Bahahahaha. A dear chum of mine is coming to visit me this fall, and I had to promise her that we would not have a repeat performance of her visit years ago.
We ended up hitting the lower east side lounge scene. And how. Where there were men in flat-front trousers drinking martinis, we were there. C'mon- gimme a break, it was my first year living here. Nonetheless, the bar became mobbed at the obvious 11:30ish hour. Even though she was plopped on the stool next to me, I couldn't see her as there were suddenly at least three other people in between us. I leaned way back to catch a glimpse, and there she was, sipping some sort of highball, giggling incredulously with (at?) some stripey-clad Oasis looking fellow. He was all up in her grill. He kept suggesting that the two of us to go with him and his Italian brother and party down in some penthouse in midtown. ? The best part? His name, he said, was Pino Vagi. Again: Pino Vagi.
In order to extracate ourselves from the pushy pair of Italians, we parted and she gave Pino her number- not thinking he would call as she lived many hours away. Oh, but he did call. He would call, and in thick Italian accent and barely audible & breathy, he would explain that it was "Pino-- Pino Vagi calling" and then shortly thereafter ask her about her underwear. That was the end of Pino. Still lives on in my mind. Brilliant.
We ended up hitting the lower east side lounge scene. And how. Where there were men in flat-front trousers drinking martinis, we were there. C'mon- gimme a break, it was my first year living here. Nonetheless, the bar became mobbed at the obvious 11:30ish hour. Even though she was plopped on the stool next to me, I couldn't see her as there were suddenly at least three other people in between us. I leaned way back to catch a glimpse, and there she was, sipping some sort of highball, giggling incredulously with (at?) some stripey-clad Oasis looking fellow. He was all up in her grill. He kept suggesting that the two of us to go with him and his Italian brother and party down in some penthouse in midtown. ? The best part? His name, he said, was Pino Vagi. Again: Pino Vagi.
In order to extracate ourselves from the pushy pair of Italians, we parted and she gave Pino her number- not thinking he would call as she lived many hours away. Oh, but he did call. He would call, and in thick Italian accent and barely audible & breathy, he would explain that it was "Pino-- Pino Vagi calling" and then shortly thereafter ask her about her underwear. That was the end of Pino. Still lives on in my mind. Brilliant.