Source: Tod-Hunter.net
By: Tod Hunter
Random Notes From a Red Notebook: Vivid Alt Party at Beauty Bar.
Fame is fleeting, I reflect as I head down Cahuenga past the old White Lotus, dark on a Thursday night behind a dumpster the size of a boxcar. Other Thursday nights it was an effort to get past the club… Cruising the back streets of Hollywood, looking for a parking space, I drive past the old Mark Twain hotel, the Hollywood digs of Robert Benchley when he first came west in the late ’20s. Speaking of fame being fleeting… I find a primo space at the corner of Selma, and shiver my way up Cahenga to the party….
The Beauty Bar is an old beauty salon, the paneled wood door guarded by a large short-haired bouncer who views me quizzically until I say “Vivid-Alt party?” and he nods… Entering the door into the blissful warmth I wonder which twenty-something alt-porn performer I’ll see first… Just to my left, a familiar face recognizes me, and waves me over. Devinn Lane, dressed in a Rolling Stones logo T-shirt… We spend a few moments catching up before giving up and promising to get together during Adult Expo…
Dana DeArmond is in the center of the room, chatting with people… Gia Jordan corrals her for a picture… I stroll over to the bar, order a Diet Coke. The oh-so-hip black-clad bartender brings it over, says “Two bucks.” I like this place. When the change comes, I drop $2 on the bar, feeling like a big spender. Hell, I was expecting to pay $5, so I’m a buck ahead…
The place’s décor is unchanged from its days as a postwar beauty parlor. A lot of curved shapes extending from the walls to frame the ceiling, providing indirect lighting when it’s turned on. Vivid Alt stickers are scattered on the beauticians’ stations against one wall, the peel-off backs touting VividAlt.com and declaring “Porn is the New Corporate Rock.” The bar and DJ station are new, I’ll bet…
I start talking with graphic designer Colin Ambulance, and when I turn on my camera I look down and see that we’re both wearing red tennis shoes. Ambulance tries to stump me on music trivia, asks me who was Steely Dan’s first drummer. I’m not sure. “Chevy Chase!” he says triumphantly. News to me. I thought Chase played keyboards…
Dana DeArmond sails by, calls me “The Silver Fox.” What the hell, Charlie Rich isn’t using it any more…
I chat for a moment with director Eon McKai. “This isn’t really an adult-friendly party,” he explains to me. “I play to my audience.” I ask him if I can see his movies, he gives me copies of Dana DeArmond does the Internet and Girls Lie. Good, now when I talk to him I can ask him intelligent questions. When I open the packages later at home, I’m surprised that the modest cardboard folders have three discs each…
Riley Mason is wearing a cloth loop for a top that goes over her head, down her front, and around her back. Looks like it’s gonna fall off any second. I like it…
A woman at the bar looks like jazz singer Cleo Laine, but she probably isn’t… Charlotte Stokely, waif-like eyes, looking like an H.O.-scale version of Brooke Hunter… A lot of guys with long beards here… McKai is taking pictures right and left…
The party starts to ramp up at 11:30… David Bowie’s Fame slices through the unfamiliar music… Charlotte Stokely, holding a drink at shoulder level, clinks her way down a row of drinkers. “Happy New Year!” clink “Happy New Year!” clink “Happy New Year!” clink “Happy New Year!” clink “Happy New Year!” clink…
Gia Jordan has cornered Venus near the window, flashing shots… By the DJ station, two girls dance together, unnoticed… A woman walks by, looks like Digital Playground publicist Adella. She isn’t, Adella would have recognized me… I take a goodbye lap, getting a picture of Dana DeArmond, thanking McKai…
Gia Jordan looks at my handful of camera, red notebook and videos and asks “Are you going to take that home and jerk off to it?”
“Not all of it,” I riposte.
“I was kidding,” she says.
“So was I.”
