By Marissa Newhall
Washington Post Staff Writer
Saturday, August 11, 2007
As Thursday night turned to Friday morning, D.C. clubgoers were thinking: Maybe David Beckham just isn't in the mood tonight.
At Play Lounge near Dupont Circle, IndeBleu in Chinatown and Lima on K Street NW, patrons were on high alert. There had been hints, suggestions or outright boasting that the soccer demigod from England via L.A. might turn up after his RFK Stadium match. But last call was growing ever nearer, and no Becks.
William Dennett, a financial planner from Arlington, sipped an Amstel Light, checked his watch and scanned the guest-list-only crowd undulating on Play's dance floor.
"I think people are starting to realize," Dennett said, that Beckham wasn't going to show.
Not everyone was losing hope. A tall, blond gentleman in Beckham's trademark No. 7 English national team jersey sat in a corner with a companion, sipping champagne and looking expectant. A sudden burst of whistling and shouting punctuated the DJ's pulsing remix of "Heaven Is a Place on Earth"; legions of heads turned toward the door. C ould it be . . .?
No, it's not.
IndeBleu's party, billed as "mostly D.C.," did not overtly advertise a Beckham appearance. Lima's bash -- sponsored by the Web site of D.C. United defender Bobby Boswell-- was heavily promoted, with 450 expected guests as of Thursday afternoon. All three parties claimed some degree of star clout (Play's event was co-hosted by the girlfriend of an L.A. Galaxy player), promising their soirees would be well worth the price of admission.
But would Beckham show at any of them? After all, the team would still be in town Friday night before leaving Saturday for another game in Boston. Or might he perhaps ditch his teammates in favor of partying with Beyonc é, fresh from her Thursday night performance at Verizon Center and also out on the town?
It's now 12:10 a.m., and the Beckham Watch continues. Rain pours outside and the music thumps on. Still no sign of the man of the hour. Dennett says he's not disappointed. Since he likes Play Lounge for its fun young crowd, he would have been there with or without the promise of a celebrity.
12:35 a.m.: Spirits seem to flag as the bathroom line snakes around next to the bar. Daniel Olanrewaju, an eye doctor from Silver Spring, says he loves soccer but couldn't care less about Beckham -- Barcelona is his team. Back near the dance floor, the Beckham-jerseyed look-alike sips more champagne. Some people look ready to leave.
And then, around 1 a.m., it happens so quickly almost no one notices: A side door by the dance floor opens. Several athletic-looking men shuffle in quietly with burly bodyguards and some Play bouncers. The group is ushered swiftly to a roped-off area, and the bodyguards position themselves to block the new arrivals from public view.
The dance floor clears and the bar is abandoned. Patrons stand on chairs and crane their necks to get a look. General confusion sets in. There's the Galaxy's Cobi Jones, Chris Klein and Abel Xavier, as well as United's Marc Burch. And that other guy, in the jeans, baseball cap, white T-shirt and thin gray sweater?
"That's Beckham," Olanrewaju asserts coolly, and he's right.
In mostly quiet reverence, clubgoers form a fortress wall around the players and their bodyguards, watching them mix drinks and chat with a few lucky ladies and gents allowed inside the ropes. Variations on "BECKHAM IS HERE" are hastily texted on cellphones, triumphant electronic evidence of having picked the right party. Beckham is escorted across the club to the bathroom, shaking hands and smiling along the way. The palpable anticipation has turned to palpable astonishment: Why hasn't anything exploded? Why haven't the planets realigned? David Beckham is here!
Elsewhere in the city, Lima patrons were somewhat disgruntled by overwhelming crowds and the open bar abruptly cutting off at midnight, but some United players showed up to let off some post-game steam. When midfielder Ben Olsen was asked what he planned to do with the jersey he got after swapping shirts with Beckham at the end of Thursday's game, he said he'd "burn it in effigy."
IndeBleu rep Mark Gundersen said players from both teams stopped by to join the festivities there.
But back at Play, Beckham returns from the bathroom and retreats to his alcove. The drama subsides. Later, a few people turn to the man in Beckham's national team jersey. Was it worth the wait?
"That's not him," he says, shaking his head in disbelief and returning to his champagne. Indeed, superstars are human, and it can be difficult to realize when one of them is sitting right there.
The surreal moment of Beckham's entrance lasts through the remainder of the party, spilling out into the rainy D.C. streets with frantic phone calls to friends ("Beckham was there and we tried to say hi to him once and we made eye contact with him twice!"). Yet some remain unimpressed.
"I would hate to be him," Olanrewaju says. "He can't just sit down and have a good time."
Fritz Hahn of washingtonpost.com contributed to this report.
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