When I invited a hot model/actress to be my date at the annual company Christmas party last year, I figured I was in for a great time. Little did I realize it would be the worst date of my life!
I used to work as a bartender for a fancy country club in Burbank. Among our clientele were movie stars, TV stars, pop stars, directors, producers, network presidents -- it was like a Who’s Who of Show biz.
All year long, the staff and I worked to serve Hollywood’s finest. Then, on the first Monday in December, every year, we would have our annual Christmas party, where the movie stars and the TV stars would serve us!
For most of us on staff, it was the one night all year when we would get to go to a ritzy party at a swank club. There would be music, great food, an open bar, prizes -- a first class affair all the way. None of us could afford to be members of a hoity-toity club like that, but for one night, we could all feel like millionaires.
Most of the people who worked at the club had large families so they saw the Christmas party as a fun night out for the whole brood. But for me, the party represented something else entirely. For me, it was a chance to invite a pretty lady out for a night she would never forget!
Every year I would agonize over which lucky lady would get to attend the festivities with me. I only had one shot at this. I had to pick just the right girl. She had to be beautiful. I wanted her to make a good impression on all the movie stars in attendance. I wanted her to be fun. Someone who I could joke around with and drink and dance the night away.
Every year, as we got closer to December, I would make my short list of who to invite. My first year at the club, I invited a girl I met in an online dating site. It was our first date, and our last. After the party was over, she headed straight home, only to find that she had accidentally locked herself out of her apartment. She spent the rest of the night sitting on her stoop, waiting for the locksmith to arrive.
My second year, I invited an ex-girlfriend who took off as soon as the party was over to head out to a hookah bar.
This year, I was determined to get it right. I wanted to bring a girl who would stick around for more fun after the party was over.
But who to bring? The answer came to me one day when I was having lunch at a sidewalk café around the corner from my apartment. The waitress as a very pretty girl. Tall and model-thin, with a caramel complexion, great hair and long legs.
Her name was Veronica. She was a model/actress/singer who worked a few days a week at the café. (She had a British accent, which at first made her sound sexy but later made her sound pretentious.)
I told her about the upcoming Christmas party. I really hyped it up, mentioning the music, dancing, prizes and celebrities. I asked her if she wanted to go with me. She said she couldn’t give me a definite answer right away because she was so busy with her various projects -- meeting with agents & managers, going on auditions, working on student films and web series, recording a CD, etc.
She said she would let me know. We exchanged phone numbers and I left the café, satisfied that I had found a possible candidate. But I needed an answer from her soon. The party was only two weeks away, and if she couldn’t make it, I would really have to scramble to find someone else.
A few days went by. I contacted Veronica and asked if she had an answer for me yet. She keep me dangling on the line, saying she wouldn’t know for sure until we got a little closer to the big day.
Finally, just a few days before the party, Veronica told me the good news-- she would definitely be able to make it to the party.
But I would later come to wish she had never said yes!
It is worth noting here that Veronica and I never spoke on the phone. We would occasionally email and text, but she always took a long time getting back to me. I definitely did not get a sense there was any kind of love connection happening here!
It always seemed as if she might cancel at any time.
Finally the big day came. That morning, I confirmed with Veronica via text that we were still on for that night. I tried to stress that this is an EARLY party . It’s from 5 PM to 10 PM, and it really doesn’t go any later than that. So you want to get there as early as possible so you don’t miss any of the fun.
Also, because so many people bring all of their family-members, the party tends to get really crowded, so if you want to get a good seat, the earlier you get there, the better.
Veronica told me she had to go to a meeting in downtown LA that day, but she would try to make it back in time.
As soon as she told me she was going to downtown LA, I knew we were going to be late to the party. She would be driving back during rush hour traffic, and it would take her at least an hour to get home.
But I hoped for the best. I went to the mall and bought a new shirt, a new tie, and a new pair of shoes. I wanted to look my best for the big event.
My Dad and my step mom were visiting from out of town. My Dad was very curious about my big date.
“What time are you meeting up with your date?” he asked.
“I’m not sure,” I said. “It depends when she gets back from L.A.”
“Is she coming over here or are you going to pick her up?”
“I’m not sure.”
“Where does she live?”
“She lives somewhere here in North Hollywood.”
“Do you have her address?”
“No. She hasn't sent it to me yet.”
