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The Men in Black

Just stopped in Wink Hartman Sr.’s watch party at the former Eaton Steakhouse.

First, the good news. Hartman’s own delectable Chester’s did do the catering as I’d hoped.

The bad news? Well, how to put it. Although Hartman — aw, heck … Wink — clearly knows how to put on the dog at Chester’s, that’s not what he’s going for tonight.

“He wanted it very low-key,” says Wink’s namesake son.

That means bright lights, no music, no alcohol and, alas, not much AC, though that part probably wasn’t planned.

“He wasn’t interested in anything like Mr. Pompeo is doing up there on Rock Road,” Wink Jr. says.

He says his father and stepmother want to support downtown. That’s where Wink’s headquarters are, too, so I stopped in. A small-but-intimidating group of men in dark suits made me want to flee the room while I still had the door open. Wink’s intense staring at returns on TV — not even his own but Tiahrt’s and Moran’s — didn’t make me feel any more welcome.

This must be the laser intensity Wink — well, let’s go back to Hartman or perhaps Mr. Hartman — employs to make his businesses so successful. Nice for him, but not so much for me.

Yikes. I’m outta here.