You try to remain dignified and tasteful in this town and it is snatched out of your mouth like the last bone in a pack of starving dogs. I realized, now, that there is no way I can retreat from my appearance as The Duchess of Alba, but thought my trappings might have been a little safe from the press.

Tantalizing images of segments of my outfit for tomorrow's South Beach version of a fancy dress ball kept appearing in local fashion magazines. Can you ever trust these queer fashion consultants? These are heirlooms that should be accorded respect (especially those pumps--oh, baby).