Wearing my blue wig, "YESTERDAY'S PERFUME and white maribou feathered boa I have decided to honor this establishment and, like a will-of-the-wisp, whisper my way across the threshold. Who cares if Jazzolog is away as he sent me a message he confetti-ed up into the rare toxic ether of the Internet and said, "Drop in, if you dare." I wonder if Roy and Suza are here, or Rae Marnie or Alison? As he is a God's honest risk-taker who keeps me entertained with his political and jazz savvy, I am his number one cheerleader. I know, I know, this is some classy joint and not even the Mafia, Hollywood or Royalty is allowed to just drop in so I'll make this visit quick and leave quietly, although that is not my style as I am considered a drama queen. I'm haunted by the timeless beauty of this place and my curiosity has the better of me. Arguably this special place, located in the heart of the elegance of days gone by is not my usual haunt as I am a bebopper. My late night sortie is usually at 131 W.3rd Street, arguably at the world's most popular jazz club (212-475-8592) एंड AKA RICHARD or as I like to call him: Ricardo, is usually dressed to the nines or just shirtless, depending on the weather...as we enter this magical place, located in the heart of the Historical District (a blue neon marquee marks the club and often displays some sort of hint of what someone might find behind the blue door) but somehow that door is always slightly ajar and the notes of jazz waft out onto the sidewalks (the way it used to be all the time of 52nd Street in days of yore) of Greenwich Village and that is why I am telling you all of this because, before we went downtown we were at The Stork Club. So my credentials as an old sage are up to date and I am fearless now that I am about to see where Nausica, Indira, Tom and others isolate themselves at The Wufshead. Strange but this place reminds me of when The Sheraton Palace was renovated in 1960, in San Francisco, and the place had a mind of it's own and people were bright and witty with pithy remarks that brought a silent smile or a guffaw. I feel comfortable but, like Sherman used to be with some people, I am not used to being told "do not enter" so I will be like a phoenix rising out of the desert and make my visit speedy...well, try to anyway. I wish Nina's Granddaddy were here to light my cigarette. I gave him that gold lighter they gave me at the opening of The Dunes and it is sentimental...where did these cigarettes come from? Sherman Billingsley has allowed me to perpetuate the name of The Stork Club and I am about to open in the fall so I need to just see what it is like in here. The night is warm, the current bartender "RED" is busy at the bar concocting every drink imaginable as I sit myself into a booth directly across from the stage. I settle in,order my drink and get ready for (Richard told me SHE would be here) the "Queen" to once again sing to our souls; it is the first set and in spite of the season the place is humming and I see her being escorted up to the little stage; she looks amazing with a haute-blond-do reminiscent of the one and only Marilyn Monroe, wearing Chanel red lipstick surrounding a drop-dead smile; that adage 'one is never too slim' definitely applies; garbed in an elegant, understated navy blue (looks like serge from where I sit) suit, spiked heels and a touch of gold-lame at her throat she is on stage, microphone in hand and I hear Jackie Paris's tune he taught her, 'I've been around the world in a plane"... and I envelope her with invisible waves of love as she begins with "I Cant' Get Started."