On Friday the royal proclamation arrived; we were to accompany Henrietta, The Queen of South Beach, out last night. It was Salvation Night at Score and a perfect venue for Henrietta to show off furs and jewels to her admiring boys. Living what I think is a reclusive life, we were dragged out of the house at 11.30 PM, long after we are usually in bed; as usual, Henrietta out ran us, out drank us, and out ranked us. We left her at Twist somewhere in the early morning hours.

Kitty Meow performed for the appreciative crowd at Score.

Gregg is from Hungary; he is a very, very popular bartender at Score (and a big boy).

One of the most amusing aspects of going out with Henrietta is her attachment to an old Polaroid camera; she loves taking photos and giving them out, and I love watching her. No one knows where she still finds film for that relic.

At 11.51 AM this morning I received the following cable from Baroness Seitzinger: "I lost my lucky underwear this weekend! I wonder what back alley I should search...oh what a dilemma."

The poor thing. We have sent out the hounds and the cameras in search of her bloomers.