Thompson, however, has made the claim that he and Nichols had only been a one-night stand. Nichols claims that she and Thompson had been in an on-and-off relationship for several months prior to a hookup in March when the baby had been conceived. The basketball player, who also shares a daughter, True, with Khloe Kardashian, was sued for child support from a woman out of Houston, Maralee Nichols. Unless, of course, you go looking for it at Durant's.Tristan Thompson is allegedly expecting baby no. (We won't even go into those heathens who prefer vodka over gin.) See, in the case of the martini, its beauty is that of a simple thing done well, and that's a lot harder to find these days than you might expect. Normally, you get two fat olives as a garnish, unless you're one of those oddballs partial to Gibsons, in which case you get two cocktail onions. The glass is chilled, and the martini itself is stirred, not shaken, to prevent the "bruising" of the gin, which supposedly happens when too much water gets into the damn thing.
See, everything is done traditionally here. At Durant's, if you don't watch carefully, you'll miss the barkeep's addition of that "whisper" of vermouth to your martini. But we'd like to cop a quote from surrealist director Luis Bu-uel, who wrote in his memoir My Last Sigh that the making of a dry martini "should resemble the Immaculate Conception," especially when it comes to adding the vermouth. The classic martini - not those pink, blue and yellow frou-frou concoctions that bottle blondes imbibe at chichi clubs - has had many champions: everyone from FDR and Richard Nixon to W.C.
How else are you gonna get to rub up on Brooke Burke and Halle Berry look-alikes? Face it, bub, Skin is your only path to paradise. Maybe that's because Skin's management knows that with such an embarrassment of riches at its disposal, it's only a matter of time before you cave and empty your pockets. The best part about Skin is that, unlike at other dollar ballerina parlors in town, you aren't pressured constantly to buy a lap dance. That's right, even an average Joe like you can feel like a playa for a day at Skin, which, hands down, has the best bods in the Valley on display in a dark, upscale environment where you can kick back, enjoy a Scotch and pretend you're in your own personal harem for the evening. Remember that stunning, brunette bombshell you saw shopping in the produce section at Albertsons the other day? Remember how you thought to yourself, "I'll never get next to anything that fine"? Well, think again and pay a visit to Skin, where for a mere $10 lap dance, you can not only have that dime piece snuggle up next to you, she'll practically be wearing her birthday suit, as long as you don't count the G-string or the eight-inch heels. Yeah, with Chez Nous, the '70s are only a few minutes away, and you won't find any better place to kick it old-school like the mack you are, either with Jackie Brown, or without her.
Plus the drinks are tr's cheap, so it won't kill your wallet getting Jackie blotto so you can take her back to your pad and make sweet love.
There's almost always some smooth R&B being played up on the stage, and the AC-cooled inky blackness of the club lends itself to romantic groping, if you're lucky and Miss Brown feels obliging. Let's say for the sake of this Best Of that Pam Grier's character Jackie Brown from the 1997 Quentin Tarantino flick of the same name appears before you, cuddles up next to your sorry ass on the couch, and says, "Baby, let's go out." Where should you take her? Why, to Chez Nous, of course, where you and Jackie will feel right at home amongst the faux-rock, dark vinyl booths, and decor straight out of those Jack Hill blaxploitation flicks Grier starred in back in the early '70s, like Coffy and Foxy Brown. And for our money, it's the greatest dive bar ever. Off nights, the Bikini Lounge reverts to a neighborhood hang, but on First Fridays it's like a little bit of New York's East Village right here in Phoenix. There's the feeling that anything can and probably will happen, like being in a central London pub on a Friday night or playing blackjack on the Strip in Vegas. This is especially true on First Fridays, with all roads leading to this 57-year-old tiki tavern with its regulation pool table, jukebox, and grass-skirted wahine painting hanging behind the bar. The sort of taproom where you can meet anyone from a teamster to a mad artist to a street philosopher all in as much time as it takes you to amble the length of the lounge. A place where the beer is cheap and the chicks are extra-friendly. The Bikini Lounge is the kind of watering hole Charles Bukowski would have immortalized in poem or Jack Kerouac would have lived across from while banging out On the Road.