Douglas and Henry's lunch was a lovely event and everyone enjoyed their usual gracious hospitality. Although I've been at their home here many times, it seemed as if all the periods had been put on the sentences; it was a magnificent feeling to be there.
This is the guest cottage; almost all Miami Beach homes have one. Doug and Henry renovated it to be an apartment for their property manager, another for guests, a downstairs garage/workshop, and a gym and sauna. We all talked about remembering this as a wreck of a property with a huge mud hole. How much has changed (and it is only one block from Twist).
This is the back of the main house. Built in 1930, it is a bizarre mix of styles that only exists in Miami Beach: Part Spanish, part Arabesque, part La-La Land. And it works so marvelously. I was a little too tipsy to remember to take a photo of the front, but that might have been for the best. Mrs. Stuyvesant-Fish copped out at the last moment complaining of sinus problems; I told her that I found that odd since she had texted me at the crack of dawn that Twist had tried to poison her the night before. It was my loss, as--as much as I complain about her--she is the perfect dinner/party/egg hunt companion.
I do love when the food is so organized; it makes a marvelous presentation and an ease to pick at what you desire.
Speaking of picking at what you desire, I caught our old friend, Luis, picking, too--at Douglas. We had a little chat later about his not being able to find a boyfriend. This is so perplexing to me, as I have known Luis for much of the time I've lived here. A handsome Brazilian, an intelligent man, he volunteers endlessly for charities, and is always a joy to be around. I tapped my chin and said, "I might have to step in here." It's time for match-making pool parties.
Such a lovely afternoon affair, the luncheon could only be what I would describe as elegant, but informal.
Oh....And I called Countess Bedelia to check in on her arrival plans this week. I could sense that she was in her carriage and asked where she was. "Between Courts", she pompously declared. When I asked how the antenna on her carriage was making it through the heavily-treed roads of Transylchusetts, she exclaimed that "...the peasants cut them down". It's going to be an interesting weekend coming up.