Rumors of more food downsairs sent us into the lower level, very dark, very crowded, and noisy with a drum machine. Costumed performers on stilts, decked out in neon moved stiffly in time to the “music.” We found quite a srpead of food from Mediteranee. At one point, the Old Flame brushed past and I called his name, but he either didn’t hear or pretended not to hear and continued on his moody moony way.

We returned to the surface. Michael went out to talk to someone on the patio, but the wind was cold that night, and my leather jacket just not enough, so I retreated indoors. Michael and our friends returned bearing truffles. A lot of chocolate was at that reception. Ghiradelli squares were passed out in handfuls, cardboard-thin little bars with mushy chopped almonds in them. The Joseph Schmidt truffles were much better, but really, they can’t be appreciated at a party. They should be worshipped in solitude with a glass of port and a good book.

Two different people approached me asking to be introduced to Michael. One was a cameraman who works with the Spanish language network. The other was a funny looking fellow with narrow glasses, a receding harline, and a vaguely aerodynamic look. He was a filmmaker. Both seemed certain Michael has influence that could help them, and unconvinced by his assurances that this is untrue. The filmmaker, who is working on a feature, gave Michael his card.