The Tavis Smiley Show
turned out to be a hoot. My performance as an interviewee was as moronic as ever and, despite the best efforts of the lovely make-up woman, Sheila, I looked hideous. But Mr. Smiley was very kind and did all the things that make publishers happy, like holding my book
up to the camera and repeating its title ten times. Plus, I got going-home presents: two (count 'em) framed photographs of Tavis and me on set, and a Tavis Smiley mug filled with mini-Snickers bars. Cool.
I left L.A. this morning and I'm in Miami now, sitting by a pool with a Diet Coke and a ciggy, rocking my gladiator sandals and Prussian blue toenails. Oh, how nice it is to be in proper warm weather again! All I have left to do is one more reading in Coral Gables tomorrow night and then I'll be on my way home. My suitcase is so weighted down with presents for my daughters and various supplies of things that can't be had on the island, that I can barely move it at this point. The strain of lugging it on and off conveyor belts, combined with whatever crazy Kyle did to my back in San Francisco, has left me in a sorry state. On the plane today, a steward noticed me rubbing my lumbar while I stood in line for the loo and immediately began showing me some of his favourite stretches. Another, rather large passenger became interested in what was going on and joined in. "I may be fat," he said, "but I'm very flexible." Soon, all three of us were touching our toes and rubbing our backs up against the big lumpy bit on the emergency exit. The steward became incredibly excited and wanted to show us a special back-relieving device called Wonder Balls that he had in his carry-on. But I felt that this was taking things too far. I politely demurred and scurried back to my seat and my New Yorker magazine. I rather regret my shyness now. There's something cowardly and fundamentally life-denying about a woman who passes up an opportunity to see a man's Wonder Balls. Next time, I promise, I will be bolder.