We had a bash tonight at the Ace Hotel without really trying. "Where to stay in Paris? What's that drink? How many people can fit in the photobooth? All mysteries revealed tonight." A few minutes after posting that to Facebook, the most marvelous message appeared: I think you will find great places in Paris on your own: I imagine men falling at your feet, begging you to come to their homes overlooking the river. If you want some privacy and, more important, heavy curtains to keep out the sunlight when you're hungover, may I recommend HOTEL RASPAIL MONTPARNASSE...? You may. Other utterances I treasured from this evening: "Go ahead invest in my career as a roué," "My new lover's an heiress," "We're into Art Deco, and I really have to say, I got the ring right," "I dreamt about you last night," and "I'm taking the Transatlantic to London in November - will you be there?", are among the repeatable. I even got a present! A charming copy of The Rescuers because I remind the giver of Miss Bianca: a white mouse of great beauty and supreme self-confidence, who, courtesy of her excellent young friend, the ambassador’s son, resides luxuriously in a porcelain pagoda painted with violets, primroses, and lilies of the valley. My friend who is a producer came and he was nervous because he is used to finance and "industry" types and not a bar full of literary people and I said, don't worry, you're exotic, it's like meeting a chef. Then I introduced him, as my friend, in the movies, and he told me what kind of story he wants and I said I'd keep an eye out for it, and everyone laughed, had a swell time, and stayed for ages.
Previously: P.S. On Paris (Where to Crash, Lux Lotus Style).