Old Beverly Hills lingers at the tables
In Beverly Hills, a monster Crate & Barrel has moved in next to Nate ‘n Al’s, and talk is that the city, fearing an exodus of shoppers, wants to become more like the Grove, that mall to the east.
Is a way of life imperiled, another landmark about to be multiplexed into oblivion?
No, because old Beverly Hills never dies, it just takes a table at Caffe Roma.
Here, on Canon Drive, where valet parking is hard to avoid, you will find Le Grand Passage, a tucked-away shopping corridor whose nerve center is an Italian bistro with indoor and al fresco seating.
At Caffe Roma, tables are nicknamed: the Frankie Valli Table, the Norm Crosby Table, the “Hogan’s Heroes” Table. Do not be alarmed: These people are alive and well and having lunch. As far as sightings go, it isn’t exactly the Ivy. Realtor Elaine Young, former wife of the late Gig Young, is a regular, as is Vic Mizzy, who wrote the themes to both “Green Acres” and “The Addams Family.” Rodney Dangerfield would sometimes join Norm Crosby’s group, but, as one member of that group explained, he had a tendency to unbutton his shirt and his pants at the table, and evidently he grew incensed when the Roma management objected to this.
The crowd is more real, somehow, even in a city as plastic as Beverly Hills: Iranian businesspeople, cigar-smoking divorce lawyers, wannabe actresses, used-to-be actresses, old Jewish comedy writers. Milton Berle was a Roma regular before he died and Arnold Schwarzenegger was too, before he became governor.
“We don’t want to dwell on Arnold,” said Giuseppe Franco. He was sitting at one of Caffe Roma’s outdoor tables. It was just past noon, and inside the restaurant, the cold buffet was out. Franco, a short, effusive Italian hairdresser who chain-smokes Marlboro Lights and slaps people on the behind by way of saying hello, was breaking down your typical Roma crowd, a gamut that seemed to run from alter kocker to Eurotrash. Franco has anointed himself mayor of Le Grand Passage; Caffe Roma owner Gianni Orlando is a quieter expert.
A day like today, a Wednesday, you got your judges, your surgeons, your lawyers, Franco said. Fridays, divorcees and actress-model types.
You eat, I’ll talk, Franco said. He talked very fast and at some length about himself: Italian kid from Hoboken, N.J., goes to beauty school in Manhattan, meets beauty-school dropout Mickey Rourke, meets Kristy McNichol, who wants Franco to do her hair so badly she offers to put him up in her house in L.A. Franco goes, opens a salon in Le Grand Passage -- it’s only got three chairs, but it’s his. Mickey Rourke gives him the money. Franco dates actresses. That was 23 years ago. Now Franco’s got 52 chairs, a wife and a child, and Schwarzenegger summons him to the Brentwood house.
While Franco talked, the lunch crowd filed in. Here was Bruce McNall, the formerly imprisoned, former owner of the Los Angeles Kings, and a woman in a red pantsuit and mink coat who turned out to be the aforementioned Realtor Young. A little while later a very large, well-built man could be seen visiting tables. Franco said that was Ralph the actor. Ralph the actor turned out to be Ralf Moeller, who played one of the good-guy brutes in “Gladiator.”
As can happen at a cafe filled with people who evidently have nowhere else to be, time began to fold in on itself. At some point Franco was boasting that he still called his mother back in New Jersey three times a day. He expressed disgust at the tabloid television shows that interviewed people who claimed to cut Gov. Schwarzenegger’s hair.
“They said, ‘I did Arnold’s hair,’ ” he said. “Yeah, they shampooed his hair 18 years ago.”
Sometimes, Franco branches out. He goes up the block, to the Italian bistro Il Pastaio. This area, it’s like a Little Italy! he proclaimed. There was him, and Gianni Orlando, owner of Caffe Roma, and Richie Palmer of Mulberry Street Pizza across the street, and the Drago brothers of Il Pastaio.
Outside Il Pastaio, Franco ran into Steve Jones, an original member of the Sex Pistols. Franco greeted him effusively, and Jones winced, complaining of a bad back. The restaurant was packed and noisy. Franco gesticulated at the fresh pasta and said of a tall, dark and handsome guy having lunch: “He’s Jackie Bisset’s toy boy.”
L.A., for all its supposed sprawl and change, is a place of predictable die-hards who gather day after day at the same beaches, bars and bistros. They become their own indigenous people. The Caffe Roma people.
A day later at Roma, Rudy Cole, who writes opinion columns for two local publications, the Beverly Hills Weekly and Beverly Hills 90210, was drinking a cosmopolitan and smoking a pipe. An impressively well-groomed woman stopped at his table to say hello. Nanaz Pirnia is the president of a group called the Iranian-American Parents Assn. She passed along her business card. “Psycho Educational Therapist, Special Educator, Educational Consultant, Marriage Therapy, Family Therapy,” it read.
Norm Crosby and his group were inside, lingering over the check. Crosby was telling Tom Jones stories.
“I call this group the Romeos,” Morris Diamond said. “Retired Old Men Eating Out.”
Diamond, a longtime record promoter and producer, pointed out everyone else at the table. They included Sidney Beckerman, who produced “Marathon Man,” Lenny Gaines, the actor, and Lee Silverman, an insurance man. “I call him Lee Silverman during the day,” Diamond said. “After 6 he’s Lee Lawrence,” the singer and comedian. Silverman/Lawrence confirmed this. “I’m available for all dates,” he said.
Perhaps at this moment , Benicio Del Toro was at the Ivy, huddled over lunch with Steven Soderbergh and Naomi Watts. Whatever, this seemed a better show.
