Smoke

The letters on the sheet of paper in my typewriter wavered, then merged together to form a conga line dancing gaily across the page. Nervously I fondled the flip-top of my flat rectangular box of Benson and Hedges cigarettes, willing the dancers to behave. Finally I gave up, and flipped the box open, glancing down at the perfect double row of a full box of white-filtered smokes.  

Bringing my gaze back to the typewriter, I absent-mindedly selected one of the cigarettes and pulled it out of the pack, tapping it lightly on the inside of my left wrist and placing it between my lips.  Instantly a flame appeared in front of me, and I cupped my right hand around it, leaning in for the light. The flame and the hand holding it belonged, of course, to Roger. I didn't quite smile as I looked up into the dark glasses he always wore. 

"How are you?" he asked as he flicked the gold lighter closed. 

"Fine," I said, "although I could have done with one less Russian."  

His laugh was low and insinuating as he walked back to his desk. After a moment I heard his purr as he connected to his next prospect on the phone. 

Back at the typewriter, my eyes finally cleared. The nicotine had settled me down. I resumed typing Joe's correspondence, which he spoke into a Dictaphone machine and I typed while playing it back.

Dear Mr. Blakely: In response to your letter of 27 September, blah…blah…blah. 

Don't get me wrong, I liked Joe. As secretary to the Sales Department at Honeywell, Inc, in their Minneapolis headquarters, I was the envy of most of the girls who were secretaries and file clerks and copy girls in other departments around me. The pay was good, well over $400 a month, and the seven salesmen I worked for were movers and shakers in the company. Joe was the boss, the Sales Manager, and he was decent – easy-going, calm, fatherly to a young girl in her first serious job. It's just that his correspondence was…well, so deadly boring. So predictable, I could have written it myself. And sometimes I did, changing a phrase here and there to make a letter read better. Joe never mentioned it, so I guess he didn't notice. He just signed the letters and I sent them out. 

Speaking of predictable, there was Roger, although you couldn't say he was boring. Roger was like a dog on a scent, with his expensive-looking slightly shiny suits (silk, some of the other girls said), his black hair slicked back from his forehead, and his ever-present dark glasses. Married, of course, he mumbled when he spoke so you had to lean in to hear. Probably he thought it was seductive. Well, it was. The thing about Roger was that he was both seductive and at the same time somehow repulsive – a combination I had a hard time resisting. I suspected he was sloshed most of the time, even in the morning. He was after me, that was for sure. He hung around my desk when he was in the office. He took me out to lunch, sometimes alone and sometimes with the other guys. I couldn't imagine why. Maybe his wife wasn't any fun. 

It had all started a month or so ago. 

"How about Charlie's for lunch?" Ken, one of the salesmen, said to Nels. 

"Sure, sounds good. Bert, Roger, how about you?" 

Bert looked up from his desk. "I have to finish this bid – it'll only be a few minutes." 

"Let's bring our new secretary out to Charlie's," Roger mumbled, standing up and putting his perfectly tailored jacket on over his immaculate white shirt. "I'll bet she's never been to Charlie's. Right, Dana?" He looked over at me with a grin. I shook my head no. Charlie's was a really expensive restaurant downtown where business people went for lunch. Of course I hadn't been there, I was only 19. The other men smiled knowingly, and nodded at Roger. 

"Sure, let's take Dana to Charlie's. Bert, put that thing down. It's lunchtime. It'll be there when you get back and Dana can't type it anyway. She's going to lunch with us." 

On the way out, Roger stopped at the door of Joe's office. "Joe, we're takin' Dana to Charlie's. D'you wanna come?" 

"No, I'll man the fort here. Have a good lunch." Of course, if Joe went he would have to pay for everybody. He was the boss. I knew that because I processed the expense reports. 

Off we went to Charlie's for steaks and fancy potatoes and Cherries Jubilee and, of course, Martinis and Manhattans and Tom Collinses, not one, but two or three.  

"Dana, what d'you want to drink? A Martini, p'rhaps?" Roger murmured. He was sitting next to me in the round leather booth they called a banquette. 

"I'll have a Black Russian, please," I replied. 

