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FLORIDA (1962 Vacation)

 

Jan. 28 - Feb. 6, 1962

SUNDAY, 1/28/62: Wake at 5:15, lay until 8AM, up and iron handkerchiefs and pack and eat breakfast until Mario arrives at 10AM. Fly at noon, after Mario has eggs and nervous troubles. Hit rough weather and I lay perfectly still, hoping not to be sick, while Mario blithely reads papers. Arrive at 6PM, flying over Venice-like canals and waterways. Land and walk through huge terminal, only to find Trans-Alaskan right at our starting point. Mario has trouble when tag is torn from bag, but we get into Redtop and begin to enjoy the intensely green vegetation, the Florida salt smell, the violet, as opposed to blue or red, sky. Over the bridge and see the stretch of hotels on the beach. Get to the Surrey, which does seem to be in the middle of everything. Get to the room and quickly partition drawers in chests and bathroom and space in closet. Put everything away and change into slacks and short sleeves. Walk half a block when the sub-tropic evening coolness strikes up and we hurried back to room for sweaters. Pass lines of similar hotels, but the Seville has a nice entrance and the Roney Plaza looks like what the Fontainebleau will look like ten years from now. Pass a crowded Junior's to go down to Jahn's, in which Mario is disappointed because he cannot get a beer. Waitresses in candy-striped aprons and straw hats come for our order, and I find that Jahn's has a neater sandwich (all Miami seems neater than anywhere else) than any previously experienced, but the coffee frosted bubbles over with goodness. Walk further down to the Lincoln Mall, but it gets windy and we're tired, so we take the wrong bus down Pine Tree Drive, and have to walk through pleasant residential areas to the 41st Street bridge (good we have a map) and back to hotel. Pick up many tour brochures and I sit on Mario's bed, trying to entice him to me, but he doesn't budge. We talk of town and play with lights, and I stroke his chest, and he still doesn't move, yet during the day he gets close and punches and smiles. We get to sleep about 1AM, and only then after a jet, symbol of far Miami's accessibility, strides by overhead.

MONDAY, 1/29/62: Wake at 8:15AM and up at 10AM, dress and go downstairs for a long breakfast. We walk up and see entrance and lobby of Fontainebleau and Eden Roc, then decide to catch sun. Back to lie by pool for half hour, until sun disappears. Try roof, but it's crowded and I had enough sun. Down to change for beach and go to Sovereign Beach to swim, but immediately gravitate to ocean section in front of the Fontainebleau, tres chic. Swim and float in perfectly temperatured salt water and back to debate what to do next. Change and start walking again, north, this time. Catch bus in front of Eden Roc and ride up, getting off at 88th. Walk down past nice public beaches, Atlantic Way, and highway with decaying gates and beaches next to Indian Creek, and even tornado-twisted stucco chateaux, long grown used to disuse. Walk all the way to the hotel, after lunch at Pumpernick's, where I had lovely fresh pineapple and orange and grapefruit and lettuce and prunes and cream cheese on date-nut bread. My face starts getting red, and I try to buy a hat, but no use. Back to hotel around 5PM, and wait for JJ. At this point I'm again sitting next to Mario, and embarrass myself and him by touching his leg and telling him he's wrinkling my shorts. "Do you want me to take them off?" "Yes," I flash, before giving myself a chance to debate. He unzips them, then stops, and I fall across him and he draws away and tells me he thought about it, but out of consideration of making JJ's vacation unpleasant he decided to do nothing. This makes me feel like a fool, and, true or not, we have nothing. Later he tries to make it up to me by pushing and poking and grabbing my arm, but I don't know. We phone airport and find JJ's in at 5:45PM. To bar for a daiquiri and wait for cab, then out onto porch. Ready to get sweater when he arrives. Trio immediately livens as JJ tells about his day and we tell about ours. JJ is starved, since he had nothing at home and little on the flight. We walk south again, looking at some hotels, and stand in line at Junior's for supper, which wasn't bad, but wasn't very good, either. We have a ball with JJ's burping, Mario's spilling salad oil on his jacket, and my slow eating. We joke with sauerkraut and rolls, and have a great time, everyone in top form. Then we walk to mall and walk along it, where I am impressed by its size and beauty, and they are impressed by its too great neatness and its phony order. "No dog leaks, no bird droppings." Again it gets windy and we take little train back, catch a cab, and get to bed about 11.

