I drifted off this week, mostly in the arms of Mr. Astor who--in nearly three months--has seldom left my side. It was not as if nothing happened this week; we always seemed to be rushing off to an event. Violent rains came in the beginning of the week and sobered us up a bit although we all now believe we have dodged the bullet again. No one, of course, mentions the "H" word. We all know that it is possible, but simply ignore it, putting on more jewels and higher wigs in an effort to thwart nature.

Carlos did wonders in throwing a disco party for the locals on Wednesday night. Nothing soothes the nerves like disco music and disco dancing. My memory conjured up the great 1985 scare in New York of Hurricane Gloria; stories of Wall Street under water were washed out by the relentless airing of "Gloria", the disco song.
Queen Cabaret showed up, always ready to lend an artistic hand to an evening.

Dr. Brad dissapointed no one as he tooled around the room with two drinks in hand.

Even the most conservative bankers will put a little outfit together on a disco night and boogie down.

Dusty Springfield, meet Whitney Houston.

A night of close friends, colorful shirts, and disco music; who could want more?