Yesterday Jamie came into my room crying that Jim Moore was being hateful to her.  Because of Daniel Capiro she and Jim Moore have been at each other’s throats since last year.  I am usually there at feeding time to referee, but since I have been spending my evenings with Richard Martin, they have been going at each other pretty steadily.

 

Jamie said I never defend her and that she has to work so hard for me and these animals and then put up with being called names by volunteers and getting no respect from them.  I cried with her.  I do ask way too much of her.  I wrote Jim Moore a letter telling him to knock it off or get out.  I was depressed when I met with Richard Martin and as I came through his office door, he handed me two bouquets of soft peach coloured roses.  One was for me and the other for Jamie.  I almost cried.

 

In his helpful, if not overbearing way, he commenced to telling me everything I should say to her.  He asked why I laughed and I explained; because that was exactly, almost verbatim, what I had said to her.  It is so weird how we respond so similarly to situations.  I had bought Air Purifiers for his office and the lake house and the condo, because the dust is so bad I can’t breathe in these places.

 

He kept saying he wanted to pay for them but I told him he could pay for the electricity to run them and I would pay for the units, since I was the only one benefitting from them.  He got really adamant about paying for it so I told him he could donate the amount to the cats and he did on one unit.

 

We went to the California Club where he told the valet that he usually parked right by the door and was allowed to do so.  He insists that he rarely comes here and that he pulls that sort of thing just to see if he can get away with it.  The people there were older and just as “plastic” as the younger set we watched at Stormin’s.  All these people looking for love in all the wrong places.  He pointed out to me the sort of women he would be attracted to and it made me wonder what on earth he saw in me.

 

They were petite and conservative to the point of boring.  Petite, I understand.  Every man I have ever known wanted a woman he could carry under one arm.  (It must go back to the cave man mentality.)  Conservative is another issue altogether.  He likes to be high profile, noticed and remembered.  He said when he dies there will be a provision in his will that pays mourners to wail for his passing so that it will be the biggest funeral of all time.  As someone who is often in the spotlight, I am thankful that when I am with him, it is on him.  I can relax when I don’t feel like every word out of my mouth is subject to end up on the front page of the Metro section of the St. Pete Times.

 

Speaking of which, at the Brown Dog later that evening I ordered the lamb, which happened to be the same thing the man at the table next to me had ordered.  Richard Martin, always quick to converse with people he doesn’t know, asked the man what fine dining experience he would compare the Brown Dog to.  They went from there to a discussion about real estate developing and politics and they came to find out they knew each other by name although not by sight.

 

The guy’s name was George ? and he is the attorney for the St. Pete Times and a developer of commercial real estate in downtown St. Pete.   He owns the building next to my Anderson House, the Kress building and apparently quite a few renovated old buildings.  We went from there to have a drink at Bennigan’s.  I had already had my one wine limit so Richard Martin ordered a double Gin and Tonic.

 

We finished the discussion on swinging that we had started last week and I believe he understands how I feel about it.  He said that, of course, he would not offer me a smoke or a drink or anything else that would cause me to fall.  He said that he was only making an observation about the gay woman from the Farm Store and that in no way did he mean it as a suggestion th