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By LENNIE BENNETT
© St. Petersburg Times, published January 10, 2001
My fantasy: By some miracle of transmogrification, I wake in a condominium on the 10th floor of one of the fancy new downtown developments -- Cloisters, Vinoy Place -- let's say the Florencia on Beach Drive and First Avenue N. My two teenagers are safely asleep in the adjoining condominium, protected by our dog, George. (Remember, fantasy.) I am not expected at work. I don't want to drive anywhere for anything.
What kind of day can I have?
For years everything, from car parts to corsets, groceries to sporting goods, movie theaters, restaurants, hardware and millinery supplies, could be found within a few square miles that stretched from a block or so west of Williams Park down to Beach Drive, in between Third avenues N and S.
Then it all vanished. We were left with a few specialty shops, a handful of restaurants and lots of office buildings.
Downtown is back. It isn't the same. But for the first time in several decades, it seems possible, if you live downtown, to get almost anything you need and many things you desire within walking distance.
A week ago, I gave that premise a try. As a fantasy. For more than 12 hours, I scoured the downtown core, roughly from the waterfront to Fifth Street and First Avenue S to Fifth Avenue N, making mostly hypothetical purchases, buying only the food I ate during the day.
At 7:45 a.m. I stand on still-quiet Beach Drive. (See map, 1) The air is cool, the day sunny. I pause at the windows of Bruce Watters, then Earth's Treasures, two jewelry stores (2), like Audrey Hepburn inBreakfast at Tiffany's (a stretch even for fantasy, I know, but indulge me). Since the jewelry is removed overnight for security reasons and has not yet been replaced, the fantasy is somewhat diminished and I move along, to the great plains of Straub Park.
My destination is the Renaissance Vinoy Resort (3), northern star in my universe. I need sundries, precious commodities if you're an urbanista, and the Vinoy is one of only two downtown places I know that sells stuff like over-the-counter medicines. (The other is Russell's Convenience Store at First Avenue and Third Street S.)
W.H. Smith, the Vinoy's lobby shop, is surprisingly well stocked, with hydrogen peroxide, Pepto-Bismol, Dramamine and Nyquil lining the shelves, as well as intimate items that in certain circumstances could be considered necessary.
I realize I can't find my reading glasses. No problem. A nifty pair in my prescription, 2.50, folds compactly inside a plastic leopard print case for $10. The sales lady points out that Saks sells them for $60. If that is true, it's the only bargain I will find on my list of sundries.
I shell out $6.99 for 24 Aleve caplets, $3.99 for a 2.7-oz tube of Crest toothpaste, $4.99 for Secret solid deodorant, $1.99 for eight Band-Aids, $3.99 for a package of three disposable razors, $1.99 for a toothbrush and $2.99 for a sewing kit. Oh, and $4.99 for a container of Homeopathic Stress Mints ("Relax in a New York Minute!"), technically not a must-have, but possibly useful.
Normally, after that outlay, I'd settle for a bagel at Daily Grind in the Courtyard Shops. But the ambulatory agenda ahead demands that I bulk up on a real meal in the resort dining room. I ask Janice, my server, if the chef can fix a dish not listed on the menu, poached eggs with smoked salmon on toasted brioche. He can.
At 8:15 a.m., from my window seat overlooking Vinoy Basin, I see construction workers arriving in trucks for work on a site next door. Even George Soros' dire financial predictions in the New York Times, (brought to me with my preferred newspaper, the St. Petersburg Times, of course), does not deflate my sense of well-being. Nor does the bill, $14.72 plus tip.
Weighty with orange hollandaise, I decide a stroll is in order before I begin the real work of the day. By 9:15 a.m., I am walking south along Bayshore Drive. I turn east on Second Avenue N and walk the long stretch to The Pier (4), which I mostly have to myself since nothing opens until 10 a.m., precluding a visit to The Pier Aquarium or Great Explorations, the Hands On Museum. I regret that Motionride is not operative. For $5, "this ride may stimulate parts of your mind you never knew you had," reads its sign. I make a note in my Palm Pilot to return another time for the opportunity.
I discover that, in addition to all the entertainment available at The Pier, something solid, practical, can be had there. I can buy a boat. The Claire T, a 202-foot yacht docked at its end, is for sale, $6.9-million. I make another note in my Palm Pilot.
Energized by the stiff breeze off the water, I move back down the approach, then south on Bayshore. I stand in line with several dog walkers at the water fountain in Pioneer Park (5) on Central Avenue before heading north.
It is now about 10:15 and downtown is officially awake. I am back on Beach Drive (6). Dave Thomas, the neighborhood mailman, says, in passing, "I love living here." I wave to Charlie Weniger, who sits in his new, glass-front Weniger Financial office, but needing no financial advice at the moment, I continue on. Besides, I don't think he saw me.
