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!
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