Intrigue at The Palace

I received a hand-delivered message yesterday (remember my cell was lost in one of those tropical storms). It was a bit earlier than usual, but reaked of intrigue and danger. So, I course, jumped up from my daybed of reading Edith Wharton and manically dressed. It seemed there were persons or person who "did not belong" at The Palace the The 7th was tasting blood.

Now blood is fine, but not on your terrazzo floors, so I donned a simple, if rather expensive Worth muslin afternoon gown (if you are going to be splattered in blood, let it be on muslin). It was a holiday weekend, and they now described a long line of crested carriages on Ocean Drive with diamond-buckled slippers, epaulets, old and new money, and titles galore streaming in.

Yes, it was the time for The Appearance. Funny all hostility seemed to evaporate like the fog when drinks and food are offered. The offender was not really a Bolsevik, just one of those with "new ideas". In the end, everyone got drunk, told each other how much they loved them and engaged in serious grab-ass. A typical Sunday; my housemates from New York and Rhode Island were endlessly amused.

My Captain of the Regiment and I had a serious conversation about going into a Betty Ford Clinic of Latino Withdrawal. This does not include Latino arristocrats; why, we read Holla magazine religiously. This is for the riff raff we find ourself attracted to. My suggestion was to to a "Step" program; you know we move from Spanish to Italian to Croations perhaps Hungarians and maybe make it up to the Baltics. The Captain said, "No" we would share a room in the Shock Therapy ward and have an enless parade of Asian boys to break us.

What ever might happen, the music was great and we were eyeing the Latino Fiesta in front of us.

Addiction is a difficult thing.