There is no facade, and though a small neon “open” sign hangs in one tiny window, it appears accidental, as though a previous tenant had left it behind. But every night a playful, sexy, and spontaneous crowd convenes upon the enigmatic neo-Italian speakeasy that is Chez Gaudy. Open the heavy door, and it’s as if a come-hither finger were seducing you into the antiquated, taffeta-draped main dining room, sparklingly lit and filled with secluded nooks. Girls with bits of eyelet lace coyly peeking out from under warmer layers drape themselves on the furniture; boys loosen their ties not because work was hard but because they know it looks good. And if it’s Tuesday night, bottles of wine are only $8, and guests share tapas the cook conjures up on the spot. Those nights the laughter burbling from the cozy libation room is just a little louder, the windows just a little foggier. And suddenly Gaudy is just a little more visible from the street.