Swelter

Other clubs, other crowds. Tuesday night, and it's the "Martini Club" at Barocco Beach, a little Cole Porter, a lot of martinis, hostess and radio personality Tara Solomon in fine form. Buddy Emerman, the father of owner Danny Emerman, holding court, dining with a gentleman in the enviable position of housesitting for Edward Albee: "He could have cared less about that Key Biscayne nudity thing." Part-time resident Egon von Furstenberg in attendance, kind of an Erroll Flynn-gone-to-seed look, prompting one former acquaintance to remark: "God, he used to be the handsomest thing." Cassis, packed to the rafters, boutique owner Betsey Johnson in a civic mood: "We looked for a store space here five years ago, but it wasn't happening then. Now there's so much energy." "Bootleggers Social Club" at The Spot, a joint effort by Garrick Edwards and Sebastien V, featuring soulful music -- a welcome trend -- and the standard fun brigade. The debut of "Funkin Mondays," again at The Spot, host Geo Darder presiding over a real relaxed dinner party, everyone making Play-doh sculptures. A special birthday treat coming with three Swedish blondes frolicking around for a photo op, a memory that may one day sustain us through the looming specter of prostate problems and crowbar-assisted erections.

Sex-rattled, awash in the sorrows of gin, stumbling down Washington Avenue. An old club invitation "Slave to the Persistance of Lust" blowing across the sidewalk. Out of nowhere, a one-legged homeless philosopher, expounding on the secret of life: "Always remember one thing: Love is free. But sex costs.

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