A Very Indy Christmas

Holiday Peeping

Tanya Spears Guiliacci, Chris Meagher, and Ethan Stewart
Shannon Kelley

You know you’re in for a wild night when you’ve been doused with a full glass of red wine before you even make it to the party. I did, at least, when, last Thursday evening at a pre-party gathering at Roy for Brad Nack’s annual Reindeer art show, I was christened by the grape gods by way of an enthusiastic friend I hadn’t seen in a while-and who was, sadly-if appropriately-mortified. (Fear not, Ms. X, I still love you!)

While the scene at Roy was peep-worthy in and of itself, I had bigger fish to fry, as our ever-expanding crew was studiously getting on our collective goggles for nothing less than The Indy‘s famously well-attended, oh-so-eagerly-anticipated annual holiday bash. (I do realize that it’s the rare company that expects-I mean accepts-such behavior, but The Indy is nothing if not delightfully unique. And drink tickets at this hot-ticket affair are notoriously hard to come by.)

We arrived at Stateside-a perfect change of venue from years past-to find Tanya Guiliacci working the door and looking, as ever, FabULous, Spencer the Gardner taking to the stage, and the club packed with movers, shakers, news-makers, news-breakers, and, you guessed it, The Palm. (You knew that was coming.) Once granted entree, the pack dispersed. I made it about two steps in before stopping to chat with arts editor Elizabeth Schwyzer, looking like an old-Hollywood hottie, and a drink magically appeared in my hand.

The vibe was pure delight, as though, perhaps, thanks to-or maybe in spite of-this year’s collective historic highs and lows, what could have been just another schmoozefest and boozefest became an all-out, back-to-basics love fest. On second thought, the booze may have had a little something to do with it. Regardless, the love was flowing free and easy, with nary a threat of a HR intervention.

Each hour took me a step or two deeper into the fray, and, around midnight, when I began to entertain the idea of calling it a night, it occurred to me that, with the exception of a brief sojourn to the ladies’ room, I hadn’t even made it inside-the party gods had conspired to bring the party to me! Enthralled with this thought, it was then that I came into my very first drink ticket of the evening. A sign! I took that puppy straight to the bank-I mean the bar-and decided the trek home could wait. After all, my dress was already stained, and Christmas comes but once a year.

And as for you, Ms. X, the dry cleaner said those Wine Spectator-ranked stains will come out. Can you feel the love?


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