Adrienne Writes

A very popular, very big, very tra-la-la public relations agency invited me to be their guest at the DIFFA – Dining By Design – dinner last Saturday in Chicago. They wooed me with images of raising money for AIDS, a fancy dinner at the fancy Merchandise Mart in downtown Chi-town and the opportunity to be at a table with representatives from a premiere vodka company who co-sponsored the $500 a plate dinner.

When I was invited, I politely asked if Plus 1s would be invited as well, because I would love to bring my hubby. Big fab PR agency told me that no, their table was packed. There was a waiting list. It would be great if I could go solo. There would be plenty of people there they want me to meet. “Ok” said I. “OK” said the hubby. I thought no more about it for a week and come Saturday, put on my party dress and drove myself to the party.

As I parked in the netherworld that surrounds the gargantuan Merchandise Mart, I realized that I should have brought my man. Here I am in heels and fur, parking in an alley dripping with the electrical sparks raining down from the el train running above me. The street lights don’t work. The murky Chicago River is right there. Construction is across the street. And you can’t park anywhere near the Mart without a two-block hike.

I cross the street to avoid walking by two guys. I dart inside the Mart and then start the long walk down a quarter mile long hallway. This place is a mall. But the mall is closed at night. There is no valet. And, I have no idea where in the mall the dinner is located. My heels echo down six sets of hallways. I look for a security guard. Ten minutes later, I find one. He tells me where to go. I clickety clack my way to the party. All the while I’m thinking that I’ll need to find a guy to walk me back to my car, since there was no valet option and there is clearly no one in this mall ready to protect me from the boogeymen who could hide inside of any of the darkened stores with open doors that line the hallways.

Finally I get in. The door lady checks for my name. She’s excited to see where I’m sitting.”Oh, I wish I could sit with you! You have some great people at your table. Here’s a map.”

I take my map and go through the party, all the while looking at the fabulously-designed dinner tables. There are fantastical designs that have been on display all week. These designs make you WANT to throw dinner parties, that is, if you could afford the chargers and glasses actual silver for the silverware. My table was designed by Jason Wu. It was ethereal. It looked like it was carved out of an ice mountain. Even the walls surrounding the table had texture. Tall bottles of Stoli lined the table, along with shorter bottles of Fiji water.

See here:

Ralph Lauren had designed the table across the way. He had created an outdoorsy, millionaire’s picnic type of vibe with the unmistakable RL plaid adorning a gazebo under which lovely flower arrangements, seemingly gold-flecked tableclothes and crystal dinnerware awaited the pheasant, apricot and wild rice dinner.

Another table, which I loved, was designed for Where the Wild Things Are.

Note how the books were part of the design.

Orchids adorned every table. The silent auction showcased very trendy, modern, no-corner type of furniture that retailed for $1500 but with bids starting at $300. Four tickets to the Bulls and Blackhawks were available for $1,500 as well. It was a good and elegant silent auction.

Vodka of every stripe, brand and desire flowed freely from every corner. Open bars pumped liquor into everyone. Shiny, happy peopled dressed in their own Jason Wu and Stella McCartney and RL pranced around, wild at the sight of all the bounty.

Except at my table.

My table was empty. Just me.

I sat, waiting for the big bad PR people to come and for the liquor people to come. I’m a friendly person, and I couldn’t wait to ask about the Jason Wu design and the trends for liquor for 2010. Wait. Wait. Wait. I felt like my favorite bear, Pooh. Wait. Wait. Wait.

The waiter filled my wine glass again. I had two, no three, no four waiters at my disposal.

When dinner started, another reporter from a local beverage trade magazine joined me. She brought her boyfriend. He, she said, was invited. “Nice to meet you both,” I said. And then we joked about being the only three people at the table that was set for 12. And what a shame, because Jason Wu – who outfits our first lady, Michelle Obama – is a big deal and it is a beautiful table.

We eat the first and second courses and have a great dinner conversation. We have three waiters a piece and two bottles of wine per person at our disposal. The waiters must think we own the liquor company. The other writer was shocked that I was told there was no space for my husband. “Gee,” she said, “They let me bring my boyfriend. THat’s just weird. and NOONE’s here, didn’t they know that already?”

Dessert was passed around the room by waiters, so I grabbed my coat and purse and walked to the silent auction area to strike up conversation, eat chocolate bon bons and drink yet more alcohol – this time tequila.

But you know what? Everyone was coupled or quadrupled up, and I just couldn’t find entry into anyone’s conversation. (Most of the people – plus many celebrities – I knew were at the even fancier Urban League gala just two miles away.) Then the DJ announced that dancing would commence until midnight or so. All the couples started dancing and then I couldn’t even schmoose my way into a conversation.

So, I said goodbye to my new friends, collected their business cards, and went home. We’ll definitely keep in touch. The security guard asked why I was leaving so early, at only 10:15 p.m. I told him that the party just wasn’t my kind of thing. Beautiful. Yes. But partying alone, even to raise money for AIDS, wasn’t my kind of party when my plus 1 was at home, waiting for me to come back.