She was there this week to prove she was alive and to promote jewelry designs.
The night didn't turn out to be of much interest -- she laughed, she squawked, she lit up when King said her violet eyes were pretty. But then King would show movie clips of young Liz, voluptuous and beautiful with a dream-like inviolability. And then the camera would cut back to the old Taylor, presumably watching the clips of her earlier self along with the rest of us. Or, who knows, maybe just staring off. Under her big clump of dark hair, she looked as lost and brooding in the chiaroscuro of time as any self-portrait by Rembrandt.