Paris Excursion 3 (Part Deux)
May. 16th, 1993 07:01 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
penpusher(Continued from HERE)
More written on May 16, 1993
We (Carl and I) walked upstairs still in our skates. When we got inside, Michael was on the phone with Sylvie. She said she'd call back. Michael was arranging dinner. Would Sylvie join us. Later. I noticed a small purple bruise on my left wrist. I wonder where I got that.
Meanwhile Michael introduced us to Fabio, his business associate and goateed musician-type friend. He's Italian and we learned that next weekend they were taking a model to Morocco for a shoot.
Fabio also is a cook and he started dinner. Pasta with mussels and tomatoes with mozzarella.
People started to arrive - First was Mia, who is temporarily living next door with her daughter, Zöe, an adorable two and a half year old. I immediately started my clown stuff - bubbles, balls - and I got a new fan! Mia was psyched about the Jimi Hendrix disc I got Michael - I made the right choice!
Soon, the models started arriving. First Ulla, a leather pants clad honey brown tressed New Yorker. Ann-Marie, a blonde and blue Niki Taylor wannabe (don't let her hear me say that) and Annabelle, an exotic dark beauty... and finally Attilla - a German guy who aspires to be a fashion photo agent. We sat down and started talking. Carl about filmmaking and me about clowning and film.
There was a strange undercurrent going on at the table and I wasn't quite sure what it was. Things would become more clear, later.
Here's a note: Models can be the most back-stabbing, angry, nasty people to each other. But in a nice way.
Turns out the model Mike and Fabio were taking to Morocco was Ann-Marie. But, Fabio was in a relationship with Annabelle. Apparently it was very profound to him - to the point of almost dying! Fabio was telling this story of a moment he had with Annabelle when he went into some sort of coma! He must have loved her deeply... anyway, I didn't quite get it.
The dinner was fabulous. And everybody had a good time on the surface. Ann-Marie was flirting with me from across the table and I would have liked to talk with her to find out if she might be nice - she did make one unusual comment. She told me she LOVED Lenny Kravitz and that on a shoot she had her Discman on and was singing along on the beach. She turned around and 14 guys gave her a standing ovation. Hmm.
Anyway, she asked Michael to call her a cab. She split.
Ah, but there's too many girls - beautiful girls - to be worried about any one. So, Annabelle and Ulla were with us, as was Mia - who was eating those strawberries and cream like there was no tomorrow.
So, we started playing music - and Michael handed bongos out. Fabio was playing guitar.
I'm not exactly sure how it happened, but later, when Ulla said that she was going to leave, she wanted to go home and change and wash her hair, I did an "Egg Shampoo" for her - you know: fingertips on scalp, slap back of hand, bend knuckles and run fingers gently down hair and neck. It feels delightfully disgusting. So, when I did it to Ulla, Annabelle said "Oh, do it to me! I haven't had that in a long time." I did, and then started to give her a shoulder massage. It was good, because when she spoke, she was hoarse! Later, she sat down with Fabio and they were talking in hushed whispers.
Fabio said he was going home to sleep - but the rest of us were gearing up to go to Les Bains, the hottest night spot in Paris!
Annabelle and Ulla said they wanted to join us, but Ulla had to go home and go to the bathroom and eat chocolate cake.
"Oh yeah. I know what you're going to do in the bathroom," Mia quipped. Right after the chocolate cake, no doubt.
So, they said they would call us when they were about to leave. Meantime, the sleep deprivation I was experiencing... well... I was starting to zone at the table. Meanwhile Mia and Attilla were trying to blow the table candles out by waving their hands through them.
So, as I was zoning, Mia hit the candle, knocked over a full glass of wine sitting in front of me, shatterinng the glass. But my Spirit Guides were protecting me: not a drop touched me!
We had to get ready. Michael gave Mia a fab crushed velvet Ralph Lauren jacket that I thought looked like the stuff The Partridge Family wore in concert.
I got a floral print white satin jacket and violet sunglasses with my hair totally combed out. Carl went grungy and Mike wore all linen. Before we left, Mike slipped a bottle of J & B in my inside jacket pocket.
Mike put Carl, Attilla and me in a cab and Mia and Mike would grab the next one.
When we arrived, Carl complained that is pants were wet. He sat in... something...
