| Something's gone fishy on Long Island
In Manhattan’s posh summer outlet, known collectively as The Hamptons, new nightclubs pop up and old ones are refurbished just in time to kick off the new season each Memorial Day Weekend. Many vie for the title of the year’s “it” spot, drawing the most celebs, the most socialites and the best Page Six gossip. But with owner DJ Vic Latino as the face of new club The White House, there were plenty of reasons to suspect this space would draw more locals and fans of WKTU, the mainstream dance music radio station for which he long served as on-air personality.
The club itself occupies the space of former club Canoe Place Inn (lovingly known as CPI). The gargantuan White House boasts 30,000 square feet, three dancefloors, a shopping boutique and a 100,000-watt sound system. With opening weekend’s odd combination of hosts and performers – Kendra Wilkinson (one of Hef’s darlings on Playboy’s “Girls Next Door”), Fergie from the Black Eyed Peas, and DJ Robbie Rivera – we sent this month’s Stalkers to check out the new digs before Diddy blew it up on Independence Day.
Stalker #1
In order to scope out the season’s new venues (or more often those rebuilt, redesigned, or re-branded) I headed out on an East End road trip with my wing-woman in tow.
Upon arriving at White House, there was an exacting staff directing traffic into sardine-can parking spaces in a field of gravel. On the unsure footing of thick heels upon tiny pebbles, I made my way to the club’s entrance.
We busted through the red ropes and immediately encountered the first of more than a few anomalies. Stacked boxes of shoes greeted us at left. We humored the shop keeper with a quick poke about the store.
After perusing the atypical, brightly lit lobby (yes, there was a fireplace), we walked back. And back. And back. And back through gaggles of girls more scantily clad than if they were on the pages of a Victoria’s Secret catalog. Finally, beyond the long low-ceilinged room for boozing and dancing, we made it to the most massive main room this side of Queens.
As my friend’s mouth remained agape at the crowd of Long Island ladies – some of whom she swore were turning a trick or two – I ogled the humongous mirror ball, the festival-sized DJ booth and the lofted stage area where Fergie would later perform. The opening DJ was playing some low-key dance music, which sounded good on the system, especially considering the size and the uber-short lifespan of East End clubs.
After a slip down the steps and a dance on the sunken dancefloor to create the illusion of a flawless recovery, I was ready to explore more.
We emerged from the main room to discover we’d overlooked something beside the platform of white leather VIP banquettes: a sushi bar. A full sushi bar and Chinese buffet, in fact, for prices we didn’t even want to inquire about.
Stalker #2
In the middle dance area, the DJ was playing hip-hop. We said hello to the ever-gracious Vic Latino, who radiated calm as a video camera trailed him. There was none of the frenzy of a club owner on opening night behind his eyes. I’d read earlier that his wife had just given birth, too. I imagined him as poised and stoic in the delivery room.
But we quickly lost track of Vic and the colossal club started to get packed, bursting at the seams and filling with fumes of fake tans, fake nails, fake breasts and fake blondes. We couldn’t hold out for the mistress of the Black Eyed Peas.
Although compared to the usual Hamptons set the more, um, local crowd was – in a tacky, grimy way – somewhat refreshing. Don’t know if my friend would be willing, but I’d come back when the club has enough room for breathing. Or I’d even bear the crowd for a good enough DJ, as long as I downed a few shots and called up the designated driver scooter service (allegedly they pop their scooter in the trunk and drive you home in your own car). Aaah, the luxury of summer in the Hamptons.
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