QUEEEEEEEN
That was the line that slayed me — Lena Horne swanning on to the stage — right before her last Broadway show at The Nederlander. My heart stops just thinking about that moment.
Wrapped in a floor length midnight blue clingy number — arms out — giving us all a big ole sexy hug.
I was a kid then — and she to got me — and the rest of the panting audience — hook line and sinker.
And now, 39 years later, I understand that smirk, I understand her knowin’ she was killin’ it, I understand her relishing these years of being able to slay.
Broadway — I thrived on the tradition of those nights. Lena was a must see! And after curtain: such fun scoring the right table at Joe Allen’s — milking the martinis — or better yet — squatting at the bar, swapping boozy critiques — was it over-hyped — did it transform you — even for a moment?
Lena transformed me. Cherry Jones transformed me. Eileen Atkins transformed me.
Glorious Broads all.
I was in the middle of a massive clean out of my studio today. Gotta happen. It’s a disaster.
And I am about to trash the Playbill for Lena’s “The Lady and Her Music.”
I’m sobbing as I throw out these relics … for Broadway … for a very different life we will probably not be able to recreate. Post COVID. Or at the very least — it won’t be “the same” now — will it? Not in my lifetime …
And — I’m amusing myself with a new little fantasy — that I might be Lena — recreate HER … ’cause I too can still gussy up … and fuck it, I just may take up crooning. We have the time now, don’t we?
WARDROBE!!!!