Patrick McMullan, the Shetland sheepdog of party photographers, immediately began plying his trade and managed to corral the Governator into a pose.
Soon enough, Mr. Schwarzenegger spied Mr. Beatz, and implored him for some face time.
“Swizz, get ova heeuh!” he commanded. “I vant to see vhat vatch you are vearing!”
Mr. Beatz obliged.
The Meat from Mitteleuropa then meandered over to Mr. Brady, whom he congratulated on his new dwelling, the proud new owner of a modest 22,000-square-foot Brentwood bungalow, directly across from Mr. Olympia’s hideaway.
“Nice house,” offered Mr. Schwarzenegger, in the understated, nuanced parlance for which he has become known.
The party spilled over into the main room, where cocktails were doled out and floor-length evening dresses shuffled about the floor. On hand were two horologists, laboring away in a miniature Audemars workshop. Next to a reflecting pool, we contemplated a 60-foot-tall morphing projection of Michelangelo’s statue of David. (More manhood!)
Soon enough, president and CEO of Audemars North America François-Henry Bennahmias took the stage. All we heard was, “To break the rules, first you must master them,” before we began checking our own watch.
“And to drink the wine, first you must pour it,” remarked one of our tablemates, seemingly more interested in Dionysian pleasures.
Another fellow reveler was inordinately taken with the furniture. “The last time I was at a table this long, it was at a wedding in Versailles. I shit you not,” remarked the private-equity looking guy.
Fascinated, we turned away; Mr. Schwarzenegger was taking the stage.
In something of an odd reverie, he brought The Observer’s mind back, once again, to matters temporal.
Addressing the topic of 1972, the year of the Royal Oak watch’s origin, he strayed into familial matters—to our surprise, considering the news of late.
“I’m a little bit concerned when you talk about celebrating 1972. My in-law [Sargent] Shriver lost to Agnew. Watergate was a mess,” he remarked.
“But, oh, yes, that’s right,” he quickly added. “I won my 10th Mr. Olympia title.”
As the aging beefcake finished up, dessert was served. We indulged in the chocolate delight, wondering if Tom Brady was enjoying it as much as we were.