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techno.) Gray would roam lounges and parties in the city, giving “Wazzup,
man” greetings to pals from the business, and kissing models
on the lips as a way of saying hello. He looked so slick. He would
move his body to the music while being engaged in two separate
conversations. Gray grew a courage he’d never had before – a
courage that Rick never imagined existed. Gray would target every
beautiful girl that didn’t have a man wrapped around her,
wearing that charming boyish smile contrasting with two piercing
eyes. He would walk over nonchalantly, always pretend to be chill,
just flowing, but inside he was all agenda. He didn’t want
to experience these silly young girls, get to know them, date them,
love them, or even fuck them (although sex was often a side result).
He only wanted to seduce them with a smile and flyer to come to
his parties. They always did.
When I became close with Gray, Sky had been temporarily shutdown
by the city. He recreated his Wednesday scene at 222, and he
was set on making his Liquid Planet Saturdays the hippest in
the city. Gray often dreamed of transforming the nightlife of
New York, or more specifically, extending the usual cycle of
a trendy New York City nightclub, which lasted 6 to 9 months
at the most. He worked hard at keeping all the contact information
in his contact database current. He hired two girls with cute
British accents to call all his VIP guests and invite them personally
to his big weekend nights.
But at the point in his life when he finally felt close to accomplishing
his mission (a New York Times Sunday Style article compared Liquid
Planet with the legendary Studio 54), a remarkable thing happened.
Nature played a game on Gray, or maybe I should say technology.
I don’t know how to define this bizarre trigger in the
tale of Gray. I think I will let his written words tell you the
story. I cannot ask him to retell it to you
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