I stop in to see Frances Stockton and Suzanne Fischer at Johnston of Florida, one of a number of women's clothing shops in my radius. I could use the Pashmina shawl, embellished with flowers for $595, and would love the $660 Lulu Guinness handbag, a charming froth of white roses. But I need something big and sturdy for my burgeoning purchases so opt for the more practical Kate Spade diaper bag, $200, which doubles as a roomy carrier. Suzanne points out that it also makes a great picnic basket, the changing pad functioning as a waterproof tablecloth.
I make a note to get picnic stuff.
I am lured into the children's shop, Buttons and Bows, by the finger puppets, then kill time with Jackson Willis, 4, who helps me feed coins into the elephant bank while his mother, Sally, buys pajamas.
At 11 a.m. I cross the street at 255 Beach Drive NE to the Museum of Fine Arts (7), in time for the free tour by docent Frances Hamilton. As a member, I do not have to pay admission. I linger in front of some favorite works: a portrait of William Lawrence Van Zandt by Samuel Lovett Waldo that looks like actor Michael Richards of Kramer fame, a pre-Columbian statue of the God of Death who resembles Homer Simpson, and a dog by James Henry Beard, titled Where's Dinner?, that reminds me of George. I make a note to get dog food.
I bump into Tom Gessler, who takes me on a behind-the-scenes tour of the upcoming re-installation of John Scott's I Remember Birmingham. Sometimes it's who you know.
I need a pillbox and the silver one crafted to resemble a suitcase at the Museum Shop for $10.95 seems like a deal.
I don't need it but I want it -- the Pronunciation Dictionary of Artists' Names published by the Art Institute of Chicago, for $11.95.
It's noon, as the bells in First United Methodist Church on Third Street and Second Avenue N remind me, and lunch time. I think about a Lonni's sandwich -- Ron's Sunny Bird or Mango Breeze on wild rice bread, but I am not hungry, so I yard it over to First Avenue N and the Florida International Museum (8). The day pass is $11.95. I bump into Wayne Atherholt, who gives me a personal tour of the Cuban Missile Crisis exhibition. Often, it's who you know.
We sit on a Eames-style sofa in one of the 1963 reproduction living rooms designed for the show and watch television. It's black and white, and the only channel broadcasts newsclips from that era. But I am feeling refreshed and ready to move forward.
I venture far west in visiting the Mirror Lake Library (9) because my computer is on the blink and I have reserved time on one there to check my e-mail. In the company of about a dozen men who seem to be regulars, I settle into one of the Carnegie chairs to read the latest issues of People magazine ("Madonna, Her Dream Wedding") and Sky and Telescope ("The Hidden Structure of Dusty Spiral Galaxies"). The restroom is very clean. A man bangs on the door and says, "Time to get out of there."
Coincidentally, I bump into Sally Poynter, arriving for the monthly board meeting of the Florida Orchestra Guild board of directors. President Mary Shuh invites me to join them -- free cookies and coffee -- but I decline.
My children ring my cell phone to tell me they do not need money and they have cleaned both condominiums. I love fantasies.
I need more sheets and towels, kitchen utensils, a hammer, screwdriver and dishes: My fantasy does not include a pre-stocked household. I long for the set of Vietri dinnerware in the new Sorbetto colors sold at Fanitsa's Ultimate Shop on Beach Drive and First Avenue N that I have ordered for two-day delivery, about $100 per place setting plus another $100 for overnight shipping. I want plates today so I stop at the Thrifty Store (10) on Fourth Street between Second and Third avenues N and hit pay dirt: dishes for 25 cents each. And a bonus -- tools from 50 cents to several bucks. I now have a hammer for $4. Bob, the owner, thinks I am Linda, his landlord's secretary, and wants to give me rent money.
I head east, walking through the small courtyard garden at St. Peter's Cathedral (11) to smell the roses in bloom (and to sit, briefly, in the darkened church to admire the stained glass and light a memorial candle).
It's about 2:15 as I hike through BayWalk (12). I chat with Lance Rodgers who has just finished lunch at Adobo Grill.
"You need to write that there are several theaters here showing What Women Want but not a single art film. Why not?" he asks. I make a note.
I see and collar Craig Sher and Greg Sembler, BayWalk developers, and tell them they need to expedite plans for a downtown grocery store.
"I am not finding dog food anywhere," I say.
"Well, I have a cat," says Sembler.
I am chilly so I buy socks at Mephisto, $11, and pink cashmere cloves at Ann Taylor -- half price, $19.99 -- and hungry -- a hot dog from Bill, the corner vendor, $1.50, and a candied kiwi slice dipped in tempered bittersweet Merkens chocolate from Dante at Key West Confections, also $1.50. I admire but do not buy Mephisto's $290 Gore-tex waterproof hiking boots, thinking I might opt for the $59.95 Nikes down the street at Tennis Racket on Beach Drive.
After searching the better part of the day, I find, at last, toilet paper, in Beach Drive Papery on Beach (13). It's monogrammed and pricey at two rolls for $16.95, but I am desperate. You can bet I'll dole it out carefully to friends and family. I consider, fleetingly, cadging a free roll from one of the Port-O-Lets set up for something in Straub Park. I also buy a box of Crane stationery for $13.
