I've been to a marvelous party. Everyone sang and danced andtold devastatingly funny stories. And when they weren't beingremarkably witty, they were falling madly and hopelessly in love. Orout of love.
And when they weren't doing either of those foolish things, theytalked about the theater with that wonderful, almost religiousdevotion (and sacrilegious derision) that only a real insider canbring to the subject.
And all the guests had lived in London, and traveled to thesouth of France, and exposed their pale English skin to the middaysun in some exotic tropical locale or another. And well, it was justtoo, too divine.
The party is actually a show in the …
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