after college, it seemed like everyone from home came to the city for a bachelorette weekend before tying the knot. 

When my friend Nina (name changed to protect the guilty, haha) was getting married, she chose a date hoping for a nice sunny weekend in September.  My roommate already had plans for that weekend with a bunch of her friends who would be cramming in all over our apartment.  Nina decided we would all stay in a midtown hotel that weekend and promised it would be much more fun than an average weekend of seven Buffalo girls crashed out at my place.

The schedule for our bachelorette weekends:

1.) Shopping usually topped the list the first day, followed by a night of partying in Soho, Noho, Nolita, or wherever the latest hotspot was. 

2.) Lazy Saturday mornings were always spent searching for the city’s best bagel, followed by more shopping and the strong intent to go museum-hopping before dinner and a night on the town.

3.) Of course, most of this usually didn’t happen until Sunday, if at all, since it is close to impossible to drag about eight fashion-starved girls from Bloomie’s to Bergdorf’s to Bendel’s to Barney’s and survive.  Personally, my favorite thing to do after an afternoon of marathon shopping was to hit the roof of the Peninsula Hotel for a fresh air cocktail on arguably the best rooftop terrace in New York.

Back at our hotel, the Essex House on Central Park South, we decided to pop into the lobby bar before we went out for the evening.  We were already fast friends with the bartender, a young, cheeky English kid.  He asked us where we were from, what we were doing and bought us a round of champagne.  With barely any prodding he informed us that a few celebs were also staying there this weekend—Diana Ross, Danny Devito and MICK JAGGER! 

Who cares about the first two?! 

As soon as we heard that Sir Mick was in the house, the girls started primping and looking in every corner of the bar.  “Don’t waste your time looking around here,” our loose-lipped bartender told us.  “He is in one of the penthouses…you will never see him.”

So off we went for a night on the town.  Dinner at Gotham….expensive but flawless, then drinking and dancing at a pretty fromage nightclub in Soho.  These Buffalo babes just could not get enough partying on this particular night.  When we returned to our lobby, the bar was still open and George (the fun bartender) was still tending to a few stragglers.  Of course we thought it was a brilliant idea to have one more drink. 

We told George all about our dinner and our night, he bought us all more drinks and shots of Grand Marnier to boot.  Somehow we got back on the subject of Sir Mick, and he blabbed that the Glimmer Twin was in a penthouse on the 44th Floor (the top floor, of course).  So this is when the wheels in Nina’s head started turning….let’s get to the 44th floor and look around for Mick!  What a great idea!

After we closed out at the bar, rather than hit the button for the 22nd floor, we hit 44, but the elevator wuldn’t go up since we didn’t have the PH key.  That would stop most normal people from continuing this adventure, but not us, and especially not at three am after a martini-fueled night on the town.  Somehow we found the stairs and started hiking up…not from 22, but from 39 where the regular elevator stopped.  We made it to the 44th floor where we found a small hallway with just a few doors.  We noticed there was a large room service cart of discarded food next to one door.  One of the girls just decided that had to be Mick’s trays and cart, and started taking pictures.  I was skeptical, but I thought - let them have their fun.  This was pre- iPhones, droids, and blackberries - so the cameras all flew out!  We were all laughing so hard, probably too hard, and we could barely stand up.  We were perhaps—the polite term, I believe— “overserved.”

Two seconds later, a head popped out of the door—a youngish woman wearing the tightest jeans you have ever seen on a human body. 

“Can I help you?”

“No,” I replied, “we are just stealing Sir Mick’s garbage.” Tight Pants disappeared, and our laughter continued. 

We were about to get the hell outta Dodge when the door opened again.  Tight Pants was back. “Would you girls like to come in for a drink?” she asked.  “Mick thinks you guys are pretty funny.”

We were not sure if this was a joke or if we were going to get arrested.  We followed Tight Pants into the suite, where the scene looked pretty mellow.  Six girls, a few guys here and there, and oh, yeah, and Mick Jagger was lounging on a nearby sofa in jeans and a Bob Marley t-shirt. 

“Come on in, then,” Mick said.  “Have a drink!” 

The room was pretty huge, maybe the size of five normal living rooms, with a massive bar on one end.  Our old friend Tight Pants poured us drinks and we were laughing and didn’t know what to do or say. Should we sit? Presumptuous. Stand? Awkward.

Mick, however, was as sweet as could be.  He asked us why we were all staying here, congratulated Nina and then told her not to get married at all.  He said, “Marriage will only f**k things up, if you want to stay in love, forget it!”  Bianca and Jerry may agree with you on that, Mick.

We all had a good laugh since the wedding had been planned for the last year, was happening in a few weeks, and was already pretty much paid for and locked-in.  Sir Mick didn’t understand that mere mortals could not just ditch their wedding a few weeks before.

He told us funny stories about his marriages, how he knew every time he should not go through with it, but felt pressured. Very insightful for a rock legend at 3 a.m.  He went on to flatter us by telling several of us we could be models, and asked us to turn around like we were onstage. 

He told us he has a condo at this hotel, and a large apartment on Central Park West that was being renovated. He said he has two houses in London, and several more in the UK.  He was bitching about the inconvenience of renovations.  Just like your average Joe Homeowner!  We were a rapt audience and laughed on cue.  He would not let us take any pictures and Tight Pants told us not to even ask him for an autograph, but when I tell you the man is cool, I mean he was UBER cool.

He jumped up about 45 minutes after we arrived, and said, “I’m off to bed.”  Tight Pants must have been his flavor of the month (or week), because this was her cue to clear everyone else out.  “Ok loves, thanks for popping in,” and she held the door open wide.

We rehashed the whole thing for the rest of the night when we got back to our rooms.  We really met Sir Mick!  We stayed up the rest of the night talking, drinking, and imitating Mick and just cracking up.  Needless to say, this was the highlight of our bachelorette weekend.  Museum-hopping the next day was just somehow lackluster since our brush with fame.



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