IM TALKING ABOUT a lot of things with Mary Woronov, ...
"Oh," Woronov sympathizes, "I worry about New York nightlife. They planned a party for me in New York when my Warhol memoir came out. It was very cold that night, and I remember going down to see all my friends standing behind a rope. I said, 'Why can't my friends come in?' and they said it wasn't time yet, because they wanted a long line. I got my coat and went outside to see people. And the music was awful, and too loud, and there wasn't even a place to dance. It was stupefying. We finally just got in taxis and went off to have a party."
It's flattering to know that my New York City nightlife experience is much like Mary Woronov's?except, of course, she has friends. The only reason I've had to carry on was the fabulous gift bag in the aftermath of Richard Johnson's 50th birthday party, compiled by the Buzz Bags folks and full of airplane tickets, David Barton memberships and dinner at Café Gray. For a moment, I felt like the Academy had finally recognized my work. It's more likely a mistake, though, and Denise Rich is still waiting for a messenger to arrive with her coupon for Taryn Rose shoes.
In a further amazing development, I actually attend Michael Ault's engagement party at Nocturne. I generally think of the club as that place where I can always spend five minutes checking my messages from behind a velvet rope before leaving in disgust. For that matter, I generally think of Ault as the douchebag who's responsible for a world of velvet ropes and $300 bottles of bourbon. But for this special occasion, I'm quickly ushered into the renovated set from The Pit and the Pendulum. There's a reasonably small crowd, too, suggesting that Ault didn't simply send out invitations to his elite list of 4000 insiders who are privy to his little secrets.
On the other hand, Ault began throwing these intimate engagement soirées back in October. He's probably scraping the bottom of his Rolodex by now. Still, it's pleasant to be inside with the kind of people who I usually avoid. You can tell they're wealthy because they're drinking things besides the free champagne. Considering the profit margin, Ault's model/fiancée Sabrina Randall better get used to a long engagement.
Not that I'm trying to sound catty. I wouldn't even recognize Sabrina?if she or her fiancé is here?among all the other ladies who look like they live off of hors d'oeuvres. It's all hanging curtains over stylish B-cups, and I can't wait to get out?except for the pleasant diversion of some elegant hippie type who rants to me for a while about how Sabrina supposedly screwed over some photographer boyfriend. I finally tell him that Sabrina's my cousin and that he has no idea what he's talking about. And he probably doesn't. At least, not any more than I do.
Meanwhile, it's all Mary Woronov-ish black turtlenecks over at the National Abortion Rights Action League party at Lounge 203, where the pro-choice group is celebrating the 31st anniversary of Roe v. Wade. This would supposedly be enemy territory for a white male Republican, even if he's certainly fond of NARAL as an advocate for a wide range of women's health issues. Instead, I end up having a really nice time in a warm and inclusive climate.
The night even goes by without a single mention of our president being the equivalent of Adolf Hitler. I can understand avoiding the topic at a Planned Parenthood gathering, since the comparison could be mistaken as a positive reference to Margaret Sanger. At a NARAL event, it's just a reminder that the organization is still one of the few leftish groups run by grown-ups. No reason to resent the cash bar, either, although the Nocturnish prices are a drag. And since NARAL is an organization for hardworking volunteers and activists, everybody gets past the velvet rope. This also rules out any guest list or celebrities?although I'm pretty sure I see Sister George.
[jrt@nypress.com](mailto:jrt@nypress.com)