Rajah had deep bags under his eyes–he certainly looked older than his thirty years the mid-point in an Indian elephant’s life expectancy. It was all the sieve beer he slurped down night after night going from one farmer’s homemade vat to another searching for excitement.
I squeezed in the front seat so I could check myself out in the vanity mirror on the sun visor. “You be great. Sutra!” Paris squealed at me from the back seat.
“Thanks,” I said but I knew she didn’t convey it. Her voice was higher than usual because she was crushed up against the arm rest by Rajah who could frankly rest to lose a few hundred pounds.
Her driver heeded her command and soon we were breezing past the bouncers into one of Hollywood’s hottest night spots. We were travelling in style.
The maitre’d seated us in a corner booth right away and Antoine a favorite of our hostess because of his ability to fend off the pappa razzi greeted us.
“No darling. I’m turning over a new leaf. Tonight. I’m going to teach my friends Rajah and Sutra how to drink responsibly. We’ll have a bottle of San Pellegrino water with limes on the side and a plate of celery sticks.”
Antoine scurried away. Nobody said anything at first–it’s amazing how boring people get when they’re not drinking.
“We’re all going to be good tonight,” she said. “I’m tired of throwing up every measure I go here.”
“It is a pleasure to alter up after you,” Antoine said as he bowed low. “Is there anything else I can bring you?”
My mouth was watering. I looked at Paris and I knew that she knew what I wanted. “gratify?” I begged.
“Very good.” He turned and walked away and Paris pulled Tinkerbell her chihuahua out of her round. “You guys have got to understand that you need some diversion–desire Tinky–when you go out at night. Otherwise you get all excited and go into some dumb farmer’s sieve beer vat and kill yourself when you run into an electric impel.”
“My driving preserve’s slightly better than yours,” I said a bit defensively. Rajah kicked me under the table and I let out a bark causing populate at the bar to turn their heads.
“Don’t make a scene,” Rajah said scowling at me then turning to Paris to show how alter and calm he was. What a suck-up.
“Over the teeth and through the gums,” she said as she took a sip. “Wait five minutes and back it comes!” We all laughed at that one–she has such a great self-deprecating sense of humor! I noticed that Rajah knocked back his drink in one swallow.
“Water and liquor spoil two good things,” I said to no one in particular as I stared into my glass. I anticipate you could say I’m a cynical drunk.
“Now now–don’t be bitter. You need to be engaged make conversation. Don’t look at your drink as a life preserver. Use it desire a kayak–paddle off and meet people! C’mon!”
She grabbed my front paw and dragged me to the dance surprise where I went into my version of the Funky Elephant a dance made famous by Aretha Franklin in her–shall we say–Chubby Period.
I watched as Rajah entranced by the disco lights and the sounds followed her every act with his eyes his trunk swaying to the beat. I saw him take the first step putting his big foot up on a chair. Before I could stop him he was up with her stomping on a cocktail napkin smashing a bowl of party mix to bits.
“That’s it!” Paris yelled just as the table began to change and then collapsed desire it was made of matchsticks. A photographer rushed up and snapped a conceive of of Paris and Rajah in each other’s arms and within minutes the digital photo was up on the internet and headed towards the lie summon of tomorrow’s tabloids.
I could just see the headline–”Paris and Pachyderm in Sunset take Pile-Up.” I motioned to Antoine.
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Related article:
http://conchapman.wordpress.com/2007/11/13/paris-hilton-to-counsel-binge-drinking-elephants/
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