The evening got off to a shocking start when Clive received the news at 4pm that Whitney Houston had just died. He had a deep and longstanding affection for her, as he discovered her and represented her, and they were close friends, as well as being his protegee since he launched her career, and represented her as an artist. The news of her death was devastating, and for a time there was a question of whether or not the evening would be cancelled, and in the end, they decided to go on with the party, in honor of Whitney Houston’s memory. But it was hard for anyone present to absorb the fact that she was gone.

The party is held at the Beverly Hilton, where an endless line of limousines deposits just about every celebrity and music star that any of us have ever heard of, and the crowd fills the hotel lobby and ballroom. I think somewhere between two and three thousand people were there, which is hard to imagine. There is a red carpet (like at the Academy awards) where roughly three hundred photographers and TV cameras hone in on celebrities and anyone famous. I always find those red carpet moments somewhat terrifying, and suddenly photographers are calling my name, trying to get my attention and take my photograph. Along with much, much more famous people than I. But I made it through, without stumbling, tripping on my dress, or fainting—-always a victory. And I finally made it into the ballroom. I was seated at a table with Jane Fonda (who looked gorgeous), Jackie Collins the writer who is a dear friend, and her sister Joan Collins (from the TV show ‘Dynasty’), their various escorts, and two movie producers. We had a fantastic view of the stage, and the evening began with a touching speech by Clive Davis about Whitney Houston, with photographs of her on two giant screens.

We ate dinner, and sometime after nine o’clock, the musical part of the evening began, with Tony Bennett, after Clive’s speech, and for the next four hours, we were dazzled by music performances by old groups, new ones, famous performers, an impromptu performance by Diana Ross, when she was given a lifetime achievement award, and a stunning performance by Alicia Keys, whom I think is fantastic and is my favorite singer. And as each artist came on, almost all of them gave touching tributes to Whitney, told stories about her, or simply expressed their sadness over her passing. It was an evening filled with emotion as well as spectacular performances, dazzling people, important celebrities in every corner of the room. Clive puts on an unforgettable event with his party the night before the Grammy’s, and this one was even more so with the deep emotions and sorrow over Whitney. Sean Combs/Puff Daddy performed, and so many others. Joni Mitchell was there and Neil Young. The man who created Motown, Barry Gordie, was there, and two new artists were introduced at the end of the evening. It was a non-stop musical event that just took your breath away, and would have been relentlessly joyful, were it not for the ever present sense of loss of a wonderful talented woman. You could feel Whitney Houston’s presence in the room through the stories shared and memories celebrated, as again and again performances were dedicated to her. The last musical performance ended at 1:30 am, and the crowd slowly left the ballroom after an evening none of us will ever forget. I will remember forever that ballroom filled with talented, vibrant people paying tribute to someone they loved and admired. Her loss was a tragic event, and the evening was especially beautiful, and bittersweet as people paid tribute to her again and again. It was truly an unforgettable night, even more than usual. And Clive did a masterful job of letting the evening go on, but keeping it in respectful good taste. Her life was celebrated on that stage that night, and in the hearts of everyone who was there.

And leaving LA was a little bit like Cinderella after the ball. The coach had turned into a pumpkin, and the liveried footmen to white mice. There were not 300 photographers shouting my name as I left the hotel. I left quietly in jeans after a shocking, but magical day and night in LA. And I returned to face the work on my desk, my ordinary life, the things I have to do, and the book I will start….but even now, as I write to you, I remember what a fabulous night it was at Clive’s pre-Grammy party last night…….and the memory of Whitney Houston, an incredibly talented woman with a remarkable voice, who died much, much too young. It was a touching, powerful, bittersweet night indeed.

Love, Danielle

We all have our memories of that day. The shock, the disbelief, the horror, the amazement. I don’t think any of us felt safe for a long time after.

It was 6am in California when the first plane hit the tower. I was in San Francisco, sound asleep, when my children’s English nanny woke me up, very formally. She startled me when she woke up, and even more so with what she said. It was like a bad dream. “I regret to tell you that America is under attack”, she said. By what? By whom? No one attacks America, but they did. I jumped out of bed and turned on the TV, and was horrified by what I saw. And I was frightened too because I had two daughters in college in the East. One was living within blocks of the World Trade Center in New York, and the other in Washington, DC, within blocks of the Pentagon. The one in New York was aware of what was happening, the one in DC was sound asleep, and I told her what had happened (she didn’t believe me), and I told her to look out her window and she could see the billowing smoke rising from the Pentagon. I was worried about both of them, since none of us knew if there would be further attacks.  All I could think of was how to get them home. My mother was living in New York too then, and I was worried about her as well.

Like everyone else, I watched TV all day, with two friends. We watched all the astounding images cross the screen. The second tower being hit, the building coming down. The unforgettably awful images of people leaping from windows. The voices from the plane that went down. A woman I knew was on one of the planes that hit the Tower, although I didn’t know her well. And a close friend had changed her travel plans and come home the day before. Destiny, how strangely it affects us. The people who missed those flights (one of my son’s friends missed two of them, by oversleeping for one flight, and being caught in traffic for the other), and the people who were on them after changing plans. It was such a stark reminder that you never know what will happen, or where you are meant to be. I think of it sometimes when I change flights at the last minute.

I don’t think any of us will ever forget that day. We have all seen natural disasters, and been horrified by the devastation. But devastation caused by humans seems so much worse in some ways, the evil that people can do to each other, intentionally. How can anyone ever believe that that is the right thing to do?

