The Party is Over...

...for a little bit. I assured Riley today that I was changing the forces of destiny and going to live a life of remorse and piety after the five-night bacchanal we all just lived through called White Party Weekend. I will resume leaving for the mainland tomorrow to escape this bastion of sin and drink. I will spend the next days in prayer with Leopoldo (having already checked my indulgence account at The Vatican and been assured of forgiveness).

Memorable moments included Henrietta arriving in white leather and enough diamonds to make Liz look twice; we laughed at the story of how her white Mercedes limo arrived at Vizcaya and was stopped by a squad of security men. The driver lowered the window and softly said, "We have Henrietta in this car." The men genuflected and allowed it to go to the front door. Then there was Mrs. Stuyvesant-Fish, completely wasted and intent upon stripping. At one point we noticed security questioning her and Mr. Astor asked, "Should we go rescue Mamie?" I looked at her and replied, "She's nearly nude; I think she is best left to her own devices." And, it seemed, that the entire town managed to stay drunk at The Palace for five nights; drag queens dressed as turkeys were shoved in a huge Easy Bake oven and roasted. Queen Cabaret brought down the house every night with extravagant and irreverant acts and we danced until two in the morning every night, something unheard of.

All of us are a little strung out, but the road to piety is never easy.