History of Scores
samsung1
Ohio
Friday, June 11, 2010 6:26 PM
“SAVANNA TO THE
<div>CHAMPAGNE ROOM!”</div>
<div>bellowed the DJ. “Savanna to the Champagne Room!”</div>
<div>It was a night in 1997 at Scores, America’s hottest strip club. As</div>
<div>always the place was packed with VIPs, not the least of whom was</div>
<div>Howard Stern, whose obsession with Scores (and its star performer,</div>
<div>Savanna) was constant fodder for his ratings-busting, nationally</div>
<div>syndicated radio show. Stern frequently requested Savanna, who</div>
<div>possessed—in addition to the usual stripper assets (blonde hair</div>
<div>halfway down her back, curves galore, and a sexual vibe strong</div>
<div>enough to strip paint off a house)—an uncanny ability to hold her</div>
<div>own in conversation with the King of All Media, whether she was</div>
<div>shooting the shit or offering her tasting notes on one of the highpriced</div>
<div>bottles from the Scores wine cellar.</div>
<div>For the discerning celebrity, Scores was like a candy store. Tommy</div>
<div>Lee liked blondes with big boobs. Oliver Stone fancied Asian women.</div>
<div>Oscar de la Hoya took an egalitarian approach—young ladies of all</div>
<div>types enjoyed hours of conversation with him in the Champagne</div>
<div>Room, which rented for $400 an hour, plus $400 an hour for each girl’s</div>
<div>time. Bobby Brown broke the “no touching” rule by biting a dancer’s</div>
<div>nipple. Dennis Rodman begged a Scores dancer to marry him.</div>
<div>Madonna and Pamela Anderson visited, to view their doppelgängers.</div>
<div>Elizabeth Berkley researched Showgirls at Scores in 1995. The</div>
<div>following year Demi Moore shelled out for multiple lap dances prior</div>
<div>to the release of Striptease. Kate Moss pole-danced. Russell Crowe</div>
<div>berated waiters and grabbed at a dancer’s underwear. Lindsay Lohan</div>
<div>passed out. George Clooney celebrated his birthday, and Chuck</div>
<div>Norris had not one but two bachelor parties at the club. After the</div>
<div>second, he failed to show up at the altar.</div>
<div>Now all of that is gone. Last January the original club, Scores</div>
<div>East, on East 60th Street, closed its doors, as did its sister location,</div>
<div>Scores West, on West 28th Street. Thus ended a legendary 17-year</div>
<div>run for the body glitter, breast implant, Brazilian bikini wax center</div>
<div>of the universe.</div>
<div>In the years before Scores, strip clubs were smoky, badly lit hustle</div>
<div>joints where dancers offered additional services in which only the</div>
<div>fully vaccinated felt confident partaking. Smart men, upon entrance,</div>
<div>hid their wallets in their socks. Soon after opening in 1991, Scores</div>
<div>changed all that. Built in the model of an upscale sports bar, stocked</div>
<div>with high-end girls for high-end clientele, it was a place where Wall</div>
<div>Street traders mixed with Mafia button men and rubes from Texas in</div>
<div>10-gallon hats could become, after the right number of drinks, fast</div>
<div>friends with a rapper from Detroit. Scores did not want the horny</div>
<div>loner in his raincoat, even if he was willing to fork over the $10 for a</div>
<div>cocktail. You bragged about going to Scores—if you could afford it.</div>
<div>But eventually Scores lost the identity it worked so hard to</div>
<div>build. In the years before the closings, lawsuits alleged all manner</div>
<div>of bad behavior: customer overcharging, tip gouging, and sexual</div>
<div>harassment. A vice raid on Scores West resulted in prostitution</div>
<div>charges. Regulars among the movie, sports, and rock star clientele</div>
<div>were left to wonder: How had Scores, which rode so high for so</div>
<div>long, fallen so quickly?</div>
<div>“WE SAID: DO A STAGE SHOW. INVITE CELEBRITIES.”</div>
<div>In 1991 Scores opened to low expectations on a desolate stretch of</div>
<div>East 60th Street, in the shadow of the Queensboro Bridge. It was</div>
<div>about as close to no man’s land as you could find in Manhattan. The</div>
<div>club’s owner, a stocky Brooklyn-born lawyer named Michael</div>
<div>Blutrich, had been a Broadway actor as a child and later dabbled in</div>
<div>boxing promotion and restaurant management. For Scores, Blutrich</div>
