At Wellington’s, it’s okay to break hearts, but never break your reservation
Seven nights a week, the most beautiful people in Manhattan crowd around the bar at a dimly lit restaurant on Second Avenue. Fueled by drugs, liquor, and jealousy, the singles crowd has made Wellington’s the hottest spot in town. Its gorgeous young patrons can go through several partners just before closing time, and the spectacle of “the hunt” ensures that the restaurant’s tables are never empty. People don’t come to Wellington’s for the food, but for a close-up view of romantic blood sport.
David James, owner and operator, runs the show. Around him swirls a hurricane of swingers, players, and tramps, but David stays cool. In this bar, the only rule is to never sleep with someone who’s got more troubles than you. But the people who crowd around at last call have so many problems, it’s impossible to keep count.