If there was ever a social event that needed pictures rather than words, it was the underwear fashion show put on by Sea Cup and Up and Coffrin Jewelers to benefit the Women’s Resource Center. There were eight models who donated their “time and bodies” to prove that “a good-fitting bra does wonders for a woman’s self-esteem.” Not to mention a good-fitting thong. 

Notice Anne’s wide-set Jackie Kennedy eyes. Yes, she’s Sarasota’s sexiest veterinarian, but so much more. She’s French, raised in Africa and educated in Saskatchewan. She has an amazing background—particularly when you see her sashay off a runway. And Suzette—she brought along her daughter, Canyon, who helped out Mommy in the dressing room and on the runway.

Managing Maxine opens at the Asolo Rep Friday night and I can’t wait. It’s got the classic Sarasota theme—love among the over 60 set, and all that entails: nosy friends, greedy children, a lifetime of “baggage.” It’s already famous around town as Sharon Spelman’s comeback—she’s the dearly beloved Asolo actress who retired several years ago. And her co-star is also coming out of retirement to do it.

Sonny and the director, Mark Rucker, treated the guests to a short excerpt from the play, with Mark playing Sharon. And guess where it took place? The Hob Nob! I hear there’s another scene that takes place at Sarasota Magazine but it was taken out. It had to do with Sharon Spelman being caught rigging the voting in a Best Pets contest.

And you should see the Hagelstein home. It’s where the Roskamps used to live and is classic old-time Sarasota—big and lavish, right on the bay, the best of taste. My favorite objects: the amazing Tiffany lamps and the Reginald Marsh drawing.                                              

Guess what? I had to do a charity auction! It was for the Artist Series of Sarasota, that group that presents performers, mostly—but not all—classical musicians in intimate recital-type settings. Needless to say, I was more than a little nervous, as live auctions don’t always work these days what with the economy. But the audience came through and responded beautifully and bought every item—all at top prices.

The only hitch was that my pants kept falling down. I was dressed as the Sandman (the theme was A Dream A-Fare) and let me tell you—it’s hard to summon up the “gravitas” a good auctioneer needs when your pants keep sliding to your ankles. But I just forged ahead, begging for bids on the week at a luxury condo in Zug, Switzerland.

I was sitting with the president of the series’ Friends group, Janice Landauer, and we had a ball. Also at our table: Doreen Sutherland, Heidi Godman, a dog named Mozart (yes, a very nice lady brought her little white dog, who attended the event just like any other guest) and Jack and Shannon Collins.

I had never met the Collinses before, even though back in the old days I knew Jack’s grandfather, Jerry. The Collinses own the dog track; Jerry bought it on the courthouse steps back in 1943 and built it into a Sarasota institution. They caught some flack from the animal people back in the 1980s but instituted a greyhound adoption program and that seems to have calmed down. A lot of the business these days comes from poker—it’s the only place in town you can legally play poker—and no, it’s not just rednecks. “We get doctors, lawyers, priests,” Jack explained. By the way, Shannon owns Spice Girls, that tea and spice store/café down by Chili’s. Everybody raves about how it’s the best place in town to have and/or buy tea.

And those with long memories may remember how when Oral Roberts threatened to die and go to heaven unless somebody gave a million dollars to his ministry, Jerry was the one who stepped up and made the donation. Boy, we sure had our share of characters back in those days . . .                                               

And finally, I am totally engrossed in Leslie Glass’ new book, Sleeper. Even though it is set in Portland, Oregon, it’s about the financial scam perpetuated by Neil Husani et al right here in Sarasota. Nobody writes detective fiction like Leslie. I am still enamored of her April Woo series, and this one easily meets that high standard.

Renee Hamad had a book signing party for Leslie on Sunday. Renee has a gorgeous house down near Coral Cove, and with the French doors open to the water and the warm (finally!) sun streaming in, it was a perfect afternoon. Lots of champagne and tiny quiches and crab cakes, and some fudge Leslie made herself. Her secret? Add some pitted cherries.

