Seattle

Steve at Pike's Market, Seattle

This was another Harcourt trip where I hid in the suitcase and went along for the ride. Seattle weather was wonderful, like Southern California, and the locals were all thrilled. We stayed at the new Marriott Waterfront and got a room on the 5th floor overlooking Elliott Bay. We had a great view all up and down the embarcadero and across the bay to Bainbridge Island. As soon as we arrived we wandered up the hill behind us to explore Pike's Market. It was jammed with tourists, of course. All these places are identical. I'm constantly amazed at the ridiculous junk people will buy. Later we walked back and had dinner at Cafe Campagne. I had the pork pate and the trout almondine. Both were delicious.

Hector had to work the next two days so I just wandered. I took a Grey Line tour of the downtown area and had the worst tour guide I've ever had. She was so boring that I got off after 2 stops, at Pioneer Square, the "old" section of downtown Seattle, where I grabbed a bite to eat and spent a lovely couple of hours browsing in Elliott Bay Book Co. I bought Freddy and Fredericka by Mark Helprin, What's The Matter With Kansas? [How Conservatives Won the Heart of America] by Thomas Frank, The Clumsiest People in Europe or: Mrs. Mortimer's Bad-Tempered Guide to the Victorian World (hilarious), In A Sunburned Country by Bill Bryson (travels in Australia) and The Geographers Library by Jon Fasman, which I since discovered I already bought and never read, damn it!
I also stumbled around trying to find Seattle's "Chinatown" which was clearly marked on the map but it turns out it's 2 Chinese Restaurants and a laundry and that's about it. Got back on the next tour bus to come around three hours later and it was HER AGAIN! Got off at Pike's Market and just walked back to the hotel.
Tuesday night we met Hector's co-worker, Enrique, at Salty's. Big seafood restaurant across the bay in West Seattle with gorgeous views of Seattle skyline at night. It was okay. Tourist food. Weak vodka tonics.
Wednesday night we ate at the much-recommended Pink Door, sort of a bohemian bistro with no sign out front just a, you guessed it, pink door.
Thursday home. Horrible flight. I was stuck in the middle seat surrounded by babies screaming in my face and blowing drool everywhere. Foul babies.

Mary Carlisle Blakeley 

LA

In order to escape the stress of San Diego Gay Pride, I went up to LA on Friday night and checked into the Century City Courtyard, an old favorite, and now recently remodeled with a Hollywood theme. (what else?) Traffic was the usual nightmare but I made it in 3 hours. I met Bill Graff for dinner at the Fabiolus Cafe on Sunset at Vine. Very nice with an outdoor patio. Then I dropped him off at his apartment, he's still living in the Navarre, the place I moved out of in 1994 when I came to San Diego. The outside hasn't changed.

On Saturday morning I met Garry Corgiat at his pad in Santa Monica, which I had not seen before and I loved. Full of all the wonderful eclectic junk he collects. His new show is starting soon on VH1. It's a reality show starring the horrible Danny Bonaduce of Partridge Family fame. Garry is the shrink who tries to help him straighten out his revolting life. They did 13 episodes and he's waiting to see if it will be popular. I can't imagine that it will be because Danny Bonaduce is a real pig but then look at all the other crap that's on TV.
Later I drove over to Jane Abbott's house in Northridge. Hadn't seen her in over a year. We got caught up on all the Texas and Hollywood gossip, saw the garage she turned into a guest room. Then we had dinner at Macaroni Grill, a big family style place where they are constantly singing at you and making stupid jokes, but the food was good. Then drove back to Century City (15 minutes!) and cuddled up in my big king sized bed with air conditioner cranked up full blast.

The next morning, Sunday, I took an early drive through Beverly Hills and West Hollywood to see all the changes since I was there last. W. Hollywood is all tree-lined and European-looking and even the gay bars look exotic. In B.H. all the old bungalows are disappearing and the Arabs have built palaces in the style sardonically referred to as "Iranian Modern". They finally pulled down Natalie Shafer's old rat trap of a house on Rodeo Drive. Across the street at Mrs. Blakeley's house, things are exactly the same as ever. It's crumbling around their very ears but Mr. Blakely is 96 and can barely walk and she's so tight she won't spend a nickel. So she got me to patch some rotten molding in the foyer and to shore up the delapidated pool house but mostly I just spent the day listening to her reminisce about the old days. And I mean the old days. She showed me the old pictures of her visits to Hearsts' castles in San Simeon and Wales and I was asking her about Ivor Novello (she screamed, "Jim! Wasn't Ivor Novello a friend of Noel Coward?") and Greta Garbo (she owns a bed once owned by Garbo) and Marion Davies and all the old gang. I asked her if she's still entertaining as much as she used to and she just laughed and said, "Oh, no, dahling. Everybody's dead!"
It was a great visit. They're so old I'm afraid there will be fewer and fewer of them. When I went in to greet Mr. Blakeley he said "Well hello, Steven, come in. I'm just sitting here trying to stay alive." After I left their house I raced back home in 2 hours 15 minutes- a new Sunday afternoon record!