Ten years unless he behaves himself, in which case he might come home early. DUI conviction is sending him upstate.
A pretentious Manhattan socialite hosted a swanky, “black tie optional” bash in January — where he sipped champagne with his fabulous friends and boasted of an upcoming years-long vacation to Europe he was about take.
Tabber Benedict bellied up to the bar at Chelsea’s Bungalow 8 — with a woman on his arm — and bent his friends’ ears about the planned jaunt and all the places he was going to visit.
But the finance lawyer was hiding the real, sinister reason he was saying his farewells.
He was going to prison for nearly killing a man.
About two years ago, the West Village denizen slammed his SUV into a Long Island dad after a night of hard partying in the Hamptons — and left his victim for dead, records show.
I’m thinking that up on Rogues Hill Road there are a number of folks who might appreciate hearing from one of their own how to explain their own absences of indeterminate length. Nothing disturbs a man’s solitude more than learning that cruel real estate agents are pressing his wife and her new boyfriend to list the house, or that the neighbors are poaching the nanny; Tabber can help keep those harpies away from the door.
And not just for tours of Otisville either. In the unfortunate event that a titan of Wall Street runs afoul of a DUI roadblock out of town, manned by officers who do not “know who he is” a six-month jaunt at a Palm Springs rehab might be in order; well, wouldn’t Tabber’s advice be useful there, too? I think so.