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[by R. Couri Hay]
From the ridiculous to the sublime on the Hamptons circuit.
Man of the House
This story redefines the meaning of “share house.” When I first heard the tale, I didn’t believe it- but when I made an undercover visit after a late night at Boutique, I was blown away (and so were a lot of other people) This twenty something stockbroker has been visiting the Hamptons for several years. He’s one of those early birds that always gets the worm; turn that cliché around and it will make more sense as you read on. He works for a prestigious firm, where he’s slowly but surely making his way up the corporate ladder. When I learned the tricks he’s using to get the attention of the venerable firm’s older partners, I had to chuckle. I’ve caught his act at polo, shirt undone an extra button or two, and jeans tight enough to grab the interest girls and boys. When the clock strikes 4A.M., he’s still in the clubs, surrounded by the prettiest chicks. He’s a cock that rules his roots, and I’ve watched him gather in his hens and take off in his SUV for the share house. His picture crops up in the summer magazines because he’s hot, and a plethora of pretty girls are always hanging off him. Let’s call him “A.”
In January, “A” starts to scour the Hamptons for a suitable house. He wants a sexy part-pad with lots of beds, a pool, a Jacuzzi, and a media room. By February, he’s running ads on the Internet looking for “suitable” roommates. “A” puts a picture of the house and its amenities on the site and emphasizes the reasonable price. He only interviews girls of a certain age (read: young ones who pass his taste test). He wants yummy, single, busty, blond, liberal roomies. He encourages the girls to share beds to cut the cost. He’s got no problem renting the rooms on alternative weekends; “A” likes variety. He saves a few spots for strippers who swing every which way, nest-ce pas? I can’t tell you where this house is; suffice it to say it’s not in the estate sections of Southampton. Think the Springs, the Bays, or Westhampton, where houses are cheaper- and landlords like cash and don’t complain. At the end of the season, this house needs a cleanup that Madame Paulette’s doesn’t provide. Think: hosing it down with boiling water and bleach.
This star likes to party; clubs cater to him; promoters introduce him to the dashiest babes, and he gets the best tables and free booze all night long. When “A” promised him an after-party with no press, party favors, and 60 girls, this hottie, who’s name and picture you know, jumped into “A”‘s SUV and started to get down and dirty. Let’s call this action hero “B.”
“A” saves rooms in his house for his pals and a model or two, and of course, reserves a master suite for the firm’s partners. The “models” make films they don’t show at the Hamptons Film Festival, comprise? “A”‘s celebrity guests and his firm’s partners don’t pay room and board; others pluck down about 10,000 for a three-night stay. After the clubs close and the ecstasy punch is served, the fun and games begin. When I arrived, almost everybody was naked; it took me only 15 minutes to clock this scene. There were girls bouncing around everywhere. I saw one happily handcuffed to the bed and another blindfolded and tied to a tree. There were at least three girls to every guy. I saw “B” stumbling and crawling from one group to another. The couplings on the sleeping porch defined imagination. I escaped unscratched. I was equal parts shocked and amused- I know a good story when I see one. I promised “A” I’d smudge the details to protect the guilty; he promised to invite me back when the next start makes an appearance. I just hope “B” won’t lose his endorsement deals if the photos I’ve seen turn up on the Internet. Those phone cameras with streaming video can come in handy some nights, nest-cepas?
[by R. Couri Hay]
Two parties of friends get a little too close for comfort- so close in fact that we have to spill the beans. And, for the less salaciously minded, read on for a roundup of the best parties of late.
There are people in high places that call this girl the stat of the stars, and we all know I’m not talking about Elizabeth Taylor. She first snuck onto the scene through a rather complicated arrangement, an arrangement that worked for long, long time- long enough for her to become an international star and stripes. Men and women find her irresistible. She’s funny and fun to be with. She knows other people’s secrets and has one of her own. Let’s call her “A.”
