By Jeffrey Epstein
Heading out of East/West just after 10 p.m., some guys call to Horta. 'He's like the mayor of Boystown,' quips Newton while Horta chats. After a quick stop in front of Mrs. Fields (where we force Ortiz to relive her character's 'I could be the Latina Mrs. Fields!' moment) we arrive at legendary WeHo nightspot The Abbey (692 N. Robertson Boulevard).
In one of the club's private cabanas, Newton, who's married, kicks off her heels, and we watch the parade of boys in tight clothing walk by.
'I love this,' starts Ortiz, who's engaged. 'Hot guys we can totally molest and they don't give a shit!'
Adds Newton, 'Our fianc' and husband were like, 'Have fun! Stay out all night!''
Sipping on champagne moments later, Ortiz wonders, 'Is the term 'fag hag' offensive? Because I'm really excited about being a fag hag.'
'It's a badge of honor,' states Newton, also enjoying some champers. But Ortiz isn't convinced and a debate of possible names ensues'Homo promo? Ball dolls?'none are universally embraced. 'We'll take it up on Monday in the writers' room,' promises Horta.
With the music thumping, the girls want to do a lap and see the place in action. So, leaving the Golden Globe hidden beneath a pillow, we do a lap. Now, several hours (and several drinks) into their nights, the boys are a little bolder with their approaches as we pass. 'Oh, my God. You're on Ugly Betty!' coos a boy, fawning over Newton for a moment before noticing Ortiz. 'And you're on Ugly Betty!' He looks like he might pass out from excitement.
The music has the ladies ready to dance, so just after 11 p.m., we walk over to Factory (652 N. La Peer) for their weekly bash PopStarz. Madonna's 'Holiday' blares over the speakers as we enter the club. 'I love Madonna!' says Becki with glee, and before we even hit the dance floor, she and Ortiz are getting into the groove. The girls enjoy more champagne as boys begin to gather around'clearly any sense of decorum is now out the window and lads are flocking to the girls to tell them how much they love the show.
Cocktails in hand, we hit the packed dance floor. As Christina Aguilera's 'Drrty' plays, Becki and Ana compare moves, bumping and grinding in delight, while soaking up the attention of the guys who join in occasionally to shake their groove thangs. The Golden Globe sits on the stage next to where we're dancing.
'What's that?' asks one particularly drunk lad.
'It's my earring,' says Ortiz flatly.
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