My dad must have been wondering if this girl even existed. At that moment, I must admit, it seemed like 50/50 if this date would even happen.
As we got closer to 5 PM and she still wasn’t back from LA yet, I started to get worried. If she bailed now, I would have to go stag -- and I had already told everyone at work about the hot girl I was bringing to the party!
Finally she texted and said she would be home around 6 PM. She sent me her address so I could I could pick her up then.
So much for getting to the party early! At this point, any hope of getting good seats was long gone. I tried to console myself with the thought that at least I wasn’t going to the party alone.
After she got home, Veronica needed more time to get ready. Clothes, hair, make-up -- these things take time. Pretty doesn’t happen all by itself! She kept me updated, letting me know I could pick her up around 6:45. By the time we finally arrived at the party, it was 7 PM. We were two hours late.
I asked Veronica if she wanted to have our pic taken. I could tell by the look on her face she thought this was a childish and immature thing, for two adults to get their pic taken with Santa. But she agreed to do it.
There was a professional photographer there. He took one pic of me and Veronica posing next to Santa. There he suggested we take another one, just in case.
“That’s enough pictures,” Veronica said. I guess she was hungry, because she was eager to get as far away from that lobby as possible and into the party.
As we walked away from Santa, Veronica was bitching about the photographer. “That fellow would not stop snapping pictures,’ she fumed.
For the record, the man had taken total of TWO pictures. Veronica made it sound like she was Kim Kardashian being chased by a horde of paparazzi!
We entered the main ballroom where the party was being held. One thing I always look forward to at the annual holiday bash is the raffle. It costs $10 a ticket, but you can win great prizes like a 50” flat screen TV, a trip to Vegas, or even $500 cash.
I’ve never won anything in the raffle, but I figured this could be my year.
We entered the ballroom, just as they were giving out the last few prizes in the raffle. We hadn’t gotten there in time to buy any raffle tickets so we missed the whole thing.
That was a bummer, but at least the buffet was still available. We headed over to the buffet table and filled our plates. The “servers’ at the buffet table were all wealthy members of the club.
The club-members were all middle-aged men, mostly married, but they were all happy to meet this beautiful young actress/model in her pretty holiday dress. I introduced Veronica to one of the members. She shook his hand and exchanged pleasantries. As soon as he was gone, Veronica told me that as a germ-phobe, she hates shaking hands.
Another member came over. She reluctantly shook his hand, too. A third member came over. Although I could tell it pained her to do so, Veronica shook his hand, too.
At this point, Veronica apparently decided she was done with shaking hands and would not be shaking any more hands tonight.
Just then, the General Manager of the club walked over. My Boss. His name was Fernando. He was a gregarious Latino man. Very friendly, well-liked by all. I introduced Fernando to my date.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you,” Fernando said, reaching out to shake her hand. Veronica looked at his hand like it was a dead fish.
She nodded in his direction and said, “Nice to meet you, too.” I was horrified. Fernando kept his hand out for a second or two, waiting for a hand-shake that never came. She had left him hanging!
Fernando slowly pulled his hand away and moved on. He had other guests to greet -- presumably much friendlier ones.
(The next day, Fernando had some very unkind things to say to me about my date -- and I agreed with everything he said!)
Veronica and I found our way into the dining room. There were several celebrities milling about. Actor Joe Pesci was posing for pictures. Singer Justin Timberlake popped in very quickly. Actor Andy Garcia got on a microphone and gave a warm welcome -- in Spanish -- to the largely Latino staff of the club.
I asked Veronica if she wanted to meet any of the famous actors or singers in attendance, maybe get a picture with one of them. She snootily replied, “I’m not impressed by celebrities!”
(Keep in mind, this is the girl who, a few weeks earlier, had said It would be “fun” to be at a party with a bunch of celebrities.)
As we were eating our dinner, the buffet stations were all shut down and the staff started clearing off the dessert tables. (They keep things moving at a good clip to have everyone out by 10 PM.) Veronica ran over and snagged herself a dessert just in time. When I walked over to grab a slice of one of the numerous cakes and pies that had been on display, it was too late. All the desserts had been taken back into the kitchen.
All I could think of was, “Gee, if only we had gotten here two hours earlier…”
My take on that was, if someone gives you a drink that’s too strong, you ask the bartender to put some more Cranberry Juice or whatever in there to make it weaker.
