Tuesday, November 18, 2014


So walking down a side street near the veddy upmarket Montage I chanced... a word I do not use recklessly... on a sign, 'apartment for rent,' rejoiced, and continuing along my way, immediately lost the street.  Was several days trying to find it again, the street being untouted and inconspicuous as little is in Beverly Hills. But the gods were with me, I found it again, connected with my very pleasant landlady, and have moved in.
    Then the Angel Amber, the West Coast equivalent of the Angel Carleen, took all the furniture that had been in storage since I was evicted from my apartment for singing-- yes, it's true, I never have to make anything up---unboxed and rearranged it and made my new digs into an absolute Showplace, if you can make a show of Simplicity.  It is all absolutely loving and wonderful, and a miracle if you believe in miracles or even if you don't.
    So I am at home in Beshertville, the land of Meant to Be. There is no doubt of it in my mind. As much as I loved the friends I made in Amsterdam, Daniel especially, whom I have already agreed to return to and marry in my next life, I did not belong there.  Nor do I belong in New York, until and unless my musical is opening, and I can invite all of you to Opening Night. Speaking of which, or, more appropriately, singing, I have been gifted with a song that will enable me to retire us all, she says modestly, and I cannot tell you the title because the miracle is that no one ever thought of it before.  My beautiful Amber has a beau who sings like Frank Sinatra, so not being able to call on Frank to make it the classic it will surely become, I will call happily on Tim, whose last name I cannot spell as it is so complicated, his father having been Japanese, which makes it harder for him to get work, this being a town of limited heart and even more limited opportunity unless you have connections, you will be stunned to hear.  But we will change all that.  Yes we will.  
     I suppose this comes partly from being the only one in Starbucks who is not a late teenager, just starting out and filled with the audacity of youth.  My signal has not yet been connected at my apartment, so I have no choice but to come here to communicate, emboldened by the audacity of late middle age.  But as I am honest as well as oldish, I will confess it's not Starbucks but the Champagne French Bakery Cafe, where they play Edith Piaf, and beautiful young families with babies and toddlers come to show the love and affection you do not expect in Beverly Hills, unless you have chanced on an unexpected street that you then lost, but were lucky enough to find again.
    My loved friend Joanne said I sound happy.  I am.  You should hear the song!  As long as I do not focus on the faces that are on too tight, I may even soar.