Do you ever wonder what the cast of Entourage is up to now? I know I do, every day of my life. Here's how I picture it:
Adrian Grenier (Vince) watches Teenage Paparazzo on Blu-ray on a flat-screen the size of the world's biggest pizza and marvels at how presciently it doused our current cultural maladies. "I am a great director," he mutters aloud, perhaps to the Estonian models strewn around the waterbed sofas, possibly to no one at all.
Kevin Dillon (Johnny Drama) works on his deal to turn Viking Quest into a direct-to-web series, pitching it as "House of Cards meets Game of Thrones" to three bags of cocaine, who immediately buy it.
It’s Friday night, and we’re in a mansion high atop a mountain somewhere in nearby Deer Valley, the kind of place that doesn’t have an address. A cab driver takes me over. He reminisces about the old days at Sundance. “I’ve had some crazy times, man.” I ask him what he means. “Oh, you know: big parties, hot tubs, cougars.” He’s a local, remembers sending the yellow cabs that drive up from Salt Lake City during Sundance on wild goose chases around town. But GPS put an end to that, he says, sadly.
Which I’m grateful for tonight, actually: It’s all we can do to find the hotel at the base of the mountain, where in the lobby I give my name to a waiting factotum, who dispatches another factotum, who brings another car around. I get in and we drive for a while, heading up the hill. There is no address because this road is private: We pass through one gate manned by a security guard, and then another, pairs of leaping deer glinting off the ironwork. Up the mountain we go, making lefts and rights at seeming random, speeding up in the dark.