T h e   V i l l a g e

Beau original pencil drawing depicting a group of friends at a café

  The Supremes were on the radio, Liz and Dick were up on the screen, Kennedy was in the White House, and I, well, I was young and in Manhattan.

I ended up quickly enough in the Village. I had gone there often, naturally, as a boy - but as I explored this newfound boho landscape as a man, I was exhilirated, emboldened, and ultimately liberated. It wasn't about my family or Mother's friends; it was all about me (selfish is good).

The world of art, like the world of the theatre, film, the Vatican, or Manhattan's 400 society, has its own hierarchy, rules, and introductions.

In the Village, I was at a disadvantage. I was green and thoroughly burdened by my class, appearance, and blue blazered mind. Luckily, I was a homosexual ("gay" was just around the corner), and that was always a good start. At least it was with Lorenz.

Lorenz was a sadistic fuck. I learned to endure that, because he became my entrée into this new world.

He was a liar, a cheat, and a liar all over again. He was also strong, distinguished, and perversely charming. He said he was an aristocrat. With his gallic nose and noble head one could believe it - but no one really did. He said he was an art dealer - but that's not what I saw him dealing. He was older and had some money (and I was pretty hard up).

He was as fascinating to me as he was to everyone else. He picked me up at a small club named Alex's.

Actually, I picked him up, but as he was playing Big Daddy, and I fell right into playing protégé, I happily kept my pretty little mouth shut.

And I smiled, and I nodded, and I met everyone of whom before I had only read. Andy and Rudy, Mick and Noel and Marlene and Judy, Tennessee and Truman (though seldom together), and anyone else interesting who came within tableshot at that mixing of the underground and the beau monde.

I met and I worked - yes, I worked and became what I had always secretly desired, a working man. It was very different from showing up at my father's bank.

A lot smokier, too, and boozier, and the conversation was very foreign (I spent half of my days trying to read up on what was discussed and argued about the night before).

I remember trying to seem as bored as everyone else about everything, but I was having too much fun - especially meeting so many different men.

And Lorenz was my guide. He was the difference between having seen the world and being worldly. The drugs helped. Teutonic and artistic, he taught me all about European faux - snobbishness and visceral cruelty. I still have the cross hatching of scars around my ankle from a nasty little thin bladed knife he favored.

There is always a price to pay.

Introduction  My Parents  Delta D  Hollywood  Sebastian

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