At a fashion show!
In the front row!
But I actually never wanted her to go, because her jazzy prints and big glasses had become zanily popular.
And because now I’m the oldest one on the scene, ba dum pum.
As you know, the world’s oldest club kid collapsed during Fashion Week, right after the Joanna Mastroianni show started, and it wasn’t because she thought the fashion was “to die for.”
It was simply that at 95, she’d traversed her last velvet rope, seen her last show, and enjoyed her last gift bag.
Talk about partying till you drop.
Zelda truly filled it to the brim and never called it quits until the big doorman in the sky reached down and swooped her up into the eternal VIP room.
Her chutzpah and stamina were as awe-inducing as her African print shmattes.
To me, she always resembled a life-size version of Madame the puppet.
I wanted to put my hand up her!
Truth be told, I only said hello to her once because I didn’t know what to make of the woman, but it’s actually good to have people around that make you a little bit uncomfortable.
It means they have the nerve to dangle on the edge and wave in your face.
So goodbye, Zelda.
And sorry, Joanna, but I won’t be attending your next show!!!!
In other sad news, another longtime nightlife presence, Steve Greenberg, has died of lymphoma.
I always called him “Ben Franklin” because of his white-haired, robust look. But whatever you called him, Steve was one of the few presences in nightlife who actually meant what they said. He promised me a big party in 2010 at his palm-tree-lined rooftop club 230 Fifth, and he delivered, with every detail carried out in style. And he welcomed the bohemian talent I brought to the stage that night, always craving some avant-garde performance to mix up the space that was most often filled with Wall Street types.
I bet Steve is dancing with Zelda in the rooftop lounge in the sky.