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Obviously Gigi Rives is not my name. It's my avant-garde performance artist name (Ha!). If you know me, then you know my "real" name. Actually, Gigi was my imaginary friend's name when I was four. She was this worldly, tall, gorgeous woman with a big afro and long, lean legs. She lived at the end of the next cul-de-sac, where I was not allowed to go. But I would hang out with her in these tall director's chairs (you know the ones from the 70s) at her kitchen bar, and we would drink coffee, which I was not allowed to drink. I didn't know about scotch yet, otherwise it probably would have been scotch.

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