Basil Seal Takes Manhattan, but gives it back...
Part II
So now we have visited the shrine which is the TNC, collared Mr. Cusack and put his budding young career at risk, we must needs head back past many tall buildings to meet The Fiendish One (TFO) at the club, which is located, if you can believe it, in a tall building.
Thursday evening, Friday morning, NYAC, The Players, Chumleys, Fraunces, face down on boot of police car (somewhere in NYC): "Hail fellow, well met" was the greeting we received from TFO upon our arrival in the Cocktail Lounge at the NYAC. We called the second meeting of the RCBfA to order over and raised our Black Velvets in salute. TFO was fresh from balancing the scales of Justice (in our favour, I hoped) and we spent some time at this beautiful club planning our assault upon the metropolis. I must say that I had hoped to blend inconspicuously into the many-headed, but our small band of brothers seemed to stick out in the crowd, as it were. I really don't know why, I mean, a prominent NY attorney in a 3 piece navy pin stripe, a Mid-Western man in navy blazer and British khaki trousers, a young publishing magnate in training in Harris tweeds, and an English gentleman in Savile Row navy worsted with white waistcoat, Charvet tie, navy Chesterfield, Derby, fawn gloves and stick...This seems all rather ordinary to me, but some of the looks of, should I say interest?, that our table were getting, I just don't know. We decided on a Black Velvet night, come what may, and out of courtesy to our host, we decided to move on before we were moved out and TFO (whose middle name is caution) would have to own up to us publicly...We headed outside and piled into the car...
Thursday evening, The Grill, The Players (somewhere in NYC): We repaired to the Grill at The Players, a well known club whose membership, as the name suggests, is drawn from the world of the theater and motion pictures, writers, artists, etc. We were met there, and were actually allowed in, by a friend of TFO and Mr. Cusack, Knight Commander C. The Knight Commander is a very learned gentleman with loads of charm and wit and was a splendid host. As fellow Knights, he and I shared the secret handshake, in a way that the others could not see...They really hate that. The club rules were explained, which forbids that one notice anyone famous and really forbids the asking for autographs, pictures or any other such nonsense. Which was a relief to me, since I had feared being hounded in NYC by my public. Black Velvets, of course, and we spent most of the time just gazing around at this most remarkable room. The in-house memorabilia which covers just about all the available wall space, makes for very interesting reading. Black Velvet, don't mind if I do...By this time, Mr. P had won several hundred dollars at the billiards table and was fast becoming unpopular. Andrew was searching the walls for maps and I feared that TFO and KCC were going to break out in song at any minute...So, in order to protect our host, I thought it best to move onward and downward into less august company...Right, one last round...Make mine a Black Velvet...
Thursday evening, Chumleys (somewhere in NYC): Now this place is about 130 years old and was hopping during prohibition...There is no sign outside and you still pass through a curtain before you enter the bar. It is laid out in four levels, with booths everywhere and plenty of places to hide, perfect for us. We were well oiled by now of course, and TFO and KCC immediately began to sing "I dreamed I saw Joe Hill last night" in, what I must say, were very nice tenors. I contributed my rendition of "Drink, Puppy, Drink" and we were, in a word, swinging...I was badgering Andrew to call Dawn Eden and ask her to come down so we could meet her, but he didn't seem to eager for this to become a reality...I had lost track of Mr. P amidst all the song and dance, but I then heard, drifting over the cacophony of drink, someone in a very loud voice reciting what sounded like The Faerie Queene and The Midnight Ride of Paul Revere, mixed together, and doing quite a nice job of it too...I finally spied him standing on a chair near a table full of what looked like longshoreman, or some other group of meaty individuals...They were bearing it pretty well, but pointing at me, shouting "Hey Wooster" and making rather emphatic "come the hell over here" gestures...Well in these circs I did the manly thing and pretended I didn't know Mr. P from Adam. Besides, my name is not Wooster, as Mr. P was kindly trying to explain to them between stanzas...It might have gotten ugly but TFO was able to coax him back to the table by waving a pint of Black Velvet in the air and smacking his lips...Luckily for us, Mr. P's thirst got the better of him just before the longshoreman grew tired of his performance...Dawn Eden had still not shown, and while I was waiting I had gathered quite a nice collection of some of NYCs finest specimens of the female species to our table...It is amazing what a Ben Franklin will do to adjust a young womens attitude toward one...I was busy introducing everyone to Andrew, ordering rounds, joining the chorus when required, wondering why the young women next to me was wearing her ear rings through her nostrils and waiting for Dawn Eden to show up. I spent the next few hours trying to explain that it is not "Bay-sil" but "Bah-sil" but I didn't seem to be getting through...I think the drinking games started shortly after this and somewhere in the mix TFO and KCC headed home. But those of us left standing, had one more stop to make...You know, I don't think I ever did get to meet Dawn Eden...Pity, that...
