Franco’s, Ocean Drive, South Beach. January 27, 2011
It’s a happening night at Franco’s. The nightclub is one of South Beach’s top hotspots, and since it was my baby and I own one-third of the joint, I’m happy. Victor and I are standing at the center, square-cut bar on the upper level lounge. It’s the VIP section, and although it’s crowded with wannabes, it doesn’t compare to the throngs of people packed in below. We get a lot of Hollywood types–a big rock star showed up the night before last, and upper level entry requires a pass.
I’m a silent partner and nobody knows who I am. My guy, Franco, who is indebted to me for the rest of his life, gets to play big-shot. He does a beautiful job sucking up to fag designers and anorexic models–a great front man. But he knows who his boss is.
There is a lot of eye candy in this crowd. Some of these young women are really hot, and I can’t help looking, even if I am trying to be good. I’ve got a new girlfriend, and she’s very expressive, if you know what I mean. Plus, I promised my wife I’d be home tomorrow.
