1977

Manhattan

During a lunch break from DR. Magazine, I went to Viand Coffee Shop on Madison and 61st.

While I was eating my roasted turkey sandwich at the counter, Thomas began talking to me. He was meeting some businessmen at the Regency Hotel later that afternoon.

Thomas, a Jew born in Hungary, now a resident of London, England , is an international financier based in Hamilton, Bermuda—for tax reasons—immediately invited me to travel with him for two weeks on his yacht in the Bahamas.

I gambled and took the risk, after he wined and dined me at the Regency that night…and we conversed for two hours.

 few days later…

Will fly first class to Ft. Lauderdale where Thomas will meet me at the airport, then drive us to the yacht club.

He told me that he’s worth more than seventy million [dollars]. The Rolls Royce stays at the estate in Buckinghamshire—with his wife most of the time.

The art collection lives in his Fifth Avenue apartment.

If Edward Heath had won the election instead of Margaret Thatcher, Thomas would have been made a “Lord.”

I am sooo tired, but determined to be the best company! Haven’t spent seven days with the same man since Richard took me to Gurney’s Inn in Montauk and Daniel took me to Santo Domingo.

Oh! And there was the very relaxing trip to St. Thomas, Tobago, and Montserrat with Noah. Occasionally, we swigged Chivas for breakfast.

It is fascinating [and pathetic] what men will do/spend for great sex, isn’t it?

And I learned it all from my ex-husband’s insults and the compliments of a few good men.

[Ladies, practice your Kegel exercises and butterfly tongue with blowjob routine.]

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 very 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 comfortable bedrooms, but spent nights in the simple 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 pirates looking for cash and/or drugs.

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

At Chubb, a yacht named Sharon with a helicopter on top was docked nearby. [the little boy/big boy mantra: Mine’s bigger than yours.]

We all joked that the helicopter was really pretentious. The owner’s (Victor Posner) private jet was stabled nearby at the tiny airport. The rich sure are different.

Thomas studied mathematics at London University, then started a business manufacturing plastic toys. He has one son who lives in Texas with his American wife.

He was very kind and protective of me. I didn’t expect him to be so attentive. He’s extraordinarily interesting—so knowledgeable on diverse subjects.

“You have a unique intelligence,” he observed, “but what will become of you?”

{The British writer, Jean Rhys, would have understood and could have answered that question for him.}

Because of his various worldwide businesses, he spends most of his time on the telephone.

Told me I was the calmest, most serene woman that he’d ever met (“like a doll”). (three cheers for Nancy’s training/punishment/indoctrination/abuse)

That I was so relaxing to be with—quiet and without jitters. He said that most women are suffocating and always idly chattering. [Note to man-hunters out there: Back off and shut up. Intermittent charm is good; endless babble is bad.]

His wife, according to him, is very high strung. She has a right to be; she and her mother were prisoners in Auschwitz and were spared because they were tall and strong—able-bodied workers.

He appreciated my reading, without any complaining, while he telephoned London, New York, Bermuda, Zurich, Jerusalem, and Dusseldorf.

It helps that he speaks five languages.

“You’re so well behaved,” he commented. [Southern repression/manners come through for me again!]

During his recent one-month skiing vacation in St. Moritz, his telephone charges exceeded his room bill!

He’ll return from London in two weeks and wants to see me again. We’ll go to the Carlyle Hotel for the Bobby Short cabaret.

Two months from now, I’ll spend two weeks with him in his Bermuda home. His wife is in London entertaining relatives.

“Life never becomes a habit to me. It is always a

marvel.”—Katherine Mansfield

The only advice my father ever gave me: ”Don’t settle for an ordinary life.”

I was always the most obedient daughter.