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Law Humor

: Bernard Madoff

Ruth Ruminating; Sunday Morning Without My Midas

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Dear Diary,

I'm heartsick.

Sunday mornings were always our favorite. Sometimes we used to fool around a little, then Brunch from Zabars or Murray's The Sturgeon King.

Bagels with creme fraiche and Scottish salmon, and maybe one yolk in the egg white omelet for color, good coffee - that always sent Bernie to the bathroom for a long while so I could put on my make-up. Lucky, I have a separate bathroom. (Thank G-d for Fabreze)

Then a nice walk in the park if we were in town, or a round of golf for him - paperwork and yoga for me. Laughing at the financial sections together. That, I miss.

He's had two nights in that terrible place now. I read they had chicken patties and canned string beans last night. Oy! I hope he didn't eat anything fried. never mind not kosher.

Tomorrow, when the driver takes me downtown to see him, I'll bring some fresh fruit and cookies from Tate's in Southampton. I hope they let me bring them in - some of those guards are VERY unpleasant. They have the strangest rules. They do NOT understand that a man like my Bernie needs to eat right and be clean. ( note to myself: bring that Soapopular hand cleaner, so if he touches anything there, he can clean his hands right away. they wouldn't dare confiscate that, would they? It doesn't even have alcohol in it! )

As everyone knows, I am already a writer ( see my book on Kosher Cooking), but I will NOT be publishing my innermost secret thoughts and feelings. I cannot afford - in every possible use of that term- to tell anything to anyone but you, Dear Diary.

I'm a little worried to say the least. The papers and those idiots on TV are claiming I must have known. Of course I had an office next to Bernie's, but don't they have any idea what it takes to run four homes and three boats, with staffs, all over the world?! The details, the invitations, the charities. Never mind the personal trainer every day, the fittings and hair color and shopping. Why would anyone in his right mind think I had the time to know what was in those statements.

I would go into work a little later than Bernie, after I worked out and showered and had my hair done. Then I'd be busy on the phone and the computer, talk to decorators, curators, and deal with the bills from the houses. Make sure everything was ready for houseguests.

My social secretary was slightly helpful, but I did all the real work a wife does for a successful man. Believe me, it is a FULL time job.

I found out that the houseman in France was drinking Bernie's best Cognac and smoking his cigars.. had to replace him. Just try doing that from New York when you don't speak French! The maids in Palm beach weren't dusting properly, and the linens weren't ironed correctly.

Then Montauk would spring a leak in the pool, or there would be mold in the guest rooms from that damn ocean. Never mind dealing with hurricanes in Palm Beach and checking all those country club bills for phony charges.

I never had a minute to see what was or was not going on the business. Oh, years ago, I was active ( I inherited money from my parents and Bernie and I started with NOTHING but a dream). And I thought the dream had come true. Well, was I wrong!

So, now I'm going to do a little yoga to calm myself and send the guards to Grace's Market for fruit and maybe some protein bars. I'll give them cash, and they better bring the receipts. I look at everything. umm, I mean everything to do with the house.

Note to myself:
1. call up Ellen to schedule a pedicure,
2. Call 311 and also have Stephen file a notice with the City's Dept of Inspections about the diner across the street. If they want to kvetch to the muck rackers and say that Bernie was a lousy tipper, lets see what happens when the place gets cited by the health inspector!
3. Call Marcia and see if she and Elaine would like to come by for a girls only dinner.

xoxoRuthie

Full post as published by Bernard Madoff on March 15, 2009 (boomark / email).