The eeriness of our air space being closed for nearly a week, as I recall, and no one being able to travel. The people trapped in Gander, when planes had to land because they couldn’t enter the US. The brave firemen and rescue workers who gave their lives. So many incidents, large and small, so much bravery, so many losses, so many people affected by what happened. Someone said at the time that air travel would never be the same again, and they were right. Think of the security lines we stand on now, the bare feet on airport floors, the million things we have to take off and put in plastic bins, our belts, our cell phones, our jewelry, as we go through metal detectors, the liquids we can’t carry, even a full tube of toothpaste can be confiscated. The pat downs, the dusting for explosives. And probably a terrorist could still get through if they really tried. I’m not sure any of us have really felt totally secure again.

For a long time after 9/11, I wouldn’t let my kids go to major sporting events, or Disneyland, for fear that there would be another big attack. Shopping malls seemed dangerous, or anywhere that large crowds congregated, which would make a likely target to affect large numbers of people. I worried more about my kids.

Ever since that day, each of my children calls me before they get on a plane, just to tell me they love me and to say goodbye. It started on the first flight they each took after 9/11, and they still do it ten years later. And I have to admit, so do I. They call me either walking through the airport, or from the plane before they have to turn off their phones. And since there are so many of them, I call them all on the way to the airport. But I know what that goodbye means when they call me….it’s their ‘just in case’ something happens, I love you, Mom, which always touches my heart. I don’t think any of us will ever be quite the same, or have the same confidence and trust we had before that attack.  And if we, who were so removed from it, on the far side of the country, having lost none of our loved ones as the building was hit and then fell, I can only imagine how people felt, and still feel, who lost people they loved on 9/11.  And now ten years later, my heart goes out to them again.  We will always remember what happened on that day, and think with quiet remembrance of the people who were lost. May nothing like it ever happen in this country again.

Love, Danielle

Well, it has certainly been an interesting week, full of unexpected adventures.

On my way back to Paris, I stopped in New York to see one of my daughters, and had heard of the hurricane warnings for New York. I have to admit, I wasn’t unduly surprised or concerned about it, because in late August/early September, there are frequently hurricane warnings in the East. And usually, the hurricanes blow themselves out at sea, or turn in some other direction, and I have never encountered one in New York. But this time, as we all know, Hurricane Irene stayed right on course heading for New York City. I took a red eye/overnight flight to New York, and arrived on the Friday morning, right before it was due to hit New York (on Saturday), and found my daughter in considerable distress. The hurricane was due to hit the city on Saturday night, and her apartment was deemed to be in the most dangerous zone for flooding, Zone A. An order to evacuate her area had been issued by the mayor and police, and she had to be out of her apartment by Saturday at 5pm. They were expecting up to 6 feet of flooding all around her, and police boats had already been brought into the area. No one was to be allowed to stay in their homes, or the entire area, in her neighborhood. She was in the dangerous Zone A.

I’d never faced anything like it before, and it was hard to know what to do. Get a moving truck and empty her apartment? Pile things up as high as we could? Cover everything in plastic? If her apartment wound up 6 feet underwater, none of our preparations would do us much good. And we were both torn between panic, listening to the news, or thinking it was all media hype and the hurricane would veer away in the end. We decided to take a serious middle ground, and respond to what we heard without going completely crazy. I went to the nearest hardware store after checking into my hotel, and stocked up on huge plastic tarps, tape to protect the windows, an attempt to buy flashlights was fruitless. I don’t think there was a flashlight left to buy in the city, and batteries had become more precious than gold. I watched people practically riot when a truckload of flashlight batteries arrived at the hardware store. So we gave up on flashlights (she had two anyway), and got to work trying to protect her belongings as best we could. We managed to close some ancient metal shutters on her windows, lock all the windows, and realized that putting tape on the windows wouldn’t do us much good. If the force of the hurricane was strong enough to blow in her windows, or some flying object came crashing through them, a little X of tape didn’t seem like enough protection anyway, so we relied on the metal shutters and her double windows. There was talk of winds up to l50 mph, and the hurricane was classified as a 2. (With 5 as the worst case). And there was real fear of flooding, as she lives literally across the street from the river, and if indeed they got 6 feet of water in her street, as expected, her apartment would be underwater. It was a very distressing thought.

We worked feverishly to move her furniture away from windows, as suggested, stack things on top of others, put what we could in valises and boxes, and stacked that on top of furniture. We filled the bathrooms with many objects, as they were even farther from the windows, and covered everything with plastic tarps (including her rugs) and taped it thoroughly. Many times during the evening, we asked ourselves if we were being ridiculous. The weather was warm and balmy, it had been beautiful and sunny all day, there wasn’t a hint of wind, and the idea that a hurricane was coming that might destroy major parts of the city seemed ridiculous. But we’ve all seen the destruction wrought by hurricanes, and Katrina is fresh in all our memories, so we continued to take it seriously, and protect everything we could. We emptied some of her closets, put clothes on racks and rolled them away, filled more suitcases, protected photographs that can’t be replaced. Within a short time, her apartment looked like an unrecognizable war zone, and as though she was moving out that day.  The order was official by then, issued by the mayor that her entire neighborhood had to be evacuated by 5pm on Saturday. So it was very real.

