Someone bumped me and I spilled champagne down the front of my dress.
"Beasts in here," said Vincent Frand, dabbing my chest with a napkin. "That's putting it mildly. This 80s downtown art scene of ours is a miraculous disaster. But you..." he paused to take a drink. "You," he began again emphatically. "You just have to be a part of it. Don'r you?"
"The whole star bit -- I'm not playing into that."