Personal Journal. April 6ish Nineteen Hundred Seventy-something.:I write this while my gracious hosts play cards in the grand salon of a half empty house - built in the Palladian style- on the Côte d’Azur, (named "The Domain"...I call it "The Romaine" because my hostess incessantly refers to a salad she is known for- on the continent- which continent, it seems, is a mystery) I sit here happy as a clam in the never used chapel, scribbling and writing in this book that will never be read by anyone except me. Funny that.
Note to my future self: Your amazing hair was wasted on these people. That is all. Close this book now and die what I hope is a lovely sort of death. In nomine Patris et Filii et Spiritus Santi and all that jazz...
I have been dubbed "Cherie" by my hosts, not because of the steadfast affection they display toward my quixotic yet lovable nature, but because I remind them of the character in the movie "Bus Stop" played by Marilyn Monroe- must have been the riveting rendition of "That Old Black Magic" I performed on the terrace after too much champagne- I wonder what my friends in New york would make of this? Fuck them. They are probably all coked out of their minds at Studio. I am the only person I know that hates disco- and Barbara Streisand. I think I need new friends. And maybe some coke. TTFN - le C.
1 comment:
Ha ! .....Cherie, huh ? ....love that song....and l will never forget that "Gomer Pyle" had a stripper girl friend on his sitcom that sang, "That Old Black Magic" with a very thick southern accent ! That's the version l do at parties....lol...
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