How we were almost kidnapped by a drunk lady with Natasha Richardson’s face and Anna Wintour’s bob
Jill missed out on Janna’s stalking adventure so today, over breakfast, she said, “Let’s go to the GLAAD Awards.”
She had another reason for wanting to go – her cousin, who is from another state, was going to be at the event and she was hoping to run into him.
Janna, who had been talking about wanting to see the rest of the cast of Orange Is The New Black at the awards, said, “Okay, let’s go.”
Then she changed her mind. “No, can we just go home? My NBA team’s playing tonight.”
The she changed her mind again. “Okay, let’s go, I want to see Laura Prepon.”
But first, Jill and I had another event to go to. When that was done, we realized that Janna had changed her mind again. She and her grandma had gone home.
“We’re still going,” we texted her.
“Bring back halal!” she replied.
It was 10 p.m. and when we arrived at the Waldorf Astoria, I knew instantly that spotting celebrities wouldn’t be as easy as it had been at the Time 100 gala.
One, the red carpet wasn’t visible from the outside. Two, with the exception of two autograph scalpers, we didn’t see any other potential stalkers standing around. Three, the doormen were intimidating – so intimidating that even the scalpers seemed scared of them. Four, we were going to have to wait outside. Five, it was cold. Six, it started to rain.
“Let’s go home,” Jill said, after minutes of waiting. We saw a number of gorgeous gay men but no one we recognized. There was no sign of the Orange Is The New Black cast, no sign of Jill’s cousin either.
There was only one other familiar face there – an elderly female photographer with dyed red hair. She had also been at the Time 100 gala.
“Let’s go,” Jill said again.
“We can’t,” I said. It was still raining and we didn’t have umbrellas.
“Excuse me, do either of you have a cigarette?”
I looked up from my phone and was surprised to see a middle-aged lady in a black pantsuit talking to us. Her face was Natasha Richardson-ish, her hair cut in an Anna Wintour bob.
“No, sorry,” Jill and I said. Neither of us smoke. I have never touched a cigarette in my life.
“It’s good that you don’t smoke. But I do. And I want one,” she said in a sing-songy way.
Jill and I laughed. This lady is tipsy, I thought.
She spotted a girl smoking near us. “Can I please bum one from you?” she asked.
“Oh sure.” The girl handed her a cigarette.
Natasha Wintour told the girl, “You just earned a ticket to heaven.”
The girl laughed and Natasha started smoking.
I inched away, hoping that Natasha would talk to the girl instead. But she wasn’t done with us.
“Are you from here?” she asked Jill.
“No,” Jill replied.
“Where are you from?”
“The Philippines.”
“Holy shit, that’s fucking far!”
She turned to me. “Are you from here?”
“Nope.”
“Where are you from?”
“The Philippines too.”
“Whoa. So are you guys just here on a whim? Just for vacation?”
“Yup,” Jill said.
“How are you liking it?”
“We love New York,” Jill said.
“Is it your first time here?”
“No,” we said.
“So you have it down?”
“Pretty much,” I said.
Then she leaned over conspiratorially, whispering, “Do you know what’s happening here tonight? It’s the GLAAD awards. Do you know what GLAAD is? It’s the gay and lesbian… whatever. It’s a gay thing. George Petaki is here. Naomi Watts…”
I thought, doesn’t she mean George Takei who was being honored at the event?
“What are you doing here?” she asked.
“Waiting for my cousin,” Jill said.
“Do you want to go to the party? I can bring you in,” Natasha said.
“Are we allowed to?” I asked.
“Oh yeah, you’re with me. It’s the after-party.”
Was this lady one of the organizers? If so, why was she tipsy?
“Do you want to meet George Petaki?”
Was she George Takei’s agent? If so, why didn’t she know his name? Or did she really mean George Petaki?
“Do you know George Petaki?” she asked me.
“No,” I said.
“You know, from Star Trek.”
Oh yes, she did mean George Takei.
“Do you want to meet him? Do you want to meet the football player who just came out?”
I looked at Jill who just shrugged.
“Let’s go,” Natasha said.
And before I realized what was happening, my feet were following her into the Waldorf Astoria and Jill was right behind us.
“Do you go to the awards every year?” I asked, still trying to figure out who she was and why she thought she had the power to let us into the party.
“No, it’s my first time.”
“So why are you going this year?”
“My friend’s a sponsor,” she said. She mentioned a name that I instantly forgot.
The second we entered the hotel, I realized that Natasha wasn’t just tipsy, she was drunk. She had to hold on to my arm for support so she could climb the stairs.
“It’s okay, it’s okay, you’re with me,” she kept telling us, flashing her shiny silver event bracelet.
She stopped at a lounge, slurring and laughing, “We’re not going in there, those people are uptight.”
Then, looking at two girls in tight clothes and crazy heels, she said, “So pretentious.”
Natasha was on a roll.
She led us to the elevator banks where a crowd was waiting.
Shit. I was hoping the event would be on the ground floor.
Natasha clung to my hand as we entered the elevator with a group of people. She didn’t push any of the buttons. People started getting off at different floors. Soon, there were only four of us left – Natasha, Jill, and I plus a man wearing a business suit.
“Okay, now we can go to the party,” Natasha said.
She turned to the man. “Do you know where the party is?”
“No,” the man said, just as the elevator reached the 26th floor. He made a quick exit, looking relieved.
We were alone with Natasha. I wanted to laugh. But I also kept wondering what the hell was happening. Why would Natasha bring two tourists to the party? Was she crazy? Was she just drunk? And why did we go with her? Were we crazy? We weren’t drunk. Was she trying to pick us up? Holy shit.
Don’t panic, I told myself. You’re fine. If she presses the button for her hotel room floor, flee. If she makes a move, punch her. If she tries to kidnap you, that’s okay, you can take her, you and Jill are pretty strong. You are so strong that once, at the airport, after you helped a woman carry her luggage, she told you, “Wow, you must eat a lot of vegetables.”
Natasha said, “Um, we have to go down again. Press L.”
Jill whispered, “Uwi na tayo.”
I pressed L.
Jill said, “Lakas mag-trip nito.”
Soon, we were back at the lobby.
“I need to find someone who works here so he can take us to the party,” Natasha said.
I craned my neck in search of a hotel employee. I wanted to find one, grab him by the collar, hand Natasha over and say, “Here. Please take care of this drunk lady so we can go.”
Natasha pointed, “That guy… Oh no, he left.”
Then she looked at Jill and laughed. “She’s petrified.”
I spotted a sign and a hotel map. According to the sign, the after-party was at the Jade and Basildon rooms, both on the third floor.
“Third floor,” I told Natasha. It was time to take charge.
I said to Jill, “Hatid lang natin.”
“Are your friends there?” I asked Natasha, wanting to give her back to them.
“Yes. Don’t worry. You’re my friends,” she said.
This lady was crazy.
We walked back to the crowded elevator banks. An elevator opened and Natasha joined the throng trying to get in. She made it inside. But Jill and I were still outside and there was no space for us.
Hallelujah!
“Ma’am, ma’am, please wait,” a hotel employee held up his arm, telling Jill not to enter the elevator. He appeared at the perfect time and I wanted to hug him. I wanted to hug all the people in the elevator who made it impossible for us to get in.
Natasha was still motioning for us to get in. Jill shook her head.
The last thing I saw was Natasha’s hand still beckoning us. Her diamond ring sparkled and the elevator doors closed.
Jill and I ran out of the hotel, laughing our heads off. “What the fuck!” we kept saying. “Do you want to meet George Petaki?”
We were back in the cold and dangerous streets of New York which felt much safer.

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