Christine Tomassini, editor, Carol Schwartz, contributing editorMagill's Cinema Annual 2001, 20th Edition. I was searching for Teterboro, the most convenient of New York's private airports, even though it is in New Jersey. You are to use Eastern Standard Time as a basis for scheduling all E sessions, which will take place twice a week. I knew she wasn't the old Jean anymore when she sent a body double into Valentino to be fitted for FALL '91 because she was pregnant. It is impossible to ignore the obvious superiority of this child, and on more than one occasion the current cover of Vogue or star of the latest teen angst movie would stop me on the street and ask me where could she get one of those?
Hermes, I'd reply, and head towards the Frick, which Jean always thought could possibly be for sale if I called enough people. According to my Platinum 1938 Breguet Minute Repeater, (a lesser version in Rose Gold recently sold in London for the equivalent of $217,000.00), I see that it is time for our Therap-e session. I have long ago given up worrying about man's ability to devise new ways in which to spend a disproportionately huge amount of money in order to show his fellow man that he has amassed huge piles of it. During the coming month, I will be forced to make myself available to many I'd choose to ignore, permanently. In the Art of War, Sun Tzu states that intimidation is the only acceptable initial impression one can give his opponent. In the wars that I choose to fight, I intimidate through an initial precise physical and sartorial impression that, stated simply says, "The first move is mine." There is an appropriate tailleur for every requirement.
My suits and evening wear, by such maestros of fashion as Cerrutti and Valentino, convey an aura of quiet superiority.
When venturing out after hours, I wear concealing eyewear and rarely the same outfit twice. Our last meeting, at his insistence, took place at a Denny's restaurant near Lincoln, Nebraska, a chain he doesn't even own. As he consumed enormous quantities of bright yellow food covered in rivers of maple syrup mopped up with the whitest of bread, I thought at least Elvis had the class to keel over and die after a lifetime of consuming such victuals.
Go ahead, I say to this evolutionary misstep, and keep to myself that this other party reports to me. One of the most notable changes in the ritualistic dining habits of jaded New Yorkers and other nationals who frequent the city's most prominent restaurants is the advent of the female Maitre' d. This disruption in the natural order of things, of course, cannot be found in the stalwarts of the best city restaurants. But of course, this is only an illusion, for when an unruly patron crosses the boundaries of acceptable behavior, or those told to wait for a table that is most likely never to become available realize that they have been played, it is a man, usually a pair, who dispatch those whose position has been demoted from unlikely patron to that of squatter. When what she really means is how much longer do you plan to keep me in this legal vice that is squeezing the desire to live right out of my body, and I really don't like using our child as a bargaining device but I have gotten quite used to an unlimited amount of money so please can't we agree on something and stop this torture? Jean, dear, if that Jil Sander suit you had on didn't look a little snug, I'd offer to share the Creme Brulee. It seems that society at large feels the need to attach a certain level of guilt to all sexual activity. The problem with analysis is that those trained in the art of delving into the confines of another man's psyche often get lost in the depths and lose sight of the fact that sometimes a cigar is just a cigar. I do feel, however, that the boundaries of sexual behavior have been significantly expanded by the Internet in an inverse proportion to the anonymity that it provides. What I do find greatly ironic, in this "mine's-bigger-and-better-and- hotter" world, is the competition over the cellular phone. I am wearing a deep charcoal Valentino three button suit over a Les Copains cashmere turtleneck, in black. I start with Lobster Risotto and follow with a Grilled Sole that is both weightless and intense with flavor.
We head to "Pop", Roy Liebenthal's brilliant Swedish Airport inspired bistro on Fourth Avenue and 12th where Tim gives us the big round table in the center of the Dining Room. Eventually, my dinner companions wander off and I am left alone with a Victoria's Secret model and a co-star of the latest digitally enhanced action movie, who discreetly passes me some coke, which I do in the bathroom next to a stall that is obviously occupied by three people, all of them men. We then go to some place in the way East Village where I recognize the doorman from "Life", and dance until the lights go on, and then pile into the Mercedes for the trip uptown, where the night becoming day blurs into one long nice place what do you do, do you have any Xanax, I've never been with a woman before, yeah right, she's so soft you have a great body for a guy your age, shut up you dumb bitch, you have a lousy body for a 20 year old like you'll ever see 27 again would you both mind terribly leaving as I have a conference call in twenty minutes and Ricardo will get you both taxis. After my conference call from London was over, I had just under two hours to sleep before meeting Evelyn for lunch at the Carlyle. I awoke with a killer hangover, and was tempted to cancel, but the last thing I needed now was to subject myself to even more of Evelyn's self pity.
