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Sagaponack
beach. Photo: JH.
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One
of the most beautiful women in New York (and one
of the nicest too); also one of the most popular faces on the
NYSD Party Pictures
(and how do we know? — we get mail), is having a mad passionate
love affair at one of the most venerable of the venerable Eastern
seaboard resorts (where she’s been summering all her life).
Married, with beautiful children to match, and a movie star-handsome
successful husband to boot, she’s in love, she’s
in love, she’s in love (just like the song) with a man kwy-ta-fyoo years older than she. Also married (children, I don’t know),
with a gazillion dollars (which has nothing to do with anything
for our leading lady, who doesn’t need a dime from anybody
thanks to all those ancestors).
And he’s in love too. Madly, passionately. Love in the afternoon,
they say; sex at the seashore. And how do we know? Because she’s
so over the moon she can’t keep it to herself, telling all
her friends, some of whom are telling others, who are telling all
their friends, and trickle-trickle, down comes the story to these
pages. And will there be a divorce? Along with all the other tales
of love and romance about these lovebirds, the word on the avenue
is NO. There will be no divorce. He’s been married too long
and made money too much and for too long, and has a whole life
with wife Way Out West. And so ... life’s a beach, and
then comes the autumn leaves.
Pretty As A Party Picture And Not Always. The aforementioned isn’t
the only tale of high extra-marital romance out at the beach. There
are others. Tennis pros, physical trainers, golfing buddies, PR
girls and party people. There’s another pretty young couple,
also members of the same set (here in Manhattan), the wife of whom – demure,
angelic, well-born, once deliriously happy to have landed her man
who wears one of the great old New York names like a Ralph Lauren
ad, is also having a fling while mister’s in town toiling
away (or playing squash at the Racquet). Unlike our first item,
this one’s not talking. But her “friends” are.
On the more sober side of life (or crumblin’ crusts),
out there where sober usually means the morning after,
the local sotto
voce topic of discussion in one of those communities where
dwell en masse the rich, the chic and the shameless, is whether
or not
someone is going to be building ... a synagogue ... in the
not so distant future.
There’s talk of a “petition” of protest going
around because one very oldtime member of the community is thinking
of selling the family property to … a rabbi.
There are those who consider themselves to be just a cut or two
above the rest of us, people whose crust is now less upper than
crumblin’ from lingering too long on now frayed family coat-tails,
who object to such real estate transactions. These individuals
have been warning the would-be seller that she won’t have
a friend left (this is after living there for a half century) if
she goes through with it. Another self-considered upper-crustacean,
a relative new-comer, hardly Old Guard, and one who fancies herself
a “Christian,” warned that the might-be seller would
be followed forever by a “curse” for “contributing
to the holy war in the town” if she sold. Geez.
And just when you thought we’d got beyond such
nonsense … in
case you’re wondering what happens to some people when they’ve
had too much sun, too much time and have lived too long off the
family heirlooms. Let’s hear it for Nicky Hilton running
off with Todd Meister and Love In the Very Early Morning. |
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