A little while later, Tara and our friend Helen–who also lives in Hoboken–were getting ready to leave. I decided to stay a bit longer. Our lovely hostesses had arranged for a car service to come every half hour, so I was sure I’d get home OK. The party turned into a swirl of dancing bodies and off went the lights. An elbow–possibly Australian–tried to dance with my eye. More champagne. More Bourbon, more smiles, more pictures and more fun.
Suddenly there was a tug on my arm. It was my friend Shelli. She told me that her friend Calis was getting a ride from his cousin Noemi and they were waiting downstairs. So I grabbed my jacket and ran out with her. As we drove up the FDR, I started to wonder where exactly we were going. I had heard smatterings about some other party, but I was several sheets to the wind at this point.
The car–driven by a big guy named Smile–pulled over and parked somewhere in Harlem at like 119th St and something or other. The next party was a chill gathering. People in a dark room swaying subtly to the music. Shelli and I headed right to the kitchen for cocktails and took advantage of the quiet to sit for a spell, but soon we were out and on to yet another party.
Though we didn’t go far, but we drove anyway because the walk would seem a lot longer later. We ended up at 121st St and Morningside Dr. I had a dear friend who went to Columbia and was familiar with walking in this hillier-than-normal area of the city. This party was legendary, or at least that was the impression I got talking to folks outside.
Thrown by a professor and packed with people who at well passed 3:00 AM were not showing any signs of slowing down. Just getting thru the door was a workout. I was feeling like some kinda celebrity with a half dozen or more guys saying, “Hey don’t I know you?” I’d say with a smile, “Yeah, I’m the white guy.” And Shelli headed straight into to dancing maelstrom.
To say this cute, perky pixie attracted attention would be an understatement. I noticed her getting lost in waves of oversized, testosterone-filled parkers. I stepped in to reassure myself that all was kosher. Luckily I made an ally in the room who helped ward off the surge. When someone asked why he was helping me, he said that he was afraid I’d hit him. We all looked at each other and burst out laughing. Believe me, I was not a threat.
Speaking of getting hit, walking down a hallway, my left shoulder was struck as the front door swung open. In some strange effort to even things out, this older, fairly bitter man punched me hard on the other side, laughing maniacally. I just shrugged it off–no pun intended–and headed for the kitchen to make myself a drink. No cups So I walked back into the crowd, thru clouds of familiar, bitter smoke and I chipped in some cash to help pay for the DJ. I think my previous leap into the dancing mayhem fueled my affinity for the music.
Unlike the rest of the crowd, by 4:30 or so I was feeling the weight of night on my head. Luckily for me, there was a cabbie sitting right out on Morningside Drive heading downtown as his last stop of the night. I jumped in. After a few blocks of yelling at me for not getting laid, he tried to get me to pay him for a ride to Hoboken. This would have more than doubled my fare.
Long story short, he was quite embarrassed when I caught him trying to rip me off. Stopping smack in the middle of an intersection, he slumped over placing his head in his hands. Quietly he asked “You’re from around here, right?” “Yep, born and raised” I replied. “That explains it,” he laughs. “I may be drunk man, but not that drunk,” I added. When we got to 33rd Street and 6th Ave, I was out and at 5:00, the platform of PATH station was beyond crowded.
Ass to hip, shoulder to shoulder, forehead to chin. Crammed in so tight that the dumbfounded drunken swerves were steadied. It was as if these people were passed out standing up. I took advantage of this and forced my way to the edge of the platform. The train was coming and when the doors opened, I easily got a seat, thanks to my ability to handle my own drunken self. Back in Hoboken and still a step ahead of the crowd, I snagged a cab home.
I drifted to sleep on a bed (my sofa, actually) of happy memories of this amazing New Year’s Eve now turned New Year’s Day.
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