A glass of scotch, two diabolical pleasure devices, and a glitter pillbox hat. No, they don't belong to Mrs. Stuyvesant-Fish (she's under house arrest again) and if we checked the bag and pockets of Baroness Seitzinger even more outlandish items would undoubtedly surface (I still have the bottle of "French perfume" she produced entitled Man Scent--it has come in handy lately). These are just a few of the props our resident members of Queen Cabaret perform with; it always makes for good theater.
I just received my Sunday call from Pimpernel; he's in Amsterdam this weekend. "I need to talk with a happy person," he said waiting for a plane back to London. That was a nice compliment and even with all the stress this town generates, I probably am. It seems the fun-loving Dutch are becoming grouchy with immigrant problems, a difficult City Hall, and a population strung out on sex and drugs. Where oh where have I seen this before? He wasn't happy with his hotel, his dinner, or the service, not to mention the clammy weather. Still, he is paid in British pounds and can afford a different capital every weekend; with the Euro at 1.45 few of us could.
Tonight's movie at Scottie's bar in Twist is Rent, a bit of a twist itself in the type of movies he's been showing. I voted for Funny Face with Audrey Hepburn, but he couldn't find it in time; we all agree that silly is best for that crowd. Periodic bouts of severe rain storms have been with us all week, but you'd never tell by the number of people crowding The Palace yesterday to watch Geraldine perform Wonder Woman; it still amazes me how much alcohol that group consumes. "Well, if they modified their drinking like me..." said one wag. "If they modified their drinking like you, they'd be dead," said another. (Thank you Auntie Mame.)