Warm Hugs and Cold Beers with Lauren Hutton
Excuse me, Lauren,â€ I said. â€œYou may not remember, but a year or so ago, my friend and I showed you around my place on Ocean Drive, and then we had some beers.â€
I met Lauren Hutton in front of my apartment building in Miami Beach, about 15 feet from the spot where, a few years later, Gianni Versace would get shot. She sat with my friend Adam on the coral rock veranda of the Amsterdam Palaceâ€”an edifice with a singular, irreproducible charm that so beguiled Versace that he bought it and reconstructed it from top to bottom.
The fetchingly gap-toothed supermodel wanted a tour of the placeâ€”supposedly modeled on Columbusâ€™s villa in Santo Domingoâ€”and I was proud to act the docent. An astronomerâ€™s observatory overlooked the verdant Spanish-style courtyard. Bas-reliefs of personages like Plato, Moses, Lenin, Florence Nightingale, and Mussolini adorned the walls. Though ramshackle, the place amazed.
Lauren enjoyed bantering with Adam and me, and she joined us for several beers, regaling us with stories about the modeling industry and giving us warm hugs when we parted.
About a year later, I was changing planes at Dulles Airport, and found myself queued up behind Lauren Hutton. Why not say hello?
â€œExcuse me, Lauren,â€ I said. â€œYou may not remember, but a year or so ago, my friend and I showed you around my place on Ocean Drive, and then we had some beers.â€
Her lip curled, and she made a point of looking me in the eye, then said, â€œWhy would I ever have done something like that?â€
Would that it all would have been over then, but she was seated in first class on my flight, and sneered at me as I passed her on my way to the narrow seats with less leg room.