He’s been hot for so long I’m surprised he hasn’t self-combusted. He started young and was he ever yummy. Boys and girls had wet dreams about over every one of his muscles and moves. There was intense speculation about his sex life, but he was quiet, private, and disciplined, so it was hard to get a handle of the truth. While others in his pack were out getting high, laid, and busted, he was reading scripts, making quality films, and staying out of trouble. He carefully controlled his image and never made a public mistake. He was the exact opposite of Robert Downey Jr., Sean Penn and Jonny Depp during their wild stage. “Let’s call him “B.”
“A” met “B” and they immediately realized they had a lot in common, including unbridled ambition and compulsion to succeed. “A” wanted to achieve what “B” had, and ‘B” needed a wife by his side. She was young he thought he could control her. He was a big star and was supposed to be a naïve ingénue. Like hell she was. “A” quietly moved in and took his name and his contacts. She worked diligently at her career and, because of “B,” all doors opened for her. She was talented and focused, so in the end, she beat him at his own game. “B” had no idea that “A” would turn into a force he couldn’t stop, let alone rein in. Their sexual chemistry was weak in private but they looked good together on the red carpet and TV. As “A” got stronger and more independent, she started to indulge her voracious appetite for sex. She liked all kinds of sex but not with him; he was way too uptight to experiment- and she’s repressed herself for years to get ahead, She started to run wild, He caught her again and again. She didn’t seem to care. So before the press and paparazzi had the chance to catch her, which would destroy his image as a sex god, he dumped her.
This curvy number isn’t getting any younger, but she is getting hotter. Her career has changed directions several times and she’s had some success, but nothing like “A” or “B.” Right now she’s focused on being a movie star and at the rate she’s going, she may well make it. She’s never been married and the reason is simple: She likes to pal around with guys but she likes to sleep with women. Let’s call her “C.”
He’s young, hung, and hunky. Officially he’s straight, unofficially he likes boys- young boys- but not as young as Michael Jackson likes them. His career on the big screen is growing with every film. He’s got a bright future ahead of him, but in order to maintain his reputation as a stud he needs a lady by his side, so he hooked up with “C.” Let’s call him “D.”
Ok, it’s going to get complicated, and you may need to reread this for it to make sense, but let’s go for it. When “B” broke up with “A,” she was devastated. Not because she was madly in love with “B” but because their public image was so intertwined, she wasn’t sure she could make it without him behind her. She panicked and thought that he might get her blackballed in Hollywood. She turned to her pal “C,” who dropped everything to be by her side to comfort, console, and fuck her. When “C” reminded “A” that “B” has a secret of his own to hide, they hatched a scheme that netted “A” a big settlement and a self-imposed gag order on both of them. With everybody’s secrets safely locked up in the closet, they all went on their merry way.
Now for the finale… No one quite sure how it happened, but “B” hooked up with “D” and only God knows what they’re really up too. They claim they’re just talking about doing a film together. “A” and “C” aren’t happy about this new turn of events and dark secrets are being shared and that something’s about to explode. It may just be a case of exploding libidos that may be something darker. Only time will tell, n’est-ce pas?
It’s a tale as old as Shinnercock Hill- older man, younger woman- but the fact that she’s barley old enough to drive, and Mom caught them in the afterglow… well, that’s a new one.
[by R. Coui Hay]
BEST MUMMY DOESN’S KNOW
Here’s a story I shouldn’t tell- but what the hell, it’s August. There’s a precocious daughter of a top-drawer Hamptonite who’s working overtime to get into trouble. Mummy is incredibly well connected, both at the beach and in the city; you can’t open a society glossy without seeing her picture. She’s popular committee person known for her high style and sometimes naughty conversations. Let’s call this swan “A.”