I knew I’d like Gladys, but Condi, who was here for the Ringling College Library Association Town Hall series, I was a little apprehensive about. I think a lot of people were. Would she apologize for the Bush Administration? Would she seem rigid and bossy? Would she be too intellectual?

Well, everybody immediately fell in love. She was funny, charming, and smart in a comforting way. She exuded confidence. I would gladly sign on for anything she was in charge of. If she wanted me to go to war against North Korea, I would have, gladly.

Fortunately, her Ringling College Town Hall talk at the Van Wezel—one of two, both sold out—didn’t force me to make this decision. But I did agree with virtually everything she said. I also feel that Thomas Jefferson was an overrated Secretary of State—also an overrated architect and interior decorator—and that George Marshall was the greatest to hold the office. I also like her “big tent” approach—she feels that the political party that will have the most success in the future is the one that reaches out to immigrants. She’s contemptuous of the right people—like “that thug in Venezuela”—and feels that the economic recovery, if it is to do us any good, must come from the private sector. And at the end of the day, what was her greatest accomplishment? “To empower women.” Although those of us with female bosses wonder if maybe she went a little too far in this regard.

And her personal story is one of the greatest ever. She attributes her success to the support of her remarkable family. “You think what I do is weird for a black person? My aunt writes books on Dickens.”

I’m not sure what Gladys Knight’s aunt does, but I have a feeling it has something to do with music. Weren’t some of those Pips her cousins? I know one of them, Bubba, is her brother—he still performs with her, in a very fly outfit with spats and white dinner jacket.

Gladys has been making a living singing since 1961, and if my math skills were better I could figure out how old she was. It’s irrelevant in her case, though, as her voice has actually improved with time—it’s gotten deeper, fuller, richer. She’s had so many hits that she could only sing a portion during her Valentine’s Concert at the Van Wezel but it’s always a thrill—you actually get goosebumps—to hear Neither One of Us and If I Was Your Woman and, of course, Midnight Train to Georgia.

My Valentine date was my dear friend, Renee Kalfus, the Hollywood costume designer. Renee and I were struggling artists back in Los Angeles when Midnight Train first came out, living in tiny $100-a-month apartments in Beachwood Canyon and working on student films at the American Film Institute. And now look at us—Renee with movies like Baby Mama and What Happens in Vegas and Chocolat under her belt and me, working on student films at Booker High. Oh, well . . .

Our prize for Best Dressed Valentine? Jennie Famiglio in a red sequined dress that perfectly matched the color of her husband Mark’s necktie . . .                                                 

I missed the Famiglios at the opening night of the Opera, but Pat and Larry Thompson were there. But then they—particularly Larry—are everywhere these days. That poor guy never gets a night off. Or a morning. He introduced Condoleezza at 10:30 a.m. in between faculty meetings. Larry, of course, runs Ringling College, and during his introduction he let slip the interesting fact that the CIA recruits at Ringling. What do you suppose they do, these animator-spies? Cartoons to win the hearts and minds of our Afghani comrades?

The opening night production was a double bill of everybody’s favorites: Cavalleria rusticana and Pagliacci. Cavalleria, of course, details the trials and tribulations of poor people in an Italian town that seems remarkably like Bradenton—religious yet over-sexed—while Pagliacci is the story of my life—an overweight, deformed clown has to make the whole world laugh but inside he’s sick of it because nobody loves him. Let me tell you, that libretto hit a little too close to home.

Still, it was great to see the larger-than-life characters who make the Sarasota Opera worthy of its own full-scale production: Maestro DeRenzi, radiating authority in a Godfather-like way; his wife, Stephanie Sundine, who humanizes him; my old pals from Traviata, Martha Collins and Steve Dickman. And undoubtedly playing the lead in any production, grande dame Ulla Searing, who sailed in regally pushing her walker and looking magnificent in white fur. Afterwards we were wined and dined in a big white tent. Everyone danced like mad—that’s the latest thing, dancing like mad—until the temperature dropped even more (if that were possible) and people went home and finally, as Pagliacci put it so succinctly, “la commedia e finita.”