What I did for art

My post yesterday about my friend Chris reminded me of that Phillips Collection fundraiser. What a hoot.

I was a member of the Phillips Young Contemporaries, which was a museum membership category. In addition to free admission to the permanent and special exhibitions, as a Contemporary you could attend special events, which included a regular evening gallery frisnic. The founder of the museum built the collection around Renoir’s “Luncheon of the Boating Party”, so it’s got a close cultural affinity with France; another plus for me.

In 1996 they were celebrating their 75^th anniversary with a string of events, including a rather fine Bastille Day party. It culminated with the big black-tie fundraiser in September, held at the French embassy.

Well, as we say in the old country: Mon Dieu!

The only dress-up kinds of clothes I had were things I’d worn to events in the film industry, and Washington, DC, is remarkably conservative in its fashion sense. Meaning: everyone looks like they’re on their way to or from a funeral. So I went to this consignment shop that used to be on Wisconsin Avenue; the owner completely knew fashion and she knew DC. I bought two beaded silk dresses, either of which, she said, would work.

A week or so before the big night, I convened a group of colleagues at work to guide me further. (And thank God for Judy, the admin, who reserved the conference room. When I told her which room I wanted, and what the purpose of the meeting was, she got a weird look on her face and said, “Oh, I don’t think you want that one.” “Why?” “It’s got the glass panel next to the door.” Oh. Yeah. She booked me a room that didn’t have the glass panel.)

My posse ruled out the kimono-like silk jobbers (which were actually made by Francis Ford Coppola’s ex-wife; word) as being inappropriate. To a woman they wanted the long, slinky black number, even though I wasn’t sure how I’d get it zipped. (Chris volunteered to come over and do it for me.)

(See what I mean? That sucker was slin-keeee. Like a black cat, it’s hard to photograph, but it’s beaded and sequined all over. It felt fab.)

In the event, I was having recurring back problems from an old war wound that made me go for the back-up, which was the multi-colored two-piece thing, with handkerchief hems, sequins and shot-gold beading.

(Under-dress.)

(Detail of hems.)

(With over-dress.)

Well, as you know, Chris came by on the evening to make sure everything was ship-shape and Bristol fashion and I drove off to the embassy for my excellent adventure.

There were all sorts of spiffy folks pulling into the compound, and guards were checking names as you went through the gate. I’m sure the guy triple checked my name, on account of I was driving up in a 12-year-old Toyota. But I was on the list, so he let me through.

Pulling up to the building, there was a Volvo in front of me and a Benz behind me, and phalanxes of valet parking guys swarming like bees all over the place. I handed my key off to one of them and went inside to join the receiving line. As we shuffled towards the ambassador and Phillips retinue I glanced out the window. The Volvo and the Benz were still there, but my Toyota had disappeared. They were probably worried that it was lowering property values.

So, I met the ambassador and his wife and a whole bunch of Phillips folk, and then walked into the reception area. And there I was—a brilliant multi-colored shot-gold redheaded butterfly in a sea of black. Men, women, guests, waiters—I’m telling you, it was nothin’-but-black.

And, let me just say: the only thing better than a guy in a dinner jacket is 300 guys in DJs and mess uniforms. Jeez Louise.

Plus—in addition to whatever other booze they were serving, they were pouring Cordon Rouge. I cut my champagne-drinking teeth on Cordon Rouge; I was officially in heaven.

Well, reader—I had a ball. I mingled. I drank champagne. I bid on items for the silent auction. I was seated at a table at the back of the room, kind of loose ends; but we had the best time. Some of the others at the table were also bidding on items and we were so excited when we found out we’d won! (Mine was a box of travel stuff, including guidebooks to France.) It was fun, too, looking at bids for luxury tours and restaurant dinners that were climbing up into the thousands.

I’m not great with crowds, and I’d been a bit leery of going to that kind of affair alone, but I just couldn’t miss that opportunity. I’d told myself that I could leave after a couple of hours, but in the event I think I finally oozed out of there around midnight. On a school night, too.

The valet guys were glad to hand off my car and I tooled off with my box of travel stuff and an indelible memory.

I’m really glad I came across that Polaroid to remind me of that experience.