The daughter of the house is hot, and when she gets dolled up you’d never know she wasn’t old enough to vote. She attends a school that lesser mortals would kill their priest to get into. Let’s call her “B.” During one of mummy’s soirees, “B” snuck a few cocktails and started flirting with a man who should have known better. He’s not a household name, but you’ll recognize him if you’re a regular on the cocktail-party circuit. He has a reputation as a playboy and a player. Let’s call him “C.”
“B” locked onto “C” and they went for a little stroll on the beach; exactly what happened, only they know. When mummy caught them sneaking into the house covered in sand, she sent “B” to her room and “C” out the back door with a stern warning that if she ever caught him with her daughter again, she’d call the police. Little does “A” know that “B” and “C” were recently seen hooking up at the polo before driving off in a Mercedes convertible to God knows where to do God knows what, n’est-cepas?
Think you can guess the players in all 16 anonymous mystery items? Well, here’s your first chance: ready, set…go!
[by R. Couri Hay]
Bi, Bi, Birdie
This Hollywood bad boy can’t get enough sex. Nothing stops him- not his girlfriend, not his wife, not even bad publicity can keep this stud’s pants zipped. His tastes runs from young and glorious to plain Janes and strippers. This party boy claims his first marriage put him in a state of ecstasy he cant replicate, especially when he was in a 48-hour hookup with his bisexual bride and a notorious supermodel who lies it every which way. Sadly, even his wife couldn’t tolerate his shenanigans forever; she for tired of taking care of the kids while he was off gallivanting with a string of sexy strumpets, so she left him. When the divorce started to get ugly, his studio stepped in and made him settle before his reputation was ruined beyond repair. This Casanova rebounded into another messy relationship that ended badly; now he’s back on the prowl. He’s bad a string of big-budget movies that have made him a star, and although he’s never won an Oscar, there’s a;ways talk that his time is near. You know his name, and if you’re into pretty boys with a sensitive air about them, you’re into him. Lets call him “A” and his ex-wife “B.”
This fashion icon has been out of control for years. She’s managed to survive because she knows how to play the game. When she first met “A,” he was married to “B,” one of her girlfriends. But it wasn’t long until they all ended up in bed together. Supermodel, Hollywood Hunk, and Stylish Socialite. They all loved to party, and frequently went into an orbit others never come back from. As her drug problem escalated, so did the habits of “A” and “B.” After “A” divorced his wife, this model of bad behavior, “C,” if you will, stopped taking his calls out of loyalty to “B.” Much has happened since those days, and now when “A” calls, she she answers.
“A” and “C” have a secret bind, bome over silver tray and several nights of ecstasy. They both like to get it on with a gaggle of girls, and what “A” doesn’t manage to attract, “C” does. Together they’re irresistible, but they have no loyalties expect to pleasure. N’est-ce pas? Their medage a trois (and menage a quatre ou a cing) are becoming notorious. Becuase neither “A” nor “C” returns calls or affection, some of their victims are beginning to feel used and are starting to talk. When that talk gets to “Page Six,” it could spell a whole new set of problems for these two sexual predators.
Sure, two’s a company and three’s a crowed. But When those three along props, “snacks,” and a few good whacks, then that, boys and girls, is a party! Can you take a wild guess on who these “lovers” are?
[by R. Couri Hay]
ITS’S A MYSTERY, how this much envied couple stays together. Now I know how they do it, and although it’s not a pretty picture, it’s sexy-provided you’re as twisted as they are.
She’s a wildly successful chief who presents a consistently cold front. This vixen has very little in common with people who live in Red States; she prefers the company of gay men who understand the pleasure of bondage and pain. The Christian right does not embrace her ideas of fashionable behavior, and if they knew what turned her on in bed they’d burn her to the stake. The power she wields in her field gives her the illusion of invulnerability; but if this tale of sex and drugs hits “Page Six,” her CEO could begin to think of her as a liability. Let’s call her “A.”
