Issue #22/77, November 5 - 18, 1999  

CONCORD, New Hampshire--9:35 a.m., Wednesday, November 3, at the offices of New Hampshire Public Radio. Ames and I were standing in the "press area" of the building, a stuffy oblong corridor less than ten feet away from the glass-walled studio where Al Gore was getting a smooth verbal rubdown from WNUR anchorwoman Mary Krueger. For some inexplicable reason it was about 130 degrees in the NUR offices, and Ames and I--not hot-weather people by nature--were squirming unpleasantly in our Nile Valley caveman suits, with sweat pouring from our temples, back hairs self-gluing to our shirts, dark circles forming around our eye orbits, etc.... Strangely, none of the other reporters in the area had so much as a hint of sweat on their brows, and most were still smugly wearing their suit jackets.

These loyal representatives of the local press (including print pool reporters from the AP and the Manchester Union-Leader) were obviously comfortable in this environment--in fact, a good seven of the ten males in the area were wearing the same type of crisply-pressed khaki pants that The Candidate Himself was wearing in his (doubtlessly air-conditioned) chamber behind the glass wall. Gore wasn't sweating--why should they?

Ames and I, on the other hand, clearly didn't belong. Gasping and unshaven, we'd already been shushed quiet by a Gore press underling, and drawn a half-dozen or so angry looks from colleagues in the area who resented the breach of decorum we represented. They were studiously taking notes; we were staring at Krueger's jiggly back. "Five bucks this next question's another softball," I said to Ames.

Bored, Ames picked his nose. "No, I won't take that bet," he said. I clicked my pen. Gore was just finishing up a leisurely response to a question about his healthcare plan. When he reached for his coffee cup, Krueger leaned forward. "Which of your experiences," she said, "do you think most prepared you for the presidency?"

I wrote in my book: "9:36 softball ques tion." Krueger later finished her interview with Gore by throwing at him this challenging finale: "If you beat Bradley, do you think you can beat Bush?"

Mark and I, along with a video cameraman friend of mine named Chris, had been on the campaign trail for a little less than 24 hours. We'd started the day before in New York, where we'd met at a West Side apartment before borrowing a car to head for New Hampshire. Our original plan was to head up to the Boston area in time to catch would-be candidate Warren Beatty's big political coming-out party at Harvard's John F. Kennedy School of Government. You know, watch the speech, take notes, interview audience members for reactions--all that reporter stuff. It turned out, however, that this original plan was a little deluded. "Reporter stuff" on the U.S. presidential campaign trail is reserved for people like Krueger. Our role would be a little different.

What follows is a blow-by blow account of the eXile's first days on the campaign trail, beginning with a deceptively dull phone call to Harvard from our Manhattan starting point this past Tuesday morning, exactly one year before the year 2000 presidential elections:

11:15 a.m., November 2, New York

Harvard: Good morning, external affairs.

Exile: Hi, I'm calling about the, uh, speech by Warren Beatty, is that correct?

Harvard: Right.

Exile: My partner and I would like to cover it, and we'd like to shoot some video. Will that be possible?

Harvard: You know, you're probably at the wrong office. You should probably call the Forum office. Let me make sure, though. I don't want to send people on a wild goose hunt.

Exile: Or chase even.

Harvard: (laughs) Yeah. I'll transfer you.

[Transfers]

Forum Office: Yes, the External Affairs office transferred me to you....

[another long pointless explanation that leads to us being transferred to the Media Department, to Adrian Kaufman at 617-495-8290. Ms. Kaufman is about to unwittingly become a major character in the eXile's "wild goose hunt."]

Kaufman: (dryly) Adrian Kaufman.

Exile: Hi, Ms. Kaufman, the Forum told me to contact you. I understand you're in charge of press credentials for the Warren Beatty press conference tomorrow?

Kaufman: I am.

Exile: My name is Matt Taibbi and I'm from a newspaper in Moscow, Russia, called the eXile. My partner and I are going to be doing some campaign coverage, and we're wondering if it would be possible to line up credentials for that event tomorrow.

Kaufman: You know, normally yes, I would say yes, cuz everything's open. But you know what? I'm at capacity for press people, unfortunately.

Exile: Okay, how about as spectators. Can we come in with a video camera?

Kaufman: Well, that's the whole point. I have (stressed) no more room. I have ten TV crews with their producers and soundmen and just as many photographers and double as many print people, and I just don't have room.

Exile: All right, what about--all we've got is a small video 8 camera. It's not like it would take up any extra room. It's not like we'd be out there with a boom mike or anything like that.

