One week after being nearly paralyzed in that fall, I managed to summon up the strength (not hurt by my rapid healing) and pulled off, with great help from Leopoldo and Terry, Henrietta's 69th birthday party. It was not the outrageous party like Terry's last weekend, but was a nice, stratified crowd which came to pay homage to their queen.
I had to have her pose for a full-length shot before the party began. What a fabulous outfit: a white leather studded cowgirl suit topped off with white fur boots.
The reports of my incapacitation have been greatly exaggerated. I suspect Mrs. Stuyvesant-Fish might be behind this in a bid to have singular control of Society.
Glamorous celebrities like Miss Eboney Excell line up for our home-made buffet of sweet and sour meatballs, sausage casserole, beef Stroganoff, and chicken Alfredo.
The other side of the room was adorned with enough pastries to fill a small bakery, all baked by Henrietta.
The Sheer Shirt Sisters were of great help to me in making this party happen; some people can get away with this fashion, and others can't. By nine the party had moved to the front bar and, against my protests, it was decided to move the party to Score. I'm sure Henrietta didn't want to snub them, but that meant a still longer night.
At Score's karaoke night, the crowd buzzed around Henrietta and she delighted them with her rendition of Tennessee Waltz. I bet that was the first time they got a request for that. About 11:30 I caught Leopoldo and Henrietta whispering to each other and was then asked, "Can we go to Twist for just a half hour to see Mario?" This was no surprise as none of the three clubs could feel they were snubbed, so we piled into cabs and went South. It was disco night at Mario's bar, so that kept the blood flowing, but the ruse of "a half hour" became apparent. I kept thinking about how I felt just one week ago, convinced I was going to pull a Norma Desmond and seclude myself away forever. Oh, well; that thought ended soon enough.