I keep saying it’ll be my last story but then I think of another one…
I was having martinis with some friends at the Biltmore in Montecito. This is around 2000. I think. I don’t know anymore.
What I remember is that I noticed my friend, Craig, was in the lobby and not joining our ragtag team for drinks despite our waving and screeching hysterical giggles.
Right about the end of 2 obnoxiously-large martinis and I excuse myself to go release them to the sea. Or to the fabulously appointed Four Seasons bathrooms.
On my way back to our way-too-loud table, I spot Craig speaking in, what I find out later, respectful tones to other business-clad colleagues.
That doesn’t stop me from running up to him and cupping his butt with both hands. Hard.
I’ve never seen a person turn that shade of red before.
To his credit, he didn’t bat me away like a wasp. He slowly and calmly explains to me, “Molly, I’m in a meeting.”
To my credit, I quickly shuffle away.
But, he wasn’t just in a meeting.
He was mediating the sale of the Four Seasons-Biltmore to Ty Warner (of Beanie Baby fame and fortune and Chief-of-Resurrection of historical Santa Barbara landmarks.)
Right. At. That. Moment.
As I ran, then lunged and grabbed the cute buns of Craig, it was in front of that man, that not-quite-yet-but-soon-to-be-future owner of the Biltmore who would eventually spend $275 million in buying it and $240 million in restoring it.
I like to think, and Craig agreed, my bun-grabbing was probably why Ty decided to invest in Santa Barbara.
I write awkward tales. Mostly funny. Usually true. Often truthfully funny.