TUESDAY, 1/30/62: Up at 9AM and to restaurant in hotel, then sun for a while. Very hot, and JJ goes to the beach. I wait 10 minutes and follow him; water is a bit colder, but still perfect once you're in. Mario joined us, and we went in front of the Fontainebleau again. Discussed, fruitlessly, what we wanted to do, a strange combination of lack and superfluity of entertainment. I always wanted the tours, Mario was only for getting a car and "driving around, to see what we can find." Typical difference between Americans and Europeans. Go down to rent a car and eat in awful hotel restaurant. At 3:30PM hop into car and start north. Travel along ocean and hit huge marina at Fort Lauderdale. Out to wander docks and look at fish. Look at shelled ocean sand and back in car for trip through island streets, where everything is movie-set clean. Decide to continue to Palm Beach, putting top up as night comes down. Get to Palm Beach about 8PM, and drive along elegant tree-lined wall-banked streets, through which can be seen home lights as in Peekskill on Hudson. Pass hotels which they assure me look better than anything they have in Nice or Cannes, and we wonder why Americans go there, and I say they're not accepted in Palm Beach, but they ARE in Nice. See wonderful mall-like street with elegant shops, and park car and wander quaint narrow muses with shops below chic apartments, and get cruised rather pointedly. Look to eat in Café Lafitte, but both demur, and we get into car and stop at Barney's sandwich shop for marvelous cheap and delicious meal. Travel down A1A and 1 again, talking quickly away, while my voice gets more and more hoarse. Stop at Mai-Kai and stroll along lit stream and geysers and flames shooting out of pools. See near-nude girls serving exotic drinks and gowned and jeweled women with tanned men. Quite a place. Down into Miami quite late and park car and the two of us collapse into bed; Mario still wanting to do more at 11:30PM.

WEDNESDAY, 1/31/62: Had made reservations with Audubon for 11AM, but as we weren't through with breakfast until 10:30AM, that was rather out of the question. Back to room to prepare for Keys trip, and Mario decides he doesn't feel like riding this day. JJ and I pack and take off about 11AM. Ride through Miami and South Miami and Coral Gables and farther until we stop while I buy a rather stylish Italian straw to keep the sun off my face. At Homestead we hit signs for the Everglades National Park, and we get maps and choose Anhinga Trail, while dry, it still has an 8 foot 'gator and many birds, the diving anhinga, branch-like gars, and a quick view of turtles and an otter. Almost run down a raccoon later with car. Back to Gumbo-Limbo trail for the fantastic strangler fig and a walk through Everglades jungle, quite in contrast with the swamp. But still quite dry. Out about 3PM and stop to have sandwiches and cakes at a junky gas station. Take off south again, and pass over a lake-dotted landscape which slowly changes to an island-dotted seascape. The colors of the water and trees, separated by the brown tangle of the exposed swamp roots, are quite different, and swamp birds perched on high-tension wires add a note of incongruity. The Keys, however look like poor-south squatters' settlements. Bridges are filled mainly with Negroes fishing, and not only from the catwalks, which makes driving slow. We stop for a second at Theater of the Sea at 4:30PM, but $1.75 is too much, so we go on. Pass underdeveloped tracts which would be very nice, and the farther we travel the more disappointed we are that the island landscape doesn't change for the better. We had mentioned possibly staying overnight at Key West, but as it becomes obvious there is nothing much to see, we turn about and drive back. We get into bayou country just at sunset, and 10 minutes of oranges, reds and violets of a vivid sunset make the trip magic. Stop in Homestead for supper (a half-baked broiled chicken) and drive back past Vizcaya and more streets of walled homes. Over bridge past Flagler Monument, and stop again to see mirrored image of Miami in the colored waters. To hotel at 9PM, and Mario is waiting for us, not having eaten yet. JJ begs to be excused and Mario and I dress up and go out at 9:30PM for his supper. Walk a while and take cab to Jahn's. Mario snacks and I have fruit bowl. Walk looking for the Riviera, but it closed. Find that the Onyx and Pub are in the phone book, but far. Catch cab to Playboy Club, and fare comes to $3.00, but the ride is nice. Into a world of bosomy bunnies and flowing services. Down to Playpen and see pianist Nino Nanno, rather good, and Irwin Corey, who starts off well only if you're familiar with his style, but when he warms up he is quite funny. Bunnies hop around us, and Mario can't understand the jokes. Wander into library and look at Playmates, into Living Room Bar and look at cartoons, peep into Penthouse, and decide enough is enough, and that enough cost $3.75 (cab fare), $10.25 there, which with other cab comes to $17, which is not bad for a few hours entertainment. Back about 1AM and we plunk into bed, letting JJ catch up with us in sleep.

