The Bobby Wilson Chronicles: The Tuaca Body Art Ball

Photo credit: Mark Gross

I love happenstance. A month ago, I wrote a column for B-More Live about being a handicapped 20-something and the problems I encounter with accessibility. I didn’t think anything about it until my editor, Laura, told me that they wanted me to do a photo shoot with one of their photographers. I’d never done a photo shoot before, but I was pretty much game for anything.

Sunday was the day of the shoot. I called Laura around two o’clock to ask her where she wanted me to meet them. She told me that the photographer couldn’t do the shoot and that we might have to do it another day. I was about reschedule my entire evening when she remembered that she had another contact that might be able to do the shoot Fifteen minutes later, she called me back and told me that the other photographer’s name was Sean and that he was shooting the Tuaca Body Art Ball at Ram’s Head Live. She wanted me to tag along, mentioning that there would be models there. She didn’t need to ask twice.

I put on my trusty Ramones t-shirt, my suit jacket and my fedora. I grabbed my iPod and went into the great unknown. I was meeting Sean at 8:30, so I hung out at the Inner Harbor for a while and met a friend for coffee. When she left I started psyching myself up. John Nagle couldn’t be at this event, at least not the usual neurotic Woody Allen meets Joey Ramone one. Tonight I had to be Don Draper. Tonight I had to be Steve McQueen. Tonight I was going to be Ric Flair. I listened to “View From the Afternoon” by the Arctic Monkeys, “Big Poppa” by the Notorious B.I.G., and “Get Up (I Feel Like a) Sex Machine” by James Brown. Tonight I was going to live in mansions and Benzes, give ends to my friends and feel stupendous.

I met Sean in the lobby of Ram’s Head. As it turned out, his sister has cerebral palsy and can drink him under the table. We made our way to the registration table, which was manned by seven gorgeous girls in little black dresses. Sean seemed to know all of them, which made me a tad envious. We made our way inside, where we were greeted by a blonde with a heaping tray of Tuaca shots.

“Would you like to try a Baltimore Big Apple?” She asked.

“Sure. Thanks a lot!” I said.

I downed the shot in one mighty gulp. It tasted like apple flavored cough medicine. The strong taste made me cough slightly, but I immediately felt the glow. It was going to be a good night. I went over to Sean, who was with another girl.

“John, this is Cammie.”

Cammie was one of the most beautiful girls I had ever seen in my life. She was a tall brunette, with piercing eyes, a perfect build and a smile that lit up the whole room. I was thunderstruck by her. I felt like Wayne Campbell seeing Cassandra on stage for the first time. Something came over me, an odd sort of calm. I didn’t talk too loud or too much. It wasn’t too obvious that I liked her. I was smooth.

“So what do you do?” I asked.

“I bartend. How about you?”

“I’m a journalist, I write for Metromix.”

“Oh awesome, I read Metromix a lot.”

Sean told Cammie we’d catch up with her later and we headed upstairs to the VIP section. I got another drink, my usual amaretto and Coke. I obsessively stirred the drink with my straw, hoping to balance the almond flavored liquor with the caramel flavored Coke. After several minutes of stirring, the sting of the alcohol hadn’t dulled. This was the perk of the VIP bar. Sean took a couple pictures of me behind the stage, telling me when to smile and when to look detached and cool.

The main event of the evening was the Body Art Ball, which featured several dancers wearing nothing but body paint. They contorted themselves into positions that nature never intended, which was the appeal. The best was a girl dressed up as half Marilyn Monroe and half Marilyn Manson, performing a schizophrenic dance to “The Beautiful People” and “I Wanna Be Loved By You.” It was pretty awesome.

After awhile, Sean and I decided to go back downstairs. When we got off the elevator, we found Cammie by the desk. Sean was busy talking to the PR person, and I decided to do something really ballsy. I went up to her.

“I just wanted to tell you that I think you are really cute.”

Usually when I tell someone something like this, it goes horribly horribly wrong. I end up embarrassed and retreat to my room for the rest of the day, listening to The Smiths and wondering why I am so unbelievably unattractive. Not tonight. Maybe it was the alcohol or maybe St. Steve McQueen was looking out for me, but the stars were aligned.

“Really?! Thank you sweetie!”

With that, she put her arms around me and gave me a huge kiss. It was an amazing feeling. Somewhere in heaven, McQueen, Elvis and Sinatra were raising their glasses to me. I’d joined their famous band of international playboys. Before I had a chance to get important information, Sean told me that it was time to go inside. I bid Cammie a fond farewell.

Sean was with Abby, the PR person for Tuaca. I started telling her about the column I had written, when she got a quizzical look on her face.

“You look familiar,” she said. “I feel like I’ve seen you before, but I can’t quite put my finger on it. You look like someone.”

“I do?” I liked where this was going.

“I got it!” She exclaimed. “Has anyone ever told you that you look like Ethan Hawke?”

“No, I’ve never heard that before.” I replied.

“Really?! Because you look just like him. I think it’s the hat, but it really is a striking resemblance. Sean, doesn’t he look like Ethan Hawke?”

“I definitely see the resemblance.”

This was insane. In the span of a few hours I had gone from a mild mannered music nerd desperately trying to get a fraction of James Brown’s mojo, to the adorable slacker star of several mid-90s romantic comedies. A girl walked by with a tray of Baltimore Big Apples. I grabbed one and wondered if I could use my resemblance to date Wynona Ryder and direct a Lisa Loeb video. Sean broke my trance by introducing me to a couple models.

We took several shots. The models looked pretty as I looked cool and detached. The models looked pretty as I looked fun and carefree. The models looked pretty as I smiled like David Lee Roth on the Diver Down tour. What had I done to deserve this?!

When we were finished, Sean and I kept mingling. Girls were talking to me left and right, and they didn’t notice the camera until Sean made his presence known. One of them asked me what I was drinking. I ordered another Baltimore Big Apple.

“L’Chaim!” I said.

We clinked glasses and down the hatch it went. It still tasted like apple cough medicine. As the drink was going down, she said something to me.

“You are cute.”

“Thanks!” I said, my ego now inflated to the size of a small continent, “So are you.” Like Cammie, she quickly exited the scene.

The staff was cleaning things up now, and the party had come to an end. I had to go back to being John, mild mannered music nerd. I thanked Sean for the amazing night I had. It was good to be the king, even if it was only for a short while.