China Club, 616 W. Fulton: Robby, standing in the red light of a Chinese lantern, was mad. The guard at the door of the VIP room wasn’t going to let Robby in because he’d never heard of Robby’s band, the Cruel Woodchucks. So Robby had to lie and say he was BJ’s dry cleaner. BJ Murray is the host of the VIP room and one way to get in is to say you’re BJ’s friend. The guard said, “OK, but if BJ doesn’t know you, you’re gone.”
Best of Chicago voting is live now. Vote for your favorites »
Big deal, Robby thought, some musclehead bouncer in an Armani shirt who knows nothing about rock ‘n’ roll. He walked over to a roped-off seating area where white damask-covered benches surrounded a snakeskin-pattern tabletop. He’d heard this was BJ’s personal place for his good friends. BJ is the most famous VIP room host in the United States. He used to be at the Limelight. BJ knows all the owners of the Oak Street boutiques, all the owners of the outdoor cafes, all the television anchor people, and Paul Weingarten from the Tribune. Five thousand girls a month say hi to handsome BJ.
Anyway, Robby’s mom knew who he was, the real Robby. Once, the night he snuck past Christine, the guard at Shelter’s VIP room, and walked out after five minutes because he didn’t know anybody there either and came home and threw his motorcycle jacket on the floor and lay down on his bed digging the heel of his cowboy boot into the blanket, his mom knocked softly on the door. With her robe wrapped tightly around her, she came in and put her hand on his forehead and said, “Your father and I think you’re very important. Even though the Cruel Woodchucks is the fifth band you’ve tried to put together in two years, we know you’re going to be very successful. But until then you’ll live with us in our beige brick home in Arlington Heights, apprentice with your father in the insurance business, and eat a Tombstone pizza which I just heated up for you.”
