I walk through the thick floor-to-ceiling, double wooden doors into a dimly lit restaurant. In the foyer is a pool table and some bar tables in a space that used to host a dance floor. It feels like a throwback to the 1940s with its burgundy carpet and a dining room with tables covered in white-and-red checkered tablecloths.
This is the place where Lucille Ball used to smoke up a storm. Tom Selleck came in with his new bride. Mama Cass sat at the bar two weeks before she died. Peter Graves got in a paper airplane-throwing contest with the staff and Al Pacino was turned away and told to come back the next night, which he did.
