Editor’s Note: Making nightlife plans for your Hamptons weekend? The Transom sent reporter Sara Levin on ahead as an advance scout. Here’s what she can remember and decipher from her notes, which became increasingly inscrutable as the night went on. What means “BLEAargh-an-hey?”
Barely five minutes after arriving at Cain at Cabana, the Transom was entangled in an actual conga line. Tarzan-like drummers swaddled in tribal leopard-print loincloths wove through crowds of brazenly bronzed women. With each sway of their hips, skirts inched higher and higher. Girls, Basabe-style, raised their hands to spin from the rafters.
Outside, a labyrinth of mini boardwalks wove around bed islands. Bottle service was $300 per. “Bottle service is the new thing this year,” said Mike, a lawyer from Manhattan, who obviously missed the Observer‘s May, 2004 ‘Bottle Boobs Buy $300 Vodka.’ Anyway. “One group may spend $800-1,000 in one night, it’s how the club makes its money,” he said. But it’s true: Manhattan’s bottle service contagion has spread eastward…
Behind the bed-sprawling lotus-eaters lay a pool and a ring of rooms belonging to the Capri motel. The guests who were being disturbed by the loud music and chatter could not, according to a security guard, enter the beach or dance area without going through the main club entrance. “Everyone thinks they’re somebody. I’ve had to explain to some people for twenty minutes why they can’t come in. It’s the rules,” he said.
“I didn’t come here to go home alone,” said a woman. Several stunning women were being photographed in all-white outfits of tight tanks and short jean skirts, most probably Anand Jon. One guest couldn’t keep herself cooped up very long. She and her breasts spilled out into the parking lot. She called frantically for her friends to help her pour her cleavage back into a black corset-like top. The bouncers laughed.