<div> </div>
<div>copied a strip club concept he’d seen in Florida: Instead of G-strings</div>
<div>and pasties, “entertainers” wore gowns and high-heeled shoes. They</div>
<div>would dance topless at your table for $20 per song.</div>
<div>A warm and charming gay man, Blutrich visited Scores only</div>
<div>about once a year and put ownership documents and the club’s</div>
<div>liquor license in the name of his high school basketball coach</div>
<div>from Brooklyn, a small-time gambler named Irving “Blitz” Bilzinsky.</div>
<div>“Blitz was the kind of guy who was old when he was 20,” recalls</div>
<div>an insider. “He would come in every night, eat an omelet, and barely</div>
<div>say a word to anybody.” In time Blutrich took another partner,</div>
<div>Lyle Pfeffer. Together they would redefine the notion of what a strip</div>
<div>club could be.</div>
<div>“People back then were afraid of strip clubs,” says Lonnie Hanover,</div>
<div>Scores’ publicist for 15 years, hired shortly after the club opened. “We</div>
<div>said, ‘Make it like a real club, do a stage show, and invite celebrities.’ ”</div>
<div>A key part of Hanover’s marketing plan was to position Scores not</div>
<div>as a strip club but as a club where sports was paramount, where a</div>
<div>patron could come, ostensibly, to watch the game on one of Scores’</div>
<div>many television screens. “For the first few years, the strategy was</div>
<div>sports,” says Hanover. “Scores was originally a sports cabaret.”</div>
<div>Sports aside, the main draw was always the girls. “We dressed like</div>
<div>movie stars,” says Stacey, a busty brunette from Kentucky who</div>
<div>enlisted her grandmother to sew the gowns she wore night after</div>
<div>night at the club. “We were like beauty pageant girls.” Stacey,</div>
<div>through the connections she made at Scores, landed on Saturday</div>
<div>Night Live, in the Al Pacino, Johnny Depp film Donnie Brasco, and</div>
<div>onstage at Madison Square Garden with Sting.</div>
<div>Alex, a native of Houston, easily earned $1,000 a night. “I made</div>
<div>my own schedule, so I worked when I felt like it. I’d danced in Florida</div>
<div>and Texas and Georgia, where the money was good, but nothing</div>
<div>close to what I made at Scores.”</div>
<div>Even patrons had a dress code: no ripped jeans, shorts, hats,</div>
<div>sneakers, or T-shirts. From the cigar humidor, Scores customers</div>
<div>enjoyed selections by Cohiba, Dunhill, and Partagas. In the</div>
<div>restaurant good bottles of cabernet and pinot noir accompanied</div>
<div>well-cooked prime cuts of steaks and chops.</div>
<div>Word got out among athletes. New York Knicks center Patrick</div>
<div>Ewing was a regular. Dwight Gooden settled in for cocktails at Scores</div>
<div>on the same day in 1995 when his cocaine use earned him a seasonlong</div>
<div>suspension. Rock stars soon followed. It was said that Sting</div>
<div>liked his girls blonde and small-breasted and refused to look at them</div>
<div>as they danced for him. Kid Rock conducted his first MTV interview at</div>
<div>Scores. Marc Anthony cooed “Ladies Night,” the Kool & the Gang hit,</div>
<div>into the ear of a dancer.</div>
<div>One night in February 1998, action movie star Jean-Claude van</div>
<div>Damme sauntered in. “They don’t come much hotter than Jean-</div>
<div>Claude,” says Savanna Samson (the aforementioned doyenne of</div>
<div>Scores’ Champagne Room). “And he never made you feel like a</div>
<div>stripper.” Near van Damme’s table sat Chuck Zito, former Hells</div>
<div>Angel, celebrity bodyguard, and star of HBO’s series Oz.</div>
<div>“Chuck is a punk,” van Damme remarked to a friend of Zito’s.</div>
<div>Minutes later he looked up to find the biker standing over him. “Did</div>
<div>you just tell Frankie that I’m a punk?” Zito asked.</div>
<div>Wordlessly, van Damme removed his glasses and tucked them</div>
<div>into his shirt pocket, signaling his readiness to fight. Zito dropped</div>
<div>the Muscles from Brussels with one punch, breaking his own hand.</div>
<div>The story of Zito versus van Damme made the front page of the</div>
<div>New York Post, with the headline Jean-Claude van Damme SLAMMED.</div>
<div> </div>
<div>PORN, GOODFELLAS & FUNNY MONEY</div>
