Another wacky night doing things I had no intention doing. Mark took me to a party at a woman named Bettina's loft. Big, bright-colored art. Good booze. No people. Except Gianluigi the gadabout and (not surprising for some reason) Victor. He stands too close and gets too earnest. I was looking cute (almost as cute as the Dalmatian puppy with a fondness for crumpled black cocktail napkins). As I said goodbye, Bettina introduced me as "actor" to a boy that looked younger than me, and yet "producer." He started talking about paying his dues, so I had to go...
Zack took Mark and me to Lucky Strike and got progressively odder (about spiritual matters, sex, love, and life) and freer with his hands as the evening wore on. By the end, he was insisting repeatedly that Mark and I acknowledge his love for us. He also kissed me all over my face and gave me his (only okay) tie when I complimented it as a diversionary tactic. I will compliment a Bruce Weber photograph if I'm ever in his apartment again.
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