We continued our work the next morning, and Saturday dawned gray and intermittently drizzly, but there was certainly no sign of a hurricane by then. I slept little the night before, as all you could hear all night were drills and hammers and people shouting, as local stores and restaurants and businesses in lower Manhattan boarded up their windows with plywood. Construction sites were being secured, cranes were being dismantled. New York was taking the threat seriously. Grocery stores were selling everything off the shelves in the morning on Saturday, and you had to wait on line behind fifty people to buy anything. People were buying water and food for the duration. Public transportation was due to stop at noon and 1pm. There were no buses or subways from then on, and there were rumors that taxis would stop working too. They closed the airport, tunnels, bridges were due to close any minute, and at 3pm we left her apartment with a few things and her dogs, and she joined me at my hotel. Those ordered to evacuate had to do so by 5pm, and everyone was strongly encouraged to be indoors and off the streets by 8 pm. By 4 pm, when we got to my hotel, every store, including drug stores and food stores, was closed, all restaurants, even in the non-evacuated zones. The only businesses that seemed to be open were bars, and city government also ordered that no alcohol be served after 8pm.  We were indoors at the hotel well before curfew, and spent hours watching the news and predictions on TV. By then Hurricane Irene had been downgraded to a Category 1 hurricane, and New York was still expected to flood in certain areas, and lose power extensively. Many hospitals had been evacuated. And the news was rife with reports of what was happening in states like North Carolina, as Irene finally hit land (which they said would lessen her strength, rather than if she stayed out to sea until New York). The hurricane was expected to hit the city sometime between midnight and 2 am. And it began raining hard as the evening wore on, lots of wind, some lightning, some rain, all of it pretty bearable, but everyone was afraid of what would happen when the hurricane finally hit in full force. All of New York was expecting the worst. And we had noticed all the big ships, and cruise ships, leaving the harbor on Saturday morning, the fear being that their moorings would not hold them, and they would then be in danger of banging into each other or the piers, so they headed out to sea long before the hurricane hit. (I would not have enjoyed being a passenger on a cruise ship, heading into a hurricane, or trying to outrun one!!!)

It was a long stressful evening, waiting for Hurricane Irene to hit, as we sat in our hotel room and watched the news hour after hour. By then, we were told it wouldn’t hit until morning, and we finally went to bed but couldn’t sleep. We’d been told to close shades and curtains and stay away from windows, in case they broke, but I kept peeking beyond the shades to look out the windows and see what was going on. Not much. Just rain and wind, but nothing I hadn’t seen before in lesser summer storms. The storm was due to hit the city around 9am by then. And around 3:30, I finally fell asleep. Other friends were waiting to be pummeled by Irene at their beach homes on Long Island, and they said they had a long night too, waiting for the hurricane to hit. (Living in San Francisco part of the time, and for many years, it is always unnerving to experience an earthquake, which gives no warning, and suddenly begins to shake—like the nasty one in l989. But waiting for a hurricane to hit, with lots of warning, as you wait to be slammed, is anxious-making too, in a different way.)

We had been told that the hurricane touching land, as it did in the Carolinas, would diminish some of her force, which was confirmed all that night on TV. And from time to time, I thought about my daughter’s once pretty apartment, and wondered what would be left of it, and her belongings, if the promised 6 feet of flooding occurred.

And then at last, morning came, and Irene with it, undeniably a big storm in the city, but not nearly of the magnitude predicted. No question, there were areas that suffered severe damage and floods, in New Jersey, Maryland, Long Island, other areas, but I don’t think any of it was as disastrous as predicted. It is always sad to hear of people losing homes in these events, or worse the accidents that cause loss of life, but on the whole, this proved not to be a disaster of Katrina proportions of a few years ago. And within a short time, on Sunday at mid-day, Irene was downgraded from a hurricane to a tropical storm. The rivers had risen around Manhattan, by a foot or two, and then receded just as quickly. Flooding in the city did not occur as expected, and the evacuated areas in the city did not lose power and were not underwater. At 1pm the mayor addressed the city on TV, and lifted the evacuation order at 3pm, still urging people to be careful of objects that might fall or fly around in the powerful winds. (More like 50mph, with gusts of 60, not the 150mph expected, fortunately).  It rained on and off on Sunday, but the weather was warm, and in lower Manhattan, we saw no real damage, except a few limbs that had been torn off trees in the wind, and the wind was indeed powerful when we stepped outside. On Sunday, the airports remained closed, as did all businesses, and many roads, and there was still no public transportation. Taxis or private cars were the only way to get around, and there were very few people on the streets, and still no restaurants or stores open. New York was a ghost town over the weekend.

We went back to her apartment and undid the protective work we had done, pulled off the plastic tarps and removed the miles of tape that held them, opened the metal shutters on the windows, put the furniture back in place and the clothes back in the closets, and the books back in the bookcase, and by the end of the day, it looked like her home again, and as though nothing had occurred. The storm never hit as viciously and destructively as they thought it would in New York City, although it did plenty of damage elsewhere, but again compared to the heartbreaking destruction during Katrina, Hurricane Irene did not compare. And we were very very grateful for that. The massive flooding in Zone A of the city never occurred, fortunately. I didn’t see any broken windows, and none of the buildings that were mostly glass seemed to have suffered damage. Irene hit the city much more gently than expected, although there was flooding in some of the outlying areas, and to the North (Massachusetts, Vermont, etc.) and the South (the Carolinas, New Jersey, Pennsylvania, Maryland, etc.).

Hurricanes are never to be taken lightly, and this one wasn’t. New Yorkers, and their mayor, faced this one seriously and responsibly, with lots of preparation and efficient planning, and warnings to the population. Everyone I saw cooperated, evacuations and curfews were respected, and I’m sure others worked as fiendishly as we did to protect my daughter’s belongings and brace for the storm. Everyone appeared to take it seriously, and we certainly did, and it was an extremely strange and stressful weekend, first packing everything up and taking her home apart, and then sitting and waiting for hours, for the storm to finally hit. We were stuck in our hotel room, watching the news for many, many hours.

Forty eight hours after we began packing up her apartment, with a feeling of panic and desperation about what we could save from a force of nature like a hurricane—–it was over, and her apartment looked pristine and as though nothing had happened. We didn’t over react, nor under react, we did what we had to, and what we were told to do. And Irene cooperated by not hitting the city as hard as she could have.

Tomorrow, Monday, the city will slowly get back on its feet again. The airport is due to open, public transportation will be restored, businesses and shops will reopen, and life will get back to normal, while others, in other places, will begin the sad task of repairing the damage Irene did to them, mostly with floods, and trees that fell in the strong winds.

