|
|
 |
|
| October
18, 2006 The Quiet Party And then we went to The Quiet Party at Madame X By Jackie Beach Cling cling! Clank! A bartender’s maneuvers haven’t taken on such boisterous qualities since Tom Cruise shook it up in Cocktail. In the upstairs bar at Madame X, however, the guy tending bar isn’t flipping glasses or shimmying any shakers. The clings and clanks of ice cubes, stainless steel, and glass are so noticeably audible because this is the site of a Quiet Party, an oxymoronic event to delight note writers everywhere. |
|
||||
|
|
“We’ve really found our home in Manhattan now with Madame X,” Noe says. “This place provides the perfect Quiet Party atmosphere.” Upon entering the cavernous, dimly lit lounge, one is treated to crimson walls, oriental-style carpet, and overstuffed red velvet and leopard print curvy chaises. And by a 5 x 7 note card gently placed on the bar. |
||||
| Welcome here. A Michael Bolton look-alike makes solid eye contact and hands you another card. May I say hi? Not wanting to appear rude, as this is the first guest you’ve encountered, you dispel notions of writing NO! to see what would ensue and scribble Sure. I’m a violinist. What do you do? Back and forth, back and forth. You communicate through index cards until you’re sensing the “conversation" is wearing a bit thin, then break away into the high-class, bordello-like room on the right. Here, thirty youngish people are scattered about the funky furniture amidst piles of white cards and blue Papermate pens. |
|
||||
|
“Our guests range from white collar workers such as lawyers and doctors to artist types and Wall Street financiers,” says
Noe. “They’re mostly people in their twenties and thirties, although occasionally you’ll see a party jam-packed with forty and fifty year olds.” An attractive, early-thirties woman sneezes and the outburst is followed by muffled laughter. She is quickly passed a note card reading gazuntiet, or however you spell it. |
||||
| A murmuring man emits barely audible, strange utterances and the two young women next to him take breaks from writing furiously to cast him vile looks. He perseveres in handing them novel-length notes which never seem to find their way back to his dutiful hand. Men and women silently stand up and walk across the room to hand each other cards with penned messages along with sheepish smiles. The notes, ranging from introductory (Hi, I’m Rick) to complimentary (Are you a dancer? You’re very graceful) to provocative (Tell me something about you that no one else “gets”) are enthusiastically passed from hand to hand, hand to table, armrest, whatever space isn’t already covered with the 5 x 7s. Sneaking peeks at the stacks of cards is like peeking through a keyhole to spy on a clandestine meeting. |
|
||||
|
|||||
| Some come prepared with pre-written personal ads: I enjoy boating, biking, nature, beaches, cooking, and massaging a woman. I also like to travel and attend dinner parties. The man who doles out this card leaves early, to give some lucky lady a backrub, no doubt. “Couples have definitely met up at these parties, too.” Noe points to a back room, where twosomes have tucked themselves into more antique-y furniture along windows overlooking Madame X’s outdoor back garden. “Sometimes I think of it as performance art, especially when the party’s really kicking. It’s always interesting to see how people interact with each other, especially when something as integral as talking is taken away. It makes for a very interesting little world.” |
|||||
|
Links: QuietParty.com MadameX.com Other stories by Jackie Beach |
|||||
©2006 Murphguide.com All Rights Reserved