Kaufman: No, I know. Uh, I'm sorry, I really do have to start turning people away.

Exile: I mean if we just show up as spectators with a camera, are we going to be turned away at the door?

Kaufman: Yeah, if your name is not on my press list, you are not going to be allowed in. What might happen is--I'm anticipating some press people showing up without calling me--I'm just going to have them stand outside and wait--and if I have room, I'll let them in. But I'm not guaranteeing you a seat.

Exile: Will you be outside?

Kaufman: (sternly) No, I'll have someone out there, but I won't be. They'll have you stand outside.

11:23 a.m.

Not having big-time press credentials may be a drawback, but so is having to sit at one designated desk, next to one publicly listed phone number, and work at a job where a receptionist is empowered to give your name out to total strangers. We hadn't been denied entrance into the Beatty speech more than ten minutes before the little slip of magenta-colored notepaper containing Kaufman's number started to get itchy in our hands. Election day was a year away, but Adrian Kaufman was here today, and instinct told us we had to reach out to her. The eXile's rule of thumb for relationships of this kind is as follows: all slights are of equal size, and even a small insult demands a massive response. I handed the phone to Mark, and he dialed:

Kaufman: Adrian Kaufman.

Exile: (in bad Pakistani accent) Yes, hello Mrs. Kaufman, my name is a Mr. Nawir Casbah. I am Pakistan Television, and I would like to come to zis Warren Beatty festival-festivity, uh, lecture, tomorrow night.

Kaufman: (warmly) Unfortunately, I am now turning away press people. I have so many people coming that I am turning away people.

Casbah: M'hm. Is there some other way to get in. I very much would like to cover this for the Pakistan. You know we have new events, new leadership in Pakistan. Very important meeting. We see Mr. Beatty--we're very big fans of all of his films. You have the Shampoo, you have the Heaven Can Wait--it's excellent!

Kaufman: (cuts us off) Oh, I realize that, but I'm late for a meeting. Let me get your name and number and what I can do is call you back, because I'm looking into possibly doing a pool. If I do a pool, then I can hook you up at the pool. But um, other than that, I can't let you in. So let me get your name and number so I can call you back.

Exile: (angry Pakistani accent) But if you understood that I am very important person in Pakistan that it is better not to call me back, better to speak to me now. Let's discuss this now and decide. Uh, how can we arrange this.

Kaufman: Like I said, if there's a pool, I'll hook you up with the pool.

Exile: You go swimming in the pool or what? I don't understand!

Kaufman: I'm sorry. A pool is what we call a feed--we will have one camera in filming Warren Beatty, and everyone can take that one camera's feed.

Exile: Will he look good?

Kaufman: Of course he'll look good.

Exile: One of my wives is a very big fan of his. She asked to get all of footage of Warren Beatty. (Laughs; Kaufman is noticeably silent.) Pool, this is good, but I need to be there personally. Get autograph, and....

Kaufman: No, I'm sorry. Um, if I do have a pool situation, it's going to be C-SPAN.

Exile: Interesting. And how can I meet Mr. Beatty? Make sure I am getting ze autograph for my wives.

Kaufman: You can't. He's granting no interviews, no one is having any interaction with Mr. Beatty.

Exile: Can we discuss money for this?

Kaufman: No, no money.

Exile: Money is not a problem for Pakistan Television, as you understand.

Kaufman: Oh I understand, but unfortunately Mr. Beatty is not granting any interviews to anyone. He can only hear from the students.

Exile: H'm. Please understand, my name is Nawir Casbah, Pakistan Television. Very important person, very well connected, lots of money. We can discuss any arrangement to make this possible. So I will call you back and we will come to an understanding, I believe.

Kaufman: Great, and you'll call me back around two?

4:37 p.m. I-84, Sturbridge, Massachusetts

Stuck on the road in a driving rainstorm.... We'd been floating silently across Connecticut for about an hour after enduring a disastrous meal at a Friendly's restaurant just west of a grim-looking town called Waterbury. Fast food is a dangerous business in this country; you really have to think twice before scarfing down whole plates of things with names like "Fronion Dippers," particularly if your subsequent plans include hemorrhoid-inducing activities like four hours of stop-and-go drifting in a gold Lincoln Continental on a Connecticut interstate. There's only so much classic rock you can listen to before you start feeling sick, and we'd been quiet since a Led Zeppelin double-shot of "Fool in the Rain" and "When the Levee Breaks" wound up somewhere before Hartford. After we crossed the Massachusetts border, though, we started to feel a little better, and remembered Kaufman. We had a cell phone in the car; Mark picked it up and dialed....

