Venice Beach Boardwalk, near the outdoor gym loosely referred to as 'Muscle Beach.'
Photo Credit: Eduardo Santiago

You can appreciate my disappointment when I learned that Eduardo was abandoning me today.  Instead of our Saturday morning workout he was going off to Idyllwild, a remote rustic village in the wooded mountains above Palm Springs.  I could not imagine what he hoped to accomplish in such an isolated place.  Meanwhile, what was I to do in his absence?  Going to the gym by myself seemed distinctly unappealing.

"You should take the time to write about that Prince who is running for governor," Eduardo suggested helpfully.

"He is not a real prince."

"I know he's not a real prince.  My German neighbors told me all about him.  He bought the title.  In Germany everyone knows.  Escandalo.  It's perfect.  You love writing about scandal and royalty."

"Again, hello, not royal.  He sits around Starbucks in lederhosen.  He drives an old Rolls.  Hardly qualifies as royal."

"He's married to Zsa Zsa," Eduardo countered. 

"Imaginate,"  I sniffied derisively. 

"I'm sure Zsa Zsa was born in 1904."

"I'll have to check that," I said doubtfully, although it was not inconceivable, based on the last known photographs of the poor thing.  Still, it would make her a little long in the tooth when she had her affair with Rubirosa.  On the other hand, Rubirosa was married to Barbara Hutton at the time so clearly the man was capable of anything.  As you know, it was the Duchess of Windsor's best friend Jimmy Donahue who acted as go-between on the pre-nuptial arrangements in that brief marriage to Barbara, but it was society photographer Jerome Zerbe who'd caught sight of Rubirosa's famous equipment in the men's room and rushed out to tell everyone that "it looked just like Yul Brynner in a black turtleneck."

Imaginate.

"I am not just interested in scandal and royalty," I objected.  "My blog is about many things."

"Of course it is," Eduardo said quickly, hastening to agree.  "Of course it is."