Hurricanes unleashed are fierce beasts which no one can control. And this one proved to be less ferocious than she was expected to be. But seeing the force of nature unleashed, even in the winds and rains, I have a healthy respect for the destruction that could have happened. I think luck was on New York’s side this week. The city got off very lucky, considering how bad it could have been, but fortunately it wasn’t as bad as we had feared. And I am very, very grateful for that.

It was not the NY weekend I expected (of shopping and dinners in our favorite restaurants), but I was grateful to be there with my daughter, and to do whatever I could to help (which wasn’t much, just moving furniture, packing up, and covering everything with plastic sheets). For the most part, or at least in New York City, Irene turned out to be more of a lady than we had been led to believe before she arrived. She did some damage, but not nearly as much as she could have. And forty eight hours after we began taking my daughter’s apartment apart, with a light rain outside and some heavy gusts of wind (but no more than any late August storm), the weekend seemed even more surreal. Was it all hype? I don’t think so. I think there was a good chance that NY could have been destroyed, or at least heavily impacted, if Irene had turned her full force on us. But fortunately, she didn’t. And for that I am truly grateful. It was indeed a very interesting weekend in New York. And now, as I write this, the winds are diminishing, the rain is stopping, and by tomorrow I suspect the sun will be shining and the city calm again, and it will all seem even more unreal. And despite the damage she did do, I am very grateful that she didn’t do more and began to lose force as she wended her way north. It could have been much worse, and I’m glad it wasn’t.  Goodbye, Irene.

And my love to you all, as always,

Danielle

Footnote to the Storm:

It is the day after Hurricane Irene hit New York City, I woke up early to blue skies and a sunny day. I don’t for a minute want to minimize the impact of this hurricane on those who suffered severe damage and loss in the various places it hit, but in New York City, it was not the devastating event that was predicted and did very little damage.

It occurs to me as I look at the blue sky and dawning sunny day from my hotel room, that perhaps this storm is an analogy with life, at times. A catastrophic event was predicted, everyone was frightened. Enormous floods in the city streets were predicted, there was a strong temptation to panic, people were evacuated from their homes. On a personal level, with my daughter evacuated as well, we worked hard to protect her apartment, faced it squarely, were afraid she’d lose all her most treasured belongings, and then worked hard again to put it all back together after the storm. We did what we had to do, and were rewarded with the incredible good fortune that none of the dire predictions occurred. There was no catastrophic damage or floods in Manhattan. It blew like crazy yesterday in a shutdown, boarded up, fearful New York. And today, there is bright blue sky and dawning sunlight overhead. There will always be devastating events in our lives, heartbreaking moments that decimate us, broken marriages for some, the loss of loved ones, illness, and all the ills that challenge us to our core. But not all hurricanes are Katrinas, some are more like Irene passing through New York City, with very little damage, or none at all, and a blue sky the next day. That’s good to remember, that not all the storms we face will decimate us. Sometimes we will be lucky, and the storm will blow and frighten us, but not bring us to our knees and destroy us. If we do what we have to do, some storms will pass us by and not be as terrible as we expect. It is good to remember that some of the storms we face will turn out to be less devastating than we fear, or not at all, and there is blue sky the next day. May the storms you face be small ones. And if you suffered damage in Hurricane Irene, I hope it will be repaired and healed soon.

With love again,

Danielle

In a recent interview with the Wall Street Journal, about some pretty bland subjects (like my favorite perfume), the subject somehow rolled around to how people dress in San Francisco, and I was a little too candid. For one thing, in order to accommodate the interviewer’s schedule, I think the (phone) interview was about 6 pm for him in NY, or maybe even 7 pm, which was midnight or 1 am for me in Paris. I’m a night owl, but still, tongues get looser in the wee hours. It was the end of a long day for me, and there is something very intimate about sitting around in your kitchen after midnight, talking to someone on the phone. There is a confessional atmosphere to it, and you’re liable to say things you shouldn’t, so I guess I did. And the reaction to my comments has been interesting.

What I said was that (most) people don’t care how they look in San Francisco, and there is some truth to it—-certainly compared to how people used to look there, or anywhere in the world. When I was a kid, you had to ‘dress up’ to travel, you wore nice clothes, now most people wear the most comfortable clothes they own, and no one gets ‘dressed up’ to take a plane. And the same is true for how we all dress in most cities. People dress for comfort now, and it’s so easy to wear blue jeans, gym clothes, sweat pants, comfortable old clothes. Men used to wear suits and ties to the office, now in a lot of businesses, you can wear jeans. And the more relaxed the rules and norms have gotten, the sloppier we’ve all gotten—me included. Running shoes are considered okay footwear for all occasions, and in some climates even flip flops. Ten or twenty years ago, I would have never left my house in what I wear to go downtown now. No one wears ‘hair-dos’, I have long hair and either wear it down or shove it into a pony tail, I don’t wear make up to do errands, and my favorite daily garb is torn blue jeans, and a comfy old sweater and flat shoes. (Unlike my girls who work in fashion in New York and wear chic outfits, and 7″ heels—that would kill me). I haven’t worked in an office in 30 years, and my ‘work outfits’ have gotten more and more disreputable and comfortable over the years, and I usually work/write in ancient wool nightgowns, with heavy sweaters over them since I’m always cold, and flat shoes or even bare feet. (My entire family screams with laughter when photographers suggest they photograph me in whatever I wear to write….yeah, don’t count on that!!! It would scare you to death, with uncombed hair and no make-up in my ancient nighties). So I get it about dressing for comfort, and it has always seemed like a waste of time to me to get dressed up in order to sit alone in a room, writing, sometimes for 22 hour stretches, and straight through the night. (Believe me, I’m not looking elegant at those hours either). The difference today is that all of us, I think, allow ourselves to go out the way we look at home when we’re relaxing. The rules have changed, and anything goes, all around the world. NO ONE gets as dressed up as they used to.

