THE SEARCH FOR MR. ADEQUATE
Part XXI
By SUSAN SILVER

Palm Beach, as I’ve told you is not my thing, really. The social scene is a bit forced for me and I’m just not a Lily Pulitzer kind of gal, clothes-wise. Yet, you can’t beat the weather, when it’s sunny, and the walks on the beach are lovely. As were my hosts, Lil and Lennie.

They always know the fun places and we did a lot of eating, laughing and a little drinking, which I usually don’t. And I can see why people do! A mild buzz makes everything more enjoyable. Plus now they say there are definite health benefits. So let’s get sloshed! Every night, Lil and I, a tad giddy and giggly, sashayed down the street making fools of ourselves and displaying “The Purse.”

Let me explain. My purse was the hit of the visit. Not I, unfortunately.
Two summers ago, in the Hamptons, I got a great gold purse (or as Lil who is from the South calls it, a “pocketbook.’) It’s big and sparkly and glam. And this was before “gold was in.”

So now every time I wear it, tons of people, mostly young girls come up and remark about the purse. Three waitresses in one restaurant did. Oh oh. Maybe it’s that dressing age inappropriate thing again. But, screw it, I love the purse!

The last group of girls, well ... young women, who coveted the purse were all in from New York for a batchelorette party. They pulled up in a stretch limo worthy of a rapper, to Cucina, which is a hot place. All career women, some of them well known, they were celebrating the upcoming nuptials of one of the last of them to catch a mate. And boy was she relieved! Talk about giddy!

There was one who I want to fix up with Stan, as she’s pretty, smart and accomplished. Oh wait, he likes them nuts. Well, let’s see if I can’t arrange that anyway.

I had been told that LOML (Love of My Life, for those of you are not regular readers) was down there with all his grandkids so I couldn’t help looking around a lot ... ok ok ... doing the Exorcist Linda Blair head spinning thing. And Lil and I did drive by his house a time or two and prowl around kid oriented places. But I didn’t spot him. Don’t get me wrong, I am not really that crazy about seeing him again, but as the average age of guys there was dead, it at least made the time more interesting.

The first night we went to Bice and I was wearing some very hot new heels with silk ties up the ankles. I proceeded to twist my right one and thereby couldn’t play tennis or work out the whole weekend. And was it worth it? No! Heels like this are wasted on men over eighty, plus I was the tallest person in Florida that night ... and tottering around in pain.

Lil and I hit Worth Avenue on Saturday, and I was very good in that I only bought a pair of strippy sandles ... gold again, but low heels. And, I stopped Lil from buying outrageously expensive things so that Lennie now owes me, big time.

Sunday they played golf and I lounged around the pool at the Breakers which was filled with screaming kids. Usually I am vocal and upset at the noise but it made me think and miss my little four-year-old guy, Ben, and that calmed me and made me smile. Although he is not prone to yelling and screaming in public. He is perfect. Yes he is!

We went out to dinner with other friends on Sunday to a semi-restricted club which annoyed the s---out of me. I wanted to scream out “oy vey” but they restrained me. Isn’t it about time we end these arcane and asinine rules? (She said pointedly.)

As to the Search, a very tanned and bejeweled older woman with a “strong” personality, told me at the pool to forget about it. There were seven women to one man in Palm Beach. I believe it. She had been coming down for years and had a circle of a couple friends who took her around with them, although one of the women later told me that all their husbands were “afraid of her.” I believe that too. (Note to self: easy on the tan. Work on the personality.)

I came home early on Monday as Stan had bought two very expensive tickets to the Stephen Sondheim Gala. And you know what a fan I am of SS.

It was a race against the clock and gridlock on the highway to get me home in time to shower and get dressed and be presentable by 6:45 when I was being picked up. I wore a really great gold St. John knit suit (do you notice a theme here in color?) and my tan ... well the tan out of the MAC tube looked good, not too ‘strong.’ (Tip to young readers: I used to get my face tan, with the reflector yet! Don’t do that girls ... use a fake on your face.) As for my hair, I might have to rethink it. I have been wearing it slicked back in the kind of kinky Brigitte Nielsen way for evenings, but I just read an article that said Catherine Deneuve is wearing hers the same way and it looked “dykey.” Not that there is anything wrong with that as Seinfeld used to say, but I am having enough trouble meeting guys as it is without false advertising. And by the way, nary a woman has hit on me either, although I did get a few nice smiles from some suited gals at the Sondheim event.

The evening was a bit of a disappointment to me although I did get to talk to Stephen, that makes twice in a week! (See Column XX) I just wanted more songs from Into the Woods and hoped Bernadette Peters would sing and where was Mandy Patinkin? Although seeing Harvey Feirstein dressed in Fiddler garb and throating (I can’t say singing) Rose’s Turn from Gypsy was a hoot. And Dame Edna was hysterical singing Losing My Mind. And the chorus of seventy-five voices, one for every year of Stephen’s life, was amazing.

Afterwards, we almost made fools of ourselves heading to the dinner at The Four Seasons, until we realized that our (well, Stan’s) $2000-tickets didn’t get us in. We got a crappy cheese and fruit thing before the show that was a bit well ... cheesy. But all for a good cause ... Young Playrights Inc. Plus, the talking to Stephen Sondheim, after all. But I forgot to wish him Happy Birthday. Oh well, I am sure he is reading this now. (She said delusionally.)

As Stan was hungry, we drove around looking for a spot to catch a bite and most places were closed as it was a Monday. Hmmm ... what’s happening to the Upper East Side? He said nothing exciting happens above 14th street. I’ll take his word for it. I don’t go down there much. We went to the overpriced but happening little spot around the corner from where I live and ran into some young fun people Stan knows. The girls were interested in providing some dating horrors stories for upcoming columns. I’d be very nervous if I were a guy in his forties who dates ‘about town.’ And I will name names if I have to!

When I checked my email, I found I am being bombarded with matches from dating sites I tried, and will regale you with the horror of it next time ...

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