The Drake is a luxurious cocktail lounge located just off bustling Washington Avenue. The two-story, 7,000 square-foot former warehouse space has the vibe of a high-end club with the intimate feel of a sexy speakeasy, encompassing exposed brick, warm candlelight, elegant chandeliers, luxe leather banquettes and rich fabrics throughout. Order a specialty martini or a handcrafted cocktail at one of our three beautiful bars and cozy up in a secluded alcove. For groups of five or more, we recommend you reserve a table and request our impeccable bottle service. The Drake also offers four fabulous rooms, perfect for private parties from 10-400 people.

 But what's the word on the street?

By KRISTIN FINAN

Sittin' pretty won't do at the Drake

The dark-haired man to my right motioned me toward him with his index finger, as if he had a very important secret to tell.

As a general rule, when a stranger beckons you in a dim, loud, crowded nightclub, it is best to back away slowly, find your friends and proceed to blabber on incessantly about what he might have said had you leaned in.

And yet, in spite of years of awkward conversations that have taught me this, I tilted my head toward him and waited for the words of brilliance I was sure would flow from his mouth.

Nothing came.

Instead, he planted his eyelashes on my cheek and began fluttering.

"Butterfly kisses," he said.

Can't say I was expecting that.

Actually, everything about the Drake was a little unexpected, from its mirrored "James Bond view" to its velvet walls and glowing chandeliers to its guests, who, because there is no designated dance floor, were busting a move anywhere they saw fit.

It was kind of like a giant pajama party — except that everyone was wearing minidresses and sipping cocktails.

"Who needs to go to New York? Who needs to go to Miami? Who needs to go to Vegas?" asked club goer Nitish Sethi. "We've got it right here in Houston."

Since opening in October, the Drake quickly has established itself as the hottest new club in Houston. The space is huge, the lines are long, and the crowd, despite excessive hair gel and cleavage, is attractive, to the point that one of the first things I jotted down in my notebook was, "So many pretty people."

Not that any of this is by accident.

Everything — the 7,000-square-foot warehouse space the owners transformed ... the 20- and 30-somethings who fill it — was handpicked by owners Darren and Jeff Van Delden, the sibling power duo behind Midtown's popular Red Door.

Last Saturday, it seemed everyone was yelling Darren Van Delden's name as he stood his post at the velvet rope. He sifted through the masses of people, who included many using everything from hugs to birthdays to folded $20 bills to try and jockey their way inside.

Because of the club's strict dress code, which prohibits anything baggy, torn or, heck, ugly, only some made it in.

I asked a girl whose male friend had just been turned away what she thought of the policy.

"If you're going for a certain look," she said, "it's understandable."

Generally, I'm pretty wary of the arrogance and entitlement — the "shiny-shirt factor," if you will — that's inevitable at places like the Drake.

And yet I could admit that there did seem to be a sense of kinship among those who had made it in.

As the clock ticked and more drinks were slung across the club's three bars, the atmosphere got sloppier, bodies and lips moving closer under the warm cloud of sweat in the main room.

"This is her No. 1 spot," one girl told me as she pointed to her best friend, "because she got lucky here."

Just when I thought I had seen every type of dance — a dice-throwing dance, girl-on-girl sandwiches, even line dancing — I noticed a group of girls standing on a couch, rocking out in stilettos.

"I've taken off my heels and tried to dance, but I don't feel as sexy," Onori Miller said. "I have to have my heels.

"It takes good balance," she added, inviting me up to check out the view, "but I've been working out."

For a minute I had to wonder: What was I doing standing on a couch in a club? And why was there a guy across the room head-banging to Stevie Wonder? And why was there a guy handing out butterfly kisses?

I didn't know.

But for whatever reason, it all seemed to be working.

I thought about the Timbaland lyrics blasting through the speakers:

"I like you just the way you are."

So, it seemed, did the Drake.

As long as you're pretty, that is.

By KRISTIN FINAN

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Dec. 14, 2007, 11:26AM KRISTIN2GO AFTER DARK

Copyright 2007 Houston Chronicle

The Drake
1902 Washington Ave, Ste E
Houston, TX 77007
Phone: (713) 865-1723