Tuesday was Henrietta's 71st birthday. Three clubs gave parties. Firstly, Mova started up with a slave auction of her. I'm not sure who won, but I did bid one of the many Imperial Russian banknotes my grandmother gave me--a 1000 ruble note. It seems the club wasn't taking foreign, especially long-gone ones. Next, Score opened its doors to her with go-go boys. Then, Twist hosted the grandest party at 3 AM (that lasted until just after five). It was a grueling night, particularly since I was on such heavy pain killers, I couldn't drink. Still, Majesty has a way to keeping the crowd in tow.
I'm off the pain killers, thank God. Suddenly every pain went away a couple of days ago; Dr. Brad seems to think that the fact that I started eating fish every day has something to do with it. But, meanwhile, I have to play Neville Chamberlain this afternoon to stop the constant bickering between Mrs. Styvesant-Fish and The Baroness Seitzinger. Truly, I can't take it any more. They have to realize that we are friends, first, and characters second. Mamie has to cease calling The Baroness a "hiding-her-past Jewess", mostly because it couldn't matter less to anyone, even in Mamie's version of Beach High Society. Secondly, The Baroness has to stop call Mamie a "windbag", because without windbags, we would die of boredom.
I predict: Peace In Our Time, by the time I get done with them.