Notes From the Pale 0

From the Versace Fall 2009 collection in Milan. (Filippo Monteforte/AFP/Getty Images)

Yesterday, when Monsieur Alloux met me at Gare Lyon, he seemed surprised that I had taken the train from Milan to Paris, a seven-hour trip, when normally I would fly. I thought a change would be fun. In truth, I had visions of going to Peck, the food shop in Milan, and loading up on prosciutto and cheese and bread for the ride. I would look out at the mountainssnow-covered, of courseand at noon, open my Tuscan red (instead of buying shoes or a sweater in Milan, I had bought a beautiful corkscrew at Lorenzi) and enjoy the break and the unknown company. Instead, I managed to get food poisoning at La Langhe, one of those iffy fashion hangouts. Suffice it to say I did not see the inside of Peck. I love the advice I got from Hal Rubenstein before the Versace show. Hes so sweet, Hal. He said I should take slow magnesium, several Tums and a banana. Or was it apricot juice? I thanked him and wished Donatella would hurry and start the show. I think her collection was a good one, dont you? Everyone else in Milan got in such a spasm about big shoulders and ballooning sleeves, but not Ms. Versace. She has a modern sense of glamour, from a womans point of view, no nonsense and certainly no freak show.

Anyway, I boarded the train in Milan, still searching for my sea legs. In my car were several photographers, and I saw in the rack above their heads a Peck sack. Around noon they took out their lunch and spread the paper plates of prosciutto, salami and cheese across their tray tables. They opened a box of smoked salt flakes and a jar of truffle butter and uncorked the red. Other photographers and editors stopped in the aisle and sampled their picnic. They offered me some. I had to decline but I enjoyed watching them dig in.

At 3:15 p.m., we arrived in the grayness and bustle of Gare Lyon. And then I saw Monsieur Alloux.

From the Versace Fall 2009 collection in Milan. (Filippo Monteforte/AFP/Getty Images)

Yesterday, when Monsieur Alloux met me at Gare Lyon, he seemed surprised that I had taken the train from Milan to Paris, a seven-hour trip, when normally I would fly. I thought a change would be fun. In truth, I had visions of going to Peck, the food shop in Milan, and loading up on prosciutto and cheese and bread for the ride. I would look out at the mountainssnow-covered, of courseand at noon, open my Tuscan red (instead of buying shoes or a sweater in Milan, I had bought a beautiful corkscrew at Lorenzi) and enjoy the break and the unknown company. Instead, I managed to get food poisoning at La Langhe, one of those iffy fashion hangouts. Suffice it to say I did not see the inside of Peck. I love the advice I got from Hal Rubenstein before the Versace show. Hes so sweet, Hal. He said I should take slow magnesium, several Tums and a banana. Or was it apricot juice? I thanked him and wished Donatella would hurry and start the show. I think her collection was a good one, dont you? Everyone else in Milan got in such a spasm about big shoulders and ballooning sleeves, but not Ms. Versace. She has a modern sense of glamour, from a womans point of view, no nonsense and certainly no freak show.

Anyway, I boarded the train in Milan, still searching for my sea legs. In my car were several photographers, and I saw in the rack above their heads a Peck sack. Around noon they took out their lunch and spread the paper plates of prosciutto, salami and cheese across their tray tables. They opened a box of smoked salt flakes and a jar of truffle butter and uncorked the red. Other photographers and editors stopped in the aisle and sampled their picnic. They offered me some. I had to decline but I enjoyed watching them dig in.

At 3:15 p.m., we arrived in the grayness and bustle of Gare Lyon. And then I saw Monsieur Alloux.