"But, of course," he smiled as he motioned to the waiter. "A double Chivas over, and a Black Russian, if you don't mind." 

"My pleasure, sir."  I was with the men, so no one questioned whether I was old enough to drink.  

Could I have picked a less alcoholic drink? Probably. But I wanted to show how worldly I was, like them. Black Russian was a serious drink, although sweet enough to be feminine. It was a James Bond sort of drink, and that's the way I felt - glamorous, worldly, mysterious, possibly dangerous, eating and drinking lunch with the men. I felt at one with the scene -  the rich aroma of seared filet mignon, the whisper of plates being set down with flair by tuxedoed waiters, a cigarette held casually but elegantly in my right hand, and the strong sweet taste of vodka and Kahlua punctuated by one perfect hazelnut.  

Soon I became a regular at office lunches, and these were my trademarks. I drank Black Russians and smoked Benson and Hedges cigarettes, flip-top box. 

"Are you busy this weekend?" Roger stood by my desk, a casual smile on his face. Of course his eyes were impossible to read behind the dark glasses. It was 2 p.m. on a Friday and he was on his way out of the office for the weekend. 

"Um, yes, I think so. I have some plans." 

"Oh, too bad. I was hoping we could meet for drinks, maybe stop by the house. You've never seen my house, right?" He paused and his dark glasses looked intently in my direction. I didn't say anything. "So, here's my phone number." He handed me a yellow While You Were Out message slip with a number written on it. "Call me if you find you have any time." 

I took the slip of paper, trying not to touch his fingers, and put it on my desk. The only coherent thought in my mind was the realization that he wasn't mumbling for a change. What did he mean "call me"? Did he mean "at home"? What about his wife?  

"Thanks. OK, maybe I will. I think I'll be busy though." I couldn't think of what else to say so I turned back to my typewriter. Roger picked up his leather briefcase and raised his hand in a mock salute as he went out the door. My mind was in a whirl, and I lit another cigarette to get my bearings. Soon my fingers were flying again over the typewriter keys. I refused to think about Roger. 

When I wasn't at work, my girlfriend Cathi and I liked to bar hop. We had fake IDs, like everyone we knew who wasn't yet 21, the legal drinking age in Minnesota. No one looked at them closely, unless of course you were so young you looked like a baby.

We loved the restaurants that had good bars and weren't too expensive, like Michaels. There might be a pianist playing "The Shadow of Your Smile," one of my favorites, a slow, sad, swinging song that fit my melancholy mood. 

At these bars we drank ice cream drinks and this night the pianist at Michaels was in rare form, already coloring the air with the sad songs I loved. 

"I'll have a brandy Alexander."

"Are you 21, sweetheart?"

"Sure. Want to see my ID?"

"No, that's OK. One brandy Alexander coming right up."

"What are you going to have, Cath?"

"I'll have one of those crème de menthe things….oh yeah, a grasshopper."

"Yes, ma'am. Are you girls local? I think I've seen you in here before."

"Yup, we're from right here. At least for now."

 

Soon we had frothy sweet drinks to go with our sweet selves. 

Cath and I both took out our packs, I my flat box of Benson and Hedges, and Cath her soft pack of Menthol Kools. The bartender raced over with a light. 

I hadn't mentioned anything about Roger's weekend invitation to Cath, and I didn't feel like bringing it up now. It was on my mind, though, seductive curiosity and revulsion side by side. I sat back with a sigh, blowing smoke rings high into the dimly lit air of the bar. Men. What was with them? Roger was obviously a guy on the make, a scalp collector. Maybe they all were. I had no respect for them. I could use them as easily as they could use me.  

Wasn't I supposed to be finding a husband? I couldn't imagine how it would work out. 

"Cath, I'm going to the ladies,"

"OK Dan. I'll be here." 

I passed the pay phone on my way into the ladies. On the way out I stopped in front of it and fumbled for a moment in my purse. My mother's voice came into my mind: "A lady never fumbles in her purse." I smiled to myself. Well, I'm no lady, Mom. I came up with a yellow slip of paper and a number. And a dime. 

A phone rang at the other end of the line, then it stopped.

"Yeah."