Kaufman: Adrian Kaufman.

Exile: (affecting a concerned, sensitive, West Coast fortysomething voice) Hi, Adrian, my name is Sandy Bergman, we're with Warren's people? Yeah. We're just coming into town, and I was told to call you about some advice on what to do tonight. Now we're cruising through the beautiful surroundings of Connecticut, we're in a car. And we were just wondering if you could give us a few tips on what to do for tonight.

Kaufman: (enthusiastically) Sure! You guys are staying at the Charles Hotel, right?

Exile: Yeaahhh.

Kaufman: Okay, well, there's the House of Blues which is right next door that's okay, and there's--let me see--the Hong Kong. I mean it depends, I can't think of what else right now.

Exile: That's good. I mean, what kind of people will be there, because Warren likes a specific crowd, and whether Warren goes out or not, we like to hang out with good people, solid people--beautiful people.

Kaufman: Well, I don't know too much about the discos in town. You'd probably have to go to Boston for that. There's, uh, the Armani in Boston--it's pretty hip there, really hip. Cambridge isn't that hip.

Exile: Ah, Armani, sort of like Giorgio Armani. That should be hip.

Kaufman: (collusively sneering) Well, that's where a lot of Euro kids hang out.

Exile: (forces laugh) I see!

Kaufman: (laughs nervously) And, oh, let me see. There's also Olives.

Exile: Olives, I see. But--where do the models hang out?

Kaufman: (silence)

Exile: Are they, uh?...

Kaufman: I, uh, don't know. I'm not sure, I could find out for you. If you give me about thirty minutes, I could call you back. Why don't you give me your telephone number and I'll find out for you within thirty minutes, cuz I don't....

Exile: Uh, yeah. (To Matt and Chris) Sid, Rubin, do you know the number of this damn cellphone? Cuz I don't have it. Adrian, you know, we were given the cellphone by someone in New York when we came in from LA. Should we call back? Excellent, thank you so much.

The important question now was when Kaufman would first figure out that that there was no Sanday Bergman in Warren Beatty's entourage. Would she, as we suspected, be so flattered that an oversexed Hollywood superstar like Warren Beatty would ask for her advice on Hub nightlife that she would blab the news to a coworker--only to have disturbing questions about Bergman's identity thrown back in her face? Certainly, Kaufman by now already had a serious problem, which was that she couldn't really call Beatty's people to ask about Bergman, since that would be tantamount to admitting that she'd coughed up the name of Beatty's hotel to us over the phone. No, even if she did find out that Bergman didn't exist, she would, we realized, have to sit on the information. Meanwhile, we would steam ahead to Cambridge and scope out the Charles. Kaufman would have to hope we didn't get in trouble there, because if we did, it would be her problem....

6:30 p.m. Cambridge, Massachusetts

Advertised in the window of a watch store on Mt. Auburn St., down the street from the Charles hotel: the new "Swatch Irony." Irony is now so in in America, you can wear it on your wrist.... We checked out the Charles and found Beatty had not yet arrived. Probably he would be staying the next night.... Meanwhile, we took a peek at the "House of Blues," one of the clubs Kaufman had recommended. A steady stream of thirtyish men in crewneck sweaters and mustaches were filing in and out. Seemed like Warren's kind of crowd.

9:42 p.m. Andover, Massachusetts

Exile: It's going to an institution in Harvard Square. Would this be considered a business?

FLOWERS: Well, it should be, yes.

Exile: Okay, I want to order half a dozen white chrysanthemums.

FLOWERS: What's your phone number there?

Exile: Well, this has to remain anonymous, okay?

FLOWERS: Yes sir, all of our transactions are anonymous. Who's it for?

Exile: It's for Adrian Kaufman, and it's to be delivered to the Media Relations Department of the Kennedy School of Government at 79 John F. Kennedy.

FLOWERS: I've checked with the florist and we can only get you a dozen chrysanthemums either in a vase or with a mount. And with the vase, that'll run you $49.95.

Exile: H'm. What's the cheapest, daisies?

FLOWERS: Daisies are. They're $24.95 for a small basket, and they go up to--

Exile: Fuck it we'll get the chrysanthemums. Are they white at least?

FLOWERS: You mean the daisies?

Exile: No, I'm talking about the chrysanthemums.

FLOWERS: According to our florist, yes you can.