Friday, early morning, Fraunces Tavern (somewhere in NYC): Now I had to check out this place...I think this was the real hot bed of treason back in the day. I think one of those Sons of the treasonous something groups actually own the place now. So we headed that way in order to try and once again give them a little taste of Empire (well, at least I did, Mr. P was lending moral support, God Bless Him)...This is the reason that a few hours later I was dodging between tables headed for the back entrance, fending off a dozen colonial brutes with my stick, who had no musical taste, disdaining my rendition of "God Save the Queen" (Mr. P's Kipling impersonation didn't fair any better) and who took umbrage at my few remarks about the parentage of George Washington...Mr. P was attempting a daring flanking maneuver under the tables to reach my side, and I think, at this point, Andrew was asleep in the back of the car...It looked like we had met our Gandamak when we were able to squeeze past the press and into the loo and directly out a window, into the arms of New York's finest constabulary. This was the point where we were lying face down on the boot of a police car and suddenly heard TFO's voice somewhere behind us. Glancing round, I saw him in low conversation with one of the men in blue, and a few minutes later we were free to go...Of course, we were thankful to TFO who had thought he had covered the bases earlier concerning our visit and public safety, but I suppose someone didn't get the memo. I'll have to ask him what he said to get us out of the soup, one day...Well, we were able to grab breakfast back at the club and drop Andrew outside his office building (well, it was some office building anyway) in time for work. I am sure he'll do fine, he's young, single and not yet bright enough to steer clear of bad influences like me (I still can't understand why he wouldn't call Dawn Eden)...Mr. P and I are not so young, so we shot straight back to the club for a bit of the dreamless...
Friday, Friday evening, The Ball, The St. Regis, Mr. P comes to the rescue (somewhere in NYC): to be continued...
Thursday evening, Friday morning, NYAC, The Players, Chumleys, Fraunces, face down on boot of police car (somewhere in NYC): "Hail fellow, well met" was the greeting we received from TFO upon our arrival in the Cocktail Lounge at the NYAC. We called the second meeting of the RCBfA to order over and raised our Black Velvets in salute. TFO was fresh from balancing the scales of Justice (in our favour, I hoped) and we spent some time at this beautiful club planning our assault upon the metropolis. I must say that I had hoped to blend inconspicuously into the many-headed, but our small band of brothers seemed to stick out in the crowd, as it were. I really don't know why, I mean, a prominent NY attorney in a 3 piece navy pin stripe, a Mid-Western man in navy blazer and British khaki trousers, a young publishing magnate in training in Harris tweeds, and an English gentleman in Savile Row navy worsted with white waistcoat, Charvet tie, navy Chesterfield, Derby, fawn gloves and stick...This seems all rather ordinary to me, but some of the looks of, should I say interest?, that our table were getting, I just don't know. We decided on a Black Velvet night, come what may, and out of courtesy to our host, we decided to move on before we were moved out and TFO (whose middle name is caution) would have to own up to us publicly...We headed outside and piled into the car...
Thursday evening, The Grill, The Players (somewhere in NYC): We repaired to the Grill at The Players, a well known club whose membership, as the name suggests, is drawn from the world of the theater and motion pictures, writers, artists, etc. We were met there, and were actually allowed in, by a friend of TFO and Mr. Cusack, Knight Commander C. The Knight Commander is a very learned gentleman with loads of charm and wit and was a splendid host. As fellow Knights, he and I shared the secret handshake, in a way that the others could not see...They really hate that. The club rules were explained, which forbids that one notice anyone famous and really forbids the asking for autographs, pictures or any other such nonsense. Which was a relief to me, since I had feared being hounded in NYC by my public. Black Velvets, of course, and we spent most of the time just gazing around at this most remarkable room. The in-house memorabilia which covers just about all the available wall space, makes for very interesting reading. Black Velvet, don't mind if I do...By this time, Mr. P had won several hundred dollars at the billiards table and was fast becoming unpopular. Andrew was searching the walls for maps and I feared that TFO and KCC were going to break out in song at any minute...So, in order to protect our host, I thought it best to move onward and downward into less august company...Right, one last round...Make mine a Black Velvet...
