Jackie's Old Clothes: A Visit to the Met, Followed by Kosher Moroccan

Barb and Allison came in and we went to the Met to see Jackie O's clothes. Barb was having some problem with it that I couldn't quite get. She thought it was strange or skeevy or something to have one's clothes on display. She and I must think of clothes differently. I dated an accountant to the stars in the 80s who was disgusted that I had bought used 60s flowered cardigans with pearl buttons. We didn't last long. I saw Jackie's clothes as objects of importance, of pomp, of history in their own right. Barb saw a dead woman's old garments.

We went up for a beverage on the roof deck. There were Brits in front of us in line hemming and hawing over which sandwiches to get. British tourists always take forever to figure out what they want. After a lifetime of kippers and overcooked vegetables, they must be overwhelmed by our abundance of good food. I reached a long arm around them to throw three dollars to the sandwich guy for a Diet Coke. But then I was jealous of Allison's cappuccino. Good things come to those who wait.

Barb was preoccupied with a woman decked out in orange with a Missoni-copied skirt, who was pointing out to a child where Seinfeld lived. Barb: "Did she just come from Bergdorf's or what?" I thought Barb looked real cute herself in red poplin shorts and a lacy camisole that peeked out from her camp shirt. I asked her how she was keeping herself so skinny and she tried to hold out on me. When I pressed her on it, she mumbled something about steak and vegetables.

Then we looked at the photography exhibit. They had some Bauhaus stuff that got me giggling?it reminded me of "Sprockets."

Paged through Time Out for an Upper East Side lunch suggestion. Only one of their picks was within the realm of reason and was 20 blocks away from the museum. So we walked around a bit and found a Kosher Moroccan place?Galil (Hebrew for Galilee). Adorable waitress. Combo salad plate was good?included tahini-based peanuty spreads, roasted green peppers, tabouleh and eggplant served with pitas. The pitas weren't as fresh as I'd like. The chicken tagine was very good?I didn't think it was too sweet, but Barb did. The chicken was moist and fell off the bone and the sauce was very nice?cinnamony with raisins and prunes; something different. The couscous was bland and soggy, but topped with nicely cooked carrots and chickpeas. Moussaka was delicious, with a great texture. Barb was very happy with her chicken in mushroom sauce and Barb's not usually happy with much. We were too full to try dessert, although I noticed they had baklava on the menu.

So then Allison says she's been to Morocco. Just when you think you've got someone's number, you don't. Allison asks us about some old rumors regarding her husband, as we've known him several years longer than she has.

Allison: "Did Don..."

Barb: "Yes, I'm sure that he did."

We chatted about the old group and waves of remembering came over me and put me back in the dining room in the house at Tina Court where I couldn't imagine not seeing everyone so often and not having that cast as the players in my life. And yet there I was on Lexington Ave., having not spoken to many of them for years.

After some window shopping, we stop in for gelato at Saint Ambroeus. I ask for tiramisu, but am given chocolate. It has pieces of ice and gummy material in it. Barb's cinnamon is much better. I want to walk back to 34th St. (in my heels), but youngster Allison thinks it's too far to walk (in her flats).

Later, at the swim class I'm taking, the twentysomethings are complaining their legs hurt while I, who never work out, feel pretty good. What's up with the youth of America? Another instructor works with us because our instructor is severely late. He finally shows up (his excuse: he was filming upstate and got stuck in the Holland Tunnel) and starts yelling at me. I fix my gaze on him and with all my force will him back to the Holland, but he is still there yelling at me. As he will be next week.