Some cities are also ‘fancier’ than others. No question, although running shoes and jeans are often okay for work there too, people do dress up more in New York. They look nicer in restaurants. Men in certain industries wear coats and ties, and women just seem to make more effort when they go out in New York, although I’m sure they have sloppy days there too. But New York is still pretty chic. I’ve only been to Chicago twice, but I was very impressed with how chic people were and what a sophisticated city it was (like a smaller New York). I always find that the women in LA look sexy, and well groomed—great hair, perfect manicures, VERY fancy designer jeans. They’re casual, but they do it in a sexy way, with visible effort invested. Maybe because it’s a town where the main industry is show biz, which means beauty and good looks, so everyone seems to try harder there. And by comparison, although it used to be a very formal city, San Francisco just isn’t a chic city anymore. What I referred to in the interview in the Wall Street Journal as the ‘camping trip look’ is really prevalent, and when you look at people in the street in San Francisco, that’s what you see most: baggy hiking shorts or torn jeans, flip flops, Tevas, hiking boots, and a pretty rag tag look. Everyone looks like they dress for comfort, and even if I go to a restaurant in SF (except the few really fancy ones I don’t go to), I feel overdressed if I wear more than jeans, a sweater and a parka. People just don’t dress up there. A friend who recently visited me in SF from Europe looked around and said “Don’t people care how they look here?”. They look like they don’t, (and I don’t look much better when I’m there, it’s just easy not to make the effort). It’s just not a great look on anyone, men or women, and I actually feel better when I make a little more effort. So I made that comment about the SF look.

Amazingly, a journalist in the SF Chronicle picked up my comment from the Wall Street Journal interview and ran a big article last Sunday which began and ended with the line “Danielle Steel is right”, and followed up with photographs of people in the streets, wearing just what I described, and concluding that as a whole, and a city, we don’t care how we look here anymore, and it’s too bad.

Well, let me tell you, that second article REALLY did it, and I figured I’d be shot on the street in SF any minute. Predictably, there were editorials in the paper today about how full of hot air I am, how badly dressed I am, etc etc. I guess I asked for that when I shot off my mouth. And I had compared SF to Paris, where people have gotten more casual too, but still make more effort about how they look. It’s a dressier city, like New York, but they are big cities of many million people, and SF is a small town, with a much more relaxed atmosphere which also affects how people dress. It’s really not about money, it’s about effort—it doesn’t cost anymore to comb your hair and put on make-up and put on a clean shirt or sweater before you go out. The point is that ‘anything goes’ in SF, so people take advantage of that. And I do feel like a weirdo if I get dressed up in SF (but I look like hell in hiking shorts, and I don’t wear them!!! Maybe if I had cuter legs…..).

In any case, I took a big blast in the SF papers today, for my snotty, or ill advised comment, true or not. No one likes to be told they look a mess, even or especially if they do. There was a lot of response about why would you get all dressed up or wear something fancy to go out, or stiletto heels. They missed the point, it’s not about looking ‘fancy’, it’s about looking nice, neat, clean, and not wearing the absolute worst thing you own to go downtown, or the office, just because you can get away with it. Eventually, if enough people do that, it sets a tone for the whole city, and becomes how we all look (me too, minus the hiking shorts, as explained above). My torn jeans look no better than the hiking shorts others are wearing, and make me look like I need a free meal.  I would never go out in Paris, even to the grocery store, looking the way I do in SF. I’d look like a bum there if I did, but in SF, you stick out if you look too neat and clean and nice. I think that’s too bad. It’s bad for my morale too, I feel better when I look at least a little better. In the paper today they lambasted me for what I wear (when I go to big public events, like benefit evenings, which I do seldom), they commented on the bracelets I wear, which I don’t even notice, I have a collection of bracelets on each arm, that are wood, gold, and some diamond ones too, that people I love and my kids have given me over the years, and haven’t been off my arms in 25 years. My kids call them my ‘fruit salad’, and I never take them off, and even sleep with them, and forget about them. But I suppose if one thought I was putting them all on every day, it would be pretty strange.

So my comment was not very discreet, but it is sadly true about SF. I’m sorry if I hurt anyone’s feelings, and I’m sure I’ll hear about it for a long time. The funniest thing was that the article in the SF Chronicle on Sunday said I had moved away, because I live in Paris half the year now. I started doing that 7 years ago, and it took them 7 years to notice that I’m gone part of the time. I suppose I should be insulted by that, but I’m not……anyway, I certainly woke people up with my comment, and I guess they’re going to be throwing rocks at me for it for a while…..oops….as my kids used to say, ‘open mouth, insert foot’…..Love, Danielle

Okay, so I lied—-a little. I said that my last blog, on the Givenchy (pronounced Jee-von-shee) fashion show would be my last fashion statement on fashion week in Paris. Just one more? My report to you wouldn’t be complete without telling you about the Chanel show. It’s just too good to miss sharing with you. And since it was the last fashion show I saw during Ready to Wear fashion week in Paris, you’re safe (for men who hate these reports), I really won’t be writing about another one, but HAVE to tell you about this one. It is always the best organized, most breathtaking and most impressive show. And it is massive.

Whereas the other shows are seen by several hundred people, there must be a thousand people at the Chanel show—-maybe more, it’s hard to tell. It’s held in the Grand Palais, a gorgeous 18th or 19th (probably 19th) century glass structure that looks like a palace, and is fabulous in itself.

The fashion shows organized by Chanel are spectacular, and they are spectacles. Last year, at this time, they flew in an iceberg from Sweden, plopped it in the center of the vast expanse of the Grand Palais, and the entire show took place around it, as models waded through four or five inches of water (and the audience froze because the room had to be kept so cold so the iceberg wouldn’t melt.). As soon as the show was over, I am told that the iceberg was flown back to Sweden. Pretty cool, literally. And it occurred to me that the iceberg was going to be hard to top this year.