<div>Savanna Samson, a beautiful blonde from Watertown, in upstate</div>
<div>New York, was hired at Scores in August 1996. “I paid the DJ to keep</div>
<div>me offstage, because I was good at talking on a bunch of subjects,”</div>
<div>she recalls. “I ate several dinners a night in the VIP room, and I always</div>
<div>ended up with the biggest wad of cash.”</div>
<div>The first time Savanna met Howard Stern, she was sitting with</div>
<div>Dennis Rodman. “Howard completely ignored me,” she says, but</div>
<div>Savanna knew how to change that. When Stern’s biopic, Private Parts,</div>
<div>premiered in 1997, she showed up for a ride on a Private Parts party</div>
<div>bus wearing only a fur coat and lingerie. Stern’s reaction: “That’s my</div>
<div>girl. That’s my future wife.” Ultimately, Stern called friends at Vivid</div>
<div>Video in Los Angeles and helped make Savanna one of the most</div>
<div>recognizable and bankable porn stars in the world.</div>
<div>With Scores raking in $400,000 a night at its peak, dancers earned</div>
<div>enough cash to buy expensive cars and homes. One Wall Street high</div>
<div>roller ran up a tab of $605,000. “That was my best night,” says Victoria,</div>
<div>a super-buxom Scores dancer for a decade, and one of a dozen girls</div>
<div>working the Champagne Room that night. “I took home $40,000.”</div>
<div>Scores hosted up to 500 guests a night and grossed $25 million a</div>
<div>year. Some dancers married rich customers. Others got their college</div>
<div>tuition covered. “During that run the Scores girls were all tan and</div>
<div>gorgeous,” says a regular. “They went to the gym, worked on their</div>
<div>bodies. For 10 years the place ran great. Everybody had fun.”</div>
<div>Expanding its brand, the club sold “The Girls of Scores” calendars</div>
<div>and DVDs, as well as Scores caps, tube tops, and hot pants. Handled</div>
<div>by a tireless public relations team, Scores girls appeared at charity</div>
<div>events, on MTV’s Total Request Live, and on the MTV Video Music</div>
<div>Awards. But beneath the glossy veneer of sex, celebrity, and success,</div>
<div>the core of the Big Apple’s premier flesh palace was beginning to rot.</div>
<div>Even though they were grossing millions, Blutrich and Pfeffer</div>
<div>wanted more. A few years after Scores opened, the pair were hired to</div>
<div>advise an insurance company in Orlando, Florida. In 1994 Blutrich,</div>
<div>Pfeffer, and others were charged with defrauding the company of a</div>
<div>staggering $400 million, one of the biggest white-collar crime cases</div>
<div>of its time. Facing decades behind bars, the pair played the one card</div>
<div>they had and cut a deal with the Feds: They agreed to wear wires.</div>
<div>As early as 1993, the Gambino crime family—led by John Gotti Jr.,</div>
<div>son of the Teflon Don—had moved in on Scores, demanding a cut of</div>
<div>the profits. Fearful that he might be maimed and his club bombed,</div>
<div>Blutrich allowed Gotti’s crew to skim $200,000 annually from coat</div>
<div>check and valet parking profits. They were also given the right to</div>
<div>choose Scores’ bouncers, s</div>
<div>elect the toilet paper supplier, and take a</div>
<div>cut of each $20 admission. Made guys never paid for anything at</div>
<div>Scores. In total the Gambinos took the club for over $1 million.</div>
<div>Scores paid a high price for the Mafia presence. Late on the evening</div>
<div>of June 21, 1996, two Albanian hoodlums, Victor Dedaj and his</div>
<div>younger brother Simon, were asked to leave Scores after a dispute</div>
<div>with a Gambino enforcer over a woman. As the club closed at 4 Z.[.,</div>
<div>the Dedaj brothers returned with guns and knives, killing Scores</div>
<div>waiter Jonathan Segel and bouncer Michael Greco.</div>
<div>That November the Feds raided Scores, alleging that Gambino</div>
<div>capo Salvatore Locascio was the club’s secret owner. Within a</div>
<div>year Blutrich and Pfeffer came in from the cold, and the evidence</div>
<div>they gathered helped earn John Gotti Jr. a sentence of 77 months.</div>
<div>Given 20 years each for their own crimes, Blutrich and Pfeffer</div>
<div>soon disappeared—to segregated cellblocks and into the witness</div>
<div>protection program.</div>
