One summer evening in ’86….. 

The night was going to be hot and steamy, and so, it appeared, was she.  The crisp white of her form-fitting dress was the perfect foil for her golden tan.  The stunning belt that she had paid way too much for showed off her small waist, and her high heels made her long legs look even longer.  She glanced in the mirror, fluffed her sunstreaked hair, and said “I’m ready”.

She slipped into the driver’s seat of her little MG and headed uptown, dodging in and out of the summer traffic made much worse by the tourists who had no idea where the hell they were going.  The lights along the avenue began to twinkle as the sun set, a subliminal signal to residents and vacationers alike that it was time to put away the beach toys and start the party. 

Was she headed for a fabulous soiree, a night of mingling with the “in” crowd?  A chic gallery opening, hanging with the intellectuals?  Oh hell no!  She was going to see “The Golden Boys” in concert at the Lookout Lounge.  Yep, dear readers, she was all dressed up to go see three middle-aged men dance, sing, and reminisce about the days when they used to be heartthrob sensations.  It seems that Bobby Rydell, Frankie Avalon, and Fabian were out on tour, wooing the middle-aged women that used to adore them, and my boss, being a middle-aged woman herself, thought it would be great fun if we all went to see them.   

When I arrived at The Lookout Lounge, high atop the Fenwick Inn (yes, that was their tagline); I went to the bar to say hello to my friend Greg, the bartender.  My boss and the rest of our party gang were already sitting at a huge table right in front, and the drinks were flowing freely.  Bobby, Fabian, and Frankie came out a few minutes later, and the crowd went crazy.  The Golden Boys put on quite a show, complete with dance contest.  My boss got pulled up on stage as one of the winners, and she was in seventh heaven.

Once the show was over, I headed back over to the bar to chat with my pal Greg for a few minutes.  As I was standing there, someone started softly crooning my name.  “Rebecca, Rebecca.”  I glanced around and didn’t see anyone I knew, so I just continued my conversation with Greg.  Then I heard it again, a little louder this time.  “Rebecca, Rebecca”.  I look around, then happen to notice that Greg is trying hard not to laugh.  “What is so damn funny?” I demand.  He just points his finger in the direction of a low lit booth in the corner, and laughs some more.  There, lounging casually in the dim corner booth is – Frankie Avalon.  He motions for me to come over.  I know, before I even saunter over there, what is coming.

“Hi Rebecca, “ says Frankie.

“Hi, how do you know my name?” I ask.

Oh, I asked Greg who you were when you came in,” he said, smiling.

Note to self:  Kill Greg.

“Did you enjoy the show?” asks Frankie.

“Oh yes, it was very nice,” I say.

Then, he hits me with it.

“I’m having a party in my room, would you like to join me?” says Frankie.

Obviously, originality is not his forte’.

I look at him and say, “Thanks Frankie, it sounds just lovely, but I don’t think so.  By the way, how are your children?  I thought I read somewhere that you have eight.  It was nice meeting you.”

Then, I walked away.  With plenty of hip action.  And there sat Poor Frankie, all alone, in the corner booth, in the dark.

 me-20-years-ago.jpg             the-golden-boys.jpg           my-old-boss-dancing.jpg

Me 20 years ago        The Golden Boys             My boss

poor-frankie.jpg                     greg-i.jpg

Frankie 20 years ago          Greg and I being silly!

Show pics courtesy of my friend Patsy!