It was like stepping into a bad Fellini movie and, for once, Sonny and I weren’t the strangest people in the room. Feeling terribly square, I didn’t know what to do or say. I guess I did a good enough job pretending to be cool, because as we were leaving, Dalí declared, “You must come to dinner tomorrow night.” It was a command, not a request. The next night before dinner, Dalí greeted us in his studio, which was small and dimly lit.
