So, I'm back in my room at the Hôtel du Cap and, no, I did not manage to lay claim to one of the Eden Roc suites as I'd intended. I'm in the main building and, if I'm being totally honest, this isn't even a suite but a room most likely kept for the night custodian should he feel a need to catch forty winks, which is about what I'll get tonight from the look of things. And by the way, this is the last time I fly down on you-know-whose airplane. If I hear one more anecdote about working in a video store...
I fully intended to attend the screening of Inglourious Basterds, which figures to be the best or worst picture of the year depending on whether or not you think Kill Bill 2 was actually a compilation of deleted scenes from Kill Bill. I intended attending right up to the moment I traded my invitation, hall pass and tote bag for the keys to somebody's Maserati Quattroporte S and took off for the casino in Monaco in time to lose what cash I had on hand and then have dinner at the top of the Hôtel de Paris with a woman who looked like someone I didn't know. This fortunate pairing came about as a sudden, improvised solution to catching a glimpse of Désespérée emerging from a private room used by the casino security staff to search and contain belligerent guests and Third World tyrants who have been named in an indictment.
It all turned out for the best. After dinner, I managed a (junior) suite overlooking the harbor entrance into which the lady and I disappeared until long after check-out time. I feel a little guilty at having flown down only to miss the reason for my coming in the first place, however I will eventually see the film on DVD and, from what I hear, even those who attended the screening don't yet know if it's the best or worst film of the year.
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