A NY Story Part 1
The first part of a character study. Yeah. That’s it.
I love my apartment, no walls except for the bathroom and more natural light than should be legal in New York City. This is one of many mornings I spent basking in this light since 1998. I’m dancing fluidly through the windows to Two Months Off by Underworld while I readied myself for work. My mother used to have fits when I would “prance about” in my room as a child before school. But right now in my apartment in the Meatpacking District, growing up in Greenwich seems so far away. As I straighten up my silver-grey tie my phone gets a text from my assistant telling me he’s downstairs. I’ve only had the assistant since 2005 and the S-Class Mercedes too. All of these things came about after my ex-girlfriend saw me photographed with a young socialite outside of one of my nightclubs.
**********
Oh, yeah, the nightclubs. I guess I should start there. I own three, two here in the city Indecent and Behaviour (I know I still gag too) and one in Westhampton named Friction. Friction was my first club, originally on Fire Island but moved in 2006 after one of my ex-boyfriends called the place gauche. I have had a day job as a buyer for Neiman Marcus for years, Lead Buyer since 2008. A few small investments over the years from my dad since I graduated NYU Business in 1995 kept the clubs alive through the ups and downs. My day job keeps me in high fashion for cheap, and keeps me within view of New York’s elite and the hottest designers in the world, all of which made the nightclub business just that much easier. I appear on Page Six at least 30 times a year (including the incident that ruined my last relationship) which keeps my profile high. My two New York City establishments made me more a part of the city’s nightlife than ever. And to think it all started because I aspired to own Tunnel in the early 90’s.
**********
As I walked out of the door to the white S580 (the last one I went from black to white to separate myself from the car service set) one of our regulars at Indecent walks by and blows an exaggerated kiss. Jerome, my assistant, unlocked the door and I climbed in the back. Jerome seemed oddly uncomfortable about something, so I started:
“What’s wrong, hun”
“Did you forget who’s coming to the club, D?’
I stare up over my iPhone 14 Pro Max to proclaim:
“I’m busy so please just tell me.”
“50 Cent. 50-fucking-has-been-Cent.”
“Look, I know you two don’t get along, but for the sake of business, just let tonight go smoothly.”
“Why the fuck do we even let him in?”
“Because we clear $50k everytime he walks in, plus his younger rapper friends are popular.”
“You won’t say that when someone shoots our whole damn club up.”
I place my phone in my lap and stare into the rearview mirror:
“First of all it’s your job to make sure that doesn’t happen. Second, all I need you to do is take care of this for me tonight and play nice. Understood?”
“And where are you gonna be all night?”
“I have those Saudi investors coming by tonight.”
“Those dudes are nothing but trouble, D.”
“They’re developers, how bad can they be? Plus, I’ve gotten us this far so don’t worry about my judgement of character.”
**********
Oh I guess I should introduce myself, so rude I am. I’m Darren Lincoln (originally Lebiniz) I was born on June 18, 1973 to Barry and Carla Lebiniz of Westport, Connecticut. My father was a movie producer and my mother was an old money cooze. Mom passed away two years ago and left me a fabulous house in Greenwich. My father divorced my mother when I was 12 and moved to Los Angeles. Needless to say, I’m 50 and have inherited enough money that I don’t really need the hassle of the nightclubs, but they give me something money can’t buy. Plus, I became a legend in the scene without even having to use my family name. What more could I ask for?
**********
Mitzi Jurgenson is the only person I’ve dated that actually lived with me in the apartment. She is five years younger than me and her socialite status was cemented in her youth. Unlike most people I’ve dated in my adult life I didn’t meet her in one of my nightclubs. In fact, we didn’t even meet in the city, it was a mansion somewhere in Jersey for an AIDS benefit. That was 1997, Behaviour wasn't even a thing, Friction was still basically a small, empty warehouse space, and all my proto-hipster friends were roaming Manhattan that never had to let go of flannel because they never wore it in the first place.
But back to Mitzi, my oh so wonderful MItzi. She was everywhere with me, especially after she moved in sometime in 1999. I can't be sure when because I was coked out of my mind. Yet, she was always there, including the night Behaviour opened during New York Fashion Week 2002. Eventually, it wore on her watching me at night, drugged up, keeping other drug addicts with money entertained. She would stay home and wait for me to show up later and later every night. Then the morning of August 29, 2004 happened.
I woke up and stumbled out of bed and just as I made one complete step away from the bed, Mitzi smacked me across the face with a copy of the New York Post. I was so shocked I couldn’t react. Then she ripped open the paper and stuffed Page Six two inches from my face. There was a photo of me and a young Ralph Lauren model getting in my Town Car after walking out the front door of Behavior together. It was that moment I remembered my driver had just dropped me at home at sunrise. Mitzi dropped the paper with a loud sigh and walked out of the apartment. After she didn’t return for a few days, I flew to California and entered a 90 day rehab program. When I returned in November, Mitzi had moved out all her things. But in those three months my lead bouncer turned into my manager by holding things down while I was away. I made him a partner and have kept him near me everyday since he picked me up from LaGuardia right before new year’s eve. By the middle of January I had ordered a black on black S500 and started working to become the me you’re meeting now.
**********
The first Saturday in July 1998, my housewarming party. The apartment was full of models and random party goers from all over the city and the world. I wasn’t exactly enthused about having my home full of people gawking at it, but tonight was more about bringing attention to my latest venture opening Labor Day weekend, in The Grove. A bunch of dumb intros aside the only thing on my mind was the plethora of beautiful people I could convince to stay and fuck.