Went down to the office were Interview was having a lunch for the Schenley's liquor people. I was in and out of lunch because I was painting with the sponge mop in the back. I haven't peed on any canvases this week. This is for the Piss paintings. I told Ronnie not to pee when he gets up in the morning -- to try to hold it until he gets to the office, because he takes lot of vitamin B so the canvas turns a really pretty color when it's his piss. Answered a few phone calls myself. A couple of cute kids from Sweden came by. Sent Ronnie for photo supplies ($5.95).
Cabbed to "21" ($5.50). Vincent picked me up. It had just started to rain. Dinner was with Peter Beard and his friend Harry Horn from Kenya. People were streaming upstairs for a dinner that Diane Von Furstenberg was giving for Egon's birthday. I was surprised when I saw Diane's mother -- she didn't look Jewish, she was small and blonde. Then Mick in a lime suit came in with Jerry Hall. I thought things were fishy with Mick and Jerry and then the plot started to thicken. Mick was so out of it that I could tell the waiters were scared he'd pass out. His head was so far back and he was singing to himself. The top part of his body was like jelly and the bottom half was tapping 3,000 taps a minute. He was putting his sunglasses on and off. Mick started going after Vincent, but it was just a ruse, because I found out later from Fred he's really passionately in love with Jerry, and it looks like there's trouble for Bianca. Jerry was saying , "I really have to go," and when Peter was going to go with her to get a cab she said, "Oh, that's all right, Mick will drop me off."
Then we went next door for a continuing party for Egon, this one given at New York/New York by Diane de Beauvau. Franco Rossellini was there with a big black and blue nose, and you couldn't see anything but that, but I wanted to be discreet in case somebody had hit him, so I ignored it until Franco said finally, "By the way, have you noticed my nose? My little dog bit me." He has a dachshund, so I got nervous. He took it to a funeral and the dachshund, Felix, got upset and bit his nose and wouldn't let go.
Warhol, A. (1989). The Andy Warhol Diaries (P. Hackett, Ed.). Pg. 55-56. New York: Warner Books.