Early thanks for you putting up with my off-topic posts, as I rhapsodize some more about CB and her memoir, Not That Kind of Girl. Last night she gave a reading in Brooklyn, and once again she charmed the crowd. My goodness she was so fetching, in her cornflower blue dress and red beads. Truly, this is a woman who defies nature and gets more beautiful with each passing year. She read one of my favorite passages of her book, the part where she gets busted during college freshman orientation for turning in early on a Saturday, choosing instead to read a biography of Queen Elizabeth I than cavort with prep school boys. (Although predisposed to cavorting, I could never fault her for opting for a virgin queen over prepsters. I was once similarly busted when I was dragged out of a deep sleep on a Friday night, forced to exit the building because someone had tripped the fire alarm. I stood on the sidewalk outside my dorm for an hour in a pink fuzzy robe, pink slippers, and my “Family Ties”-era blue glasses, surrounded by students who nuzzled languidly with whomever they’d been fucking, or swayed drunkenly with whomever they’d been partying, when the alarm was pulled.)
As Carlene read, I stood there beaming, gratified with every bit of laughter the crowd offered up, proud once again of her humble, classy demeanor. (As if I have anything to do with it! Quite the contrary.) She took questions, and signed books. I mingled (fancy that) with people I knew who had come in for the event. My folks were there (“We wouldn’t miss it for the world”); my cousin RM came from Carroll Gardens; runner/blogger and Brooklyn resident Miss Joy was there; and a dear friend who I rarely see showed up in a wonderful surprise for both me and CB. There was also the chance for me to catch up with CB’s parents, her blonde bombshell sister, and her boyfriend (my friend JMW). Afterwards, we all went for drinks, and I stood out like a sore thumb in my flouncy white sundress among the Brooklynites attired in slim vintage outfits. But no matter, as one of them exclaimed, “Why, you’re her oldest and dearest friend!” I’m not sure if that is technically true, but it’s a description I will gladly accept.
(Psst. Buy her book.)