Year in Palm Beach

BOOKS BY
PAMELA ACHESON AND RICHARD B. MYERS

THE BEST ROMANTIC ESCAPES IN FLORIDA, VOLUME ONE

THE BEST ROMANTIC ESCAPES IN FLORIDA, VOLUME TWO

VISITING THE VIRGIN ISLANDS WITH THE KIDS

THE BEST OF THE BRITISH VIRGIN ISLANDS

THE BEST OF ST. THOMAS AND ST. JOHN, U.S. VIRGIN ISLANDS

BOOKS BY
RICHARD B. MYERS

TENNIS FOR HUMANS: WINNING HINTS, TIPS, AND STRATEGIES
FOR THE COMPETITIVE CLUB LEVEL PLAYER

Copyright © 2011 by Pamela Acheson and Richard B. Myers

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without the prior written permission of the publisher.

All the places in this book are real. Some names and locations have been disguised for privacy, and license has been taken with dates and chronology.

Page 7
: Excerpt from “The Country Life”
© 2007, 2010 Peter Cincotti and SonyATV Music Publishing, Inc.
Used with permission.

Permission given to authors to change the words “country life” to “Palm Beach life.”

Page 315
: Excerpt from “One More Moment”
Music by Johnny Rodgers, Lyrics by Johnny Rodgers and Lina Koutrakos.
© Melody Thread Music (ASCAP)/Plynerpublishing (ASCAP). Used by permission.

Two Thousand Three Associates
4180 Saxon Drive, New Smyrna Beach, FL 32169

www.twothousandthree.com

www.ayearinpalmbeach.com

Cataloging-in-Publication Data is on file with the Library of Congress

ISBN: 978-1-892285-15-7

Printed in the United States of America

First Edition: August 2011

10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

A YEAR IN PALM BEACH
LIFE IN AN ALTERNATE UNIVERSE

“Let's go back and find
The simple world we knew
‘cause I still wanna live again
The Palm Beach life with you

Don't let it be another thing
We always meant to do
Just let me live again
The Palm Beach life with you”

–Adapted from “Country Life”
by Peter Cincotti

CONTENTS

A Word about Palm Beach

“How Did Yesterday Get So Far Away from Today?”

“You Guys Are in for an Adventure.”

“We'll Be Fat and Broke in a Month.”

“Perhaps We Could Hunt Benjamin Down and Beat Him with a Stick.”

“What Are You Guys, Hillbillies?”

“I See, That Would Make Us the Town DOPES.”

“What's That? We Must Be Under Attack.”

“I Feel Like Tony Soprano When the Ducks Left.”

“They've Ordered Piggy Pie Freckles to Leave.”

“I'm Looking Around for a Wood Chipper.”

“Maybe It's Time to Start Throwing Paint Around.”

“You Don't Have the Bulge.”

“Chardonnay, and a Bowl of Chilled Evian for My Puppy, Please.”

“We Finally Just Stopped Counting at Ninety-Six.”

“It's a Perfect Example of the Law of Unintended Consequences.”

Epilogue

The Town of Palm Beach occupies a barrier island that is sixteen miles long and about a half-mile wide, just off the east coast of Florida. The quiet, well-manicured town has a population of about 10,000 that expands to 30,000 or more during the winter months. Arguably more millionaires and billionaires own residences in this town than in any other town in the country. More than two dozen of the Forbes top 400 billionaires own homes here. That is billionaires with a “b.”

Palm Beach is known for its magnificent mansions, its exclusive and expensive clubs, grand hotels and resorts, world-class dining, and dozens and dozens of high-profile charity balls. Palm Beach is also known for Worth Avenue shopping. The three blocks of galleries and shops are among the most expensive and exclusive in the world. It would not be at all unusual to find a $60,000 lady's handbag or a $600,000 man's watch, or to discover that many of the cars parked along the avenue cost more than the average American house.

Lake Worth separates the island Town of Palm Beach from its decidedly different mainland neighbor, the City of West Palm Beach, with a population of 130,000. It only takes about thirty seconds to drive across the bridge from the mainland to the island, but the two are light-years apart. Palm Beach is truly an alternate universe.

We are very, very wet. Our oversize, supposedly windproof umbrella is no match for this melee of wind and rain. Water is dripping from our hair, and our clothes are glued to our bodies.

What was once a street is now a shallow rushing river, and our shoes are soaked. Streaks of lightning rake across the eerily dark afternoon sky, silhouetting palm trees bending in the wind. Deafening thunder shakes the ground. Conversation is difficult.