The best hangover remedy is as follows: Copious amounts of ice cold spring water followed by a well spiced steak tartar, ground Filet, with capers from Fauchon in Paris, followed by Clamato juice mixed with fresh sections of lemon. Though I view "Casual Fridays" as an excruciatingly middle class invention, I slip on an ecru Polo cashmere turtleneck over chocolate brown suede pants and matching Bottega Veneta loafers. As I plan to head out to the country after lunch, I drive myself to the Carlyle in my cobalt blue Aston Martin Volante, the same color as the one owned by Prince Charles, only mine has the Vantage engine.
I deposit the car with the doorman, who pockets the $50, and announce myself at the front desk. The mahogany doors swing open and a rather delicate man of blended ethnicity announces me to Evelyn, Duchess of Risborough, formerly The Princess de Vestota, and before that La Comtesse D'Erlanger, in vintage Mainbocher, lying provocatively on a chaise facing Central Park. It remains today one of the largest undivided parcels of waterfront land in the metropolitan New York area, and will remain so, as the trust my Grandfather created upon it's purchase during World War II, so decrees. The house, a one half size recreation of the Czar's Summer Palace as interpreted by Mott Schmidt in 1929, boasts a forty-by-sixty-foot Ballroom with a triple height ceiling emblazoned in Gold Leaf with all twelve signs of the Zodiac, that is only slightly closer to the black and white marble floor than the actual night sky.
At one time or another, this room hosted Cole Porter, George Gershwin, and The Marx Brothers as they performed, though never at the same time, for an assortment of guests who included The Duke and Duchess of Windsor, those unfortunate Woodwards, several of our less liberal Presidents, and the even less liberal Shah of Iran during the early days of the Peacock Throne. It is to "Dark Cove" I escape when I want the kind of peace and solitude that only the sea, the sand, the sky, and twenty-one in staff can provide. As the sun begins to slowly descend into the navy blue chop of the Sound, I swing gently back and forth on the little rope swing P.B. The one that I will not see him swing on again until I agree to pay his mother One Hundred and Eighty Nine Thousand Dollars a Month in Alimony.
If you are going to lie about the state of your own head, how can anybody trust anything you have to say about anything important? Though not nearly as chic as any of the Lauder products, I find that the Kiehl's men's line currently fulfills the bulk of my grooming needs. For cleansing purposes, though, nothing beats the various cleansers manufactured by Neutrogena. My shower automatically turns on at a time preset on the control panel to the right of my bed. Three times a week I begin the day with a massage by Manfred, who leaves the club only to administer to the needs of an agoraphobic Rockefeller and myself.
I train according to a selection of videos prepared by the same orthopedically trained specialist who tones the bodies of the New York Giants, Oscar de la Hoya, and "La Cirque du Soleil." I can't stress enough how important it is to remain limber. And, I usually awake to the song "One Singular Sensation" from "A Chorus Line" as it is the most optimistic song ever written. In the early 1950's growing up as a teenager in the shadow of Coney Island, Brooklyn, he determined it was his destiny to be neither poor nor heterosexual.
Though he claims not to remember the exact spelling of his original family name, nor his exact date of birth, he has memorized the various home phone numbers of the Finance Ministers of the eleven countries that claim him as their richest citizen.
It is rumored that he paid Twenty Five Million Dollars to one of the World's Biggest Movie Stars to engage in an orgy with himself and the Russian in charge of disposing of the Gold Reserves from the former Soviet Republic, on board his Three Hundred and Sixteen Foot Yacht, "Le Beaux Simone" during last year's Cannes Film Festival. Wearing a Grey Spring Weight Cashmere Cerruti suit, I walk up Madison Avenue towards "La Goulou," a classic Bistro filled with soon to be ex- wives who will spend the remainder of the afternoon shopping away their loneliness.
I cross Madison Avenue, walk up one block to Cerruti, am greeted by the store manager, who discreetly points out several items that would work perfectly with the rest of the Spring Line that I already have. The Bentley is waiting out front, and Ricardo is standing outside, smoking, which looks thuggish.
I order the Salmon Napolean to start, followed by the Chicken with Orzo, followed by Luis weeping some more, followed by Luis coming out to me, again, followed by Francois, the Captain growing impatient, followed by Luis finally ordering the Boulliabase.
Suddenly, I am the interested, considerate friend that Luis so desperately needs, suddenly willing to hear all that Luis has to say about the beautiful young man who models under the name of Terry Davis, whose real identity I know from reports given to me by a private detective in my employ, whose sole function is to gather every bit of information there is that can be used against his father, Terence Davis Ferguson, who is, as we speak, blissfully unaware of the true nature of his son's relationship with Luis Carruthers.
