The other side of the tracks?

"Why do you need a coat check in the lobby of an apartment building?" my wife asked.

I'll apologize for this posting in advance. It is both exciting, interesting and a little bit vulgar, but it is entirely honest.

Let's start at the beginning. Tonight was a cocktail party where my employer had a book signing for his new book, a retrospective on his career. We were literally right across the river from our apartment. While we live in Brooklyn, looking at Manhattan, tonight we were at 1st avenue and 49th street, on the 12th floor looking up at the Chrysler building and the blue glow of the Empire State Building. Looking down, you can see the Secretariat Building.

The view was gorgeous. Breathtaking, in fact. But the interior design was opulent beyond words. I've been temping in a design firm that has worked with numerous famous clients and this was one of my boss' favorite homes. An apartment at UN Plaza that overlooks the East Side of Manhattan. His client? She collects Japanese art from the 18th Century that is framed in formal, yet fun, shades of green, red, and pink. There are streiee, mouldings, hand-painted columns and custom-quilted day beds to flesh out the home. It sounds like something inappropriate, but believe me, it is a work of art. The project began as a small (3 bedroom) apartment, but the clients then bought the next door flat, tore down a wall and redid the whole darn things. Not being appreciative of the intricacies of interior design, I have learned that their are details and touches of true art that can touch a home and bring it to an almost sublime level. I've worn two types of plaid simultaneously, so I think I'm learning a lot!

This apartment could have cost upwards of seven million for just the real estate. The decoration alone was worth at least a million. To see it and share in it was an unbelievable experience.

And then there were the guests. They varied from the eccentric to the fun, yet unapproachably rich. My colleague, The Dancer, my wife and I were roaming the rooms of this apartment meeting guests of unimagined wealth who all enjoyed homes designed by my boss. Let's call my boss, The Scottsman. The Scottsman is a (somewhat crotchety) man of his mid-seventies. He has designed for people who you would know from history class, the society papers and people who very quietly control most of the wealth of the nation.

The party began with waiters in tuxedos circulating around with wine and taking cocktail orders. When my wife and I asked for a red, we were politely informed that nothing more than "off -white " was being served. Insert foot in mouth.

Circulating around the apartment, we met a range of people who had all enjoyed working with The Scottsman over the years. My wife and I had switched to white wine by then and our glasses were never less than half full.

At the end of the night, we were in the process of saying goodbye to the Scottsman, Chippy (his wife) and The Host and Hostess. The Host was an older man who remained seated for the party. He had a slight tremor in his left hand and the devil in his eye. My wife was chatting with him while I was speaking to The Hostess across the room.

As she leaned over to hear him a little better, she felt something brush against her backside. She wasn't quite sure what it was, but then she felt it brush by the the other cheek, where it remained. As she described it, time started to slow down. All of a sudden he said, "Do you mind it when people touch your bottom while they talk to you?"

Her only response was, "MR. HOST, BEHAVE." As she took a step away from him, he gave her a devilish grin.