Paris Hilton is being hailed by conservationists for efforts to curb rice beer binge-drinking by elephants in India.
Associated Press
“She’s late,” I said to my friend Rajah, an elephas maximus indicus. We were standing on the corner of Hollywood and Vine, waiting for our new best friend Paris Hilton, who had promised to teach us how to drink responsibly.
“Drink plenty of water.”
Rajah had deep bags under his eyes–he certainly looked older than his thirty years, the mid-point in an Indian elephant’s life expectancy. It was all the rice beer he slurped down night after night, going from one farmer’s homemade vat to another, searching for excitement.
“She’ll be here,” Rajah said. “She promised.”
Sure enough, a few seconds later we spotted the familiar Cadillac Escalade coming down the street. It pulled to a stop and America’s favorite Heir Head rolled down the back window. “Hop in,” she said, a note of anticipation in her voice.
I squeezed in the front seat so I could check myself out in the vanity mirror on the sun visor. “You look great, Sutra!” Paris squealed at me from the back seat.
“Thanks,” I said, but I knew she didn’t mean it. Her voice was higher than usual because she was crushed up against the arm rest by Rajah, who could frankly stand to lose a few hundred pounds.
“Where shall we go first?” I asked.
“Let’s try Area,” Hilton said, slipping into a fashionable italic typeface. “The tables there are good for dancing.”
Her driver heeded her command, and soon we were breezing past the bouncers into one of Hollywood’s hottest night spots. We were travelling in style.
The maitre’d seated us in a corner booth right away, and Antoine, a favorite of our hostess because of his ability to fend off the pappa razzi, greeted us.
“Hello, Ms. Hilton.”
“Hello, Antoine.”
“Shall I bring you the usual–Dom Perignon and an upchuck bucket?”
“No, darling. I’m turning over a new leaf. Tonight, I’m going to teach my friends Rajah and Sutra how to drink responsibly. We’ll have a bottle of San Pellegrino water with limes on the side and a plate of celery sticks.”
“Very good, Ms. Hilton.”
Antoine scurried away. Nobody said anything at first–it’s amazing how boring people get when they’re not drinking.
“So–got any new movies coming out?” I asked her at last.
“Well, The Hottie and the Nottie II is coming out this year, but I frankly haven’t been too busy since they cancelled The Simple Life.”
“I know what you mean,” Rajah said. Like hell he did–he just wanted to get into her pants.
“You guys need to eat some celery stalks,” Paris said when Antoine returned with our order.
They didn’t look so appetizing. “Do you have any honey-roast peanuts?” I asked him.
“Those are so fattening!” Paris said.
“I know–but I love them.”
“We’re all going to be good tonight,” she said. “I’m tired of throwing up every time I come here.”
“It is a pleasure to clean up after you,” Antoine said as he bowed low. “Is there anything else I can bring you?”
My mouth was watering. I looked at Paris, and I knew that she knew what I wanted. “Please?” I begged.
She twisted her mouth up into a little moue. “All right–but just one. Antoine–we’ll each have a rice wine spritzer.”
“Ms. Hilton–are you sure?” the waiter asked with a tone of concern.
“I’ll eat all my celery–and a bread stick. I promise.”
“Very good.” He turned and walked away, and Paris pulled Tinkerbell, her chihuahua, out of her purse. “You guys have got to understand that you need some diversion–like Tinky–when you go out at night. Otherwise, you get all excited and fall into some dumb farmer’s rice beer vat and electrocute yourself when you run into an electric pole.”
“My driving record’s slightly better than yours,” I said, a bit defensively. Rajah kicked me under the table, and I let out a yelp, causing people at the bar to turn their heads.
“Don’t make a scene,” Rajah said, scowling at me, then turning to Paris to show how cool and calm he was. What a suck-up.
Antoine returned with our drinks, and Paris raised her glass in a toast.
“Over the teeth and through the gums,” she said as she took a sip. “Wait five minutes and back it comes!” We all laughed at that one–she has such a great self-deprecating sense of humor! I noticed that Rajah knocked back his drink in one swallow.
“Rajah!” Paris scolded him.
“What? What did I do?”
“You need to sip your drink, not gulp it.”
“Oh.”
“And take drinks of water in between.”
“Water and liquor spoil two good things,” I said to no one in particular as I stared into my glass. I guess you could say I’m a cynical drunk.
“Now, now–don’t be bitter. You need to stay engaged, make conversation. Don’t look at your drink as a life preserver. Use it like a kayak–paddle off and meet people! C’mon!”
She grabbed my front paw and dragged me to the dance floor, where I went into my version of the Funky Elephant, a dance made famous by Aretha Franklin in her–shall we say–Chubby Period.
“You’ve got some moves, baby!” Paris yelled over the music. “Wooo!”
She’d apparently been off the wagon for awhile, and the wine cooler had gone to her head.
Aretha: After, and before.
“Let’s party like it’s 1999!” she yelled as she climbed up onto a cocktail table, losing track of the century. “Get up here and shake it!”
I watched as Rajah, entranced by the disco lights and the sounds, followed her every move with his eyes, his trunk swaying to the beat. I saw him take the first step, putting his big foot up on a chair. Before I could stop him, he was up with her, stomping on a cocktail napkin, smashing a bowl of party mix to bits.
“That’s it!” Paris yelled just as the table began to crack and then collapsed like it was made of matchsticks. A photographer rushed up and snapped a picture of Paris and Rajah in each other’s arms, and within minutes the digital photo was up on the internet and headed towards the front page of tomorrow’s tabloids.
I could just see the headline–“Paris and Pachyderm in Sunset Strip Pile-Up.” I motioned to Antoine.
“Yes?” he asked discreetly as the two party animals struggled to their feet.
“Bring me a Bombay Gin and tonic, and make it a stiff one,” I said. “It’s going to be a long night.”
Available in Kindle format on amazon.com as part of the collection “Wild Animals of Nature!”
Well, if you party with the Heir Head, you have to be ready for whatever comes–even elephants which ironically are supposed to be the symbol of good luck!