The Coke-Den Casanova

It's already easy for men to get laid at downtown Manhattan's cocaine-dusted celeb hangout Beatrice Inn because it's so hard to get into—women there assume that the guys there have to be somebody special to get past the notoriously tough door. But how to extract one of the beauties that abound in Paul Sevigny's club? Would-be womanizers would do well to learn from the Eurotrash rake in a cap he never takes off who scores about as often as he shows up at the West Village haunt.

The thirty-something "Bea rat"-a real-estate investor who claims an interest in screenwriting -goes in, usually alone, almost every single night. He approaches a woman and says, "I'm going to find you later because you look like the kind of girl who wants to do very bad things." If you're French, he calls you "Frenchy." If a girl's Italian, he calls her "Siciliana."

Not convinced? Well, the lines do sound better in a Greek accent. More importantly, the seduction is accompanied by the promise of cocaine, back at our Casanova's apartment a few blocks away. Simple, but mind-jarringly effective. As studies have shown, the content of a pickup line has very little to do with a woman's response; and other primates have been found to choose cocaine over pretty much anything else, even food.

Most cunning of all: the cap-wearing Euro doesn't actually share the cocaine: that way the calculating seducer remains sober and ready to take advantage of any opportunity. Too creepy? "Well, do you do coke?" a Beatrice bartender asked. "If you do coke, he's a cool guy."