Tales of love and woe

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Central Park. Photo: JH.

Monday, November 22, 2021. Sunny and mild yesterday in New York with the temps in the mid-50s but falling by nightfall; and a colder spell coming out way for the Thanksgiving holiday. I still remember when there’d be a snowfall just before the holiday. But that was a long time ago; winters (and late autumn) are milder.

This is the beginning of what is always a quieter week in the city. People often travel on this holiday to be with friends and family. A lot of New Yorkers head south and for a longer stay than Thanksgiving. Palm Beach is at the top of the list. West Palm Beach is also a prominent destination for many New Yorkers who have been acquiring homes, driven by the climate and particularly the tax benefits of living there six months of each year.

Since PB is the land of leisure for many of its citizens, it is also a land of creative personal activities. Today we are featuring a fine example of what keeps conversations moving down there, alas, a blind item that reflects a certain zeitgeist found in those parts.

He was a wealthy businessman. The first wife was an heiress, a fact which greatly enhanced his image, and which, classically, lead many to believe he was wealthier than he was.

He was also a man who always had a mistress. This was not much of a secret except of course to the wife. When she finally found out, she packed up the Rolls and the trust funds and fled.

The second wife was a beauty. And an aristocrat. And — presumably an heiress too (aren’t all aristos?). Which is he what he thought. Which she was. Sort of. Ish. And, as it happened, she thought he had more. Than he had.

Life went on, and so did the mistresses, with the marriage intact. Until one day he met a voluptuous young thing … who was also an heiress. And a foxy one.

And he fell. Hard. She was everything he could ever have dreamed and hoped for including her roster of ex-boyfriends — bankers, athletes, even movie stars. And thirty years younger! He couldn’t believe his luck.

This was it. He asked his lovely wife for a divorce. Which didn’t make her happy (she was the poor one in the triangle).

For a minute there it was the scandale-du-jour down among the sheltering palms. And everywhere the foxy heiress went, behind the whitest, brightest smiles that greeted her, they were talking about it … her … the homewrecker.

At least that’s the way it seemed to her, and that’s what she told him.

It was getting to her. He felt guilty. As if he had caused all this (which he had).

What to do, what to do. So she asked her adoring lover man who’d left his home and hearth for her which caused the scandale, if he would mind if she just took a long weekend by herself on some remote island somewhere down there in the Caribbean.

Oh no, honey, oh no; please, please do … anything you want sweetheart. He says. Or something along those lines. He even got right on the phone to his travel agent and got her a suite for her in the best and most beautiful hotel on a remote island paradise somewhere down there in the Caribbean.

And off she goes. Into the wild blue yonder.

Meanwhile they talk every day and every night. And oh it’s just what the doctor ordered for her, pussycat, and oh he’s so happy she’s happy.

And oh he’s so happy he decides to get her a big beautiful engagement ring and surprise her with it at the airport when she returns.

Which he does. And on the big day, he goes to the airport to surprise her.

He’s at the airport waiting and watching the planes arrive and depart. He’s a new man, eager for the sight of this beautiful young woman who is transforming his life. How could a guy get so lucky he’s wondering.

And he’s standing there, watching, and waiting, and wondering and feeling his heart pounding with anticipation of the sight of her.

And suddenly … there she is.

Beside himself, full of himself, grinning to the brim, he watches her move slowly in the line of passengers as they take the steps down from the plane.

Each step of hers one closer to him. He’s thinking. Until. She steps onto the tarmac and immediately veers away from the line … what?! … and heads over toward the area for the private planes, where …

He’s watching all this, confused, alarmed, wanting to follow. And she’s moving right along lickety-split. Until. He sees her getting into a G-4. Someone’s G-4. Someone he knows. Someone everyone knows. Geezus. One of the richest of the richest; one of the wildest and wiliest of the richest of the richest, with the three or four or five of everything. Including the ex-wives and girlfriends.

What??!! Then she gets into the G-4. And within moments it’s taxiing out to the runway. And within moments it ‘s taking off – with her in it – into the wild blue yonder.

And she was gone. With, he later found out, the man she’d spent some of those four days “by herself” somewhere down there in the Caribbean.

And that was that. She never returned. And is now with her mega-swashbuckler currently living happily ever after, or a reasonable facsimile thereof.

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