Workers believe Glenn Birnbaum, late owner of Mortimer, Haunts Orsay

“I’m never leaving this place,” Glenn Birnbaum, owner of exclusive Mortimer’s in New York City, told me over and over as a friend and lawyer.

In the early hours of September 8, 1998, Glenn died with his shoes on, staring into his shadowy bathroom mirror, suddenly developing liver failure. He leaned back, banging his head against the tiled wall. During all his shavings and showers, he never thought a bathroom rug would be his last stand, and “Glenn wasn’t kind on that good night.”

He landed on his back in the sink—and at that moment, Claus von Bülow, Henry Kissinger, Dominic Dunn, Bill Blass, Kenny Lane, Nan Kempner, Elizabeth Taylor, Jackie O, and glossy sheens of all shapes and sizes were no longer going throw their salads at Palm Beach and Locust Valley gossip plans at lunch .

For over 20 years, Mortimer has been a magnet for everyone. (new book, Mortimer: A moment in time, By Robin Leacock, Robert Caravaghi and Mary Hilliard, recently published, noting the extreme heights of social climbing by the likes of Carolina, Reinaldo Herrera, CZ Guest and Brooke Astor.)

Now Mortimer will be shutting down and shutting down forever.

My only private instruction, as stated in Glenn’s last will, which I painstakingly formulated, was: The moment I die, lock Mortimer, lock the front door.

Celebrities and regular citizens were to dine and party at Mortimer’s. Left to Right: Fashion Editor Elizabeth Saltzman, actor William Baldwin, Iman, Calvin Klein, Nan Kempner, Ivana and Donald Trump.

Image illustration by Luis G. Rendon/The Daily Beast/Getty

At seven in the morning that day, I was summoned by Mortimer’s charming owner, Robert C. He informed me of Glenn’s death. Robert, not by eavesdropping, knew firsthand that I had discussed the ending several times with Glenn at Mortimer during our late afternoon meetings back in the ’80s.

Glenn would call after lunch: “Mr. Golub, if you have nothing better to do, come and let’s talk about my estate, I need a new will.” (Later in life, I learned that almost everyone needed a new will because several heirs proved undeserving.) Whatever I had on a plate that day wouldn’t be as fun as talking to Glenn about his will plus anything else under Including his favorite subject – his net worth.

There were more stories in his collection than social stories in his address book and many of their hardships were part of our counseling. Needless to say, everyone who ate or wanted to eat at Mortimer’s. In one will that lasted for 10 years – many others followed – he left all his worldly possessions to the animals at the Bronx Zoo. I urged him to be specific but he refused to name any of them personally.

In a will supposedly drafted by Roy Cohn in the late 1970s, no longer Esquire at that point, Glenn appointed Mr. Stefanos Zacharias as his sole heir. However, after Stefanos was convicted of plotting to kill Glenn in order to speed up his inheritance, there was more than enough reason to draft a new document.

On the day of Glenn’s death, after arriving at Mortimer to fulfill his instructions (to stop on the way at Lexington Hardware to buy a large lock and six feet of chain), the police escorted me to his private rooms above the restaurant. A burly policeman at Police Station Nineteen stood guard inside the apartment in front of the bathroom and was supposed to show me this. “There is no evidence of evil play.” Fu’s audition Law and order He continued, “The corpse is behind that door, Mr. Birnbaum is dead.”

I had to take his word for it. No civilian would be allowed to see the corpse although when it came to drafting wills and final follow up, I usually liked to note the corpse or the figure of the dead. Professional courtesy, unrequited.

Bill Paley, Rosie Hall, Cindy Hall, Jerry Hall and Ahmet Ertugun at Mortimer’s back in the day.

Image illustration by Luis G. Rendon/The Daily Beast/Getty

Glenn and I didn’t have much in common, but we were good friends, probably because I grew up in an apartment above my father’s grocery store. The food business is a tie that binds. Every time I’ve passed Orsay in the past few years, known for its great French cuisine, little French decor and for occupying Mortimer’s space, I’ve felt a thrust toward the front door. Think Pacino The third godfather: “Just when I thought I was out, they pulled me out again.”

Over time, the corner of Lexington and East 75th Street has become more and more difficult to avoid. Early this April, I relented and decided to have lunch at Orsay without a reservation.

Upon my arrival, Olivier, the lady in the gray suit waved me without hesitation to the left. That was the room where I had always met Glenn, and Oliver’s outstretched hand was meticulously pointing at the banquet and table. Of course I sat there.

After my usual acclimatization, I ordered a grilled Scottish salmon filet, a fries salad and a cup of iced tea. I’m on a strict diet but I hesitated oddly and considered cannabis chicken or Mortimer’s famous twin burgers, because I heard Glenn’s unmistakable pebble voice confirm, “They’re to this day the best things on the menu.” “Stop it Glenn,” I whispered, “the kitchen is closed.”

The waitress, an attractive brunette named Devon in her twenties, brought me iced tea. It was then that I felt compelled to tell her who I was, along with an irrepressible need to talk about Mortimer and Glenn. I wasted no time telling her how he passed away and that I had closed the place. I included the fact that Glenn died upstairs. Then she subconsciously muttered, “If these walls could speak…”

Devon did not hesitate.

“You mean the old man upstairs? I saw him walking around with his cane and his hand always trembling. I know he’s the owner—I mean, he was the owner a long time ago. I recognize him.”

I asked, “Did you know that upstairs, and now the function room, was Glenn’s apartment?”

She simply said “yes,” and walked away.

After this revelation, I foolishly searched for the old man, telling myself to eat and go while I nervously picked up salmon. My appetite is gone.

Minutes later, Devon came back with another waitress who couldn’t wait to tell me something. “I’ve seen the old man upstairs several times, it’s scary to go up there because he’s walking around, there’s a lot of activity there. Even the extermination worker talks about seeing him, he’s here in the morning and you can come and talk to him.”

The workers at Orsay swore that the upper floor was haunted by the owner of Mortimer, who met his end there.

Aaron Richard Gollop

A few days later to further my research in occultism, I enjoyed another lunch at Orsay. This time I spoke to Claudio, the lady of the Wednesday who told me in my business style, ‘I saw the old man, always in a dark suit, and upstairs walking around, I could hear him. His picture appears on the security cameras of the restaurant. Even the exterminator (who remains unknown) saw him Early in the morning. He goes into the party room and disappears. Sometimes the whiskey bottles and wine glasses at the bar late at night make noises, touch each other, and fumble. I don’t care, because if I do, the crackles get even more intense.”

If not that higher Tales from the cryptthe waiter, Ryan, who looked like he was working part time GQ The model, which is added out of sight of Claudio, “There was a Bengali bus driver here who said during the early pandemic that he had seen the old man and heard bar bottles and mugs singing. I plan to bring a Ouija board to work very soon and let’s see.”

Now I’m determined to find the old man in the suit. This isn’t the first rodeo. When it comes to strange and strange things, A psychopath Actor Tony Perkins was my daughter-in-law. Norman Bates was insisting that I go upstairs in Orsay and fetch Mother and Glenn’s dinner.

Aaron Richard Golub is a prominent New York City attorney who has worked on high-profile cases including Tom Brady, Donald Trump, Martin Scorsese, Brooke Shields and Gisele Bundchen. It was featured on the cover New York Magazine and in “12 Men You Should Know” by GQ. he is an author big cut And recently finished releasing a new book, brawl.

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