After another tri-continental trip and an even more crazier week, I was expecting a quiet Saturday night at the crib. Those plans were shattered when my best mate (and also co-workers) popped in and peer pressured me into hitting the newest lounge that had opened up in the city. With the economic uncertainties, lounge and restaurant openings had become rarer these days, so I obliged. After all, one can’t really make an excuse of being too tired from “work” when your crew has worked the same grueling hours. I had my Canali suit altered, and was hoping to roll out in the Hermes paisley tie that I had brought back from Greece..basically, it would not be too difficult to look mad rakish as were our usual plans.
The fellas had made arrangements for the black cars, because getting blitzed was thrown about as the goal o the evening. When heavy drinking is in the cards, I usually default as the “designated driver/bondsman” in case the crew ends up in trouble. But this time they weren’t sure about my plans, so they came well prepared. We all filed into the cars looking relatively clannish (bankers tend to be conservative with the suits, blacks and navy blue), but definitely in high spirits. Since I live close to the Financial District yet not too far from the Party District, the ride was pretty much a few minutes.
Having the foresight to make reservations for a private table out back, I patted Mickey for executing properly, he was on my deal team and liked to introduce himself as the “executioner” when hitting on tipsy brunettes who worked in advertising or PR. Since the core crew consisted of 7 guys with a constellation of girlfriends, friends, old college buddies and new friends, we always managed to have 10 seat tables available. We walked into the dimly lit mandarin style interior of the lounge, not quite Buddha Bar second level yet definitely of the oriental persuasion. A waitress appeared before we all had settled in to take the orders. Usually “bottle service” implies marked up champagnes and wines that my buddies would be able to get at 10% of cost but the privilege of holding court always comes with a price. My buddies ordered their respective poisons of the night and I experimented with a new drink that I had so enjoyed in Athens some weeks back. Tangerine Tonic, which despite it’s deceptively simple name, packed a quirky punch where the tangerine juice mixed with soda water with bits of crushed ice, had nourished me through countless spreadsheets and analyses. As the only Pakistani in the crew, the mates had always been understanding of my alcohol policy which allowed them to cut loose and drink with impunity.
Having settled in, we focused on relaxing, with the music thumping out chilled tunes (think Ibiza), we talked about summer plans, how other friends were doing etc. As the lounge started to fill in, my friend Jay’s girlfriend and gaggle of her friends came up and joined our table. Natalie was a wild partygirl/model before going to law school and becoming the staid professional that she now pretends to be. Having given up the booze, we frequently found ourselves to be the only two sober people at clubs and parties. This night would be no different, as we liked to people watch, analyze who was on a first date, which guy was going to hit on which girl. It was a fun game that we enjoyed playing.
What is really interesting is that in most American cities, the chi-chi clubs attract two types of people: Those with money looking to relax and unwind from the monstrous working hours and those who are functionally broke (middle class) looking to spend a few bucks to be seen, and possibly to talk about later in the week. This applies to both guys and girls, although it takes on a more sinister version with the girls. Girls, many of whom Nat. and I dubbed downtown princesses are twenty somethings working in some menial $hit jobs, living with 2 or 3 roommates in ghetto fab apartments, while shopping for the top self designer threads on daddy/bf’s dime. To us these girls represent the worst form of nightlife enthusiasts - vapid, socially obtuse and believing that their beauty would give them the entry to best clubs, wealthiest men, and bling. These girls usually end up getting conned into going home with equally shallow con-men (mortgage brokers and other functional muscle bound retards) or could be found in the crappy pizza or felafal joints, drunken and teary eyed as the grease dribbles down their terribly out of place foundation.
If female beauty was the prime indicator for social value at this lounge, these girls were in for a disappointment as some of the models started streaming in. Nat still kept in touch with the fashion world that she had left behind for the JD at U. Penn and an up tempo job in Big Law. Turns out that Ford and few other modeling agencies were doing auditions in our wee-town and these girls had made the second round so they were at the lounge on their company’s dime. As they started to walk through the rectangular lounge floor space you could only see the catty looks of disgust emanating from these princesses who had thought that they were going to be commanding the (male) attention of the venue.
Recognizing a few faces N. waved them over to Toads delight. Eric, aka Toads, had gone to Dartmouth, played football with Big Green and loved to crunch numbers (and ice when incredibly drunk). A native Nebraskan, he had what the girls called the “All American aura.” As our resident quant, he would usually be passed over for the deal team trips, so he was always interested in meeting new people and finding another girl to take home for the night. Anyways, as the models to be approached, Nat took the lead in the intros as we all were not sure of who was who. Usually I politely make small talk and feign interest in the lives of these fashionistas, but tonight I was struck by one girl, not in the I like the way you look sense but more of the are you desi by any chance?
The opportunity came when I made my way over to her and asked for her name: Ayesha. bingo! In our small talk I managed to find out that she was from the West Coast, Pakistani but born in the US and thoroughly Americanized. As in most cases, we usually talk for a few and then circulate within our group, call it a party within a party. As I got near Toads, his glittering eyes motioned some plotting at hand. He was quick to ask my thoughts about the ‘cute brownie’ (A) that I was talking with a bit earlier. Wanted to know whether she was single (she was), living in town (check), and would be up for a night cap (check).
Normally I like to help out my bros in procuring women (I guess that makes me a pimp of sorts) but this time an odd sort of protectiveness came over me as I told him to “chill.” Winking and somehow thinking that I wanted this desi girl for myself, Toads solemnly back off and offered me success. I was not interested in this girl, sure she was beautiful but so were her model colleagues. It was odd situation, which I tried to compensate by not talking with her for the rest of the evening because I had essentially blocked one of my homeboys from approaching her. Usually there is always a tipping point in lounges where no new people are allowed to enter in the space, while the crowd has become sufficiently intoxicated. Ayesha’s crew was no different - why those girls would opt for shots this late at night was beyond me. Nat and I had return to our traditional past time of people watching and cracking inside jokes.
Shortly before 2 AM, I caught Ayesha walking out of the Table (AKA VIP area) hand in hand with a tall muscular black dude. Now I knew this fella from our various nightlife stops, its not a huge city and the crowds are similar. He was a corporate guy, who talked a big game of doing business in the Cayman Islands (euphemism for money laundering) and a passion to bed women from every single country of the world. Therefore seeing him walking away with A, I was *almost *ready to get up and catch up to them. This is when having an intelligent friend becomes invaluable. Natalie saw the look on my face and instinctively told me to let Ayesha be, that this girl did not need my protection, and our Pakistani link was just that - an accident of birth. This brought be back to reality. I mean who was I to tell her what to do? Not only was I wrong to block Toads, but even worse, I had wasted my time thinking about the security of girl that I didn’t have any connections with and didn’t even like?
In any case, after I came to the conclusion that I had grossly overstepped my boundaries by inserting myself into the affairs of another girl, I returned to enjoy the rest of the evening. So Ayesha (Not her real name) and all of you hip American-Pakistani girls will never have me interject or interfere in your life and choices. It’s none of my business and frankly should not be a concern. A Muslim name, and linkages to Pakistan don’t mean anything when you’re a ho 
