SYLVIA REALNESS

I never saw "The Sentinel". I always did want to see the small clips of Sylvia Miles as a lesbian ghost in a leotard with a crummy accent. Love the over-the-leotard orgasm her deaf-mute girlfriend has. Retarded. If I had a boyfriend I would definitely answer "We fondle each other" when asked what I do for a living.
Last time I took Sylvia for lunch she dressed in a black and white Wednesday Addams outfit with mary jane shoes, a big bow in her hair and pigtails. We were at some archaic old Manhattan private club my dwindling family still pays the dues at but is really just a waste, I think. I'm ready to move on and dump the membership. Sylvia took advantage of the ancient waspy kitchen and had a "Bulls Eye" cocktail, which I had never heard of. She said it had beef stock in it. She pushed it across the table to me "Please have a sip". I declined several times and she was frozen and intent. "Have a sip." So I took a sip and I tried to be polite but everyone laughed as I must have looked like I wanted to ralph on the Ralph Lauren (well, I always do!). I commented that it tastes like cold French onion soup with whiskey in it. Sylvia reclined with the drink clutched in both hands "You can only have it in the finest of establishments where they have good solid beef bouillon." She really enunciated "bouillon". After the lunch, when I came out of the mens room, she was sitting on a shiny red leather sofa flanked by the two pretty girls that we had brought as buffers. "Three lovely sirens to seduce you... which one will you pick, Reavis?" The cat had my tongue. When I run into her she still screams "Reavis, you owe me a lobsta!", which I do. I had said let's go there for lobster, but they were out that day.