Two stoners (okay, cokeheads) go in search of the Beatrice. They get to the West Village location and see all these “Vacate” signs on the door and are like, “Dude.” Then someone who’s putting candles on the sidewalk tells them that Paul Sevigny’s new place is Civetta, so they go there, but it hasn’t opened yet. A model walking into La Esquina with John Legend tells them it’s not the new Beatrice Inn — she has heard that the new Beatrice is somewhere in Soho, away from residential areas. So they go wandering around and end up stopping into Greenhouse, where they encounter Olivier Zahm (flanked by two girls, as always) babbling in a French accent about love stains. Zahm is all, “let’s just go to the Boom Boom Room, Andre will take care of us” — but the duo is like, “No, we’re going to the Beatrice, the last good thing to happen to nightlife.”
Zahm tells them that not even he knows where the new Beatrice is, but he read a recent post on Gawker that said it’s “near Soho.” Near Soho? But that could be anywhere! Then one of the girls he’s with comes out of her stupor long enough to say that she just read on “Page Six” that it’s actually in Noho, so they head north.
Since they hear it’s multi-level, they wonder if it’s the former Movida space, and so they go inside the long vacant building, only to encounter a scary dude — a man that life has clearly left behind — whose name is Freakshow. Turns out, he’s just the venue’s real-estate broker. He tells them he’ll let them sleep with his wife if they take the space. It’s a recession, after all. They briefly consider it, but they know how hard it would be to lure people to such a remote location (just look at Lucy Browne’s), and they flee.
Lost in the West Village, they encounter club guru and BlackBook blogger Steve Lewis walking his tiny dogs. Uncle Steve tells them he has talked to Paul Sevigny, and he knows where the Beatrice is, but he won’t say where it is. Lewis admits it’s a dick move on his part and, to make up for it, starts telling them about some Asian girl he dated back in the days when nightlife meant something and people were cool and Haitians mixed with gays mixed with supermodels, and the two cokeheads barely get out of there with their lives.
They end up hitting MacDougal Street, hoping that Josh Hartnett will be at Minetta Tavern and they’ll overhear him talking about the new Beatrice, but some extreme-beer-pong dudes come out of Off the Wagon and taunt them by saying, “We own New York nightlife!! Extreme!!”
At this point, the more timid of the cokeheads wants to give up (he has to get up early tomorrow for his gig at the Observer) but the other one (the one who works at “Page Six”) gives a rousing speech, imploring him to remember the time when Kirsten Dunst made out with D.J. Creed, and Lindsay Lohan had a screaming fight with Samantha Ronson while some cheesy song from the “My Girl” soundtrack played, and everything else that was great about the Beatrice.
The guy from the Observer is like, “you know what, you’re right, not only am I going to find the new Beatrice, but I’m going to finally get up the nerve to hit on the Olsen twin I have a crush on (I forget which).” He suggests they go up to Avenue and simply ask Paul Sevigny where the new Beatrice is. They ride up there on a cheetah (not that kind of cheetah) but even with their Bianca Jagger-like arrival, Wass denies them entry because they don’t have any chicks with them.
At that point they officially are like, eff it. New York City nightlife sucks. Let’s just go to Corner Bistro.