In 1982 the Justice Department decreed that a certain Monopoly controlling over 80% of the production of Silicate, a key ingredient in the manufacture of micro-processing components, must surrender what had become a controlling position in this market.
Terry Davis awoke at the crack of Noon, early for him, in the Tribeca loft purchased for him by a different trust for nearly Five Million Dollars, before the most recent surge in New York real estate prices.
After nearly a decade of Rehabs, (Why don't you write a book rating them all, his Father mocked him at their last meeting, the one which ended their relationship and the flow of money to Terry!) Terry has found himself living in the lap of luxury without a proverbial pot to piss in.
That's why he eagerly accepted the luncheon invitation that was hand- delivered to his door, finely engraved on watermarked paper, and bearing the crest, of Simone De Reveney.
The press of today are courted with a deference formerly reserved for the celebrities themselves.
Suzy Liz Smith George Rush Joanna Malloy Richard Johnson Jared Paul Stern Cindy Adams Paula Froelich Neal Travis Frank DiGiacomo Peggy Siegel Lizzie Grubman Lauren London Bobby Zarem Tina Brown Ron Galotti Anna Wintour Howard Rubinstein Maer Roshan and on and on.
I've given up wondering, and am just glad that my favorite publications, The New York Observer, Wall Street Journal, Forbes, Baron's, The Financial Times, Paris Match, Country Life, In Style, Robb Report, Vanity Fair, Architectural Digest, World of Interiors, Yachting, and the new Us Weekly, are printed using Ink that doesn't come off on your hands. Bookstores are the discos of the new Millennium, a place where there is more drinking and cruising than anything else. My book list, recorded scrupulously in a belted and hand-sewn Florentine journal, first introduced to Europe in the early middle-ages and featuring paper from the Amalfi paper mill, makers of fine paper since the 14th century, offers superior reading recommendations. Anna Pavord's THE TULIP offers an expressive history of the unique flower that changed global economies through the ages, accompanied by lavish and memorable botanical illustrations that bring the flower to life. Finally, John Berendt's MIDNIGHT IN THE GARDEN OF GOOD AND EVIL, now a perennial on the bestseller list, is notable for its intensely charismatic central character (who is equally compelling alive or dead) and its extensive details about high and low life in Savannah. You asked me if I want to let her go, or if I am most interested in being the one who decides when it is over.
Your question "If I have transferred that hate to Jean, and therefore now hate her, can I direct that hate elsewhere, and then be more rational in the negotiations needed to finish the divorce?" Yes, I always have a place, or two, or three, where I can more effectively channel the energy that fuels hate. Dressed in an Yves Saint Laurent Couture Charcoal suit over a Black Cashmere mock turtle tee shirt with Richard James socks and Black Lobb Oxfords, one of which was untied, he scanned the assorted vehicles lining the street for his ride to Balthazar for his lunch with Simone De Reveney. Suddenly, a diagonally parked garbage truck began to lumber away from a loading dock, revealing a 1966 Rolls Royce Phantom V PV22 Limousine with a James Young coach-built body lacquered the identical color of a Pigeon Blood Ruby, New York License Plate SDR. Simone De Reveney, accustomed to the company of beautiful men, gasped at the magnificence of Terry Davis as he was shown to the Banquette, to the left of where Madonna usually sat.
Terry stood up, trembling, and spun his shoulders away from Simone, looking remarkably frail beneath the vaulted tin ceiling of the restaurant.
Terry scanned the document, headed "Trey Corporation, 12 bis Rue D'Angleterre, Geneve," that identified several U.S. But today, he asked if it would be okay if we just walked up to the Lincoln Square Theaters on 68th Street and Broadway.
You asked me if I were jealous of the simplicity of the relationship he has with his mother as opposed to the complexity of his relationship with me?
What I have come to realize is that I DO want to have a relationship with my Son, and be a part of his life.
In spite of Rap Artists' protests to the contrary, music today, for the most part, has lost it's soul. The mood and needs of a Society are best expressed by the work of the Artists of the day, who speak for a people better than any politician or pundit. For you see, it was only last night, in the middle of the night to be exact, that Davis Ferguson discovered that the shares of a Trust he had set up to seemingly comply with a decree against him by the State Department were being sold to Simone De Reveney. For you see, as a Legal Safety Net, Davis Ferguson's name does not appear on any of the ownership documents or stock certificates. And this lesson was taking place on board "Le Beaux Simone" somewhere off the coast of Crete.

