Memoirs by Theo Bruinsma from 1983 to 1988

SAN FRANCISCO 1983-85: One of my favorite places to go was a place called Dancers located on Harrison and Second Street. Dancers was a large, dark place with many colored lights flashing around as an industrial-beat of music kept breeding an inescapable aura of sexuality. At least this is what it felt like after several beers. At Dancers the libido was liberated and celebrated, and girls were dancing everywhere, including on top of the bar. And it was there that I would meet my first girlfriend, Brionna. Or something like that. Or was it Brion or Brishon? I don't remember exactly, but it began with the letter B. Earlier I had awkwardly asked some of these girls to dance but was rejected every time. And just as I was about to become discouraged, I saw an attractive female standing near the dance floor, leaning against a pillar with her arms folded. She appeared relaxed, confident and very attractive. She looked Mediterranean with her long, curly hair that fell over her bare shoulde

The large underground garage where B had parked the Citroën was dimly lit. As we walked over to the elevator, B pointed at a black Porsche 928 and said: “See that car? That car was in Risky Business. Did you see that movie?” Before I could answer, she hit the elevator button. I hadn't seen the movie, but the elevator we entered seemed very risky. It was a small antique, mahogany cubicle. B closed its door and slid a copper screen across. The elevator went up slowly as we saw numerous doors slide down below us until we reached the top one. The thought of kissing her then and there had never occurred to me. Outside the elevator, immediately to the right, was apartment 704, and the moment B opened the door a four-footer approached me with a smile. I had never seen one of those before. It was a Russian wolfhound also known as a borzoi. The dog was very tall, skinny and furry with an arched back and blended well with the art-deco black leather couches, sleek lamps, vases and statues.

Frank Sinatra and Grace Kelly in High Society (1956) DALLAS, TEXAS: In October of 1986, there was a huge event at the Hilton Anatole Hotel (which was then called the Loews Anatole).  It was the Princess Grace Foundation, and it would become the biggest event in the history of this hotel.  Several days prior to this event, all waiters who were scheduled to be working this function underwent background checks.  Though we weren’t told of any specifics, there were a lot of suits walking around and we suspected they were federal agents. In the afternoon, as we were setting up the banquet tables with wine glasses and silverware, numerous celebrities were rehearsing their presentations for the event later that evening.  As I was wiping and placing the dinner knives around the table, Diane Warwick was sound-checking the microphone from different locations in the back of the Pavilion room.  As a teenager in Holland I often played her LPs on my record player to the extent that my mother o

Inside The Starck Club DALLAS, TEXAS -- 1985-89: My favorite place that I would frequently visit in Dallas was the Starck Club.  It was located in the old part of town, where the once life-sustaining warehouses were abandoned and crumbling, right past the forgotten railroad tracks of the forgotten Industrial Revolution.  But this one particular warehouse was adopted and remodeled by the French architect and designer, Philippe Starck. The Starck Club was owned by numerous people, and one of them was rumored to be Grace Jones. Getting into the Starck Club wasn’t easy.  There was always a long line and the club’s doormen were very selective about who they allowed to enter. Since I was in my early twenties with bleached blond hair, I was hip enough to pass.  I also wore black parachute pants while standing in white leather shoes -- all very Duran Duran like. The first time I entered the Starck Club I was in a state of shock and awe.  It wasn’t just the unique design of the

Crescent Court Hotel, Dallas, Texas DALLAS, TEXAS -- 1985-89: Luckily, a new hotel had opened-up in Dallas, and I was able to work some banquet shifts there.  It was a 5 star hotel called The Crescent Court Hotel. Its banquet manager, Jorge, had previously worked at the Anatole Hotel as an assistant banquet manager with Charles Lorenzi.  The banquet facility at The Crescent Court Hotel was minuscule in comparison to the Anatole Hotel, but the money was much bigger. Jorge was originally from Bolivia, was medium built and had wavy black hair, which wasn’t bad for a man in his forties.  He also had a big black mustache and a very large oval head that seemed out of proportion to the rest of his body. Before the banquet commenced, Jorge was always nervous and overly serious.  But after serving the dessert and coffee, he became relaxed and charming.  And as a banquet waiter, the money was always very good and so was the employee-cafeteria food.  And I was always grateful when Jorge in