Category Archives: PARIS

SKIN COLD AS ICE by Peter Nolan Smith

When Lou Reed died three years ago, a friend called to ask, if I had known the singer. I said, “No.” El-Roy was a pussy hound and asked if I thought Nico was a good fuck. “I don’t know,” I replied and hung up thinking one thing. The Velvet Underground’s singer was probably great in […]

In Heaven Above

Back in Paris during the 80s some of my friends were involved in fashion. World-class Claude Montana and Azzedine Alaïa invited me to the their pret-de-porter shows and I was lucky enough to have known the most beautiful women in the world. Few were more exotic than Marpessa. Half-Dutch and half-Surinam, her beauty was frightening, […]

GHOULS OF PERE LA CHAISE by Peter Nolan Smith

When I tell thirty year-old stories from the 1980s, the listeners suspect that I’m lying about jumping off the Quincy Quarries cliffs or nearly making love with Darryl Hannah in Jamaica or watching bears eat garbage at a dump in Maine. Sometimes I wonder if they are right, but my memory is spot on about […]

MOSES’ BEST FRIEND by Peter Nolan Smith

New York City showed its teeth the winter of 1980. The police were racketeering our after-hours nightclub. One of the Continental’s backers was a gangster from Odessa, Russia. Vadim was going out with my old girlfriend from Buffalo. The tough zek smuggled stolen icons and passed bad paper. Lisa looked good in his furs. Only […]

A La Porte De Le Balajo

In the mid-80s DJs Albert Grintuch and his partner Serge Duprat took over the Bastille nightclub, Le Balajo. Once a week our crowd of rockers filled the large dancehall, at which I worked the door with Jacques Negrit as security. The barmen and waitresses were the same surly staff as the other nights of the […]