The nurse of the Santa Maria hospital down town La Paz enters the room. Vivians quickly hides her cigarette under de bed. ‘Are you smoking Vivians’, asks the nurse. Vivians puts her innocent Barbie doll face and says ‘of course not, I’m sick.’ Smoke is coming from beneath the bed. In her left hand she hides a bag of coke, at least 15 grams. It’s hard to believe but Vivians is hospitalized. Two weeks ago she was diagnosed with thromboses in her left leg. ‘If it wasn’t for the coke I would have been dead’, Vivians says. ‘The cocaine widens the veins. And even cures cancer’, she knows. Vivians, a well-known former Bolivian madame, is the owner of Vivians, the most notorious discotheque in South America, according to my standards. It’s based in the centre of La Paz near El Prado. In fact it’s a coke joint. Many foreigners seek their pleasure in Vivians, sniffing one low-priced crystal line (10 bucks, 1,5 gram) after the other while dancing on electronic beats. The staff supplies the guests with little mirrors. It’s a white Christmas 24-7. It’s said that four Irish girls hold the record; they stayed four days in a row in Vivians. Vivians, mostly around, is with her high heels, tight clothes, lifted breast and painted hair the queen of the ball, chasing young innocent foreigners. She’s the female version of Herman Brood, the wildest rock star Holland ever had. Regularly the lights and the music go off when the police are banging on the doors. But Vivians always remain with her Barbie doll face paying of the officers. ‘If you show fear, you hang.’ And the drugs ball continues. It seems that the party is over for Vivians. The last two weeks she spent her chaotic life in the hospital bed, bored as hell. ‘I think I’m going to die’, she smiles, lighting another L&M cigarette. But she’s a ballroom cat with many lives to go.