Friday, August 31, 9:50 p.m.
This is the second time I’m fighting holiday traffic to get to a party hosted by Britney Spears. I’m even wearing the same shoes I wore to Pure on New Year’s Eve. LAX’s grand opening is the 800-pound gorilla event this Labor Day Weekend, and tonight even Britney will have to step aside and play the role of sidekick to LAX’s grandeur.
“How much nightlife can you handle in one night?” a sign inquires as I slip into the Luxor and approach the blob of undulating, panicky bodies outside LAX’s bud-shaped iron-lattice gates. Many thanks to a sharp patent-leather purse, I slice through the confusion like a hot knife through butter.
Moments later I’m standing where the twin entrance and exit/re-entry stairs converge in a dark tunnel which actually cuts through Noir Bar below; if you could see out, you’d be looking down the fronts of the Noir guests’ dresses. Not wishing to be bounced just yet, I continue past coat-check to a rotunda where an oxblood leather-upholstered mound obstructs the payoff. Though I’ve already had two exclusive tours, even managing partner Robert Frey’s excitement couldn’t have prepared me to view the completed club from this doorway: It’s visually stunning.
Ahead, one of two grand staircases curves down to meet the dance floor, two bars and acres of VIP seating. A hall guides me left, behind the seven VIP lofts of the mezzanine level. Like in an opera house, anyone can walk this way, catching peeks of the lofts’ pretty people, passing a small dance floor on the way to the farthest upstairs bar. A quick duck left yields a tiny room housing a replica of Noir’s antique bar as well as a secondary restroom.
Before you can say “hey Mr. DJ” to Hollywood and AM, I’m relaxing with some champs (champagne, for those of you who don’t know her as well as I do) in a nifty little corner under the mezzanine, a space I know very well. PMG managing partner Steve Davidovici knows it well, too, having spent an early part of his career here.
Beneath LAX’s velvety skin lay the bones of Ra nightclub (January 1998-July 2006), bones made virtually unchangeable by the pyramidal shape. One false move, or so I’m told by another Luxor club operator, and the building becomes a very expensive game of Jenga. As I learned during my walk-throughs, many of Ra’s walls and columns are load-bearing and therefore structurally necessary. Even in the face of this no doubt irksome detail, designer Helenka Snyder has utilized (and tricked out) every square inch of available space in creating PMG’s opus; little nooks and crannies abound, inviting, unreserved black leather chairs and tiny candle-lit ledges for the leaning.
Some guest rooms were gobbled up to achieve the soaring heights required for the cascading crimson velvet curtain behind the VIP stage. In the center of it all, just as it should be, is the black DJ booth, topped with pillar candles and a glass barricade, just in case, say, Britney might want to say “hey y’all!” Higher still, three black crystal chandeliers dangle like earrings over this VIP cake.
By 11:30, travel is barely possible through any of LAX’s four bars. And it’s hot. Like, really hot. In the Ra footprint areas, the ceilings are so low that I can effortlessly reach up and plant a firm hand there, whereas elsewhere, the ceiling seems miles away, and cool air passes through expensive silk dresses and summer-weight blazers. By the end of the night, those blazers will be doffed, silk clinging to dewy skin. The air will have to be on full arctic blast to cool off all the bodies this 26,000-square-foot club can pack in. And with events like DJ Bob Sinclar kicking off LAX’s industry Wednesdays, LAX is certain to see some star power as well as significant attendance.
Despite everyone’s admonitions that “Britney won’t show,” she does, and she waves, staying the whole two hours her pricey contract probably requires. But instead of dancing, the masses just stare as if she’s going to burst into song at any moment. I drain my glass and leave them to their cell-phone pics, passing Brit’s red carpet on the way out, dark and forgotten at 2:30 a.m. Even she can’t upstage LAX tonight, not for me.
Xania Woodman thinks globally and parties locally. And frequently. E-mail her at [email protected] and visit thecircuitlv.com to sign up for Xania’s free weekly newsletter.