The pupil, Terry Davis, quickly grasped the concept that he was in a position to pay back his Father for his various "kindnesses." For you see, as Simone wisely pointed out, Davis Ferguson must reveal himself to defend himself, thus exposing himself to criminal sanction. If I had realized what an invasion of privacy it would turn out to be, I never would have allowed Architectural Digest to photograph my apartment for the next "New York Issue." They have been here so long it's beginning to feel like "The Man who Came to Dinner," only this unwelcome guest brought a florist and a stylist with him. I live on the most prime stretch of Central Park West in one of architect Emory Roth's fabled "Mansions in the Sky." Quite a cutting edge choice, considering my family's penchant over the last several generations for living within the confines of 10021, New York's toniest Zip Code.
But I needed a change after leaving Jean, and I didn't feel like running into her or her friends each time I ventured onto Madison Avenue. My Furniture is, for the most part, Museum-quality family pieces mixed in with some Josef Hofmann and Ruhlman that work together quite nicely. Upon entering the thirty-six foot long gallery you are met by Warhol's Double Elvis, which shares wall space with a Damien Hirst Dot painting and a Donald Baechlor Ice Cream Cone. The living room is filled with mostly monochromatic or muted works by masters such as Leger, Picasso, Balthus, and Rothko. The dining room is where I keep my collection of Motherwell, Kenneth Noland, Morris Louis, and Frankenthaler, all of which look remarkable by candlelight. Lately, though, I'm beginning to trust them and their judgment as to how they need to live their own lives. He called me at the office today and said he didn't really care about moving out of the big apartment as long as the new place he and his mother moved to was near enough to a movie theatre so that he and I could walk there on Sundays. Anticipating this, I had over-tipped the coat check girl to hide all but the mustard and rust colored plaid one that sat opposite me encasing Davis Ferguson.
I am bombarded by the number of channels available to me on the Sony 52 inch flat screen monitors I have placed strategically around my home. Between the offerings on Broadcast Television, basic cable, premium cable such as HBO, Direct TV, Pay-per-view, the History Channel, the Fashion Channel, MTV, VH-1, channels devoted to Romance, Biography, War, Travel, Food, Psychics, Entertainment, Style, Sports, Classic Movies, Independent Movies, Old Television, New Television, Kids' Television, Shopping, CNN, ESPN, CNBC, FNN, I have become catatonic with Channel Fear as I stare at yet another channel that exists only to be an automated TV Guide.
The best turkey sandwich in New York can be found at Viande, a narrow little coffee shop just north of 61st Street on the East side of Madison Avenue. After a morning of shopping at Barney's across the street, I enter the restaurant and settle into my usual booth, one person wide, at the rear next to the wall, decorated with newly-installed mirrors that allow you to spot any errant Russian Dressing that may have escaped from the sandwich and onto your face. I ignore him as I remove a Thousand Dollars in Twenties from the machine, until be positions himself in front of the door, blocking my exit.
In the moment he looks down, I kick him, pushing him to the floor beneath the counter that contains the deposit slips.
I was told by the Stylist who came with the photographer from Architectural Digest that he has seen many great places, but that mine was "Key" and except for the sconces in the Dining Room, my apartment was perfect.
It bothered me immensely to hear that something in my home was inferior enough to elicit comments from others. I went to the Gallery 1950 on Lafayette Street near Indochine to examine a pair of Nickel Plated sconces from an Art Deco Passenger ship, "The Normandie," attributed to Delaneau, but unsigned, and a deal at Thirty Seven Thousand. I found myself standing in front of what used to be "Dorsia" and what was now a place without a name. I noticed that, while walking on auto pilot, I had found my way to the building where Pierce and Pierce still have their offices, the offices I haven't been to since the "issue" made it better for all concerned if I went out on my own It's about time The company will stake you It would be better if this were kept hush-hush.
I suddenly felt as if the buildings were beginning to bend down over me and turned and headed back uptown, doing my best to think about nothing but lighting fixtures and there were no cabs but I found one of those tokens P.B.
He answered the door in an Hermes dressing gown over matching silk pants and Velvet Slippers monogrammed with the De Reveney family crest, a Lion looking backwards over crossed swords.
You seem to imply that there is a need for guilt to be felt before one can begin to heal "Thyself," a concept I find incredibly self-serving, a rationalization. As far as regrets, I believe Willie Sutton, perhaps America's most notorious robber of Banks, said it best when asked if he regretted robbing those banks. We had been legally separated for nearly two years, and for the most part, it turned out to be the most pleasant two years of our relationship. She told me all of this at lunch, at some place I had never been to off Madison, a commercial Italian place that wasn't very fashionable but had great Fusilli.
But I didn't hear him over the sound of the wine glass shattering in my hand as I broke off the stem.