But, they did it!!! I was fascinated to discover what spectacular decor they would come up with this time. People invited to the show were filtered through security and metal detectors at the entrance, and we walked into the vast space of the Grand Palais, (which literally means ‘big palace’ in French), and we entered what looked like the end of the world, after Armageddon, or a landscape after a volcano had erupted. The floor (miles of it) was covered in fine black sand, strewn with black rocks of varying sizes, and a plain wooden runway made of wooden planks ran the entire length of the interior, and alongside it smoke was rising. It was a scene of total barrenness, rocks, sand, and smoke, with bleachers/benches set up along the sides, and the runway with smoke rising right down the middle. It was stark and strangely beautiful, not a flower, not a shrub, nothing…..just a thousand interesting looking and some very well dressed people. All the regulation fashion editors were there. The Vogue contingent was there in force, Anna Wintour, the most powerful editor in the fashion world (editor of Vogue Magazine) was seated in the center, wearing her customary dark glasses, flanked by Andre Leon Talley, and Grace Coddington (of the fabulous red hair). There was an instant mood of expectation. And finally, everyone was seated. The show began almost on time, unheard of during fashion week—–except at a Chanel show, which always runs like clockwork. Your name is at your seat, and you can actually find it, despite the vast number of people there. They manage to keep everything straight, AND start on time!!!

At either end of the vast space was a large white panel with the familiar double C of Chanel, and slowly the panel lowered like a drawbridge, and more smoke emerged from behind it, and through the smoke one after the other came the beautiful models in the gorgeous clothes. They walked from one end of the Grand Palais to the other, on the plain wooden runway, as the smoke rose around them from under the runway. It was very, very beautiful in a strikingly stark way. Models came from either end, and passed each other on the runway. The clothes were tweedy, loose, comfortable, stylish, there were lots of boots, and for once not very high heels. It was a great look and a very impressive show. What struck me too is how fashion follows real life, rather than the reverse. Years ago, Grunge became the style, imitating the rag tag look of young people in the streets, in torn clothes. Lately, young people wear their clothes in layers, short skirts over jeans and leggings, jackets over other jackets. I don’t think any of my fashionable daughters own a coat, they just wear several jackets and it seems to work—on them. Now fashion has noticed what they’re doing, and there were skirts over pants in the show, and several layers of jackets. The styles worn by the young have become fashion for us all.

It was beautiful and interesting and fascinating. The stark setting allowed one to concentrate on the clothes. And half an hour after it began, it was over, and we were filtering out of the building and down the steps of the Grand Palais. For me, it was the end of my fashion week in Paris….and it was great. I had a ball…..and now, you can look forward to blogs on other subjects!! But I think it was a great fashion week in Paris.

Love, Danielle

It was held in the evening, at the Palais de Tokio, a museum for modern art, it was in a very large space, that was quite barren and all cement, and the fashion house of Givenchy had transformed it with the long benches we sat on, and huge archways of green leaves with deep purple orchids over the runway, which immediately suggested a kind of jungle/garden theme. We sat expectantly on the benches eyeing each other with interest, press, journalists, store buyers (who come to order the clothes, which is actually the whole point of the ready to wear fashion shows), a smattering of movie stars, and a horde of people who just love fashion and fight like dogs to get invited to these shows. The tickets to attend are REALLY hard to get, and are considered a prize, to be able to get in. The whole contingent from American Vogue was there, the famous Grace Coddington, one of the icons of the fashion world, with her brilliant red hair that stands out from her head kind of like a Pharaoh’s hairdo in red, and the imposing and always chic Andre Leon Talley, who is roughly 6′l0″, and a major presence in the fashion world. Their presence tells you it’s a Major Event!!! And we all waited expectantly for the show to begin (they always start about a half hour late). The people-watching was, as always fantastic!!! (I wore a Givenchy black wool coat with a big black fox collar and cuffs, black pants, and my own long red hair down (I like Grace Coddington’s better—-it’s pouffier, and redder!! I want to be her when I grow up) And I had an interesting conversation with a British journalist behind me, and there were Italians there en masse, Spaniards, I heard some German, Russian, Japanese….it’s a very international crowd.

And then the room went dark. I mean really dark, pitch black. And in the darkness was the LOUDEST lion roaring, or tiger, or whatever, I have ever heard. The sound exploded in the room, and continued for a minute, the lights over the runway went on, the music came up, and the show began. The runway runs between the rows of seats, so you could reach out and touch the models if you dared, and you can really see the clothes only a foot or two away from you. Clearly, it was going to be a jungle theme of some kind after that roar, and with those archways of purple orchids. And out came 43 gorgeous, very tall, way too skinny beautiful models of varying nationalities as well, wearing next fall’s Givenchy collection, with lots of jungle prints, black jaguar faces on them, skirts covered in leafy prints. Lots and lots of very, very, very short skirts, some with transparent underskirts under them (and I was reminded of my mother in law’s comment in my days of mini skirts at l8 —-”is that a belt?”). The tops were mostly jungle themes as well, with some leather jackets, some velvet, a gorgeous yellow sweater, a purple one, and many with black jaguar heads on them, and jungle cat designs. It was hot!!! And very cool, and totally beautiful. Some really gorgeous clothes and some fun things. The show did not disappoint anyone who saw it, it was lively and happy and terrific to watch (although I would surely get arrested in one of those tiny short skirts with the see through underskirt beneath it!! But I could wear the tops!!!)  The whole procession of models took roughly 20 minutes, and then it’s over and there is a huge crush to the door, to go on to the next show, meet up with friends or colleagues, or go out to dinner (I picked dinner with a friend). There are several hundred photographers at every show, snapping people on the way in and out, and photographing the entire show, which is the whole point, other than the store buyers, the idea is to expose next season’s line to the press. It is VERY exciting being at those shows if you love fashion at all, or like people watching. It is definitely a scene!!!

