In 1950, the Ávila hotel was advertised as “the center of Caracas society, where frequent banquets, buffets, cocktails and gala balls are held, with the best music and national and foreign attractions.” In terms of records, Qué rico el mambo (Cuban), El bananero (Honduran), Pachito Eché (Colombian), Magdalena (Brazilian), I’m still waiting for you (Spanish) and Bonita (Mexican) prevailed .
Politics aside, thanks to a healthy investment of the income generated by oil, an atmosphere of progress began to be breathed, which brought with it an influx, bread and fantasy. The fantasy corresponded to the magic of the show offered by the multiple night scenes that then appeared, which offered live what the public dreamed of through radio, record and cinema. One of them was the Moulin Rouge, a sophisticated nightclub that operated on the heights of the Esquina de Sociedad. Its motto – “Beauty, frivolity and joy” – defined the era, which, in turn, defined the nightclubs that flourished everywhere, thanks to the timely presence of Spanish, Italian and Cuban artists who, along with Creole talent, They contributed to the artistic renaissance that the city experienced.
Showbiz with merchants
Attracted by the talisman of money and show business, multiple characters also appeared who exploited the superstition of the “showgirls”. The pianist Bola de Nieve cajoled the Pasapoga dancers “reading the snails to them”; but there were also the living who took advantage of the feminine acquisitive weakness to place clothes, jewelery and beauty products. Among this plethora of night vendors appeared an Italian character named Pietro Bombo, who, in addition to being a regular at the cabarets of the time, marketed a seaweed soap that made hair grow. Like the Heno de Pravia, which advertised its benefits with photographs of women with extremely long lustrous hair, Bombo promoted his by wearing a gigantic tumuse that seemed to bear witness to the attributes of his soap, which was called Isbrook and sold in tubes.
With the Eiffel Tower on the roof
Il Piccolo Bar was established in what is now the Galerías Bolívar Passage, close to the Gran Café, close to La Pompadour, which was run by the Franco-Argentine Lidia First. Two figures emerged from this cabaret: the singer Adilia Castillo, who began dancing there, and the Argentine Isabel Martínez (María Estela Martínez Carta), who was also a dancer at Pasapoga and later, president of Argentina (with the surname by Juan Domingo Perón).
Towards the west of the Café, starting from the northwest corner of the Domus Tower to what was the unforgettable Toni in Plaza Venezuela, a place where spectacular evenings and carnivals were given with black girls, and where the nightingale Pedro Vargas said goodbye to Caracas (before Toni Grandi move his business next to the Lido Cinema, which he did in 1965), extended the short, but sophisticated Gran Avenida, with its tea rooms, shops and daring places for the late night and even for the opportune taquito post-drink. There the famous “Madame” directed the operations and the discreet musical magazines of the Tout Paris, always stealthily observed, between dense puffs of smoke, coming from her everlasting mouthpiece, by the enigmatic Calabrian-Marseille François Nöel (really, Ponzio). Back thenMadame’s staff .
Pierre X, a friend of Chino Sucre, was famous for his sense of humor and his savoir faire, that some parochial minds described as paterrolismo, especially, when the species spread that it had been he who had invented the story of the sofa. As he was understanding and detached with women, they were always looking for him. He listened to their problems and helped them to fuck their husbands… with him. As he was a good pitcher, in the nightclubs of the time – the Plaza, the Las Fuentes Club, the Mario, the Pasapoga, etc. – he was king, because he always offered champagne. The Madame del Todo Paris loved him very much and allowed him to sign the bill. But such beauty did not last long. Pierre could no longer step on that site, from the “car” that a friend of his threw at some chorus girls, in which he was involved. This friend of hers was a live pep, as he used to call it, and Pierre had to pay the consequences without him knowing what he was planning to do. The fault had not been his, but they also prohibited him from entering the cabaret, since both were pointed out by the girls as responsible for the boarding. CCCC ccc
It happened that one Saturday, for Sunday, when the All Paris was closing, Pierre and his friend, who had a Cadillac, invited five or six of the girls to have breakfast with champagne and to bathe in the pool of his house in the Country, and there they headed. The innocent girls, who were crammed into the car (two or three of them in the back seat with Pierre), were relieved when the car crossed an avenue with a tunnel of bamboos and stopped at the door of an old and yellowish house with many trees and looks like a mansion. It was still dark when the car pulled into the covered porch at the entrance. There they all got off. The girls were excited. The friend searched his pocket for the key to the house, but could not find it.
“Wait for us here, we are going to park in the back and come back immediately to open the door for you,” he told the girls, as he got back into the car.
Pierre, who had a rochela in the back seat and therefore did not know exactly where they were when they got out, said to him:
“Give him, I’ll wait here with them,” but the other cut him off.
–You come along too, while I open you are looking for the swimsuits.
“What swimsuits?” Asked Pierre, who was full of champagne and did not imagine it was a ruse.
The friend peeled his eyes and with signs ordered him to accompany him.
“Don’t worry, we’re coming,” the bandit assured the girls, and they started off.
Excited, the girls inspected each other, to see how they looked, and settled in, hurrying to enter the mansion, where they would possibly have breakfast with champagne and caviar, attended by a tailcoat butler.
With the car in motion, when Pierre turned to confirm with a gesture that they were returning, the visual angle did not allow him to see them. What he did see was the familiar little bridge just to the north of the clubhouse, which they were speeding across. Shaking his head to wake himself up, he realized where they were.
His friend’s mistletoe had left the girls waiting, dressed and made up, at that hour , at the front door of the Caracas Country Club house!