<div>THE BROOKLYN EXPANSION TEAM</div>
<div>Sustained by a steady stream of tourists and Howard Stern listeners,</div>
<div>Scores limped along. With Blutrich out of the picture, the club fell</div>
<div>fully into the hands of Blitz Bilzinsky, the Brooklyn gambler who’d</div>
<div>been working for Blutrich. For help Blitz turned to the old neighborhood,</div>
<div>to three young men from Sheepshead Bay, Brooklyn who</div>
<div>knew little about running a strip club.</div>
<div>Harvey Osher, who had done a year in federal lockup for stock</div>
<div>fraud, worked as a gofer in Blutrich’s law office; because of his</div>
<div>record, his older brother Elliot Osher, a chauffeur, took over Blitz’s</div>
<div>role as the legal man in charge. Richard Goldring, an accountant who</div>
<div>did tax work for Blutrich, was named CEO. Although the Oshers and</div>
<div>Goldring had modest résumés, they had outsize dreams. Within</div>
<div>three years Scores franchises were doing brisk business in Miami,</div>
<div>Las Vegas, New Orleans, Fort Lauderdale, and four other cities.</div>
<div>Harvey Osher considered himself the best strip club operator in the</div>
<div>business and saw his dancers as potential conquests. “Elliot,</div>
<div>meanwhile, was like Fredo in The Godfather,” an insider says. “He’d sit</div>
<div>at his table in the restaurant every night. He didn’t say much. He</div>
<div>didn’t do much.”</div>
<div>In 2002 the Oshers forced Blitz out of Scores altogether. As</div>
<div>managers and hosts, they brought in more friends from Brooklyn,</div>
<div>many of them ex-cons. Employee rules of conduct loosened. If a</div>
<div>manager wanted to put his hands on a dancer, who was going to stop</div>
<div>him? “Harvey’s friends who worked at Scores got out of control,”</div>
<div>says a former employee. “There was nobody to police them.”</div>
<div>Drugs became more readily available, and in a club where dancers</div>
<div>had been treated as queens, they were now treated like chattel.</div>
<div>“Managers thought they were customers, drinking and smoking on</div>
<div>the job and chatting up the girls,” says Ruth Fowler, a former Scores</div>
<div>dancer known as Mimi. “It was like a cattle market.”</div>
<div>In 2004 the Oshers opened Scores West on West 28th Street. The</div>
<div>new branch was darker than the original and had a whiff of danger to</div>
<div>it. The music was too loud, the customers younger. It was Harvey</div>
<div>Osher’s domain. And it had private rooms that locked.</div>
<div>Both locations became infamous for overcharging their customers.</div>
<div>Orders to do so, former employees allege, came from on high:</div>
<div>Identify a high roller and get him so drunk he could barely sign</div>
<div>his credit card slip. Hosts wrote in gratuities, betting that embarrassed</div>
<div>family men would let things slide.</div>
<div>“They went after a few customers every night,” a former employee</div>
<div>says. “The Osher brothers felt like they were bulletproof.”</div>
<div>Ultimately, three angry customers sued the club. One plaintiff, the</div>
<div>married CEO of a Missouri-based Internet service provider, had</div>
<div>$241,000 charged to his American Express card. The case brought</div>
<div>Scores another wave of bad press. The CEO lost his job. Scores lost</div>
<div>American Express.</div>
<div>BEATDOWNS, BANKRUPTCY, AND BUST-UPS</div>
<div>The Oshers’ problems extended beyond the shabby way they</div>
<div>treated their employees and their customers. In February 2005,</div>
<div>Harvey Osher was jumped by two former Scores employees,</div>
<div>Denis and Gema Kolenovic. The following April both Oshers were</div>
<div>allegedly attacked by 12 men wielding pipes and hammers.</div>
<div>According to a lawsuit, their old pal Blitz Bilzinsky had been working</div>
<div>with the attackers to open up a new club and had paid them $50,000</div>
<div>just days before the attacks. But the violence went both ways: The</div>
<div>following spring Harvey was arrested for stabbing Bekir Balaban, yet</div>
<div>another former Scores employee.</div>
<div>In 2006 the Manhattan District Attorney’s Office brought</div>
<div>indictments against Harvey Osher and Richard Goldring, charging</div>