We get the car door open and slip into the back seat of this stranger's Mercedes. “It's nothing to worry about, just a typical August thunderstorm,” Bob the real estate agent assures us. He's about as wet as we are, his tailored suit and expensive-looking shoes trashed, but he appears unperturbed.

We apologize for getting the leather seats of his car so wet, but Bob just smiles. “There's one more house, then we'll stop for the day,” he says, handing us some paper towels.

We make feeble attempts to mop ourselves off.

How can we walk into this next house when we are so wet? And even more worrisome, how did yesterday get so far away from today?

Yesterday we left our New Smyrna Beach, Florida home and drove three hours south to The Chesterfield Hotel in Palm Beach for a brief romantic escape. We've been doing this several times a year for ten years. Each trip, we window-shop, take a whirlwind tour of our favorite bars and restaurants, dance the nights away, and then head happily back home.

But last night, walking back to our hotel for a dance or two after a romantic dinner, we started playfully imagining what fun it would be to live in Palm Beach. Walking along these beautiful, quiet streets. Eating at elegant restaurants. Dancing every night. A fantasy of indulgence quickly forgotten once we got on the dance floor.

Then this morning, out walking, we laughed at our silliness, our imagining we could live in Palm Beach. The trips are an escape, not real life. We couldn't afford to live here, anyway. Palm Beach property's way too expensive.

We found ourselves in front of a real estate office and looked at the pictures posted in the window. A mansion for $8 million. A bigger one for $10.7 million. An even bigger one for $33 million. Right. Not for us.

At the bottom of the window was an ad for rentals. On a lark, we went in to check them out. The real estate agent said he had some little cottages available as annual rentals. Cottages? On the exclusive, ritzy island of Palm Beach? We couldn't imagine what he was talking about but, mildly curious, we asked to see some. It sounded like a pleasant, harmless way to spend an hour or two.

That was back when the sun was shining, six houses ago. Now we're drenched and bedraggled, and the properties have blurred together in our minds. But there is no doubt we're hooked. This has gone from a few hours of idle fun to an intense scrutiny of possible living spaces.

Some of the places we saw were houses, not cottages, and way too big and way too expensive. But others were small and actually affordable to rent, although we could never afford to buy one.

In each house, we found ourselves refining what we could and couldn't live without. Definitely would like a fireplace. Winter nights can be in the forties, even this far south. One bathroom is not enough. Need at least three bedrooms, even if two are really tiny, so we can each have an office. Must have a pool.

As we approach the seventh and last house, the rain lets up and the skies lighten. This turns out to be a cottage, the best one so far. The kitchen is tiny, the third bedroom is minuscule, and the walls are painted wild colors. But the little yard is private, and there's a charming pool.

“So, what do you think?” Bob asks.

“We need to go back to The Chesterfield, we don't know what we think, a year might be too long, we could be crazy,” we say, all in a jumble.

Bob drives us to our hotel. We promise to call him in the morning, rush up to our room, pull off our wet clothes, wrap ourselves in hotel robes, and raid the minibar.

Settled now with health food (two cold beers, cashews, and a can of Pringles), it's time to talk. How did we move from an idle afternoon's amusement to seriously considering renting a Palm Beach cottage for a year? How did we make such a gigantic leap?

The day before yesterday, staying where we were was definitely our plan. After all, we just planted rows of tomatoes and English peas and red peppers. It seems alarming that we could so easily switch gears.

We remind ourselves we're writers and can live almost anywhere. We've lived in big cities, small towns, Caribbean islands, and even on a boat. It's got to be easier to write in Palm Beach than it was on that boat.

We talk about our house in New Smyrna. We love it. Why would we leave it? But then, time is passing. We're getting older. Alex, our real estate agent, is always telling us our house would rent in an instant. And moving to Palm Beach would be an adventure.

For a decade, we could never consider leaving New Smyrna for more than a week or two because we were responsible for a relative whom we loved dearly. But she recently passed away. For the first time in ten years, we're actually free to come and go as we please.

But still. Changing plans this radically in just a few hours seems more than a bit hasty. What about the practical aspects, such as seeing if we actually
can
rent our New Smyrna house? Shouldn't we go back home and think about all this?

Our heads are bursting. We decide to shower, go out on the town, and forget all this nonsense, at least for the night.

But this is not to be. We talk all evening. We go over the pros and cons. The idea is exciting. We must do it. What fun to rent and let other people take care of the problems.

We go over the details of the various cottages but get everything mixed up. “Was that the cottage on Hibiscus with no closets?” “Was it the place on Australian with the bizarre wallpaper?” “Do you think we could really live in that tiny one with no driveway?”

We sleep badly, give up, get up at dawn, and restlessly pace until a decent hour when we can call Bob. We go over the properties on the phone, ask to see two of them again.