The telegram came late on Wednesday evening; as Leopoldo accepted it, I heard, "A cable from Transylchusetts, sir." "Oh," I sighed, "The Countess Bedelia..." I had been reposed on my divan glancing at petitions from the peasants, crumbling them, and tossing them into the fireplace, in between pressing into my personal album love notes from Mr. Astor along with the price tags of several gifts from him (amongst leaves from memorable Fall trips to New England).

"I have rented a little condo apartment at The Carlyle which is practically next door to The Palace on Ocean Drive for the week of Oct. 27th to Nov. 3rd." it read. "Just like her," I thought. "She's taking up residence just three palaces up from mine and bringing my sister, The Countess du Barry of Newport with her to shore up her legitimacy at assaulting my world." Mr. Astor, ever the sweetheart, noticed I needed a bromide with gin and danced off to get it. "Well," I mused, "Jeremy will be back by then, so the Palace Guard will once again be whipped into shape. (Captain Marc of The Poles was a loyal protector, but his appearance in green, taffeta gown on Hairspray night severely compromised his credibility.) There was no doubt that this was going to be a "production number"; to say the two of them are fussy is to say the Pope is religious.

Mr. Astor was quite excited to meet the leaders of The Northern Court; he had been in awe of the stories: du Barry's polo parties, the secret word to get into Mrs. Astor's "Beechwood", and--of course--Countess Bedelia's native dancing skills. I immediately called my broker and moved all funds in futures from oil to Glenlivit, canceled all vacations by courtiers, and took out an ad for a new food taster (the previous one passed away suddenly on Bedelia's last visit). Of course, there would be the need for banquets, gowns, and new dance steps and I was just about to faint again when Mr. Astor appeared with the drink and his soothing hands.

"Don't worry, dear," Mr. Astor assured me. "It will be a splendid Halloween, and we will all shine." He is ever the optimist. Still, The Countess has to be given credit for the amazing energy and attraction there to that she commands (not the least of which from celebrity gay men). Gay men flock to her, lesbians bow to her, and The Great Southern Court here takes its feathered hats off to her. Bring it on, Countess. She is bringing her entire court and That Pimpernel will be flying in from England.

"Mr. Astor, more gin!"