"Hello. Roger? Yes," I laughed softly. "It's me." 

In the lounge, the pianist started up again, the slow sad strains of "Smoke Gets in Your Eyes" filtering in through the door to where I stood with the phone in my hand.

 

It's pouring in Portland

What's new? It's raining in Oregon. We're vegging today, the day after Thanksgiving, choosing to hang out at home in front of a fire rather than braving the Black Friday mobs. Yikes, it's hard to imagine standing in lines in this rain. I'm not that much of a shopper anyway.

Dinner was fabulous yesterday - ham, sweet potatoes, Brussels sprouts, stuffing, cranberries, and Allie's apple pie for dessert.  Yum!  There was pie for breakfast this morning...my favorite with coffee.  Of course we'll be eating leftovers all day.

Happy Thanksgiving to you, dear readers.  We have much to be thankful for!

Groovin' in a four-car garage

There we were, Wayne and I and our friend George, lounging on a leather sofa in a garage in Berkeley, groovin' to some pretty fantastic live blues along with maybe 50 other people. Outside, rain poured down. Inside, young guys popped cans of beer and older gals like me pulled bottles of wine out of cloth bags.

We were at Birdland Jazzista Social Club. A guy in Berkeley, a professor at City College, has opened up his four-car garage, outfitted it with a stage and a sound system, booked bands, and even fired up a grill and smoker in the front to feed his guests. He calls it Birdland (he makes birdhouses, which are all over the garage). It started out to be free, because that's the custom of the guy's homeland, the Phillippines. Then it got so big that people spilled out into the street, and of course the city of Berkeley got involved. I know, you're thinking, well Berkeley - everything goes in Berkeley. Apparently not partying in the street all night!

Anyway, the guy turned his weekly party into a social club and limited it to whomever could fit into his garage with the door closed, and into his little backyard behind the garage. It costs $10 to come in, and that pays for the bands. The BBQ (chicken legs, smoked ribs, sausages) is still free, as is the rum bar in the back of the garage. Otherwise its BYOB.

We left about midnight after hearing two great bands, and even boogying a bit in the aisles! Ernesto had just announced that the third band would come on shortly and would probably play till 3a.m. Yikes, just a little too much action for us, but what a deal!

We slid into the rainy night and back to reality.

Here's a link to Birdland's website, and the history of the Social Club (kind of long-winded). http://birdlandjazz.org/about/history/. It's been going on for two years, and will now end in a few weeks when Ernesto returns to the Phillippines. Maybe he'll be back!

Do you love beets?

Dear readers, do you love beets like I do? The two farmers' markets I go to are filled with beets right now - deep red beets, yellow beets, orange beets, striped beets. My mouth waters just thinking about it. Mmmmmmm!

Anyway ... it occurred to me that many people don't know how to cook beets and they have to get them out of cans and jars. I mean, those are OK, but they taste nothing like a freshly roasted beet. So I decided to share my TOTALLY EASY recipe for roasted beets with a yummy walnut vinaigrette.

Roasted Beets with Walnut Vinaigrette

• A bunch of medium-sized beets of any color, or a combination of colors
• 1/2 tablespoon sherry
• 1/2 tablespoon unflavored rice vinegar
• 2 teaspoons balsamic vinegar
• sea salt
• 1 tablespoon walnut oil
• 3 tablespoons olive oil
• Italian parsley, chopped
• freshly ground pepper
• a few walnuts (if you want them)

Preheat the oven to 400 degrees.

Cut the leaves off the beets, leaving an inch of leaf stalk, and save the leaves for another use. They are wonderful in soups or salads, or cooked with other greens, but they only last a day or two, so use them quickly.

Also cut the "tail" off the beetroot, leaving about an inch. Wrap each beet individually in aluminum foil and place them in a baking dish that's large enough to hold them in one layer. Add about an inch of water to the baking dish, and place it in the preheated oven.

Roast the beets for one hour, or until they are tender when pierced with the tip of a paring knife.

Remove them from the oven and let them cool enough to handle. Then remove the aluminum foil and peel them with a paring knife. You can also get the peel off by rubbing the beets with a paper towel, but I usually get impatient with this and just get out the knife. Cut the beets into slices, quarters, or bite-sized pieces. WARNING: Beet juice stains, so wear an apron and be careful not to spatter the juice on your clothing!

