The Society Pages: 9/11’s Quinceañera
Don’t ask how ([REDACTED]’s uncle plays squash with [REDACTED]), but The Shocker managed to secure a press pass to cover 9/11’s quinceañera. It fell on me to dry clean my powder-blue tuxedo and represent our fine publication at the social event of the season: the day when 9/11 finally crossed the threshold into womanhood.
I’d never been to a quinceañera before, so I wasn’t quite sure what to expect. I brought a twenty dollar Sephora gift card as a present, which I figure is pretty small potatoes for a big ticket event like this. Who cares though? I figure I’ll get in, snap some photos, eat some tres leches cake, and leave before some high schooler asks me to sneak them booze from the open bar.
Right off the bat, I was proven wrong — cash bar. What the fuck? I threw the gift card on one of two huge stacks of presents, not sure if there was a difference there or what, but I don’t really think anyone was paying attention. I could have taken one of George W. Bush’s paintings from the pile and walked right back out the door. There were a bunch of tables set up with chafing trays, a chocolate fountain, goddamn cuatro leches cake, the works. I fixed myself a plate and took a lap of the room, puffing out my chest to project machismo.
The ballroom of the Gansevoort Hotel was packed that night. Most of the attendees were friends of 9/11’s, a bunch of wealthy, oversexed high school freshmen whose parents were too drunk or too busy kissing ass to keep an eye on their kids as they grinded to mumble rap and gave each other handjobs. The guest of honor was nowhere to be seen, but I guess it’s kind of a debutante thing where they make a big appearance to ‘Collide’ by Howie Day and everyone goes quiet.
How many leches are there in this cake? This is not a riddle. I count the condensed milk on the bottom, the whipped cream… and that’s it. Frosting? Frosting is mostly butter. If there’s a third and fourth leche in here, they’re doing a good job of hiding out amongst all the caramel and ice cream. And the ice cream doesn’t count. It was scooped on separately. Is cake a la mode dos leches cake now? Bullshit.
Did I mention Marcus Camby was there? I guess he was still on the Knicks in 2001. I looked around for Sprewell, but I think he might be dead or something. Camby was just sitting at a table alone eating a steak fajita, so I figured this would be a good moment to make use of the press credentials dangling around my neck and ask the Cambyman some questions.
THE SHOCKER: “Hi Marcus, I’m here with The Shocker, the Internet’s wettest rag. Mind if I ask you some questions?”
CAMBY: “Man, I’m here with my family.”
TS: “This’ll be quick. How many leches are in this cake?”
CAMBY: “I don’t know man. It’s tres leches cake right?”
TS: “They claim it’s cuatro leches cake, but I’m asking you: how many leches do you see?”
CAMBY: “It’s not about the leches you see, it’s about the leches that went into the cake’s preparation.”
TS: “But there are leches used in the preparation of regular cake too, and you don’t see them advertising it as dos leches cake because there’s leche in the batter and in the whipped cream or whatever.”
CAMBY: “I’m going to the bathroom.”
Well, while I was following Marcus Camby to the bathroom I missed the big moment where 9/11 appeared to the room to a round of solemn, patriotic silence. I’d like to apologize to my editors for missing that money shot, but honestly there wasn’t really anything to see. After things picked up again, I noticed some people were heading for the doors and figured it would be a good time to leave. I stopped by the gift pile and fished out the Sephora card, because it’s not like 9/11 would care or notice. It just so happens that this was the perfect spot to see Giuliani get down on bended knee and ask 9/11 to marry him, now that it was finally proper to propose marriage. I didn’t hear the response, but I did see Cheney weeping into his napkin. Make of that what you will.