Who says Valentine's Day is only for lovers? Well, almost everybody, judging from the ads. But that didn't stop me from thrusting myself out the door last night, determined to drink from the cup of love.
First stop was the Naked Angels 25th anniversary gala at Roseland Ballroom. Chaired by Sarah Jessica Parker and her husband, Matthew Broderick, the event brought back together 42 of the 48 founding members of the theater group, according to event producer Julianne Hoffenberg. "I'm most proud of that," she said thoughtfully. "Oh can you add that I'm the best gala producer in the world?"
Jules—done.
Naked Angels rose to its peak of fame in the early ’90s. For years this small, brave theater group had been throwing unusual presentations—some serious, some less so, and almost all with a party element attached.
I remember a performance in a boxing ring. I once convinced my then-client Finlandia Vodka to sponsor a makeshift readthrough/casting event. Founder Jack Merrill, who had a different name back then (actors do that), reminded me of an ongoing soap opera called Hot Keys. "Yeah, I was Nick the Dick, a vice cop with a taste for leather."
I was introduced to the original producing director, Jenifer Estess, who died of ALS and has been written about here before, by her besty Martha McCully. Martha was my pal and PR client; she was the beauty director of Allure magazine, back when Allure was the hottest thing in town (getting publicity was really easy), so the magazine ended up sponsoring a bunch of Naked Angels events.
Perhaps the most lasting fruit of that union was a law in East Hampton forbidding any more dance parties at their airport. The Angels’ last shindig had literally a cast of thousands. I remember some sort of problem with the parking...
Jenifer's sisters Meredith and Valerie were on hand last night, as well as their mom, Marilyn. Along with Martha, they helped this oldster amble down memory lane.
"I remember Fisher [Stevens, the founder of the Naked Angels] brought Michelle Pfeifer as his date one year. She was so beautiful. We followed them to the buffet table and just, well, watched them eat," the sisters recounted.
"And remember the night Jackie O came?" I didn't, but who could forget John John, who loyally showed at nearly every event, lending his name again and again. (He and Jenifer Estess were acknowledged in a memorial slideshow that was very sad.)
Martha brought me up to date. "After so many great shows and close Broadway calls, Naked Angels finally got an original work up there. Next Fall by Geoffrey Nauffts was nominated for a 2010 Tony. We were all so proud."
Was everyone excited to be there?
"I got bangs just for tonight," Martha said, wiggling her head a little bit.
“Yeah, she got banged all right,” said Valerie.
We're having fun now, aren't we? Hors d'oeuvres were nifty and well-passed (a trick in that weird Roseland cocktail corral) by Great Performances.
I couldn't stay, but I'm told the show—which featured Mr. Stevens, Marisa Tomei, and Matthew Broderick via Skype—was a hoot due to Ron Rifkin forgetting his lines. At least that's what I'm told.
But alas, I had a date—a speed date, that is. I had looked up speed dating on the Internet, rightly figuring that somebody was capitalizing on the unlinked, and sure enough I found it in SpeedDatingLA, a California outfit that has been featured on Bravo, CBS, and NBC and who curiously promised that their speed dating was in the "U.K.-style."
So I jotted off my press request to Tina, who cheerfully rejected me flat out, twice. It seemed like the only way I was going to crack this story was by signing up and paying my $42 fee and going as a participant. I was lucky to get in—the women's section was already sold out—and once my receipt came I got to work conjuring my story, wondering if I could pass for the age limit (39) and the sexual orientation.
The event was held at a corporate-though-swanky Sixth Avenue boite called 48 NYC. Speedsters were told to check in starting at 8 p.m., with the dating starting at 9. Two greeters, Steve and Sasha, were both attractive, super friendly, and distinctly Australian (thus the U.K. style?).
They assigned me number 29 and gave me a scorecard with five scoring columns, which also really helped bring home the British theme:
1. Definitely fancy a go
2. One more drink, maybe
3. Not really my cup of tea
4. Oh dear, never mind
5. Never in a million years
You put your email on the bottom of the scorecard, and then you list your "Date-Mate Top 5" at the end of the evening.
I got my drink and was (I thought) discreetly taking notes when one of my rival suitors, Holden McNealy, blew my cover wide open. Well part of it.
"You're writing about this, aren't you? It's cool, I won't tell anyone."
Phew, that was close.
The way it works is that the women sat on banquettes and ottomans that ringed the perimeter of the cordoned off area, while the gents sat on chairs on the inside lane and got up and moved every few minutes. There was no bell and I was grateful for that. Sasha and Steve just circled and said "time’s up" or something like that.
It was completely nerve-wracking. I got all into the logistics of it at first, shaking hands, asking names, then carefully writing down the name and number of my new lady acquaintance. But annoyingly, the guy in front of me did it the opposite way, so every time we were supposed to move he was still writing down my next date's info. I started to resent him.
Immediately it became clear that every woman peered at my card to see how I was rating her. Was I an easy speed date? I had already decided to code everybody the same—"one more drink, maybe"—but after just a few rounds my card felt a little fraudulent.
I decided to play it coy and instead wrote notes about each number that I thought would help me decide later. This is what my notes read like at the end of the night:
10. Theatre
17. Cocker spaniel
6. From the south, claims to have read Faulkner
20. On camera for some show
12. Another Iranian
19. Aussie big eyes
18. Rebecca, Georgia, no Faulkner whatsoever
Here are some things I learned:
1. Everyone who goes speed dating says it is his or her first time.
2. The guys who bring friends all stick together. The girls don't want to sit right next to their friends.
3. None of the girls eat any of the snacks passed. All of the guys eat.
4. Everyone is attractive. (I don't know what I was expecting.)
At the halfway mark I was exhausted.
The guys kind of all stood around joking nervously while the girls diligently worked their little spreadsheets.
While curious to see who might pick me, I didn't hand in my scorecard at the end of the night. I figured that was the nicest way out.
As I walked home in the night air, gasping with relief, I though how nice everyone was. Had I been serious about the exercise, I think it would have been numbingly confusing. After ten dates they all seemed the same, and what about the horror of the second date? Was I supposed to remember what we talked about?
I decided that only pretty, confident, and attractive people subject themselves to this. There was one overweight gal in the group. I worried that she would pick me in her "Date-Mate Top 5" so as I walked home on the windy streets I tried to send her a telepathic message... Happy Valentine's Day, I hope somebody picks you.