Meanwhile, prepare the vinaigrette. Combine the vinegars and salt, mixing well, and add the oils. While the peeled and cut beets are still warm, dress them with the vinaigrette and the parsley. Try them, and if you'd like them to be a little more tart, add a bit more balsamic vinegar.

Season with freshly ground pepper, sprinkle a few walnut pieces over the whole thing, and enjoy!

Uses: These beets are yummy in a salad. They are a healthy side dish with most meat and vegetable dishes. They would also be a welcome addition to your Thanksgiving dinner table, adding color and a delicious contrast to more, shall we say, rich traditional dishes. You know, the ones topped with marshmallows! :-)

Eating and drinking in Clearwater FL

So much has happened, it seems ages since I was in Clearwater, Florida, lazing around in the sun and soaking up fabulous music. It's really only been two weeks. Nevertheless, while the taste of all the good food Donna and I ate still lingers, I'd better tell you about it.

We decided to eat late lunch/early dinner out each day before going to the Clearwater Jazz Holiday, which started mid-afternoon most days. This way we would only eat two meals (breakfast and late lunch) and we wouldn't be starving enough to have to eat at the park. What a great decision! I think I actually lost a pound or two this time.

Of course we had to hit Frenchy's Rockaway Grill, right on Clearwater Beach, first. We always go to Frenchy's when I'm in Clearwater for grouper, a delicious fish that's not available in California. Here's a photo from our outdoor table on the patio at Frenchy's:

Sure enough, I ordered grouper, but this time I had Walnut Encrusted Grouper Salad instead of a grouper sandwich. Yum! It had arugula and cranberries and pears and spinach, and a great big filet of grilled grouper on top. Fabulous.

Pair that with a couple of Cuba Libres (Mt. Gay rum and Diet Coke with lime) and you've got a little slice of beach heaven.

The next day we dined at Rumba Island Bar and Grill, which was on the way to the park. Yum again! This time I had to deviate from fish, because they had Caribbean Pulled Pork and I just had to! Plus I had a side of Jamaican Greens and one of Island Cole Slaw - wow, my mouth was happy. Prices are really good here, too!

Another Cuba Libre went really well with all that island food. And you know me, I'm a red wine girl. Apparently not when I'm in Florida!

The third and last day of late lunches (boo-hoo), we hit the Bonefish Grill in nearby luxurious Belleair Bluffs. Back to the fish, as this is the home of fabulous Bang Bang Shrimp - crispy fried shrimp with a hot little mayo/chili sauce dip that was to die for. What a pleasure!

At the Bonefish Grill, Donna convinced me to try a favorite cocktail of hers, Winter White Cosmo. It was delicious, and I think it would be a good drink, whether celebratory or consolatory, for today, which is ELECTION DAY! Don't forget to vote today!!

Here's the recipe for Winter White Cosmo so you can at least celebrate fabulous YOU:

• Shake 1 1/2 oz Stoli Cranberi Vodka, 1/2 oz Cointreau, 1 oz lime juice, and 2 oz white cranberry juice with ice in a shaker.
• Strain into a chilled martini glass.
• Garnish with a lime or with 2 fresh cranberries.

Enjoy!!

Babies and Owls

Ooh, my niece Kristin just had a baby boy, Lincoln James. He is so cute, I can hardly stand it. Needless to say, I had to create something special for the newest member of the family.

The theme of Lincoln's nursery is owls, so off I went to my favorite fabric store, Piedmont Fabric, to find owls in soft fabrics. Soon, a baby comforter with soft cotton owls on one side and soft green fleece on the other, and, yes, a companion stuffed Baby Owl, came together in my sewing room. Off they went in a box to the sweet new family in South Dakota. I just got a photo today in email and here it is: Lincoln with Blanket and Owl.

How adorable is that?! The "baby" owl is twice Lincoln's size. I hope it doesn't scare him!

Of course he's only two weeks old, and before you know it he'll have a job and be wearing a suit. Well, maybe not that fast. Welcome to the world, Lincoln James!