It is very, very late after a marathon bingo night. We met a gentleman with homes in Miami Beach, New York City, Puerto Vaaharta, Boston, and Las Vegas. His "business" was in Vegas and his mother in Hew York. We had a riotous three hours together after bingo and prompted Leopoldo to remark about something I've always noted: The Palace is a social place with a great interaction of society, gay and otherwise. It is all about fun, gossip, and drinking. Not necessarily in that order.
Entertainers can be such a threat; they exude beauty and glamour and are only after one thing.

Carlos interviewed Mr. Astor for a fashion interview with Spanish TV; unfortunately I couldn't understand a word, but I did figure out they were talking Mrs. Stuyvesant-Fish and her lack of clothing on that Sunday so soon gone by. I thought all the drama had left our lives...

...until I awoke yesterday to find that our mysterious neighbors (sometimes speaking Russian, sometimes Portuguese, sometimes Spanish) have started to paint their elegant, 1925 home turquoise. I have nothing against turquoise inside a home--my living room is (prompting one way once to remark, "Ah; Queen Victoria meets Key West")--but on the outside, I say, "No, no, no...). Alas, they frighten me too much to complain; have you ever made the Russian Mafia mad?