Exile: We'll take a dozen chrysanthemums in the vase. And can we get baby's breath flown in? A lot--like, extra baby's breath.

FLOWERS: For another $4.99, you can get a balloon that says "Thank You" on it.

Taibbi: Two balloons!

Ames: Naw, one balloon.

FLOWERS: You can send a greeting card, or you can leave a digital voice greeting for another $4.99.

Exile: We'll do it. How does it work?

FLOWERS: You leave your message, and then she calls 1-800-691-1860. And you give the PIN number.

We called and left the following digitalized greeting:

FLOWERS: Welcome to 1-800-FLOWERS' digital voice greeting. Please remember that it is illegal to record any threatening or abusive messages."

Exile: Yeah, hiiii, Adrian, this is Sandy Bergman. Just picked out the flowers, hope you liked them. Just thought I'd tell you this is a really wonderful town. Sid and Rubin and I had a really wonderful time last night, just wanted to thank you for your help. You know, everything you said about the women here is--it really happened. We look forward to meeting you tonight. Just wanted to say thanks again, okay? Thanks a lot, bye-bye.

Wednesday, November 3, 9:07 a.m., Concord, New Hampshire

Standing outside the offices of WNUR were a local New Hampshire policeman and a Secret Serviceman. The SS of the 1990's is a little more casual than the agent corps of the past: loose-fitting black windbreakers, billowy gray khakis to match the Candidate's tan legwear, no ties, no uniform black suits. "Nah, I don't like those, they restrict my field of vision," the SS man outside the radio station said, when asked where his Men In Black sunglasses were. "If I'm in a place like a ballpark, where there's a lot of reflective light-- maybe, but not in day-to-day situations. You know."

He pulled a manila-colored microphone out of his shirt pocket and whispered into it. "Yeah, they say they're guests of the station," he said.

Which was true--the only way we could ever have gotten into an event like Al Gore's interview was by invitation. I'd met a WNUR reporter in Concord a month before, in the course of following around Elizabeth Dole, and purely as a personal favor, she'd agreed to put us on the press list to get into her building to see the Candidate in action. But once we got there, she realized she'd gone out on too far of a limb for us. Not only did we have the gall to arrive hideously late--Gore's interview had begun at nine--but we were clearly not the kind of "journalists" who would normally be admitted to the good society of New Hampshire campaign hacks. Gore's people swarmed all over the three of us, asking for credentials and coming away disappointed of any result but a display of our Moscow business cards. Worse, our video camera was a little tiny hi-8 thing, an embarrassingly unprofessional instrument to wave at a sitting Vice President. Gore himself seemed to notice it with dismay when we were finally led into the studio. His mood did not appear to improve when Chris aligned the camera with my thumb and forefinger to create an "I'm crushing Al Gore's head" effect.

9:26 WNUR

It was hard not to notice Gore's costume. Blue blazer, navy shirt, no tie, the aforementioned khakis, and a pair of gleaming black cowboy boots, one of which dangled ostentatiously to starboard as he crossed his Vice-Presidential legs for the view of the TV crews. Gore's dress wouldn't be an issue except that he himself made it one by hiring as a consultant to his campaign--pseudo-feminist Naomi Wolf, who quickly drew public attention to Gore's choice of clothes. Wolf this week claimed that part of Gore's problem was that he dressed in the costume of a submissive "Beta Male," instead of in the more desirable traditional "Alpha Male" costume of dark suits, which would win him more votes with women. That a would-be feminist would be hired by Gore to provide strategic advice was weird enough. That this same feminist would enthusiastically counsel Gore to show more public machismo was even weirder. But that all of this would be taken seriously by the press, as a real issue, was the weirdest of all. The New York Times even saw fit, in the wake of Wolf's comments, to run a full-blown editorial--not an op-ed piece, but an official opinion of The New York Times--endorsing the whole suit business as a legitimate issue. Reminding readers that Ronald Reagan had gotten away with wearing tan suits, the paper commented that "Most candidates are not as successfully opaque as Mr. Reagan," and that "in the hundreds of small decisions that must be made between Iowa and the inauguration--decisions as diverse as suit color and how to finance health care--they [the candidates] reveal themselves."

