Downhill Partying
At Frothy Club Bud, Merry Medalists and A Scowling First Daughter

By Libby Copeland
Washington Post Staff Writer
Wednesday, February 15, 2006

TURIN, Italy -- Before we have the privilege of chatting with presidential daughter Barbara Bush -- or, before we attempt to chat with her while she gives us a withering, Medusa-like stare -- we have the privilege of standing in the cold outside a place called Club Bud, where we have the privilege of shouting questions at a woman who is apparently well-known in Italy for being a showgirl.

Where would we be without the Olympic party scene? No doubt we'd be resting up for the endless bus rides that define the Olympic experience.

So many parties. On this particular night, Club Bud is celebrating the recent victories of the U.S. snowboarding team. In case one prefers a different sort of beer, there's also a Heineken house that constantly throws parties. There's a "surprise" bridal shower planned on another night for a member of the U.S. women's curling team; reporters receive advance notice in the form of press releases. There's a swanky, champagne-filled party at the National Museum of Cinema, which we realize is too posh for us when we are eating what we think is sorbet but turns out be raw meat.

There is even a party of sorts outside the main press center one night, when word comes that naked people have shown up.

They are two of PETA's "sexy 'Leopard Ladies,' " protesting fur, wearing only panties and cat ears. A whole bunch of adolescent Italian boys are very happy that night.

Club Bud promises to be a great time. We are promised luminaries such as Nancy Kerrigan and all the spontaneity of red-carpet interviews. We can't wait. And we are not disappointed. For example, right now outside the club on the red carpet is a really tall, really thin blond woman. Her handler says she's a "showgirl."

"She's pretty, but I don't care," says one of the cameramen, lowering his equipment.

There are also two Italian snowboarders, each sporting a rumpled, dorky look, each with an arm around a gargantuan model type wearing an impossibly short skirt. We ask the dorks if the lovely ladies are their girlfriends. Just as one of the dorks says yes, one of the model types is shaking her head.

No?

"Friends," says the other model type.

The best arrival, as always, is Shaun White, he of the shaggy red hair and laid-back personality, who won the men's snowboarding halfpipe on Sunday. His rather tense publicist tells him to wait right here , next to the red-carpeted stage, so he stands with his handlers, waiting to ascend the stairs, wearing that dopey-cute Shaun White grin.

He puts his hand in the pocket of his jacket.

"Uh-oh, I got this thing," he says. He pulls out his new gold medal. "Everyone wants me to wear this thing. It's kind of a big deal, I guess." He puts it around his neck.

We ask if it's heavy and White lets us heft it. It is. He says when he saw it on his bedside table this morning when he woke up, "I was, like, wow."

He's grinning like he's got all the time in the world, like he just happens to be at a party in his honor in Turin, after just happening to win the gold medal in halfpipe, and just happening to be a millionaire who owns three homes at the age of 19.

The tense publicist darts over.

" Allright-we'regoing-let'sgo ," she says.

"Uh-oh," White says, happily, as the publicist yanks him onto the stage.

Inside Club Bud, the floor is sticky. There's a hot tub with models who have been hired to sit in warm water for hours in Speedo bathing suits and look like they're having fun.

There's a guy with a long, waxed mustache; we enjoy his uniquely Italian sense of style until we find out he's American.

Much has been made of the chocolate of Turin, but we are dying to try this thing called a Budweiser. Luckily, they just happen to have some at the bar. It tastes . . . wet. We wander the rooms, bored, thinking perhaps we will leave.

And then, as if out of a dream, sitting by themselves on a long expanse of red couch, are first daughter Barbara Bush and an Unidentified Female Companion. Barbara accompanied her mom, Laura, in an Olympic delegation and stayed behind after the first lady left for home on Sunday. And now, apparently, she has decided she wants to party with us. She looks gorgeous. She's wearing jeans and a sleeveless olive top with a blue scarf, and her dark hair is full and wavy around her face. Babs!

We introduce ourselves and ask Miss Bush if she speaks Italian.

She fixes us with a disintegrating stare, the sort of look that could pulverize stone. She asks if we're planning on writing this down.

Um, yes?

She continues with the stare.

A-ha-ha-ha! Okay, then!

We take a seat a few feet away and try to figure out what sort of shoes she's wearing.

Within minutes, four young Italian men approach Barbara and the Unidentified Female Companion and attempt to chat them up. The young men strike out miserably and retreat to the end of a couch.

We go over to find out what happened and it turns out they have no idea who they just hit on.

"They were alone. We are Italian," one of them explains.

They say they thought the dark-haired girl was just some "snobby" American from Texas. She has what one of them calls puzza sotto il naso, which is to say the look of someone who has smelled something foul.

"We are simple Italians so we try to speak with them," says Simone Piombo, 21.

"I say, 'Where are you from?' " says Umberto Vergano, 22.

"She doesn't speak with us," says Piombo.

Now, the young men re-evaluate Bush's behavior in light of their new newfound knowledge. No wonder she was "posh," one them says; she has a right to be.

Piombo thinks perhaps Barbara would like a tour of the city.

"You think we are in a position to try again?" he asks.