The Italian designer of Givenchy, Ricardo Tisci, took a rapid bow at the end, and he is the object of much conjecture at the moment, while people wonder if he will go to Dior, since they lost their designer last week (John Galliano). The people at Givenchy are worried that Ricardo Tisci will leave and they will lose their very distinctive look. Last night was really a great show.

I just wanted to share that with you. It was too good, too exciting, and too much fun not to share with you. I’m going to one more show, the last one for me this season, Chanel. And I probably won’t be able to resist telling you about that too!!! I had a blast at this one!!!

Love, Danielle

Normally, I would be here with my 3 daughters who work in fashion, but sadly, due to the very recent death of my ex-husband/their father, none of the girls came to this exciting, festive week. But as I had already planned to be at our home here to be with them, I decided to go to a few shows anyway. It’s not nearly as much fun without them. And they helped me select my outfit last night on Skype…no, not THAT!!!!!!!! You can’t wear THAT!!!!!!!….after many suggestions, we figured out what I was going to wear, which I’m sure didn’t look like it took 2 hours to figure out across 6,000 miles of Skype. But hopefully, I looked okay.

More importantly, the show was great. I saw the Balenciaga show today, which was exciting and new and different, woven leathers, layered clothes, interesting colors, fluid shapes, beautiful models, and excitement in the audience, and lots of press. Fashion is an exciting world. The show was held at the beautiful Crillon Hotel, a very old and elegant hotel in the Place de la Concorde. (Notable historically because the original guillotine used to be right outside where the hotel is now, which is not a fact usually advertised to tourists. But there is no sign of it now).

I was happy and excited to run into several editors of Vogue, whom I know, and several fashion journalists I know as well. But it still wasn’t the same as being there with my girls. I was also very happy to be introduced to the designer, who is a lovely, very quiet, unassuming man of great, great talent.

The big news in Paris this week is a bit of a shocker. The very famous English designer John Galliano, who designs for his own label, and is the designer for Dior, was involved in an incident, concerning racial slurs, as a result of which he was first suspended by Dior, and then fired, all in the midst of fashion week. Galliano is a man of huge talent, and whatever the truth of the incident is (one never really knows unless one was there), it is sad to see a career shattered, and a life altered by sudden events. The incident and the fallout from it have shaken the fashion world.  People have spoken of nothing else. It is a milieu that is always buzzing with gossip anyway, and this has been a very big deal, and big news. And the big question mark is who will design for the house of Dior now?

So, it’s been a busy week. It’s fun to see people flooding in from around the world for these exciting shows. I am going to two more in the coming days. And for now, that’s the news from Paris….it’s not about romance or April in Paris this week…..it’s about fashion week in Paris and all the excitement and chaos that go with it!!!

Love, Danielle

Like all of you, I’m sure, I am so sorry for the people there. It seems unimaginable to think of what it must be like and how devastating, and frightening.

Living in San Francisco part of the time, one is always aware of the danger there, but somehow one forgets (or living there would be truly unbearable). This recent quake in Japan is a wake up call of just what it would be like. And there was serious concern in San Francisco about a tsunami reaching California shores. There was a tsunami warning in force, but the waves that reached California were minimal, although I gather that there was considerable damage in Santa Cruz, south of San Francisco. But compared to Japan, California fared extremely well. But it is a reminder to all of us on that coast to be prepared, have necessary supplies, and know what to do in an earthquake. A major wake up call.

And for those of you with family in Japan, or friends, I extend my sympathy for what you must be going through worrying about them. After an earthquake of that magnitude, it will take a long time for life to return to normal. And the people in Japan are very much in my thoughts. And if you have relatives there, I hope that they are safe and well and that all will be restored as quickly as possible. The people in Japan are in my thoughts and prayers.

Love, Danielle

Well, for you fashion fans, like me, it’s that time of year again. The high fashion, ‘haute couture’ shows in Paris, which are becoming fewer and fewer and rarer and rarer. Ten or more years ago, haute couture week (twice a year) in Paris was a 7 to l0 day event, with 3 to 5 shows a day, and it was a BIG deal for people who love fashion. The shows were absolutely fabulous, with about 75 looks shown, each one on a model, a whole outfit, with jewelry, shoes, accessories, make up, hair, hats. It was breathtaking, and the shows cost millions to put on. But in its day, haute couture week was a week long event, chock a block with the most beautiful clothes you’ve ever seen. Ever!!! And to qualify as ‘haute couture’, every single garment must be hand stitched, there can’t be a machine made stitch on the piece. Intricate beading, sequins, and embroidery were commonplace and magnificently done, all hand done!!! And all of it was worn by about 40 of the most spectacular models in the world. Unforgettable, all of it.

Fast forward to today, and it is a two day affair, with very few shows, and the only remaining design houses from those days of grandeur still in operation are Givenchy, Dior, Chanel, and Gauthier. Givenchy opted to have a ‘presentation’ this year on their premises and not a full fashion show. The houses are dwindling, the audiences smaller, the art form nearly lost, which for those of us who saw it in its days of glory, is a real loss. I used to take my daughters with me when they were 6 and 8 and l0 years old, and now they’re thrilled they saw it then. There’s no telling how much longer haute couture will last. Probably not long, sadly.