I am sitting in a deck chair from the French Liner "Liberte" one of a set of twelve I bought at Phillip's last auction of Maritime Art and Furnishings. The Buildings opposite on Fifth Avenue glow a pale orange as the sun begins to set behind me. Kimball steps out onto the terrace with the Cohiba already in the side of his mouth and hands me mine. The apartment faced Central Park from the 36th floor, as do all front apartments on Central Park South. To the right can be seen the even grander Fifth Avenue homes of the surviving Rockefellers, Jean, and others who would rather remain anonymous. Terry Davis, who lived in Mortal Fear of his father, had taken a Xanax and was smoking a joint as his father entered the living room.
Terry, being the trooper that he is, immediately fled the apartment, announced to the deskman that his father had fallen and couldn't get up, and ran to the Pierre, and the apartment of Simone De Reveney.
You asked me how the revelation that you are now seriously involved with my soon-to-be ex-wife Jean is going to affect our therapy sessions. Which would indicate to some that you have done a remarkable job in a rather brief time, but I think it would be safe to assume that the professional part of our relationship is over.
It is comically ironic that I sent her to you in an attempt to gain information that I could use against her in the divorce proceedings and that you ended up falling in love with her.
I do agree with your advice to Jean that, in order to be truly happy and free, she must not continue a lifestyle that is dependant on my money. The lawyers for Davis Ferguson's estate were swift in accepting the offer Simone De Reveney had made on my behalf for the deceased's shares in the Trey corporation. It is greatly ironic that on the very day I am to be honored for my Foundation's gift to the Manhattan Children's Center, I have also agreed to a divorce that will keep Jean in comfort, but not splendor, and P.B.
The evening is a smash success, and the massive egos of the invited A-list fuel a bidding war for donated items, such as a walk-on role in the new movie "Fashion Victims," that result in the Center exceeding its fundraising goals by over a Million Dollars. I get up to give my speech of thanks for this honor and stare out into the audience from the podium. I begin my speech, but blinded by the hot white light of the cameras recording the event, I hesitate, then stop. Teterboro is only six minutes away from the West Side Heliport by helicopter, but by the time I land next to N522PB, my Falcon 50, Ricardo has placed my luggage on board and we have been cleared for immediate take- off. There is a way of holding a glass, specifically a wine or Champagne flute, that enables one to continue sipping a drink regardless of how many thousands of pounds of thrust are propelling them up into the sky.
For as long as I can remember, The Hotel du Cap, at the tip of Antibes, has been my refuge from the world, considered by those lucky enough to be welcomed regularly by Les Messieurs Irondelle and Quiska to be the most perfect spot on the French Riviera. It is at Eden Roc, the Hotel's pavilion by the sea, that I learned to swim, to dive, and to water ski. But this time I am alone, and as it is very early in the Season, I will have the place to myself. The film begins with the sounds of a Harp being gently plucked as drops of red fall slowly onto a sea of white. As a direct result of my position and perceived good fortune, the word NO did not apply to me.
Any and all confidentiality documents must be notarized prior to transfer of any and all funds. She is in between European gay aristo-trash husbands, and will be at her place in the Carlyle after the 24th but will be out of commission after the 27th, (Evelyn-speak for facelift), and she read about the divorce and is terribly sorry but that's what happens when you don't marry one of your own. I must advise you in advance that if it were not for The Issue, and my desire to retrieve my child from his mother, I would not devote the time to this exercise.
Occasionally we are forced to modify a flight plan, and for certain social engagements a Top coat is appropriate, but that's only for fashion's sake. Between the Sat phone, Satnav, the DSL lines that radiate from wherever I may be like a web, I am never out of touch, be it by voice or digital command. Marcus Halberstam wisely chose to leave New York after some rather unpleasant innuendo regarding Paul Allen seemed to attach itself to him. It is almost as if he knows that my total revulsion at his mere existence gives him an upper hand. I respect that beneath the simple beauty of their faces lie complex articulations of machinery that are at the same time both minute and grand.
The image he conveys is one of down home Americana that is as fake as the artificial twang in his Yale educated voice.
His goal in taking me there was to make me uncomfortable enough so that I might inadvertently reveal why I have been buying up shares in his various corporations.
This wildebeest had the gall to guffaw in my face, (I detest even the notion of a guffaw), and boast that there is another group interested in his various corporations, and he might just go ahead and meet with them, to teach me a thing or two about how good ‘ole boys do things down around his way. Walter is still in charge at "21" and Benito maintains his guard at the palace that is "Le Cirque," but at many of the priciest and hardest to get into of the current group of temples to trend-dining, women seem to be in charge. Gucci square toe slip-ons with a discreet silver insignia that you would have to be on your knees in front of me in order to read, and a White Gold Vacheron-Constantine Chronograph, with a black suede band and a deployant buckle. A discreet place on East 10th Street that is run by Frank like an Italian railroad during the era of Mussolini. After several rounds and assorted desserts which nobody finishes we head to "Lot 61" where Amy informs us that our guests have already been seated at my usual banquette, on the left just after the fireplace.
