1993 - Autumn
My term of slavery is drawing peacefully to its close. I have been sent to Austin and Tampa, on each occasion to try to justify the movie Resident Alien. Both these fair cities I have visited before. . . in Austin I stayed in the home of a gentleman whose name I have sadly now forgotten, . . The last time I was in Tampa it was to address all the gay businessmen in Florida - . . This time it was to introduce Resident Alien, which was part of Tampa's Gay and Lesbian Film Festival. . . Needless to say, I now have a cold caused by travelling from chilly Manhattan to warm Texas back to New York, then almost at once to steamy Tampa and home again. It will pass.
Since then, growing ever more brazen, I have attended two fashion show. At the first of these, I had the audacity to totter along the runway among a regiment of women wearing see-through shifts and silver boots. At the second, I behaved a little better and remained a spectator. The modela were glorious creatures, who paced to and fro in dresses no one would ever wear and kinky shoes.
In the same week, never letting go of my shakey hold on the high life, I went to the Ambassador Gallery on Spring Street to the opneing of an exhibition of the art work of Mr Tony Curtis. He is America's answer to Mr Matisse. When I told him this, he admitted that there is in his work a little Matisse and added, 'A little Mattisse goes a long way.' He really is a nice guy. When Miss Miles introduced me to him with the words, 'Do you know Quentin?' Mr Curtis replied, 'Yes. We were in a movie together.' There was no hint that he was one of the stars and I was an extra. This is American democracy at its best.
Finally I have seen Philadelphia at a screening for the cast and crew of the film. . . I thought I was in a jolly film. I was wrong.
Since then, growing ever more brazen, I have attended two fashion show. At the first of these, I had the audacity to totter along the runway among a regiment of women wearing see-through shifts and silver boots. At the second, I behaved a little better and remained a spectator. The modela were glorious creatures, who paced to and fro in dresses no one would ever wear and kinky shoes.
In the same week, never letting go of my shakey hold on the high life, I went to the Ambassador Gallery on Spring Street to the opneing of an exhibition of the art work of Mr Tony Curtis. He is America's answer to Mr Matisse. When I told him this, he admitted that there is in his work a little Matisse and added, 'A little Mattisse goes a long way.' He really is a nice guy. When Miss Miles introduced me to him with the words, 'Do you know Quentin?' Mr Curtis replied, 'Yes. We were in a movie together.' There was no hint that he was one of the stars and I was an extra. This is American democracy at its best.
Finally I have seen Philadelphia at a screening for the cast and crew of the film. . . I thought I was in a jolly film. I was wrong.