So today was one of the two magical days, the fashion shows are in January and July for haute couture, and in January they show summer clothes, and in July, they show winter clothes. The shows were originally set up for clients to check out the clothes and order what they wanted to wear the following season. The price of haute couture has basically dwindled their client base to nothing, and the fashion shows are filled with press, publicity people, fashion journalists, fashion fans, and very few clients. And about 300 photographers from around the world cover the event. It has the kind of hoopla going on outside much like a movie premiere, as celebrities and guests press their way into whatever building the show is held in. Chanel is the only haute couture show I still go to (and there are several young, newer designers who show on those days, but I am a diehard loyal to the traditional designers, so now I’m down to just going to Chanel.) Two of my daughters who work in fashion, Victoria and Vanessa, went with me. Samantha, who also works in fashion and often comes with me, couldn’t make it. Victoria wore a fabulous gray Balenciaga jacket, Vanessa wore vintage Yves Saint Laurent, and I wore a Chanel jacket, to show the flag for the house, so to speak. I try to wear something by the designer whose show I’m seeing. And the shows take place in Paris of course, still mecca of the fashion world.

And what a show it was. Some shows are more exciting than others. Some are all about the spectacle, others only about the clothes. And in this show, the clothes were just spectacular, paid homage to the beauty and grandeur of high fashion, and were still wearable in our modern world (if you can afford them. with everything hand made to order, the prices are out in the stratosphere somewhere. And the Chanel jacket I was wearing was ready to wear, not haute couture).

There was lots of pale pink, lots of black and white which is typical Chanel, sequined leggings, incredible minute beading work, gauzy gowns on beautiful young models. It was the most beautiful and wearable haute couture collection I’ve seen in years. My daughters and I were drooling it was so beautiful. And if I had a fairy godmother, she could have given me at least l0 outfits of what I saw today. Wow!!! Sitting next to me was an adorable looking l0 year old girl, it was the first show her mother had taken her to, and it reminded me of my own daughters at that age, not so long ago. At the haute couture shows, the models walk down the runway right in front of you, about two feet away. It was a gorgeous, gorgeous show!!!!

And worth noting is the incredible designer who designs Chanel, ready to wear, haute couture, 6 ready to wear collections a year (he also designs for Fendi, I believe, or some other fashion house, and has a side activity of beautiful photography). The genius behind it all is Karl Lagerfeld, who is turning 80 years old, is a wellspring of energy and creativity, youthful, vital, powerful, talented, a genius of our time. Just coming up with 6 ready to wear collections and 2 haute couture ones every year is beyond incredible, along with designing for another house. His talent is breath taking, and the clothes that drift past you down the runway on beautiful young girls can’t help but make you dream. Just being there makes you feel like Cinderella for a few minutes….(last summer I fell in love with an intricately embroidered coat that was embroidered to look like a Chinese coromandel screen; totally Incredible, and truly a work of art).

I am so grateful that a tiny piece of this magical fashion world still exists. It’s still a treat to see it every time. And of course celebrities come to attend the shows. Kirsten Dunst, the actress was sitting across from me, and there were others throughout the audience. And next month will be the ready to wear fashion week in Paris which is wild and busy and wonderful and fun, filled with stars and celebrities, showing clothes people can actually afford. I usually attend those shows with my daughter Samantha, which is a thrill for me……and today was a tribute to the haute couture shows of years past, and a piece of fashion history. It was beautiful!!! Love, Danielle

You probably know I have a new book out in hardcover, called “Legacy”.  It’s both historical and modern, and I really love that book.  There are two main characters in the book, a modern woman, and a woman set in history.  The main character is a Dakota Sioux woman, actually a young girl, who traveled from the Sioux village where she lived (and was kidnapped by a warring tribe, when she was in her later teens.  She is the chief’s daughter), she travels to New Orleans, and from there to France.

She arrives in France, in Brittany, eventually travels to Paris, and visits the court of Louis XVI, before the French Revolution, settles in Brittany, and survives the Revolution there.

The story fascinated me as I researched and wrote it, because I discovered the Louis the XVI, the French king, was fascinated by American Indians/Native Americans, and brought many chiefs to France, to visit his court as honored guests. The main port of entry in France in the 18^th century was through Brittany, and apparently several of those chiefs actually decided to stay in France, and settled in Brittany. And there are still descendants of them there now.  I loved learning that piece of history, and it inspired this story.  And as I worked on the outline, the young Indian girl in my story emerged.  Her name is Wachiwi.  I was mesmerized by a young girl, greatly respected in her tribe as the chief’s daughter, and how she could venture so far from home, to entirely different world, different customs, and make a new life there.  I fell in love with her, and the courage she represented, as I wrote it. And as I did the research, I discovered that both Pocahontas and Sacajawea had gone to Europe as well.  It is amazing to think of young Dakota Sioux girl winding up at the French court (in the days of Marie Antoinette!).

More than anything, the girl in the story symbolized courage, adventure, and perseverance.  And I’m sure there were a few remarkable young women like her.

The modern woman in the story discovers her ancestor, a young Sioux girl, many generations back, while tracing her family genealogy, and becomes fascinated with her. And in turn, what she learns of this young girl gives her courage for her own life—something she had lacked until then.  And it changes her life.

As always with my books, I did extensive research, and I really hope you love this book.  I think its special, and I hope you find Wachiwi, and her brave journey, inspiring too.

One of the mentors of my early writing career, and a great friend was Alex Haley, the man who wrote ‘Roots’, which was inspired by his researching one of his ancestors, and his journey from Africa to America by slave ship.  Alex told me about his excitement, while going through volumes and volumes of ship logs, and finding the ancestor he new about Kunta Kinte.  The book ‘Roots’ was inspired by that discovery.  Alex was an extraordinary writer and human being.  I was in awe of him, his talent and his kindness when we became friends.

I couldn’t help thinking about him, as I wrote Legacy, and told the story of Wachiwi.  I tried to infuse the book with the same excitement when my modern character finds her young Sioux relative in the course of her research—as Alex must have felt when he found his relative’s name in the ship log, listed as ‘cargo’.
Suddenly, it all became real!

I really hope you love this book!!

Love,
Danielle