THURSDAY, 2/1/62: Pillow fight starts the day with a bang at 9:30AM, and we dress and try to look for the 1st Street beach, but the neighborhood is bad, the parking is gone, and the beach seems uninteresting. Back up Pine Tree Road to the Carillon, where we park and have breakfast in the Sugar and Spice Room; but pretty lousy at 11:30AM. Start toward 72nd Street beach, but back into car to drive to Haulover. The sand is shelly, but the company is pleasant, and the water remarkably transparent. We leave at 2:30PM and lunch quickly, Mario with a lime fizz and me with cheeseburger and huge salad. We all feel the sun and I've had enough ocean for the day. Return and while they sleep I fill this out. Evening is a wonder of indecision. Dress and walk to lobby of the Fontainebleau, and JJ explains in detail why it is in bad taste. Walk up to the Eden Roc and price meals, then down again to find Surfcomber Babalu Room almost closed at 8:30PM. Eat at Junior's, ride the outdoor elevator to the Ivory Tower in the Saxony, then JJ decides he's tired, and he leaves. Mario and I try the Seville, but no interest, so we walk back to Surrey for an awful drink in the awful bar. All this while Mario and I are close yet distant. JJ sometimes looks in amazement as we stare out or past each other, and he often asks what we are thinking about, though neither of us speaks. This night we're feeling close and talkative, and we jest as we enter the room, but silence covers when we see JJ's bed empty. The first fright that something may have happened is stopped by the certainty that somewhere, at about that time, he's having sex. We talk little, but, touchless, both go to bed. Our glances catch often, but never our hands, and we toss and turn after the light is out. He gets up to take a drink; I get up to put Vaseline in nose and on arms (after I convince myself that nothing is going to happen), he turns over to look out the window, I sit up in bed in agony and frustration, an erection lining my underwear. "Can't you sleep?" "No." "Why?" A pause and a laugh. "I don't know why." He turns light on and reads paper for a time, I crouch in bed, stretch and yawn, yet vow to make no move toward him. Mine was the last, his should be the next. We can feel each other looking at each other. He sits on the edge of the bed for a while and playfully takes a swipe at my arm. We throw pillows back and forth a few times and laugh in tenseness. I sit at the edge of my bed, heels upon bed board, arms hanging limp, staring out window. I walk to window and look out, he comes very close, but then drops back and I go back to sit on the bed. "I wish I had a milkshake or something." "Are you hungry?" "No, I'm not hungry." "Why can't YOU sleep?" "I'm just not sleepy." We stare at each other across the gap between the beds and smile. He reaches out and clips my elbow, I poke at him, then glide my fingers along his arm. He grabs my wrist, and, using that grasp for leverage, I slide off the bed and throw myself on top of him, burying my mouth in his neck. He quite literally freezes and pushes me away, and I sit up in much embarrassment and the fun begins. We exchange indefinable light touches, and occasionally I touch him and he grins with nervousness and I tickle with long smooth strokes of one fingernail along his hairy arm. We grow slowly closer, and I see his even teeth as he smiles, and he kisses my fingers that touch his cheeks. He runs his fingers into my hair and I simper like a scratched cat. In a moment of knowledge our noses touch, and a good half hour passes before our lips meet, motionless, in a touch of quiet. Slow and gradual motions and touches and smiles, never a word, only an occasional pause as we suspect JJ's return. At the end, we do not reach half the pressures of a first moment between two sex-grapplers, but we're straining to the limit, and looking and touching and liking. I seem to hear pressures down the hall and hop into bed, and later cover up at the touch of a key in the door. A minute later the door opens and JJ walks in and I say "Oh, HO," in a knowing tone and the fun of HIS story begins. Even when we get to bed at 2AM, we can't quite sleep, and both Mario and I get up again to "leak."