I finish this off with a Vicuna Zegna Blazer that I had made for me in Rome last season, and a Rose Gold Rolex from the early 1940's that once belonged to Porfirio Rubirosa.
The frontage is so extensive that one could dock the "Intrepid" along the sea wall and still not obstruct the view to the Connecticut shoreline across the Sound. Also preset is the temperature and the various water jets designed to stimulate the areas of my body most susceptible to stress.
I supplement these sessions with a bi-weekly visit from Billy, who, though he now runs "The Chelsea Piers," has kept me as a private client.
Unlike his many devotees who flock to his Lafayette Street studio, I prefer to perfect the "Lying Down Backward Dog" in the privacy of my own home. The only part of the story that CAN be confirmed is that De Reveney et Cie has become the largest refiner of Russian Gold in the World, netting Simone nearly Two Billion Dollars so far, and that a Certain Star is now the owner of a slightly used Gulfstream 4. To make himself even less tolerable, he insists that the bulk of his conversation be whispered directly into your ear, which eventually becomes coated with tiny bits of his lunch. Ricardo, who has been following discreetly behind me in the Navy Bentley, pulls up along side of me to announce that Mr. He tells me that Nino Cerruti will be coming to New York to receive yet another fashion award and wants me to sit at his table. I point this out while demanding to know what is he doing outside of the car while the motor is running, and he points to the tinted rear window, which I knock on, and is lowered sheepishly by Luis who is in the middle of an intense conversation with someone who clearly does not want to hear from him again. Davis Ferguson, the Country's largest individual owner of Silica mines, sold his interests at a handsome profit to an offshore entity owned by a trust whose chief beneficiary was totally unaware of just how rich he truly was, and who was coincidentally, at this very minute, mining for a natural resource of his own, only this one came from Peru. He spent the next twenty minutes rummaging through his Pratesi sheets, Prada shoes, DVD's, empty bottles of Cristal, Ketel One, and Vicodan, and several sleeping bed companions (whose names and fetishes escaped him at the moment) until he found the last of the Amber vials, which was almost empty. I haven't even gotten to athletes movie stars tycoons politicians heads of state doctors teachers composers writers criminals murderers restaurateurs publishers editors inventors socialites sociopaths artists photographers and people on the WB network.
One of the most surprising developments in the past few years is the emergence of the celebrity book promoter. A liveried chauffeur stood at attention as Terry crossed the street to the majestic automobile, one of Six in existence.
The chauffeur knelt before Terry as he settled into the Connolly Leather, Wilton Carpet, and glistening Zebra-patterned Macassar Ebony of the interior.
Perhaps this would be more than Business after all, he thought, as Terry removed his enormous glasses, revealing eyes the color of a Sable Coat, and cheekbones so defined you could open a can with them.

I don't remember," said Simone, who could tell you what he had for lunch on Bastille Day in 1967. But not if you order the fish." said Simone, as he pulled an ecru envelope from the inside pocket of his jacket and handed it Terry. Ricardo was driving the Black Mercedes Gelandewagen, identical to the one Arnold Schwarzenegger and Tommy Hilfiger have.
Where does she come off asking me for over TWO MILLION DOLLARS A YEAR, and then make the kid take the bus? I don't want to be an ignorant clown like Davis Ferguson, who is too busy screwing people over and gorging himself on artificially-colored food at truck stops while his son is getting more action than a Bookie on Super Bowl Sunday, and he doesn't know and doesn't care. Actually, "Killed" is a better word, for the call to violence that is such an integral part of today's music betrays what music was meant to be. These papers bear the name of his son, Terry, who according to his father, has no idea that he even owns them, or how much they might be worth. And he also knew that there was no more honest relationship than the one between people who don't like each other and don't trust each other.
The main rooms on 19 open out to a terrace that spans the width of the apartment, and can accommodate dinner for 60 as well as an orchestra. In spite of the astronomical rents along what is arguably the chicest shopping street in the world, Viande, and its proprietor George have been there for as long as I can remember. They immediately bring me white meat Turkey sliced fresh off the bird, crisp white lettuce and their home made Russian, on slightly toasted whole wheat bread, along with a club soda, no ice, and lemon. He ignores them and reaches into his back pocket and pulls out a stiletto, fumbling with the release as it refuses to open. I kick him again in the jaw, which snaps on impact and begins to bleed from the tear where his lips used to meet.
