playful...
thats my husband Gerald.
And the one whos playing at not being
serious at all, thats Cole Porter.
-Has somebody died?
-l think it was us, Cole.
-Linda Lee.
-Sara Murphy.
-We met at Lady Mendels.
-Yes, indeed.
ls that Linda Lee Thomas with Sara?
-l really couldnt say.
-No, it is, and just as they described her:
The most beautiful divorce in Paris.
My God, shes ravishing.
ls this gonna b
Playpen from Hell, Father and Mother, holding
martinis, look out a window of gentle snowfall, with
bloodshot eyes. A 50s-type radio warbles "Santa Claus
is coming to Town."
A strange pair of eyes peer from the cage. Taking the
point of view of the eyes from inside the playpen, one
sees the mansions Christmas tree from between the dark
cage slats.
GIDDY YULETIDE SINGERS
"He knows when you are slee
The camera is moving toward an Indian city. We are high and far away, only the sound of the wind as we grow nearer and nearer, and through the passing clouds these words appear:
No mans life can be encompassed in one telling. There is no way to give each year its allotted weight, to include each event, each person who helped to shape a lifetime. What can be done is to be faithful in spirit to the
playground is the pleasure garden
of the sons, an infantile idyll.
Nature, sex,
eroticism in chaste playfulness -
like the water in the fountain:
A transparent dome
masking a statue of a siren.
The youth in white breeches and the girl
with the Cul de Paris play hide and seek.
Their game a dance, a pas-de-deux.
Allusion, yet so intensely innocent
that we do not actually expect
a real kiss.
Instead
spirited chestnut in the
traces.
Framed in the glass window of the narrow buggy is the
stern figure of an Amish man in black topcoat and
flatbrimmed hat, his bonneted wife in muted colors,
the face of a boy, attired like his father, peering
out.
The horses breath smokes on the frosty air, the buggy
CREAKS on its springs, and theres the rhythmic CLIP-
CLOP OF HOOVES on the pavement.
4 ANOTHER LANE