October 13, 1936

Hello, my darlings! I suppose you all know that Patou and I have had a falling out; these things do get about whenever I am involved. So tiresome that I don't even like to speak of it. Let me only say that is was on account of a frock - well, of course it was!

Early last Spring I ordered a lovely pink organdy. Yards and yards of pleated ruffles. My poor Alyssia nearly fainted at the very prospect of having to iron the gorgeous thing. Haha! It was just the thing to wear to tea at the Lido - does anyone do the Lido, anymore? Hmmm.... At any rate, soon after my order was placed I received a frantic transatlantic cablegram from the great artist himself. And, do you know, that fine fellow Patou had the indelicacy to intimate that I might be a bit too mature for pink ruffled organdy. Mature? Mature!? I have no idea what he could have meant; I've never looked a day over twenty-five. Well...as long as I get loads of rest and have the certain attentions I require. Even when I've been out too much, too late, wretched and debauched, really, I don't look more than thir- twenty-nine. But really, it was his tone; I simply could not bear his tone! So, I said adieu, Patou and have decamped to Schiaparelli.

I've been longing for more of her delicious things, anyhow. You know I've just never got over the loss of that Schiaparelli hat I so loved. The one with the zebra hoof? At this remove, I can only surmise that some dreadful housemaid, here in the hotel, pinched it; you have to be so careful these days.... Oh, but I'm just beaten all of heap by the new evening gown that Schiap just sent over. (If you know her as I do, you may call her "Schiap"; isn't that too sweet?!)

It's a pale silver moiré, snug to the thighs, gathered at the back into a train, with the sweetest little peplum at hip-level. The bodice is nearly non-existent, just little strippy strappy things here and there; I don't know how it manages to stop short of complete scandal! Haha! The trimming is so very clever: There is a marvelous fox head mounted right onto the left bosom, its mouth agape. And all running down the front of the gown are little yellow chicks, done in the most exquisite embroidery, sequins and feathers. When one walks, and the skirt billows out, the little chicks look as though they're fleeing for there very lives - ingenious, really. Oh, and spilling out of the fox's mouth is the most gorgeous tassel composed of bright red paillettes, garnet beads, and yellow marabou. Isn't that just too, too darling?!

To be worn with a full-length fox cape and a bonnet that looks rather like a whole, well...well, like a whole chicken - but terribly chic - Schiaparelli has dubbed this toilette Le Renard joyeux. And I can tell you, I'm just as happy as the silly fox to have it!

Alas...where I shall wear such a magnificent - work of art! - in this dreary Portland, I DO NOT KNOW! The most heavenly frocks, the most refined sensibilities, yet I languish. I know you feel my suffering, mes enfants. Ah, well.... I must cast off my woes and do my very best to be happy - like that sweet little fox head upon my bosom! Oh, la!

À bientôt, you sweet, marvelous people!