Back out by the pool, I met up with Julia, an art dealer from South Carolina whose field is French posters. We had met the other night at the Debra Winger party. She was very sweet, she even wanted to see the pictures from my daughter’s birthday party on my computer.
Managed to tattoo some of Justin and JP’s friends before leaving to rendez-vous with Amanda and Rene at the Palais for a late dinner. On the way down on the crowded lift, I met a whole new group. There was Simone, on crutches with a broken ankle (or something like that) and her business partner Magda. They’re from England, here looking for financing for a film that they’ll be in. The director of the project, Paul, had me take his picture to email it somewhere for the program of another festival in some other country. Ah technology.
I started to cruise for parties with them, but since no one was sure where the target was, I stuck with Plan A, said goodnight with much French-style cheek kissing, and hoofed it down to the Palais for dinner.
The crowd was massive, but we eventually found each other and had a long lovely dinner. Afterward, as we passed the Bocce Ball courts on the way to our various rooms, some French teenagers thought we were more famous than we are. One would run up behind us and pose while the other would snap a photo. We stopped and posed for a few. We owe that much to our adoring public, n’est-ce pas?