I continued walking down Lafayette Street to Gueridon, near Bleeker where I found a pair of wrought iron sconces with parchment shades attributed to Royere but alas, not signed. He made his way over to an elaborate serving cart covered in crisp white linen, on which lay a Silver Tea Set from the Windsor auction and woven silver baskets brimming with fresh-baked croissants and blueberry muffins, surrounded by silver pots of strawberry preserves and marmalades. And like a photograph, no matter how beautiful, or how haunting, the image represented no longer exists in the same state in which it was photographed. I just stood up and walked out of the restaurant, a tiny trail of blood marking my trail as I headed to the door.
There is a slight haze over Central Park, much like the fine salt spray of the Atlantic that, over many crossings, has given these chairs a patina all of their own.
I light them both, with the Faberge lighter that was the Czar's last Christmas present to himself, specially constructed to block out any wind that might interfere with the lighting of His cigar. To the left, lining Central Park West, can be seen the apartments of Calvin Klein, Yoko Ono, Steven Spielberg , and yours truly. THE FACT THAT YOU ARE NOT AS WE SPEAK PULLING YOUR LAP TOP OUT OF YOUR ASS IS BLINDING TESTIMONY TO HOW WELL I HAVE MASTERED MY OWN RAGE AND LEARNED TO CONTROL MY DESIRE TO DESTROY, MAIM, AND KILL. The de facto beneficiary, still shaken by the events immediately preceding his father's death, was at this moment on board "Le Beaux Simone" somewhere off the coast of Ischia, not fully convinced that he is not guilty of some sort of crime. You hold the stem between your thumb and index finger, and, like a gyroscope, the liquid within seeks a stable level.
By the time the sky will flash orange, then become the pale gray of dawn, I will be over Newfoundland, and less than seven hours from Nice. It will be me, the sea, and the light reflecting off the mountains that inspired Picasso to paint and Fitzgerald to write. It is the one place on Earth where I can stand to be alone, and in fact welcome the opportunity to recharge, rethink, regroup, or just stare up into the Sun until everything becomes white and peaceful, like in Heaven. My Falcon 50, tail number N522PB, has the best short field performance of any of the heavy iron, and is far less nouveau than a Gulfstream, which, by now, everybody in the top tiers at Goldman and Microsoft owns. If I have to hear one more time about how if she had known how cold Aspen was she never would have become a spokesperson for PETA and then she would have been able to wear her Fendi sable poncho to the Caribou Club, I will throw her out of the plane as soon as we're over the Meadowlands. He preferred catalogues printed on the heaviest stock glossy paper to those books about that purple dinosaur that evolution should have rendered extinct by now.
You asked me if I am interested in solving my problems or if I just want to give the impression that I have solved them so I can win custody of my child.
Friend that I am, I offered him an opportunity that for the most part keeps him out of the country.
Though it is obvious that he descends from peasant stock, by the time the Second World War was to commence his family's various enterprises and ill gotten gains made them one of the richest in Pre- Internet America.
Sarah guards the portals of "Nobu," Phoebe plays Noah to the ark that is "Pastis," and Amy runs "Lot 61" as if it were the Concorde lounge at Orly. So we have to rush through the usual how are you, you look fine, I'll have the fish, no butter, I feel fat today. In the case of consenting adults who are both married and desirous of procreating, the guilt should be negligible. From Sinatra, to the Beatles, to Mark McGrath of "Sugar Ray." Girls everywhere scream "Take me! Little girls everywhere bemoan the fact that two of the band's members are engaged, while "I Want it That Way" has become the Gay national anthem.
I was told either "yes" or my request was met with a stony silence that I understood to mean "no".
He came back all excited about how big their plane was and about all the people who were on it.
Carruthers just called, will be late, is very sorry, would I mind terribly waiting just a bit? I send my best to Julian, Nino's handsome and talented son, and head back to the restaurant. He had enough to propel him the Fifty or so yards that stretched from his bed to his Eleven Hundred square foot bathroom, the one that appears in the next Gucci ad, which is how Terry, for the most part, supports himself -- by renting things out that he didn't have to pay for in the first place.
In the media obsessed world in which we live, those who chronicle the Lives, Loves, and Losses of the Rich, Famous, and Powerful have become as well known as their subjects. He threw them both into his Gucci Backpack and gazed at his own reflection in a puddle amid the cobblestones.
Inside was a detailed list of all of Terry's available cash, credit, and overdraft privileges, detailed down to the change he kept in the Imperial Jade bowl given to him by that oil minister. But he seems to like it, knows all the routes and schedules, and says all his friends from school, even those who DO have Drivers and Planes, much prefer taking the bus.
From the first caveman who noticed the haunting chant of the wind over an entrance to his cave, all the way to the most contemporary interpretations of techno-pop by artists such as Tangerine Dream, music is meant to glorify life -- to be a treat for the soul, an exclamation point, an expression of hope, a celebration.
