Inside Studio 54 by Mark Fleischman

Author:Mark Fleischman
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Rare Bird Books
Published: 2017-09-05T21:02:42+00:00

Chapter Twenty:

Roy Cohn Brings the Feds

to My Door

Movie premiere events were always exciting and fun to host and we did a lot of them. Conan the Barbarian starring Arnold Schwarzenegger was memorable. Arnold was adored by the press from the very beginning, especially after earning a Golden Globe for his role in the film Stay Hungry with Sally Fields and Jeff Bridges. He followed that with Pumping Iron costarring Lou Ferrigno. Word leaked out earlier in the week that Arnold was scheduled to be at Studio after the premiere of Conan the Barbarian so the club was packed to capacity. Michael O. once again created an unforgettable scene inside Studio 54 to entertain our guests and enhance the theme of the evening. The club was decorated with huge styrofoam mountains and good looking guys in loincloths walked around and Barbarian women circulated at the bar and on the dance floor. Michael O. installed several huge cages in key spots throughout the club. Inside each cage was a beautiful girl, practically naked, struggling for freedom like a caged animal.

The vibe was electric in anticipation of seeing Arnold live in the flesh. Outside, on Fifty-Fourth Street, his crowd of hardcore fans waited, hoping to see him get out of his limo. Arnold always made a point to acknowledge them. I was in my office, in my private bathroom, doing a quick hit of coke when security informed me that Arnold had arrived and was being escorted via the underground passage to my office. A few minutes later, there he was, standing in front of me, larger than life—and I mean larger than life—with Maria Shriver on his arm. They were all over each other, very affectionate. Arnold was in the mood to party and wanted to take Maria down to the dance floor. He requested that he leave his jacket in my office. “But of course,” I said. They took off with security and I was left standing alone, holding a sport jacket the size of a small country.

My lawyer, Roy Cohn, asked me to host (and pay for) a birthday dinner party in his own honor. Given all that he had done for me over the years, and all that he could do to me if I got on his bad side, I of course graciously agreed. Roy invited a powerful group, including Barbara Walters (who cohosted), Donald Trump, the infamous socialite Claus von Bülow, and dozens of judges and politicians, many of whom had never been to Studio. The dinner took place on the dance floor. Everything was black, including the walls, tablecloths, napkins, balloons—the enormous gold candelabras held eighteen-inch black tapered candles. The dinner was bathed in a deep blue and purple light, accompanied by selected classical music with a few arias mixed in, making it feel like a party for a Mafia Don. It was very dramatic, and very Roy. He loved it. It was low-key in the beginning, almost somber, but after many toasts and much good wine the laughter grew louder.

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