By Chuck Strouse
By Scott Fishman
By Terrence McCoy
By Ryan Yousefi
By Ciara LaVelle, Kat Bein, Carolina Del Busto, and Liz Tracy
By Pepe Billete
By Ryan Yousefi
By Kyle Swenson
At the party, which was set on the lawn behind the house, couches and tables were sprinkled on the grass, creating a scene that looked like an art installation. A sound system that included twelve full speaker sets was deployed around the dance floor, by the pool, and by the dock. It boomed that techno-easy-listening the Concorde set fancies. Sushi was laid out. Sixteen Opium staffers manned a bar that snaked around the yard. Approximately 50 cases of booze were consumed.
The rich and the hoi polloi aspiring to be rich (or at least hip) warily mixed. Career party girls Paris and Nicky Hilton danced. Actor/writer Owen Wilson and blockbuster producer Jerry Bruckheimer mingled. Capponi estimated the crowd at roughly 2000 people.
Around 1:30 a.m. someone announced over the loudspeakers that cars outside were illegally parked and police had called in tow trucks. Scores of partygoers streamed out onto the street, collecting their rides and moving to the ten-dollar valet area. But the menacing tow trucks were slow to arrive; they were stuck in traffic like everyone else.
By 5:00 a.m. the booze had been consumed, the bartenders were counting their tips, and dawn was beginning to color the sky. The party had ended. But this being Miami Beach, that was just a temporary lull. At press time Opium had hired an architect to fix the problems the city discovered. Until that's resolved, and as the summer wanes, Capponi will just have to keep his party moving.