It is fascinating that after the turn of the Millennium, the world has found a renewed appreciation for artists such as Burt Bacharach and Santana, comfort food for the ears.
The bedroom level on 20, which also houses my gym, sauna, spa, and media center, is reached by a beautiful Mahogany staircase with brushed steel accents. The shows that book White Supremacists who throw chairs at Geraldo's nose, or women who learn on air that their spouse is Gay, Cheating, Married to Someone else in a different trailer park, the father of his own grandchild, the lover of a Transsexual, or a man contemplating the big snip, but who still wants to be friends for the sake of the children. I follow this up with a cup of coffee that I usually get in a paper cup, so I can walk up Madison and sip slowly as I window shop, careful not to spill any on my buckskin Hermes driving gloves. I have my bags from Barney's in one hand and my coffee in the other, so I reach awkwardly for my card in order to open the door to the vestibule, Just north of 65th Street.
I stomp on his neck until the air escaping from his collapsing trachea begins to turn pink with blood. I can't believe I married Jean have a son am in the middle of a divorce the biggest deal of my life a custody fight and I'm out looking for sconces.
He lifted the cover from the Silver Tureen in the center, revealing a rainbow of freshly-sliced fruit, when, suddenly, a look of concern caused his surgically-refined brow to crease. But there is one fact that is undeniably consistent in all our lives, and that is constant change. Terry Davis charmed the desk man at the Hampshire House into giving him the key to his father's Penthouse. It's my money, and you give it to me or I'll swear I'll turn you in!" he screamed right back at his suddenly ashen father, who began to slump into a chair, but missed and crashed through a glass table that was rather dated, shattering it and severing an artery in the process, splashing Terry and his Jil Sander pale tweed suit, and then impaling himself on the wrought iron base that was a bad copy of a Giacometti design anyway. Though in reality, considering Davis Ferguson had a cholesterol level so high that it approached his net worth, it is surprising he lived as long as he did.
And, I should have known that after a weekend in Aspen's thin air, this normally invigorating bottle of Far Niente would induce a sense of remorse in me that is about the only thing I can't afford right now. And you know, it looks just terrible when there are not enough seats and some of the help has to go coach. He looks as if he were sculpted out of ivory, all the more remarkable when you consider the mutt-like ancestry of his mother. And, as far as anything involving a mouse was concerned, they were far too close to their biological relation, the rat, to amuse him in the slightest. Luis Carruthers, on the other hand, has proven himself quite useful at sucking valuable information out of some of the most important media and entertainment figures there are, thus rendering himself far more useful than even he realizes. I have maintained both my weight and muscle tone in the exact same proportions for nearly two decades. In the case where one of the participants realizes after the fact that the temptress he has just seduced is a minor, then the guilt level could hover somewhere around enormous. No, it's about skin tight bathing suits revealing more the wetter they become, and the grabbing of perfect bodies under the guise of being saved. Take me." From suburban mansions to trailer parks, girls everywhere fantasize about the rock star of their dreams. I am joined by a star of the biggest grossing film in history and his "It Girl" date, one of the world's highest paid magicians, a writer from the "Times" who is begging to profile me for the Business section, and the writer of "The Morning After", the hottest column in New York who I have known since she did captions for the Bendel's catalogue. As if I would ever allow myself to be seen in public anticipating the arrival of Luis Carruthers. He wanted me to enjoy his favorite movie with him, "The Sixth Sense." I think he likes it because the kid is in charge.
The Beatles were perhaps the world's first cultural happening, bringing together the children of the world across the boundaries of geography and culture. And, surprisingly, I am viewing my son for the first time as a person, not a possession or a pawn. As I do so, I sense the presence and stench of the glazed young man, who follows me inside.
Within minutes I was in the lobby, announced myself, and was deposited at Simone's private vestibule on the 39th floor. Where else can merchandise made primarily of nylon and leather be fought over by patrons wearing Diamonds and Sable? Whatever I desire is sent to me by the vendors already familiar with my tastes, which tend to anticipate trends rather than follow them. I agree with your statement that fantasy doesn't always need to become reality in order to be satisfying. All one has to do is study an emerging market to realize the importance of sex in the marketplace.
A "T," a "W," and an "A." How come the letters on our plane are so small, and why are there are only 12 chairs? Jean, who grew up in a FORTY THOUSAND DOLLAR HOUSE, just can't seem to make it these days on anything less than ONE HUNDRED EIGHTY NINE THOUSAND DOLLARS A MONTH.
She knows that, and it gives her a power over me that leaves me no choice but to hate her as well.

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