Baroness Seitzinger's dinner party may be taking on a life of it's own. Tonight, Mr. Astor and I ran into her dinner planner, Mark 2, who assured us that not only was every thing under control, but that he was confident enough to enjoy numerous cocktails with us. The Baroness, herself, was busy ironing linens, polishing silver, and mending some forlorn wallpaper and couldn't join us. Tomorrow being Friday, I will expect her carriage to pull up in front of the house and a card delivered by her liveried footman announcing the formal event.

Surprisingly (not), I received a telephone call from Mrs. Stuyvesant-Fish commenting on our exciting trip to the Latino club, Azuca. She fondly remembered the night she spent there where, in her own words, "...I think I was asked to leave." How very, very unsurprising; yet, that is what we live for here: being asked to leave the most exhilarating club while maintaining unassailable social status; the two are such a turn-on.

Mr. Astor assured her that she would be the first invited on the next excursion to Cha-cha-land. My mother didn't send me to dancing school for three years not to WANT to Cha-cha. (Oh, well; now we know who to blame.)