What a bizarre campaign this is. Access to the candidates is absolutely denied to any press organ deemed too frivolous by either the candidates or the mainstream press. On the other hand, the candidates and the mainstream press are eager to convince us that frivolous issues are actually very important. In other words, you can't get near the Candidate if you wear a propeller hat, but the Candidate reserves the right to wear one himself and tell you that it matters which direction his propeller spins in besides. The year 2000 is going to inaugurate flakes like Warren Beatty and Donald Trump as serious political figures; one candidate, Bill Bradley, has already offered the job of campaign manager to an NBA basketball coach (Phil Jackson); and Naomi Wolf, a feminist who claims to want to continue to be called a feminist, has hired herself out as a consultant who'll help a con man win women's votes--in short, the whole thing's a circus, but it's still a very serious, very humorless, very exclusive circus.

Not long after we arrived, Gore's New Hampshire press handler--a dumpy young Tennessee woman named Sunny--informed us that there would no room for us at Gore's next event, the teaching of a civics class at nearby Merrimack High School. "I'm sorry, there's just no space at all," she said. Later on, the Secret Service allowed other reporters--CNN, AP, etc.-- to linger in the hall for handshake opportunities with the exiting Veep while we were ordered into another room behind a locked door.

9:41 a.m.

In response to a question about the closeness of the race between himself and Bill Bradley, Gore says: "It's like having a situation where it's just Pepsi and Coca-Cola. With only two competitors, you know it's going to be a tight race."

3:31 p.m. Andover, Massachusetts

Kaufman: (nervously) Adrian Kaufman. Exile: Hi, Adrian, this is Sandy Bergman calling?

Kaufman: (noticeably cold) Okay.

Exile: Hi, how are you?

Kaufman: Okay.

Exile: I just wanted to thank you for everything last night, we had a really good time.

Kaufman: Where did you guys end up going?

Exile: Well, frankly, we, uh went to a few places. I can't remember the names, but--we did try going to the Lost House of Blues I think?

Kaufman: Yeah.

Exile: We went across town, there were a couple of good clubs. We got in late, there are a couple of guys who are still a little worked over. It was a good time. Really excellent town. I really love Cambridge, it's just amazing. You didn't happen to get the name of the club with all the models?

Kaufman: No, you know what? Unfortunately, the only cool, hip person I know here who would know the hip clubs is... is gay. He was telling me to send you guys to Minstrel. It's a hot 'n happening place.

Exile: Well, we have a lot of gay people in our community too and they tend to know where the models are, so that's okay. Hope to see you tonight if I'm actually at the event, I'll definitely try to see you.

Kaufman: You're working for Warren? What exactly do you do?

Exile: (heat-flash panic) Well, we're sort of with his general entourage, particularly public relations. We also work with his agency, doing public relations and so on. They're also--we also like to keep it a little bit mum exactly what we do. So......

Kaufman: So you'll be here tonight?

Exile: Most likely, yeah. So we'll definitely see you tonight.

Kaufman: Great!

Clearly, by the end of this phone call, Kaufman is suspicious about Bergman's identity. But her tone of voice when she said "I'll see you tonight" suggested extensive experience with police/sting-operation-type movies, in which the victim slyly plays along with the stalker in order to draw him in for capture. She'd have security waiting......

3:50 p.m.

Panic set in when 1-800-FLOWERS called up to tell us that Adrian Kaufman was on the line, demanding to know who had sent her the elaborate vase full of Chrysanthenums. "Can she hear us?" Mark asked the tele-florist, and was reassured that his anonymity was intact. He explained that we wanted to remain anonymous. 1-800-FLOWERS complied. Sometimes things in this country work right after all. The customer is still king....

FLOWERS: Hello, Mr. Mark Ames?

Exile: Yeah.

FLOWERS: This is 1-800-FLOWERS, and we have Adrian Kaufman on the line, and she wanted to speak with you. Would you like to speak to her?

Exile: No, I don't. Can she hear this?

FLOWERS: No, don't worry sir, this is completely anonymous if you'd like it to be. That is our policy.

Exile: So she can't hear this?

FLOWERS: No sir, she can't.

Exile: Because I want to keep this anonymous.

FLOWERS: Did you leave the voice mail message for her?

Exile: Well, Sandy Bergman did, but I'm helping him out with this by making the arrangements and paying the bill. Look, I was instructed by Sandy Bergman, who left the message, to keep this totally confidential and anonymous. This is a favor for a friend, so please don't give out any information.

FLOWERS: Absolutely, sir. That is our policy, not to give out any information about who sent the flowers unless you specify.

Exile: Thank you so much, sir.

