Tuesday, July 31, 2012


The party was a big one. A certain red headed, rotund, celebrity chef was cooking and guesting. Vera Wang did the table cloths and Grigori Isipov was not the only vampire in attendance. There may have been another. Although some of the erstwhile mortals sported a certain 'too thin' cadaverous mien (the gashy red lipstick didn't help), they were not actual blood suckers. Well, not that kind anyway.

And a benevolent sun bathed all in a late afternoon/early evening cool, orange glow straight out of Caleb Deschanel...... The 'magic hour' indeed. 

Oh, Grigori was already there. He came last night. But any lingering, solar illumination posed no problem for him, since he was cosseted away in the sumptuous, subterranean, maroon velvet theatre ( I think it was actually called the Bijou) with a group of visiting, Malibu big wigs, supposedly enjoying a politically scathing 'indie' film staring The Olsen Twins and a computer generated Danny Kaye. Or maybe it was Vincent Price? But the host had a few bottles of genuine, early twentieth century Parisian absinthe, so to hell with Mary Kate and the other one. Usipov took a few hits too. He liked the film community. They gave him money....lots of it, in exchange for tiny cordials of his regenerative, sanguine elixir. Granted, to an entrenched Muscovite Oligarch, like him, that was just utkah food. But he still enjoyed the Hollywood intrigue just the same. Such fun. And to think that his country made pogroms against such people.

Now there was a certain Bentley that smelled of cat piss. Look, I don't know. Maybe it wasn't cat piss. It might have been greasy, fast food french fries. I'm a disembodied spirit. Last thing I smelled was a sodden, blood soaked pillow stuffed in the bottom of a wicker basket when they guillotined my head off. The Reign of Terror? Hello? Maybe you've heard of it? Well, I think some espionage types from  Foggy Bottom  (headquarters of the U.S. State Department) came up in it. Look...Look... They're over there, by the cold shrimp..... The Jumbo, cold shrimp. See 'em? See 'em? I mean, who wears a Seiko in The Hamptons? Even a dead, Gascon trouble maker like me knows that. You gotta watch those things, you know? God is in the details.

It'll be dark soon... true night. Bet they want the oligarch.....

Look, let me sublimate down 'cross the lawns and onto the beach. Two girls are dancin' 'round naked and I wanna go see.

Don't worry. You'll see it on You Tube. Come back tomorrow. I'll tell you more...


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