![]() ![]() He was studying for that night’s performance and saw me lurking. I sheepishly and stealthily returned to hunt for it. It was in vain.Īnother time, at Tanglewood, the Boston Symphony’s summer home in the Berkshires, a piece of turquoise from a small fetish necklace from New Mexico I was wearing fell off on Ozawa’s lawn during a party. He had such strong ties to his own mother, very much alive in Tokyo, that he felt it was a mission to help me. ![]() He noticed and I blurted out what had happened after rehearsal, he drove me back to the Ritz to look again. I was miserably hungover and sleep-deprived. At the time, I was working at the Boston Symphony with its music director, Seiji Ozawa. I wanted to look at the contents of the vacuum bag, but couldn’t bring myself to ask. The next morning, I had the humiliating experience of waiting for the place to open and, again, crawling on my hands and knees under the bar stools while someone vacuumed. I lost a Great Aunt’s sapphire ring in the old Ritz bar on Boston’s Newbury Street, after too many Margaritas. Looking back, the list of vanished heirlooms is long. And no one could have punished me as severely as I did when each was lost. I cared deeply for these treasures lovingly bestowed on me. I wish I could say it was the last piece of jewelry I lost. I was on the cusp of puberty and did it ever fascinate me-probably the first time I had seen a photo of breasts, not counting the National Geographics at my grandmothers. I still remember the shock at seeing a photo of a model who, incidentally, looked like Peretti in a topless bathing suit in Life magazine. ![]() In thinking back, I connect her with Rudy Gernreich. It reminded me that on a high-school trip to France, I bummed them from our bus driver and attempted, unsuccessfully, to blow smoke rings from the back row, as far away as possible from the former nun who was our chaperone. I saw in one shot, that she smoked Gauloises. I became somewhat obsessed with her, hoping for the occasional glimpse in the glossy magazines: tall, regal, rail thin, posing with Halston or at Studio 54 with Warhol and his crowd. People would say, “I love your necklace,” and I would reply “It’s Elsa Peretti” with great pride. It was delicate, yellow-gold, with a diamond an eighth of an inch in diameter (I’m not good at judging carats.) The stone lay perfectly in the notch of my neck. It was an Elsa Peretti Diamonds by the Yard necklace. I untied the white satin ribbon and opened it. On my 21st birthday, I spied a small blue box on our kitchen counter. Elsa Peretti making jewelry in New York City, circa 1970. ![]()
0 Comments
Leave a Reply. |
AuthorWrite something about yourself. No need to be fancy, just an overview. ArchivesCategories |