FRIDAY, 2/2/62: Wake at 8AM, and up at 10AM, joking about the previous night. Breakfast late and Mario and I touch for brief moments while JJ is washing. This was precisely what we wanted to avoid at the beginning: the furtive clutches beneath a certainly suspecting regard. I mail 10 cards and decide to take bus tour. The two of them go off to the beach, and I write this after coming for myself. Pressures that had built last night were simply too great: but the release pressure is less and nearly senseless. Down to wait for the Gray Line bus at 1PM. Took the tour, and saw many of the beautiful homes in Coral Gables and surrounding suburbs. Stopped for a half hour at the Venetian Pool, spring-fed, and watched the University of Miami students at their homework. Then rode around their campus, and another brighter campus, that of the Hialeah Race Track. Back by way of Motel Row, and back to the Surrey about 5:30PM. As time goes on, everyone finds it harder and harder to agree on where to eat, where to go, what to do, when to do it. We again stand in line to eat at Junior's, but we're starting to have a reputation, and the hostess chats with us, the waitresses are wonderfully cheerful, and Mario turns bright red as the waitress asks if he was married, saying that one the waitresses had asked her, "How can you STAND to serve such a handsome man?" And our brash waitress replied: "That's easy, I have grandchildren." The ribs were excellent. I take the bull by horns about this time and specify Junior's, and after we finish, we stand debating on the steps of the Sans Souci and I end up by dragging them in. The place is almost empty, but rapidly fills up (something like the Musketeer Room, like a small Copacabana), to introduce one of the filthiest, most insulting, most personal, most outrageous, and, unfortunately, one of the funniest comedians I've seen. JJ was in outraged stitches. "Fifty years old, and you still got pimples." "Jewish, Jewish, I can tell, wait until the Nazis get a hold of that nose." "Lady, what are you laughing at, your husband's queer." "Look at the queer in the jacket." "Look at Valentino with the champagne, bet you never had champagne before." "You, what are you looking at?" "Think I'm cute? Meet me after the show, lady, I'll introduce you to my sister, who's ugly too." "Lady, look at me, lady, you're OLD." We left and debated some more, but somehow ended up back in the room, all of us ostensibly feeling somewhat the worse for the change of weather, water, and food.

SATURDAY, 2/3/62: Walk up to the great public beach beyond the Eden Roc, and have a fine day baking in the suntan lotion. Many interesting things to look at, and I float until I'm literally dizzy from the feeling of un-orientation. Back to sun again, looking at the people parading themselves; the greatest show on earth: the beach. Have just a snack for lunch, and at 2:30PM get the car again. Drive up to Haulover Beach and I persuade them into the sight-seeing boat around the beach area. Take off from near the wharf when I had beheld the enormous sunfish (straight from "La Dolce Vita") the previous day on the bus tour. Nine by six, and about 600 pounds at rough guess. The boat tour is quite nice, but unfortunately JJ and Mario have difficulty understanding the language. The homes are quite spectacular in parts, and the prices are outlandish, such as $1600 a beach foot, and no one can build on less than 200 feet. Or the private island with two gold golf courses and a guard house at the only bridge. Also caught a glimpse at what must have been my Normandy Isle property. But we're glad to get back to shore, where indecision again sets in: where should we eat. Take off into Miami, and Surfside Way, or whatever it is, and find nothing that the three of us can agree on. Eventually Mario appears to lapse into the sulks, and JJ is starving, will accept anything, and I suggest Clifford's, which turns out to have lousy service, and also makes us late for anything we might do that night. End up at the Deauville (I've mixed up these nights, but I guess it really doesn't matter; my on-the-spot-notes took me only up to Friday afternoon), and some decent entertainment, but the high spot of the evening is standing on the stairs, watching the beautiful people (male, female and other) go in and out, and the fantastic clockwork of parking and fetching the cars. They drive up and around, up and around, mingled with taxis and walkers, and the whole thing, under the fluorescent canopy, is stunning. Our car drives up, and away we go. I still don't feel like going to bed (I KNOW this took place Sunday night, but also know it didn't take place after the Carillon, which must have been Friday night, so the Sans Souci must have been Thursday (?)), so I walked downtown again, and through the mall, to find the Pub closed, and got into the Onyx Club. Very dimly lit, with a stage, and a horseshoe bar, with the horses sitting around the outside. Drink and can discern no one seemly in the dark, and am about to leave when someone enters to see the show. I return to my half-filled glass (thank goodness there was no business with a coat, I may never have gone back), but rather talentless record mimickers, running the gamut from the Mary Martin floppiness of "I'm in love with a wonderful guy" to the Julius Monk originated "Guess who I saw last night my dear?" with a hilarious ending as the paper lowers, a curly head raises, then a PAW appears around the side of the wing chair, and a wolfmanish chap creeps up as the curtain closes on screams, nibbles, and a belch. They have a clever shadow-production of "Frankie and Johnnie," and some other show thing about "Name Dropping," ending with simply EVERYONE dropping God. A dancer gyrated quite fetchingly to something from a Persian Market, and did it again later on with even less on, if that was possible. A blond, handsome comic who simply chatted with everyone he knew in the bar, and had the stage hands and pianist laughing, also played many parts, and I still insist that one of the skits with a mummy had someone in the mummy, else how could the legs have been so lifelike, how could it have balanced so nicely? Nice people watching, too, and I dropped many a drop of drool on my stool ogling the jeans. Left at 2ish, and walked back through a dripless mall (better that way). (Wrote something, as I recollect, that I don't seem to have found), and all the way back to the Surrey getting in about 3AM.

