The day is here, the cake is made, and my hat just slaps your face when I enter the room. Today, the entire town and then some, will honor its most favored subject on the occasion of her 68 th birthday. As usual, Henrietta drank us under the carpet last night; I don't know how she does it, but the attention of go-go boys, club owners, and other sycophants was quite wondrous.

Hats, feathers, furs, and jewels are being laid out as Leopoldo and I host the most anticipated party in, well, a year. When you do Henrietta, you don't get better than that.


Oh, life is a glorious cycle of song,
A medley of extemporanea;
And love is a thing that can never go wrong,
And I am Marie of Romania.