I was at a bar mitzvah Saturday night at the Lighthouse at Pier 61 in the Chelsea Piers, the same place where Sam Fox, son of Michael J. Fox and Tracy Pollan, had his bar mitzvah. At yesterday’s party, Peter Gallagher, his wife Paula and their son happened to be guests as Peter’s son is friends with the bar mitzvah boy, Scott. Peter found a spot next to me in which to mingle giving me the best view of him fielding off numerous compliments and questions. It was painful to witness. He was so gracious and friendly but hardly had a chance to get a drink or nosh. A part of me felt bad for him–there was no point in which he could let his guard down. He was the only recognizable guest there, so it seemed as though all eyes were drawn to him.
Mostly, I felt bad for his wife. At one point the DJ instructed, “All you women in da room, git out der and find yo man and git out on dat dance flo!” I could see her on her tippy toes searching for Peter with no luck, then later the two of them meandering to their table but being stopped by a woman introducing herself to Peter, so obviously awestruck at his mere presence. All the while a subtle yet distinct look of frustration on Paula’s face as she’s holding his hand, pulling him towards their table. Her reluctantly sharing him with adoring fans and him stuck in the middle of what he wants to do and what he has to do. They must have been exhausted; they left before the main course.**
I, however, left after my coach turned into a grey minivan and my coachmen were Marc and two guys nicknamed Bluto and Slinky–so designated for some obvious and some not so obvious physical attributes. I did manage to gain a lovely henna tattoo, a box of Krispy Kremes, a bag of bagels and a beautiful floral centerpiece which I’ve dismantled into seven, yes, seven, different arrangements.
**It was their second bar mitzvah in one day. First at the Rainbow Room in Midtown then the Chelsea Piers on the LWS. Who can blame them!