Since moving here in the late '70s, I've encountered my share of celebrities. Some were legends, others mere facsimiles of their former fame. Whether it's Bob Hope standing next to me in the card section at Long's Drug Store, or Jimmy Stewart sitting on the sofa facing mine at a Film Festival reception, these slight brushes with immortality have caused me to wonder if perhaps I've wandered into a third dimension of stardom.
Thus, it is not surprising that the lot on which our house is situated was once part of Bob Hope's exhaustive real estate empire. Nor does it seem odd that the house next door to ours is reputed to have been the trysting haven for Frank Sinatra and his amour, later wife, Ava Gardner. I suppose it was handy that the modest dwelling stood less than a mile from the much more expansive home where Frank lived with his wife, Nancy. The current occupants of this fabled house, our dear neighbors, claim it is haunted by the raven-haired movie star. Maybe....
A few weeks before the holidays began, Gilly asked if we'd join her and Shawn for an evening out on New Year's Eve. We didn't accept this invitation immediately because Caitlin and Bobby would be visiting during that time and we weren't sure of their plans. However, when I mentioned the proposed engagement, Caitlin enthusiastically embraced the idea. After all, real celebrations on New Year's Eve, at least the ones designed for young adults, do not begin until long after dinnertime.
As the weeks unfolded, the dinner group increased. Johnny Costa's, a local Italian restaurant in business for more than thirty years, would be our venue. Mr. Costa himself was once Sinatra's personal chef and one of the signature dishes on the menu is 'Steak Sinatra.' Because of the size of the party, we were assigned a private room. Upon entering, we noticed the photographs immediately. How lovely that Frank is joining us for dinner.
For this special evening, Caitlin, Gilly and I are swathed in tulle, sparkles, and soft fabric. Our feet, usually encased in tennies, clogs, or flats, are mostly uncomplaining in heels of various heights. As our unquestioned fashionista, Caitlin's wearing pink pumps. They are lovely and treacherous. Despite moleskin and discreet bandages, she'll have aches for hours. There's a price for beauty that I'm rarely willing to pay. Caitlin simply grimaces and accepts multitudes of compliments with grace.
Despite the fact that the restaurant is really crowded on this special night, the service is excellent. A newly hired server named Margaret knows the menu, attends to our many requests and smiles throughout the evening. Ten of us share a long rectangular table. Nearby, the younger set revels in being close by but not claustrophobically so. We interrupt them from time to time for the requisite photos.
The evening unfolds with a camaraderie that transcends each separate couple. Six of us own houses on the same street. We are bound together by addresses and much more. The remaining four dinner companions are family and friends of our Washington-based neighbors. All are congenial, even when the topic turns to politics.
We're so accustomed to informality in our daily lives that it's refreshing to see each other wearing fancy clothes.
There's a babysitter who's got a party to attend. He must be relieved by 8:30 and so bills are paid, wraps gathered and folks ferried back to Sunset Way. The three little girls are ready to party. They have poppers, soda in wine glasses, and the wide-eyed expectation that something wonderful is about to happen. All of us arrive in time to toast the new year--New York time. Henry's been at that world famous site and watched the ball drop. He was a college student at the time but the memory remains satisfyingly new many decades later.
The little girls move from adult to adult, sometimes hugging or pausing to chat. They're completely at ease in this milieu, socially adept, uninhibited in their sharing. I wonder what they'll remember about this evening in distant decades surrounded by families of their own.
Caitlin and Bobby must depart and we're the taxi service. Their night is about to begin. The Riveria is touted as a happening place. They'll meet Scott and Stefan to investigate. Lonnie will join them when his shift at the hospital ends at midnight.
We're done. Exhausted a bit, definitely exhilarated by the perfection of the evening. With so many New Year's Eves witnessed through the years, there's no need nor desire to stay awake to welcome 2011. Sleep sounds enticing. I drift away just as a few sirens herald January 1st. My last thoughts are that Frank never had such a night.
Love it-perfectly captured
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