REAL ESTATE

(Page 2 of 7)

Others who've been residents of the Hamptons for decades, and devotees of this establishment since the beginning, filled out the front room. Radio host Joan Hamburg looked like a proud mama ready to give birth to breaking news.

That was just one night out of many as the season unfolds with the precision of planning a tent party. One might say that Main Street East Hampton is Folly Park personified.

I found myself elbowing the throngs of lookers and shoppers to the beat of nonstop traffic, a sea of ice cream cones, an afternoon movie line and a boulevard of shops hawking diamonds, timepieces, cashmere, lizard pumps and couture frocks.

My singular error was walking into Citarella that Saturday morning to pick up a few items I forgot to buy earlier in the week. It was like being at a Loehmann's Last Sale Day event! Such a to-do over heirloom tomatoes! Buy local, sure—but wait until they're in season.

I heard the extraneous voices of passersby talking to themselves, looking like crazy natives in a some kind of exclusive sanatorium, heads bent and arms arched as they muttered into little instruments. But this wasn't chatter from a clinic for the privileged I was overhearing, just annoying snippets of life escaping from an earpiece.

"He knows the governor..."

"Gone..."

"The broker..."

"Turn Tommy over."

"My tummy hurts, too."

"Don't even think it."

"Throw out the chicken."