She’s gorgeous, she’s famous, and she’s the very definition of a wild child. Because she can’t stay out of trouble, she has to reinvent herself regularly; to do this she needs help. Her career has its ups and downs, and when she’s down, “A” rides to the rescue with a job or an introduction that once again puts her back on top of the heap. Of course, there’s a price to pay, but it’s not too high, especially if she’s high n’est-ce pas? Let’s call her “B.”
He’s handsome, horny, and ambitious. This intelligent stud has been married and divorced three times and is still considered a major catch. He has a good job and makes a serious living. The women he chooses always help him advance up the social and financial ladder. When “A” cast her rod in his direction, he but and ran, but she reeled him easily, using waif as bait. They started their affair with a ménage a trios, and she keeps him on a leash by giving him lead. Because his taste runs plenty to pretty models, “A” makes sure they’re in constant supply. Their favorite is “B,” a bisexual bird who travels with a pretty posse that will do anything for a leg up- and I do mean anything. After a pitcher of martinis and a silver tray lined with our treats, he doesn’t know who he’s doing, let alone what, and that’s what keeps their “romance” fresh-that and a leather hood and a pair of handcuffs. Let’s call him “C.”
When “B”’s is on a bender, she tells all her secrets. Unfortunately, she told a whacked-out lover all about her Überchic patroness; but now that her affair with him is over, she’s afraid he’ll het high and talk. He knows all about “A,” “B,” and “C” and their S&M high jinks. When he sings-and sing he will-it will make too much sense to be rejected out of hand. Stay tuned.
By R. Couri Hay
When I sat down to plan my vacation this year, I thought I should do something environmental before there wasn’t any environment left. I finally decided I would go to Africa on a safari with my friend, English designer Zandra Rhodes. We took off from New York and flew to Nairobi because the best game preserves are in Kenya.
We checked into the Grand Hotel of Nairobi, the capital of Kenya. Before we went into the bush, we thought we’d get a general feeling of what Africa was going to be like so we went first to Nairobi National Park.
The immediate area appeared to be very flat and lush with green and yellow grass stretching off into mountains in the distance. We saw rhinos and giraffes, warthogs and grand gazelles, guinea fowl and all sorts of amazing animals. The next day we headed for Masi Maia, near Tanzania, to see the great migration. Once a year millions of hungry animals migrate into Kenya from Tanzania, where they have exhausted their food supply, consuming all the grass as they go.
It took about nine hours over dirt roads to get there from Nairobi. We were traveling in small jeeps and whatever color the dirt of the road was, we were that color when we arrived at our destination.
We saw herds of 30,000 zebras, 50,000 giraffes and literally hundreds of thousands of wildebeests and hartebeests. There were impalas, warthogs, gazelles, jackals, hyenas and ostriches everywhere.
It was all so incredible and the exact reverse of my life in New York and Los Angeles. Every morning we’d get up at the crack of dawn and be in bed shortly after sunset. Normally, I wouldn’t even think of eating dinner before 11p.m., but I found myself crawling towards my lodgings by 9:00 each night.
In order to watch the migration without disturbing the animals we rented a huge helium ballon one morning and up, up, up we went at 6:15 for a cruise along the boarder of Tanz.ania and Kenya.
Unfortunately, we strayed off our path and almost got shot down by Tanzanian soldiers. We finally managed to correct our course so that we were able to observe the phenomenon below.
We brought the balloon down on a knoll in the midst of the millions of animals grazing in the tall grass. Our guides cut away the grass with machetes, spread a red and white checkered tablecloth and served us a beautiful champagne breakfast at 8:00 in the morning. It was truly a day I’ll never forget.
As the weeks progressed we changed our mode of transportation from time to time, traveling for a few days into the bush on horseback and even renting small planes to travel.
But always there was visible the grand variety of animals, the survival of the fittest among them, and the exquisite service provided by natives who remember the times when royalty visited their lands on safaris carring guns instead of cameras.
In reflecting on the animals we encountered on our nightly walks to and from dinner and the natives we met in the villages, I realize that never before this trip did I feel close to home.