4:13 p.m

By this time we realized that Kaufman was already sweating bullets. A vase full of white Chrysanthenums, and what for? She hadn't, after all, helped Sandy Bergman out all that much. Furthermore, if (as she must have surely figured out by then) Bergman was a fake, who was doing this? And why? No logical motive could possibly have presented itself to her at this point. Worse still, what to do? Notifying Beatty's people that some unknown and apparently at least somewhat motivated wacko is out there waiting for his speech would probably not do much for Warren's nerves. After all, this is a guy who spends most of his movie career getting shot in the last ten minutes of the film. Seriously--Bullworth, Bugsy, Bonnie and Clyde, Heaven Can Wait... this is a guy with a serious death/assassination complex. But not telling him can't be a good idea either.

In any case, we had, by then, located the number of a singing telegram company in Boston. The company offered singing messages by actors in a variety of costumes, including six-foot bananas and the Grim Reaper, but we'd already settled on a lobstergram as an appropriate follow-up gift. After all, what would the real-life Sandy Bergman do? As a mellow Californian, it would seem quaint, sending a Boston lobster as a gift to a Yankee. Once again, Mark handled the call:

MONKEY BUSINESS: Hello, thank you for calling entertainment telegrams.

Exile: Hi, yes, I'm calling about your lobstergrams. So, uh, I have a few questions. What's the latest we could set it up for?

MONKEY BUSINESS: Hold on, I'll let you talk to the driver.

Driver: Hello can I help you?

Exile: Hello, I'm calling about the lobster gram. Is it possible to send it later in the day? [We wanted to get it to her as close to crunch time as possible.]

Driver: How much later?

Exile: 6:30 or 7:00.

Driver: At 6:30? Sure.

Exile: What about details about what you do.

Driver: What they do is they go out there and sing a medley of songs.

Exile: What songs do they sing?

Driver: (singing) Well they wanted to say/have a happy birthday/ in a sort of an unusual way/so they came in this suit and a bunch of balloons to brighten up your day-ay-ay! Or how about: hey it's your birthday/hey it's your birthday/I came to show you/how much they care/you'll never know just/how much they love you/so they sent you this telegra-a-am! And of course, Zippety doo-dah....

Exile: Is there a medley for "thank you"?

Driver: (singing) Well they wanted to say/thank you today/in an unusual way....

Exile: I see, there's one medley and you just insert the occasion.

Driver: It costs $130 plus gratuity, and it includes balloons and champagne or chocolate. We have over ninety costumes. You want an Austin Powers?

Exile: No that's fine, we want a lobster.

Driver: What do you want to say on the greeting card?

Exile: "Dear Adrian: Thanks for shelling out the good advice." And uh, steamily yours? No, just "All the best, Sandy Bergman." He'd want it that way.

Driver: All right.

The toll for our efforts was by now $200, a decent sum to spend just to make Adrian Kaufman nervous.

6:25 p.m. Harvard Square

Rolling up to 79 JFK, we spot the "Monkey Business" van. It drives around to a service parking lot where a half-dozen microwave trucks for TV stations are already set up in anticipation of the Beatty event. We follow behind. A plumpish, spunky-looking girl emerges from the van and quickly goes to the back to put on her costume. Big, furry red lobster feet, bright red furry thorax, claw-shaped mittens.... We approach and ask her what she's doing. "Lobstergram," she says, in a thick Boston accent. We ask who it's for. "Somebody... Media relations. Adrian something. From Sandy Bergman."

6:34 p.m.

Lobster-head with bulbous dangly lobster-eyes attached, the girl approaches the service entrance and bangs on the door with her claw. No answer. Not hesitating, she walks around to the front, in full view of a rapidly thickening flow of pedestrians. She dips into a door marked "Press/Ticket holders," past a group of subdued, intellectualloid Harvard students gathered at the door. She bangs on the door. Amazingly, although Beatty's security people have already begun clearing the building, they let her in. We film her from the street as her big bunch of balloons pops in and out of view on the glass-paneled stairway. Finally she appears to return to the first floor, and we see her bobbing back and forth in a hallway.

6:47 p.m.

Lobster-girl is led out of the doorway by a short, squat Mexican security man. On the way out, she bangs on the glass doors with her claw-mittens, and raises her arms over her head in triumph as she passes the crowd of kids. Overheard is the security guard asking, "Where are you parked?" "Around the cornah," she says. "Are you sure?" he asks, meaning, "You're not lying?" "I'm shoo-ah." she says.

We approach, telling her we're from Danish television, and ask her how it went. She says it went well. "She loved it. She kissed me," she said, referring to Adrian.

7:13 p.m.