The Straw Goat is loaded with kitchen supplies, from humble to extravagant. I buy an 8-inch skillet, $25, spatula, $7 and coffee press, $30.
Nearby Goodnight Moon stocks another necessity I have been unable to find, laundry soap. LeBlanc Linen Wash at $16 for 32 ounces is also pricey but very good. (I make a note that with more planning, I can drop laundry off along with dry cleaning at the new branch of Sacino's in BayWalk for next day delivery.) Also gotta-haves are sheets and towels. I buy several basic bath towels for $28 each and a set of queen-size sheets for $250. Would have preferred the gazillion-thread-count Egyptian cotton ones for about $400 each. I also pass on the $660 cashmere throw, but splurge on lavender eau de linge, $32.95, to spritz my all-cotton sheets that must be ironed.
I make a note to return to the Thrifty store to purchase the $4 iron. If it works.
My reading glasses remain AWOL, so I make a next-day appointment at Beach Drive Optical for an exam and pre-select my frames. I should have new glasses in three days. Total cost, about $160.
Crossing the alley on Beach, I am almost clipped by Rob Gordon's Expedition. He stops to tell me his new eateries, Ten Beach Drive and Perch on Central Avenue, are really and truly almost ready to open. I make a note to make reservations.
It's 3:15 p.m. and I need some serious seat time. The movie What Women Want starts at 3:55 p.m. at BayWalk's Muvico Theaters, $5.50. First I stop in to see Sharon Clayton at her shop, Sharon Plus, in the Courtyard Shops (14), because she's the only person downtown selling women's undergarments. Mary Wyatt Allen is there, trying on sweaters.
At 5:45 p.m. I am snoozing in one of the roomy $500 Muvico seats (15). I wake with a start; I have to leave now so I can get groceries at Marketplace Express (16) in the Cloisters building on Beach before it closes at 6 p.m. I get one dozen eggs, $1.49, a quart of milk, $1.69, orange juice, $1.29 for 13 oz., a pound of Columbian Supreme coffee, freshly ground, $9.99, and Krispy Kreme doughnuts, 65-cents each, for tomorrow's breakfast and a Caesar salad, $2.99, a pound of penne, $2.39 and jar of pasta sauce, $5.75 for dinner.
George loves the liver; the kids want to order a pizza. After my nap, I want to go out
I head west to Jannus Landing. I love Bertoni on Central and First Street but tonight I'm in the mood for Redwoods (18). It is 6 p.m. and I don't have a reservation, but ask to sit at the bar and get an appetizer. Sure.
"A white wine that is not Chardonnay," I tell Stephen Fox, who is tending the bar. He pours California Viognier. Never heard of it, but like it.
It's early for the chi-chi dinner crowd and the front room is nearly empty so executive chef Tommy Sapp and sous chef Eddie Raye King ("I'm from Tennessee," he says) come out for a chat.
The kitchen produces an artfully arranged plate of seared duck breast in sauce perigordine, duck rillette cake, a tiny tempura lobster tail, a sliver of fois gras, baby vegetables and vanilla-bean mashed potatoes. Sapp reappeaars and shaves white truffle over all. I want to swoon. Or take another nap.
Fox suggests macadamia ice cream for dessert.
"A little bowl," he says.
He pours a glass of William Humbert Solera Especial sherry, aged 15 years. A new plate is put in front of me, containing a sesame tuille loaded with ice cream, fresh fruit, creme anglaise, fruit purees. In fantasies, we don't worry about calories or bills. Mine is $45, which I gladly pay for such indulgence.
I am more glad for the opportunity to walk.
At 7:30 p.m. the lights are still on, a few doors down, at the Haircutting Co. (19). My feet have had a workout today, so I make an appointment for a pedicure and paraffin dip, $40, tomorrow morning.
My kids call me with the news they need notebook and graph paper.
Uh-oh.
Too late for the University of South Florida bookstore -- and too far to walk. I make a desperate call to Kenny Mitchell, artistic director at American Stage. They have lots of paper, I am told. (They use graph paper in set design.) Come on over, he says.
Okay, it's always who you know. I detour to the theater (20) at Third Street and Second Avenue S before heading northeast to Beach Drive. I am in my fantasy home, high above the city lights, by 8:30 p.m.
I never found diapers. (Thank heavens I do not need them.) And I couldn't find a place to rent a movie. But I found more than I thought I would within my self-drawn boundaries, more things than I could take advantage of in one day. Some were far too expensive for everyday life. Some weren't, and many were free.
Tomorrow, a bus or trolley can take me farther afield to the Dali Museum, the Mahaffey Theater, Bayboro Books, Tropicana Field, art galleries, even a grocery and drugstore, all just a few miles away.
My real children call to say they love me. I have had enough fantasy for one day. Poor George, still in an ecstasy of chicken livers, will, I suspect, be hard to rouse from this waking dream back to his Kibbles-and-Bits reality.
I make a note: Let him sleep late.