What was I Thinking?

du Bois
Miami Beach

It's all so hazy. On Friday night The Club held a Bon Voyage party for many of the 3,200 men sailing yesterday on The Navigator of the Seas for a gay cruise. It seemed that most of them were from New England and New York and were delighted to have survived the blizzard. The mood was one of wild abandon, stunning liquor consumption, and outrageous behavior. Miami Beach brings out the worst behavior in people, both in tourists and locals. The warm weather makes everyone loose, the skimpy clothing makes everyone horny, and the palm trees make you happy just to be in a town where there are so many. Excess is a religion here.

du Barry, of course, parked herself in a part of the bar known as First Class that affords her unobstructed view of the room and easy access to the bartender. No one can enter or leave this room without passing her scrutiny and I, for one, try never leave her side. We are known as "the Rhode Island bitches", although that comes much more from jealousy than anything else.

Just to prove I'm not a snob I left her side after many glasses of wine and went over to chat with an adorable Peruvian boy with whom I have enjoyed several spirited conversations. Before long, the boy--I'm sure--suggested that we go into the powder room and adjust my French Twist. The wine, the heat, the moment; well, it's all so hazy. But one thing is not: The moment du Barry imperiously flung open the door is all too clear, as well as her, "What are you thinking?".

But when you read this, du Barry, please understand that the "embrace" you barged in on was nothing more than the adjusting of my whale-boned corset. I would do nothing to sully a good Rhode Island name. And next time I'll lock the door.