<div>that they funneled money through shell companies and falsified tax</div>
<div>returns in an attempt to evade taxes on $3.1 million. Both men cut</div>
<div>deals. Scores remained open, but the future looked bleak.</div>
<div>In little more than a year, Scores Miami went broke. Scores Las</div>
<div>Vegas was sold to Rick’s Cabaret. Eventually, seven Scores locations</div>
<div>across the U.S. packed it in. In New York the precious celebrity guest</div>
<div>pool shrank further. Dancers, earning less money, defected to other</div>
<div>strip clubs in Manhattan, Las Vegas, Los Angeles, or Florida.</div>
<div>Not only did customers go to court against Scores; so did the club’s</div>
<div>own employees. In January 2006, Francis Vargas, a stunning young</div>
<div>waitress, was hired as a cocktail server at Scores West and worked</div>
<div>there for eight months before being fired that August. Vargas sued</div>
<div>for sexual harassment, claiming male managers never left her alone.</div>
<div>She was slapped on the ass. A manager pinned her against a wall and</div>
<div>tried to kiss her. Another told Vargas to “come and suck [his] dick</div>
<div>and [he’ll] give [her] $500.” Two Scores managers urged Vargas to</div>
<div>“sell herself.” When she complained, she says, they cut her shifts and</div>
<div>exiled her to an unprofitable location in the club.</div>
<div>Siri Diaz, a former bartender, filed a class-action suit against the</div>
<div>club, charging that management regularly took 10 percent of</div>
<div>workers’ tips for themselves (the case is ongoing). “House fees</div>
<div>were $180 a night, and you had to tip managers hundreds of</div>
<div>dollars nightly,” says one dancer. “When I worked the VIP room,</div>
<div>management would take 25 percent of my fee right off the top. It</div>
<div>was non-negotiable.” Intoxicated managers were said to demand</div>
<div>kickbacks of up to 50 percent for steering dancers toward high</div>
<div>rollers. Checks bounced.</div>
<div>“Management was abrasive and nasty to the girls,” says Victoria,</div>
<div>the former dancer. “I didn’t enjoy going there like I had in the past.</div>
<div>We didn’t respect the club. We feared it.”</div>
<div>A dancer named Alicia quit even though she was owed $3,000. “The</div>
<div>bar backs were selling coke. Managers were having sex with</div>
<div>waitresses and dancers while on the job. They’d say, ‘Come on, baby,</div>
<div>let’s go have fun.’ I left crying five times.”</div>
<div>In the dressing rooms, fistfights broke out among dancers over</div>
<div>customers and money. “The girls who were in with managers were</div>
<div>pushed on high rollers,” says Fowler. “Those were a select few</div>
<div>girls who’d do prostitution and credit card fraud. It was a drunken,</div>
<div>horrible mess. There were no rules.”</div>
<div>IT ALL FALLS DOWN</div>
<div>The undercover team trickled into Scores West late on the night of</div>
<div>January 24, 2007. Fifty or so patrons were inside, and 20 dancers. As</div>
<div>the strippers plied them with lap dances, some of the plainclothes</div>
<div>cops, from Manhattan South Vice, downed beers and chatted them</div>
<div>up. In conversations with young entertainers, they also wondered</div>
<div>what “extras” were available in the locked rooms near the kitchen.</div>
<div>A dancer offered a blow job for $300. A young Russian woman</div>
<div>chatting with another detective upped the ante: sexual intercourse</div>
<div>for $600. “What happens in the back room,” she purred, “stays in</div>
<div>the back room.”</div>
<div>The undercover squad had heard enough. Uniformed officers wearing</div>
<div>raid jackets and bulletproof vests busted into the club, guns</div>
<div>drawn. The DJ killed the music. Behind the locked door of one private</div>
<div>room, cops discovered a completely naked dancer standing next to a</div>
<div>man pulling up his pants. (Charges were eventually dropped.)</div>
<div>Spokesman Lonnie Hanover resigned six months later, after his</div>
<div>paycheck bounced. In August 2007, Howard Stern told listeners, “We</div>
<div>don’t go to Scores anymore.” The club’s biggest champion for 17</div>
<div>years had moved on. It would turn out to be Scores’ death knell.</div>
<div>In March 2008, after a series of hearings at the State Liquor</div>