Ah well. Adds to the grunge. We had to stand in the Paris chill air with me barely hanging on and Carl and Attilla chatting.
Finally, exactly one eternity later, Michael and Mia arrived. The first cab they called never arrived.
When we approached the entrance of the club, there was a shouting match already in progress. Some African American men - specifically New Yorkers - were upset that they weren't being admitted. They were dressed Hip-Hop and were loud about their disapproval at coming from New York and not getting into this club.
I stood by, silently... Michael approached the doorman, said a word or two and we entered. Just as I crossed the threshold, one of the Hip-Hop guys shouted "You don't have any black people in your club!"
Inside, it was like a US Club, just a little smaller. Michael said something to the manager and we were all admitted, free!
Downstairs it was packed (we're talking after 3am here) and filled with TOO MANY AMERICANS. It was Rush Hour Subway Thick - with some touchy people on the floor. Mia took me out on the dance floor and I thought I was going to get slugged. I was knocking into people and the Pinball effect left the other patrons, cold. One guy grabbed me by the shoulders and moved me out of the way!
We danced to such European Classics as "Respect" by Aretha Franklin and "I Will Survive" by Gloria Gaynor. I think the French (at least, this French DJ) equated Motown with Disco. Oh, well.
A Celebrité was in attendance: Designer Claude Montana Michael quipped that his age was starting to show.
After a while, I was ready to drop. Whisk us back!
We ducked back and hailed a cab. Back to the Tombe Issoire. Attilla, however, stayed put.
When we got back we realized we were still hungry. So, we heated up the leftover pasta, got the bread and tomatoes and cleaned up.
But by now, I really, REALLY had it. It was almost 5! Time to brush our teeth. Set up the bed. The sun was coming up. Finally, sleep.
So, here I am, caught up to the moment. We've been chatting over breakfast rolls and coffee - Checking in with CNN - Knicks lost on Friday.
Looking at Europe's look at World commercials, checking in with European MTV and sadly watching Gaby Sabatini lose to Steffi Graf (though Michael liked it).
It's 7pm! What happened? It really took that long to catch up? So now Carl and I are looking at Michael's BOOK. I'll take a break now and give you a Sunday Schoop, later.
More written on May 16, 1993
We (Carl and I) walked upstairs still in our skates. When we got inside, Michael was on the phone with Sylvie. She said she'd call back. Michael was arranging dinner. Would Sylvie join us. Later. I noticed a small purple bruise on my left wrist. I wonder where I got that.
Meanwhile Michael introduced us to Fabio, his business associate and goateed musician-type friend. He's Italian and we learned that next weekend they were taking a model to Morocco for a shoot.
Fabio also is a cook and he started dinner. Pasta with mussels and tomatoes with mozzarella.
People started to arrive - First was Mia, who is temporarily living next door with her daughter, Zöe, an adorable two and a half year old. I immediately started my clown stuff - bubbles, balls - and I got a new fan! Mia was psyched about the Jimi Hendrix disc I got Michael - I made the right choice!
Soon, the models started arriving. First Ulla, a leather pants clad honey brown tressed New Yorker. Ann-Marie, a blonde and blue Niki Taylor wannabe (don't let her hear me say that) and Annabelle, an exotic dark beauty... and finally Attilla - a German guy who aspires to be a fashion photo agent. We sat down and started talking. Carl about filmmaking and me about clowning and film.
There was a strange undercurrent going on at the table and I wasn't quite sure what it was. Things would become more clear, later.
Here's a note: Models can be the most back-stabbing, angry, nasty people to each other. But in a nice way.
Turns out the model Mike and Fabio were taking to Morocco was Ann-Marie. But, Fabio was in a relationship with Annabelle. Apparently it was very profound to him - to the point of almost dying! Fabio was telling this story of a moment he had with Annabelle when he went into some sort of coma! He must have loved her deeply... anyway, I didn't quite get it.
The dinner was fabulous. And everybody had a good time on the surface. Ann-Marie was flirting with me from across the table and I would have liked to talk with her to find out if she might be nice - she did make one unusual comment. She told me she LOVED Lenny Kravitz and that on a shoot she had her Discman on and was singing along on the beach. She turned around and 14 guys gave her a standing ovation. Hmm.
