Santa Monica Boulevard.
When Daddy sold the hotel in P.S. because at the time his social life was dying…literally… he rented a guest house in the Hollywood Hills from a German art dealer named Ulrika.
Most nights he was invited to dine with her up on the terrace…and by the time my brothers and I went down to visit late that summer, the guest house was relatively unoccupied... and they were seemingly a couple.
Ulrika was extraordinary…she was full of energy… when I met her she was wearing a skin-tight Missoni zig-zag halter-neck jumpsuit in a multitude of colors…from the back she looked like Claudia Schiffer… from the front, she could have been her mother.
We were half expecting Daddy to be in his usual uniform… navy blazer, silk hankie and suede Gucci loafers… but this time he was wearing a red thermal onesie, a red polka dot cravat and embellished red velvet Dolce & Gabbana slippers... he was holding court... in his tonal reds, giggling and ever so slightly supercilious, which given his ridiculous ensemble, in August no less, was more than ironic.
Nobody seemed to bat an eye lid... Ulrika hosted open houses most weekends and this night was like all the others…people popping by to hang out.. on the way to or back from another party in the hills.
She had three kids who were also in their late twenties who were there somewhere.. one of her daughters had just come back from a modeling shoot and was there with a handful of friends…plus a mish mosh of artists, musicians, actors, and hanger-oners…it was quite a scene.
I was pretending not to feel self conscious... at least I was wearing a floaty black shirt dress with my semi-undone black high-top palladiums…I had a bit of an urban grunge look going on.. or at least I thought I did... someone had plopped a wide brimmed grey felt hat on my head… which didn’t help my inner voice… did I look cool or silly? Did I look look I fit in?
I remember talking to some high-powered music mogul when I was passed a water bong... not sure what compelled me to take a hit, especially as I was feeling insecure... so when I caught my father’s eye... I mean... seriously... he didn’t have a leg to stand on at this point to disapprove, I partook.
After someone told the music guy that my father was over there... he politely excused himself and I drifted out to the other room... no sooner, was I beckoned over to the other side by a gangly looking man with very long legs sitting on a low brown leather sofa.
It took me a while to register that it was Jeff Goldblum... thankfully the weed had kicked in so I forgot to be starstruck and I sat down next to him... what I remember mostly was just how much he talked… and how big his ears were… I think he just needed an audience... and I was more than happy to oblige and pretend that this was just like any other night of the week.