An Unlovely Creature
One night in the early aughts, I was at Club Dragonfly on Santa Monica Blvd. and I saw a grubby old guy in a dark trenchcoat sitting near the fountain.
I had a friend who was a rock star. He was lovely and funny and brilliant. He was a fabulous raconteur, and I delighted in his company.
I would see him at Hollywood nightclubs, and he was such a big deal, I was always surprised he remembered me.
He once told me, “Heidi, you’re famous.”
And that left me speechless. I was a nightlife writer for the Los Angeles Times, and I was mostly paid in alcohol.
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