<div>Authority, Judge Robert Karr ruled that sexual activity at Scores West</div>
<div>was “open and notorious” and revoked the</div>
<div>club’s liquor license. The club itself closed</div>
<div>within weeks.</div>
<div>Toward the end, at Scores East on East 60th</div>
<div>Street, it was a sad scene. A Manhattan sporting</div>
<div>goods executive visited last November with</div>
<div>colleagues from out of town looking for a big</div>
<div>night out. They didn’t find it at Scores. A</div>
<div>handful of dancers moved listlessly around the</div>
<div>showroom floor. An American Express card</div>
<div>proffered to pay for a $500 bottle of Patron was</div>
<div>rejected. Visa only.</div>
<div>“Are we seeing the B team tonight?” the</div>
<div>executive asked an Eastern European dancer.</div>
<div>“Actually, it’s the C team,” the dancer</div>
<div>responded with a shrug.</div>
<div>By the end of the year, after a New Year’s Eve</div>
<div>blowout, the Scores flagship on the East Side</div>
<div>was padlocked. The once glamorous club, which</div>
<div>had survived Mob extortion, fatal gunplay,</div>
<div>relentless hounding by law enforcement, and</div>
<div>inexorable shifts in buzz, was gone.</div>
<div>EVERY THING OLD IS NUDE AGAIN</div>
<div>“With all the potential for expansion, Scores</div>
<div>could have been a $100 million empire,” says a New York City</div>
<div>businessman familiar with the strip club game. “Now it’s just a</div>
<div>building on the West Side of Manhattan. A good operator could</div>
<div>revive it. The name isn’t dead.”</div>
<div>Last March, as the economy tanked, real estate tycoon Robert</div>
<div>Gans, owner of the Penthouse Executive Club in Manhattan,</div>
<div>swooped in and bought the Scores West building for a song: $9.58</div>
<div>million, or $500,000 less than the Oshers paid for the 10,000-squarefoot</div>
<div>space in 2004. And for a measly $400,000, Gans also purchased a</div>
<div>controlling interest in the Scores name.</div>
<div>Gans reopened Scores West, advertising on billboards and cable</div>
<div>television and in the New York City tabloids. Business has been slow</div>
<div>so far, but Gans is optimistic that things will pick up as the economy</div>
<div>improves. That didn’t seem to be the case on a recent Sunday. Inside</div>
<div>at reception, a young woman in a black miniskirt asked for $20 for</div>
<div>admission, then thought better of it, and picked up a phone. “Is there</div>
<div>anyone onstage?” she asked. There wasn’t, so admission was free.</div>
<div>Apparently Scores was now a strip club without dancers.</div>
<div>Inside Scores’ main room, “Can’t Get Enough of Your Love” by</div>
<div>Barry White played over the loudspeakers. After Roxanne, the bartender,</div>
<div>finished texting her boyfriend about their new dog, I ordered</div>
<div>a Maker’s Mark. “That’s $17,” Roxanne chirped. “It’s an early-bird</div>
<div>special.” For the next 90 minutes, as the Steelers built up a 35-21 lead</div>
<div>over the Chargers, the stage remained empty. The next Maker’s Mark</div>
<div>tasted as diluted as the first. A skinny brunette in a black push-up</div>
<div>bra calling herself Paris came over for a dance.</div>
<div>“Where are you from?” I asked.</div>
<div>“Paris,” she reported with no discernible accent. She was certainly</div>
<div>not French.</div>
<div>Eventually, a bald guy in glasses, looking like a middle manager at</div>
<div>a discount shoe store, wandered in, doubling the total customer</div>
<div>count. By 10 m.n., in a 10,000-square-foot club, there were five</div>
<div>entertainers, only one of whom had worked at the old Scores. Ten</div>
<div>years ago there might have been 500 customers and 50 dancers. At</div>
<div>least the ratio had improved.</div>
<div>Julia, a blonde from Moscow, approached. I wondered if the former</div>
<div>celebrity playground still drew a high-profile clientele, like in the</div>
<div>glory days. No, Julia said, no celebrities yet, although she’d seen a</div>
<div>New York Giant or two.</div>
<div>“What about Howard Stern?”</div>
<div>Julia wrinkled her nose as she turned and headed toward the</div>
<div>stage. “Howard who?”</div>
<div> </div>
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