The DJ started cranking up the classic party tunes. Everyone at the party got up to dance. Everyone, except for me and my date.
Veronica said she was still light-headed from that drink, and wasn’t feeling like doing any dancing.
When I tell you that everyone at the party was dancing, I mean everyone! All the employees, their husbands and wives, their kids, even the General manager! Everyone was having a grand old time.
And then you looked over at my table, and you saw Veronica and I just sitting there.
Several of my coworkers came over and asked why we weren’t dancing. Veronica said she just wasn’t in the mood.
The Mexican girl turned to Veronica and asked, “Do you mind if I dance with your husband?” (Ha!) Veronica said, “Go ahead!”
The Mexican girl led me on to the dance floor and tried to teach me how to salsa. Now, I should point out here that I’m a terrible dancer. I have no rhythm at all, but when I’m with a fun girl, I can still have a good time on the dance floor.
The Mexican girl started rubbing her body up against mine on the dance floor. I have to say it was the most fun I had all night!
After a few minutes, the Mexican girl said, “Let’s go back to your table. I don’t want your wife to get jealous.”
We went back to the table, where Veronica was happily not dancing with anyone. The Mexican girl said to Veronica, “Now it’s your turn to dance with me!”
Veronica said “No thank you.”
The Mexican girl persisted. She grabbed Veronica by the hand and tried to pull her out of her chair, saying, “Come on, it’s party! Have a little fun!”
But Veronica said, “Thanks anyway but I just don’t feel like dancing right now.”
The Mexican girl asked, “Well do you mind if I dance with her husband again?”
“Go ahead.”
The Mexican girl grabbed me by the hand and again led me on to the danced floor. She would grab my hand and then she would spin, making it look like I actually knew what I was doing out there. As she started grinding, giving me a standing lap dance on the dance floor, all I could think was, “Maybe I invited the wrong girl!”
After a few more minutes, the Mexican girl thanked me and took off to go dance with someone else. Her work here was done. I don’t know who she was -- I had never seen the Mexican girl before that night, and I never saw her again.
When my dance was over, I returned to my table. Veronica didn’t have much to say to me. She didn’t want anything else to drink. And she certainly didn’t feel like dancing.
Considering that I had invited her to a party with prizes, celebrities, food, drinks, and dancing, and we missed out on the prizes, she didn’t care for the celebrities, she didn’t want to have any drinks and dancing was not in the cards, that left “food” as the one thing all night that she had enjoyed.
When I look back now and try to figure out why she had bothered coming on the date at all, the only thing I could think of was that she wanted a free meal, and she got one.
By this point, I was over her. I couldn’t think of any reason for us to be there any longer. I suggested that we leave. It was getting close to 10 PM any way.
I had only spent a few hours with Veronica but it had felt like a lifetime.
At that point, I started thinking there might be some way to salvage this night. Maybe Veronica was just uncomfortable; being at someone else’s office party where she didn’t know anyone.
Maybe if we went somewhere else, she might be able to kick back and relax.
As I drove her home, I said, “There’s a bar not far from here. How would you like to stop in there on the way home?”
She thought about it for a second and asked, “Well, what do they have there?”
What do they have there? It’s a GOD DAMNED BAR! They have drinks and bar stools! What the f*ck do you think they have there?
I dropped Veronica off in front of her apartment. She thanked me for showing her such a great time. She did note that she would have been much more fun if her drink hadn’t been so strong, but that one drink knocked her out. (Whatever!)
She started walking toward her front door. Then she turned back toward me and said, “You know, I’m an excellent dancer. I should have gone out on that dance floor tonight. I could have shown that Mexican girl some real moves!”
REALLY? You should have gone out on that dance floor? Ya think? You should’ve been actually participating in the party, instead of sitting there like a bump on a log? Yeah that’s a great idea. Wish you had thought of it sooner!
I drove off, still a little in shock at how horribly wrong the whole night had gone. When you’re a middle-aged guy, the prospect of hanging out with a hot twenty-something year old girl sounds like a hot time.
But it doesn’t always work out that way.
For the next few weeks at work, the members of the club were asking me about “that girl” I had brought to the party. They all said the same thing: “She was so pretty!”
Then they all had one other question: “Why wasn’t she dancing?”