Thursday evening, Chumleys (somewhere in NYC): Now this place is about 130 years old and was hopping during prohibition...There is no sign outside and you still pass through a curtain before you enter the bar. It is laid out in four levels, with booths everywhere and plenty of places to hide, perfect for us. We were well oiled by now of course, and TFO and KCC immediately began to sing "I dreamed I saw Joe Hill last night" in, what I must say, were very nice tenors. I contributed my rendition of "Drink, Puppy, Drink" and we were, in a word, swinging...I was badgering Andrew to call Dawn Eden and ask her to come down so we could meet her, but he didn't seem to eager for this to become a reality...I had lost track of Mr. P amidst all the song and dance, but I then heard, drifting over the cacophony of drink, someone in a very loud voice reciting what sounded like The Faerie Queene and The Midnight Ride of Paul Revere, mixed together, and doing quite a nice job of it too...I finally spied him standing on a chair near a table full of what looked like longshoreman, or some other group of meaty individuals...They were bearing it pretty well, but pointing at me, shouting "Hey Wooster" and making rather emphatic "come the hell over here" gestures...Well in these circs I did the manly thing and pretended I didn't know Mr. P from Adam. Besides, my name is not Wooster, as Mr. P was kindly trying to explain to them between stanzas...It might have gotten ugly but TFO was able to coax him back to the table by waving a pint of Black Velvet in the air and smacking his lips...Luckily for us, Mr. P's thirst got the better of him just before the longshoreman grew tired of his performance...Dawn Eden had still not shown, and while I was waiting I had gathered quite a nice collection of some of NYCs finest specimens of the female species to our table...It is amazing what a Ben Franklin will do to adjust a young womens attitude toward one...I was busy introducing everyone to Andrew, ordering rounds, joining the chorus when required, wondering why the young women next to me was wearing her ear rings through her nostrils and waiting for Dawn Eden to show up. I spent the next few hours trying to explain that it is not "Bay-sil" but "Bah-sil" but I didn't seem to be getting through...I think the drinking games started shortly after this and somewhere in the mix TFO and KCC headed home. But those of us left standing, had one more stop to make...You know, I don't think I ever did get to meet Dawn Eden...Pity, that...
Friday, early morning, Fraunces Tavern (somewhere in NYC): Now I had to check out this place...I think this was the real hot bed of treason back in the day. I think one of those Sons of the treasonous something groups actually own the place now. So we headed that way in order to try and once again give them a little taste of Empire (well, at least I did, Mr. P was lending moral support, God Bless Him)...This is the reason that a few hours later I was dodging between tables headed for the back entrance, fending off a dozen colonial brutes with my stick, who had no musical taste, disdaining my rendition of "God Save the Queen" (Mr. P's Kipling impersonation didn't fair any better) and who took umbrage at my few remarks about the parentage of George Washington...Mr. P was attempting a daring flanking maneuver under the tables to reach my side, and I think, at this point, Andrew was asleep in the back of the car...It looked like we had met our Gandamak when we were able to squeeze past the press and into the loo and directly out a window, into the arms of New York's finest constabulary. This was the point where we were lying face down on the boot of a police car and suddenly heard TFO's voice somewhere behind us. Glancing round, I saw him in low conversation with one of the men in blue, and a few minutes later we were free to go...Of course, we were thankful to TFO who had thought he had covered the bases earlier concerning our visit and public safety, but I suppose someone didn't get the memo. I'll have to ask him what he said to get us out of the soup, one day...Well, we were able to grab breakfast back at the club and drop Andrew outside his office building (well, it was some office building anyway) in time for work. I am sure he'll do fine, he's young, single and not yet bright enough to steer clear of bad influences like me (I still can't understand why he wouldn't call Dawn Eden)...Mr. P and I are not so young, so we shot straight back to the club for a bit of the dreamless...Friday, Friday evening, The Ball, The St. Regis, Mr. P comes to the rescue (somewhere in NYC): to be continued...
posted by s at 1.3.07
<< Home