The night was young, but I could already see the glass bottom of my third raspberry Mojito.
I’d landed at NYC’s Rhone, not because it’s an exceptionally hip space, or the particular crowd that evening - but because there was an open bar. My publicist, a stunning blonde with legs that never end, dragged me out to Robin Thicke’s album release party but the gratis drinks were the dealmaker.
Once inside, we schmoozed and chilled, and before long the place was a sea of pretty faces and firm bodies. One face in particular stood out among the crowd - a clean cut Caucasian guy, impeccably dressed in a black collared shirt and a closely cropped haircut - seemed strangely familiar. The publicist couldn’t rest until she found out what name went with this face, and considering I have a million things to say once my tank is full, she pushed me in his direction and instructed me to perform wingman duties.
Once near the mark, we instantly struck up a conversation, and before long I am pointing the stranger in the direction of my publicist.
“You friend is very hot, but you do know I am happily married,” he says, rather matter-of-factly.
“Married,” I question. “Why would I know that?”
“Well,” he says, pausing to think before stating. “Considering you’re at my party, and downing my drinks. I’d think you’d know who I am.”
“Your party?” and it’s at this moment I realize I am talking to Robin (Up until this point I’d only known him as the long haired guy riding a bike from his first album).
“Umm, yeah dude,” he smirks. “It’s My Party.”
If I wasn’t black, I would have been red all over. Before I could slink away, and disappear with my Mojito into the crowd, a photog appeared and captured the moment forever on digital.
—–
Over the weekend, I finally saw why Robin shot down my friend so quickly - he had Paula Patton waiting at home.
Tags: Paula Patton, Robin Thicke
WHAT NOW?