Finally, Bemelmans has a new bartender. He’s young, cute and still finding his bar legs so to speak. Picture a colt in a little red jacket mishandling a cocktail shaker. All I know is, the horse lover in me adored him immediately.
I met my pal Jacques whose curiosity was piqued after reading how I pop in there for my monthly material. “I just don’t get it Susannah,” he said after looking around a pretty much empty room. “What can you possibly write about today?”
Of course he wasn’t looking through writer’s eyes since the new member of the staff alone could occupy this entire page. There was also an interesting woman seated at the bar who just might get top billing.
She looked like Edith Head, the esteemed MGM costume designer who dressed everyone from both Hepburns to Lassie. 
Alright maybe not Lassie, I think she died before that (Edith not Lassie). A very eccentric looking woman she was and this lady perched in the corner was a dead ringer for her right down to the puffed out bangs and the darkest of glasses.
She was also blabbing on her cell phone which was compromising my afternoon to say the least. Even Jacques, who’s normally pretty tolerant, made a remark.
Mayor Bloomberg who single-handedly is trying to change the habits of all New Yorkers should start with cell phone etiquette in public places; forget about obesity in midtown and the calories in coke. If only Mayor Mike had a suggestion box – would I have a few suggestions for him.
But back to Edith who was discussing dinner plans and how picky she is over her cuts of meat. Her friend from what I could surmise must have suggested Peter Luger, the Big Daddy of steak joints, because I heard her say, ‘NO, I AM NOT SCHLEPPING TO BROOKLYN, I DON’T CARE HOW MANY STARS IT HAS. BEFORE I FORGET, WHAT TIME’S THE BRIS?.”
She was in stereo alright as Jacques and I tried futilely to carry on a conversation.
Now if I were alone I would have handled Edith myself since Seabiscuit behind the bar 
might have blundered too badly but I was with Jacques and felt the need to act accordingly. He has never seen me in ‘shut the f**k up mode.’ Since he is quite the gentleman I didn’t want him to witness that side of Susannah especially over such fine wine. Well, overpriced in any event.
So I sat there watching and listening as if we were at a 3 ring circus.
Always tactful, I called the newbie over to say in the sweetest of tones that the chips might be a tad stale. “Stale! snapped Jacques, “now that’s an understatement.” Jacques then told me how The Carlyle used to make their own potato chips fresh from the oven. I salivated over the thought of homemade chips while our host ran back to fetch what I hoped would be a fresh batch. Instead he returned with a half empty bag of a brand comparable to Lays. I had to laugh. It was the Carlyle not Houlihans but like I said, he’s very cute. How could anyone get mad at someone with dimples the width of dice. So he had a little Mr. Magoo in him, so what, 
he meant terribly well even after spilling wine on Jacques’s sleeve. No worries since he was drinking white.
Jacques predicts his days are numbered but I disagree. It took them too long to find someone willing to work the (not so lucrative) day shift that I think he’ll have do a little bit more than be clumsy to get canned. Besides, I found him very likable especially when he overheard our conversation and chimed in. “Hey, I read that book,” he said when I mentioned Uncorked by Marco Pasanella after Jacques said he’d love to own a wine shop. “I even have an extra copy,” he said, “if you want I’ll bring it in.”
While he was giving away used books the couple sipping Singapore Slings wanted their check. They were up off their stools waving their arms as if a train was headed straight for them.
“Um, I think you’re wanted at the bar,” I said watching him practically fall over to get there. He has that cork screw curly hair (so apt for a bartender) that kind of dances when he moves too fast.
Meanwhile Edith wasn’t too happy with him either since she was tapping the bar like Morse code. Honestly, he’s just one guy and there’s 3 of us after all.
He must be positively hysterical during the cocktail hour serving 1 customer per 15 minutes. I must remember to pack a flask the next time I pop in after 5.
Jacque and I were still there when Edith flounced out like the Queen of England her phone glued to her ear. Last thing I heard her say was, “YOU KNOW WHAT THEY CHARGE HERE FOR A GIMLET? Her friend must have said something about it being a good hotel because Edith shot back, “AT LEAST AT THE HOLIDAY INN YOU GET DECENT SERVICE.”
Just remember, Seabiscuit had a poky start but a great finish.
I think the kid’s going to do just fine…
all he needs are fresh chips and a comb.
SB
