1977

Returned to New York yesterday with Thomas. Feel like I’m still on his Bertram yacht named Baby Max, christened after his son was born.

My equilibrium is off balance. Didn’t get seasick. Enjoyed the trip and could easily become addicted to that standard of living.

Didn’t really realize how wealthy Thomas was until lunch at Turnberry Isle with some other businessmen. Thomas is written up in The London Times as “the aging whiz kid.”

He’s a multimillionaire who pays low taxes, hunts for big game in Botswana, maintains homes in London; Buckinghamshire (country estate); Hamilton (Bermuda)—for tax reasons—and Fifth Avenue in Manhattan.

And he’s completely infatuated with me.

He sent his wife on a tour of China with his cousin while we “bummed around” Chubb Cay, Joulter’s Cay, Paradise Island, Nassau, Cat Island, and Bimini (where we visited a Hemingway drinking hangout).

The winds were strong the first day out, so Thomas sent the crew and boat ahead to Chubb Cay. He didn’t want to risk my getting seasick, so he chartered a Piper Cub from Red Aircraft in Ft. Lauderdale and we flew to Chubb. We didn’t sleep on the boat, even though it had three very comfortable bedrooms, but spent nights in the luxury rooms of private yacht clubs on our stopovers.

Last month, Thomas caught an enormous marlin near Chubb. This week, he caught an iridescent dolphin fish and an eight-foot sailfish.

The sports fishing techniques are interesting to watch, but the sight of bludgeoning the fish to death while blood sprays like waves against the bow was disgusting.

Learned about the designs of Haltars, Strykers, Hatterases, and Bertrams, and the dangers of the Gulf Stream, as well as voracious  pirates looking for cash and/or drugs.

Three loaded rifles were kept under the banquettes at all times.