BusterStronghart@Gmail.com

Scotty was just about the only Florida Friend I have made.

He was a Wall Street kid who like to brag that he had made a few fortunes and lived in Paris, Miami, LA, and NY. He started with a high school education, never went to college. He and a friend started a small over-the-counter brokerage house with no money. Then they made a lot of money in the days when brokers could mark up stocks as they pleased.

He's been all over the world. He married very early and divorced very early. Since then he's been a bon vivant, playing the market and losing a lot of money along the way. He ended a renter at Southpoint, but a few years ago made enough money to move next door into Hermitage, the best of Ft. Lauderdale, and maybe Miami and PB too. The only thing wrong with Hermitage is that it's in Ft. Lauderdale.

He gave Aaron some business.

But his real activity was in commodities and very esoteric derivatives. He managed to go broke during the recent debacle--but was confident that he would come back. He told me that he had been broke several times before.

About five years ago he had a CA lung problem but read deeply into the literature, and decided for something that he called the Cyber Knife. He was okay for the last five years, but six months ago his doctors insisted that he had to take chemo &/or radiation or he would have only six months.

He took the six months. Five and one-half of them were pretty good. He died a few weeks ago.

He had a girl-friend, a Frenchie from Quebec. They had lived together but also lived apart on and off for about 25 years. He met her here at Southpoint--

She was with him solid for the past five years, but lived in Deerfield. During his six month death wait she lived in his apartment with him. They went to Rome, Bermuda and Nova Scotia, but mostly stayed here.

He had a brother who is "very well off" (Scotty's description) and lives in Baltimore. They didn't speak for many years. I don't know why. There were no other relatives.

When he died Frenchie, was there. He was in her arms.

She arranged for his cremation and called the brother. The brother came, told her to take the ashes, and then told her to get out of the apartment. (I would guess 1.5 million dollars, maybe a little less.)

A search for a will turned up nothing.

I can't believe it. It's the same as with Hal. Both Hal and Scottie knew that they were dying. Why didn't they take care of the ones they loved?

The brother will gets whatever is left. I have a feeling, however, that it will be very close to nothing. Scottie was the type who wouldn't hesitate to mortgage everything.

Frenchie, a devoted and very honest woman would not take anything--not even Scott's watch or a ring that he always wore.

Okay, now there's another part:

Frenchie decided to take the ashes and spread them out in the sea in front of Hermitage. This is fitting as Scottie used to call himself "The Beach Lover" and could often be seen back stroking up and down the beach, a few miles, almost every calm day. If he wasn't swimming he would be on the beach, sunning himself, and achieved, as you might see in the photos, a very deep tan--the kind of tan that Dad would get.

I asked Scottie what part of Russia his folks came from, as I have a very retro theory of racial physiognomy.

I believe that facial types and body characteristics exist and that only the recent (last 100 years) of racial and ethnic mixing have melted away these recognizable characteristics. My theory would be called eugenic and racist these days so keep it to yourself. Calling it retro is a euphemism.

I have seen many men with Dad's forehead and eyebrows, the line of his mouth and chin, his thin hair and his hairline. I believe that they all came from the same part of Russia, or the same Jewish clan even further back.

So Frenchie took his ashes to the verge of the sea one morning at six AM. She wanted to be alone, so I got up and watched from my terrace. I saw her come to the beach before sun-up, and so she waited, sitting on the sand, a small paper bag at her side.

When the sun peaked over the horizon she waited a few more minutes, and then went into the water, about knee deep and spread the ashes very carefully into the sea. She went back to the beach, sat down and waited about five more minutes. Then she took some roses out of the bag and spread them out over the ashes.

She turned her back to the sea and went over the dunes and disappeared from my view.

Immediately, on her disappearance, a second woman, a blond, about sixty, dressed in Capri pants, a pink blouse, and Jackie Kennedy sunglasses appeared from the north. She walked exactly to the spot in the ocean where Frenchie had spread the roses and the ashes and placed herself in what would have been the middle of the ashes and the roses.

She stirred up the water with her hands, as though attempting to wash herself with Scottie's ashes. She splashed some of the water on her body and on her face.

After a few moments she turned around and walked away, northwards, up the beach. I watched her as long as I could but then, she too disappeared.

Later that morning Frenchie had a small memorial service for Scott at Hermitage, over looking the beach.

The woman in pink did not appear.