“It’s not surprising your father hasn’t called by now.”
And on it went. Later that same summer my folks had a blowout fundraiser for Project Hope, the floating hospital. My dad’s band from the 50s in NYC came up for a reunion. Wild line-up of 15 layers including two pianos, basses and trombones which took turns making the lower-register melody lines that, I swear, were magic. Never a guitar, and that says it all. Most of the band had regular gigs in New York still, so many years after the fact. Their hit was called “I’m Feeling Lucky.” Dad knew a variety of stars from Johnny Mercer to Lana Turner to Charles Mingus.
On this fine night in July, about 300 were getting smashed, listening to one monster set of jazz out on the lawn, and, it was a year after the hitching-hiking incident, one of them was Dr. Cleo Alexander : the most flirtatious/pretty doctor anyone ever knew, or hoped to know.
So it was a big night, and here the mom of little miss sexy from the other private school up in Rochester saddles up to the three teenage bartenders…
“Boys, do you know my daughter Lisa?”
“Sure we do,” Thomas said. Thomas lived down at the other end of Trevor Court, and most of the time his family’s obsession with golf prevented them from buying a cottage at the lake, some 40 miles away from their investment in the Country Club of Rochester. It was a rarity to have him down for the weekend. Also handing out drinks that night was Jerry, the neighborhood basketball and soccer star.