SUNDAY, 2/4/62: Up late and set out about 11AM for Vizcaya. Spent quite a bit of time in the smelly rooms, and even more in the lavish gardens. JJ and Mario again compared notes about Italy and France, and I just looked at everything and tried to find places to hold hands with Mario. (Which also reminds me that one of those days Mario and I feigned tiredness to let JJ go to the beach, while we remained behind and performed acts which shall be nameless, but scarcely unimaginable.) Out just about in time (after a lunch in a horridly remodeled basement, next to the blessedly untouched indoor/outdoor swimming pool) to take car back, and Mario went into agonies about having to miss the Seaquarium. (But, incidentally, when we got into one at the airport Mario was ready to leave in 5 minutes). Returned the car, and back to the beach for the rest of the afternoon sun. As usually happens, just about this time I feel as if I can stay in the sun indefinitely getting browner, never burning. Back to change, shower, and caress while JJ is showering. Back to Junior's for one last meal, and I repeat the luscious ribs. This night we probably go to the Sans Souci (and later, I to the Onyx), but since there is only this one night left, and I have one night left to describe, here it is. JJ and Mario phone for tickets to "Judgment at Nuremberg," and I walk up to the Eden Roc, thinking it was the Carillon, which of course it wasn't, and then out to flag a cab for the Carillon, which was the Carillon. Got in late for the start of the "Follies de Paree," but still get an Apache dance, a comic, a male singer, a production number with Latin Quarter type showgirls, a group of Italian comics, another singer, another production number, and then the grand finale, with the kitchen sink, and balloons. I try to catch one, but fail, but pick one up in the lobby. Walk the entire way from the Carillon to the Surrey on the left side of the street, facing traffic, with a huge yellow balloon protruding from my side coat pocket. Remarks which were rather disappointingly few, ran somewhat like this: "Hey, Mister, you got something growing out of your pocket," to which I replied, "Thanks." "You've got a balloon in your pocket." "What?" "You've got a BALLOON in your POCKET." "Oh." The half-hysterical laughter of male teenagers, and the completely hysterical giggle of a medium female. The most thought-out was a firm, low, husky "Back up" in a commanding male voice. An amazed "God!" Some "What's that's, "never saw that before," "look at the size of that," a honk of the horn. Couple of gals pass me, one continuing on, the other's jaw drops exaggeratedly and she gapes. "Hey, lookit that. Hey, what you got there?" "Wish I had one of those," in a matronly female voice. And, maybe the saddest of all, a repeated whistle from a stopped car, which I had already passed. Back at the empty hotel and read a bit of JJ's "Turn of the Screw," and they returned all and bedded down.