Anyway, she asked Michael to call her a cab. She split.
Ah, but there's too many girls - beautiful girls - to be worried about any one. So, Annabelle and Ulla were with us, as was Mia - who was eating those strawberries and cream like there was no tomorrow.
So, we started playing music - and Michael handed bongos out. Fabio was playing guitar.
I'm not exactly sure how it happened, but later, when Ulla said that she was going to leave, she wanted to go home and change and wash her hair, I did an "Egg Shampoo" for her - you know: fingertips on scalp, slap back of hand, bend knuckles and run fingers gently down hair and neck. It feels delightfully disgusting. So, when I did it to Ulla, Annabelle said "Oh, do it to me! I haven't had that in a long time." I did, and then started to give her a shoulder massage. It was good, because when she spoke, she was hoarse! Later, she sat down with Fabio and they were talking in hushed whispers.
Fabio said he was going home to sleep - but the rest of us were gearing up to go to Les Bains, the hottest night spot in Paris!
Annabelle and Ulla said they wanted to join us, but Ulla had to go home and go to the bathroom and eat chocolate cake.
"Oh yeah. I know what you're going to do in the bathroom," Mia quipped. Right after the chocolate cake, no doubt.
So, they said they would call us when they were about to leave. Meantime, the sleep deprivation I was experiencing... well... I was starting to zone at the table. Meanwhile Mia and Attilla were trying to blow the table candles out by waving their hands through them.
So, as I was zoning, Mia hit the candle, knocked over a full glass of wine sitting in front of me, shatterinng the glass. But my Spirit Guides were protecting me: not a drop touched me!
We had to get ready. Michael gave Mia a fab crushed velvet Ralph Lauren jacket that I thought looked like the stuff The Partridge Family wore in concert.
I got a floral print white satin jacket and violet sunglasses with my hair totally combed out. Carl went grungy and Mike wore all linen. Before we left, Mike slipped a bottle of J & B in my inside jacket pocket.
Mike put Carl, Attilla and me in a cab and Mia and Mike would grab the next one.
When we arrived, Carl complained that is pants were wet. He sat in... something...
Ah well. Adds to the grunge. We had to stand in the Paris chill air with me barely hanging on and Carl and Attilla chatting.
Finally, exactly one eternity later, Michael and Mia arrived. The first cab they called never arrived.
When we approached the entrance of the club, there was a shouting match already in progress. Some African American men - specifically New Yorkers - were upset that they weren't being admitted. They were dressed Hip-Hop and were loud about their disapproval at coming from New York and not getting into this club.
I stood by, silently... Michael approached the doorman, said a word or two and we entered. Just as I crossed the threshold, one of the Hip-Hop guys shouted "You don't have any black people in your club!"
Inside, it was like a US Club, just a little smaller. Michael said something to the manager and we were all admitted, free!
Downstairs it was packed (we're talking after 3am here) and filled with TOO MANY AMERICANS. It was Rush Hour Subway Thick - with some touchy people on the floor. Mia took me out on the dance floor and I thought I was going to get slugged. I was knocking into people and the Pinball effect left the other patrons, cold. One guy grabbed me by the shoulders and moved me out of the way!
We danced to such European Classics as "Respect" by Aretha Franklin and "I Will Survive" by Gloria Gaynor. I think the French (at least, this French DJ) equated Motown with Disco. Oh, well.
A Celebrité was in attendance: Designer Claude Montana Michael quipped that his age was starting to show.
After a while, I was ready to drop. Whisk us back!
We ducked back and hailed a cab. Back to the Tombe Issoire. Attilla, however, stayed put.
When we got back we realized we were still hungry. So, we heated up the leftover pasta, got the bread and tomatoes and cleaned up.
But by now, I really, REALLY had it. It was almost 5! Time to brush our teeth. Set up the bed. The sun was coming up. Finally, sleep.
So, here I am, caught up to the moment. We've been chatting over breakfast rolls and coffee - Checking in with CNN - Knicks lost on Friday.
Looking at Europe's look at World commercials, checking in with European MTV and sadly watching Gaby Sabatini lose to Steffi Graf (though Michael liked it).
It's 7pm! What happened? It really took that long to catch up? So now Carl and I are looking at Michael's BOOK. I'll take a break now and give you a Sunday Schoop, later.