The Chateau Marmont, Hollywood’s supposedly hottest hangout, was dead.
It was pushing 9:00 p.m., and I’d been standing by the pool with a tray of tequila cosmos for two hours. The only partygoers to drink them, brand and PR reps for 1800 Tequila who were hosting the event, waved me off to pace themselves. How much money went into buying out the Chateau pool, transforming the patio of chaises and umbrellas into a nightclub lounge, building the pop-up bar, and hiring the army of caterers in which I’d been enlisted, only for no one to show?
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