Senator Jack
Vendor
- Messages
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It's my last morning in a rainy L.A. and with a few hours before my flight I thought I'd relate a hopefully amusing anecdote.
Through the offices of Mr. Deckard I was introduced to a rather charming and prepossessing woman out here - indeed, she was the very sort of woman that has the uncanny abillity to jellify the inner workings of every man from cagey to cosmpolitan. She appeared the 1940s Hollywood starlet, and while we sat about a faboulous lounge called 'M' in Downtown L.A. (it could have been a set from a Rock Hudson/Doris Day picture) I told her that while I was in town I wanted to go someplace where I could wear a dinner jacket. Elegant. Quiet. Sophisticated. She agreed to be my guest and set up reservations for the restaurant at The Sunset Towers Hotel.
After a few preliminary disasters on Friday (I realized I had taken the wrong dinner jacket with me from NY (still wearable but a bit snug from a shrinking), and then there was a near car wreck as we pulled into traffic (California drivers!)) we got to the restaurant and the rest of the evening went swimmingly.
The cocktails, service, food, and company were all excellent. There was a piano/bass combo playing mood music in the corner. Even the lighting was perfect, which is something I routinely complain about in restaurants. We can't say that we didn't realize we weren't getting a bit of attention out of the room. The maitre 'd had seated us side by side facing the crowd, and my guest was wearing a stunning black and gold gown of Asian extract, the bit of black netting across her face completing the film noir design. I think I looked fairly presentable, but it did seem to me that from the waiters' comments I was probably the first tuxedo-ed man they had ever served in there. 'I just want to tell you that you and your guest have the whole Rat Pack look,' one of them whispered in my ear. 'I love it.' I thanked him, of course, but this was topped a few minutes later when a familiar face came striding across the room, obviously on its way to the gentlemen's. Before pressing on, a finger was shoved in our faces and in the just-as-familar clipped television tones this man said, 'Best looking couple in the room. Especially you, dear.' He then tapped my guest on her shoulder.
What could we say? We thanked Regis for his compliment and got back to our champagne.
Regards,
Senator Jack
Through the offices of Mr. Deckard I was introduced to a rather charming and prepossessing woman out here - indeed, she was the very sort of woman that has the uncanny abillity to jellify the inner workings of every man from cagey to cosmpolitan. She appeared the 1940s Hollywood starlet, and while we sat about a faboulous lounge called 'M' in Downtown L.A. (it could have been a set from a Rock Hudson/Doris Day picture) I told her that while I was in town I wanted to go someplace where I could wear a dinner jacket. Elegant. Quiet. Sophisticated. She agreed to be my guest and set up reservations for the restaurant at The Sunset Towers Hotel.
After a few preliminary disasters on Friday (I realized I had taken the wrong dinner jacket with me from NY (still wearable but a bit snug from a shrinking), and then there was a near car wreck as we pulled into traffic (California drivers!)) we got to the restaurant and the rest of the evening went swimmingly.
The cocktails, service, food, and company were all excellent. There was a piano/bass combo playing mood music in the corner. Even the lighting was perfect, which is something I routinely complain about in restaurants. We can't say that we didn't realize we weren't getting a bit of attention out of the room. The maitre 'd had seated us side by side facing the crowd, and my guest was wearing a stunning black and gold gown of Asian extract, the bit of black netting across her face completing the film noir design. I think I looked fairly presentable, but it did seem to me that from the waiters' comments I was probably the first tuxedo-ed man they had ever served in there. 'I just want to tell you that you and your guest have the whole Rat Pack look,' one of them whispered in my ear. 'I love it.' I thanked him, of course, but this was topped a few minutes later when a familiar face came striding across the room, obviously on its way to the gentlemen's. Before pressing on, a finger was shoved in our faces and in the just-as-familar clipped television tones this man said, 'Best looking couple in the room. Especially you, dear.' He then tapped my guest on her shoulder.
What could we say? We thanked Regis for his compliment and got back to our champagne.
Regards,
Senator Jack
