When You're Hot You're Hot

It was going on quitting time on a Friday night somewhere around 1982 and I was still a vice-president at Blue Cross in Chicago. The staff was making getting-ready-to-leave noises and my secretary was away from her desk when the phone rang. I answered and it was Betty, a former girlfriend, calling for one of the women in our department.

I went looking, but she had already left. I asked Betty "What's going on?"

Betty: "Well, it's my birthday today."

Donnie: "Happy birthday. What are you doing to celebrate?"

Betty, in a deliberately long, drawn out, despondent voice: "Nuhthhhhhinnnn'."

Donnie, taking the hint: "Well, why don't you head this way? I'll round up a few people, we'll have drinks, then I'll take you to dinner."

Betty, instantly: "OK, I'll be there in about a half hour."

I notified everyone and headed for the ground level at Illinois Center to make my way to a jeweler's shop at the Hyatt. I bought a Calibri lighter for Betty, one of those butane jobs. This was before I knew they were worthless.

We had a couple of drinks with the group, then hit the sidewalk. I asked where she'd like to have dinner and she said "Anywhere, Donnie."

We walked to a fine dining restaurant called Artists & Writers. It's gone now, but my memory says it wasn't far from Water Tower Place. I think that several restaurants followed one another at that location, and one might have been Here's Johnny.

Drinks, dinner, champagne, some catching up, lotsa fun.

On the sidewalk again I spotted one of the horse-drawn carriages plying its trade and asked Betty if she was up for a carriage ride. Yes indeed.

We engaged one, and it was being managed by a trainer and a new driver, both young women. We hit Michigan Avenue for a couple of blocks, turned toward the lake, headed south, and circled around to our starting point. It was quite chilly by the lake, and we made use of a blanket that was stowed on the floor. This was much fun, and when we stopped I asked Betty if she wanted to go again.

She did, and added "Well Donnie, I think it would be nice if we had some more champagne."

I headed for a liquor store a block away, but it was after nine o'clock and the store was closed. I walked back to the carriage, told the driver to hang on, and headed for the elevator to the Ritz-Carlton. I believe their first floor at Water Tower Place is the eighteenth, but in any case I knew there was a small restaurant and an even smaller lounge there. I went to the bar, put a hundred dollar bill on it, and told the bartender "I need a bottle of champagne and four glasses."

He looked around quickly and in just a few seconds produced them. Now a bottle and four glasses with stems make an awkward combination to carry, particularly if you're trying to conceal them. I stuffed the glasses in pockets in my suit jacket and pants, put the bottle under my arm inside the jacket, and headed for the elevator. Halfway there - CRASH!

Back to the bar, another twenty, another glass. But this time I was intercepted on the way to the elevator by the tuxedoed maitre d' of the restaurant and lounge, who was quite insistent that I could not do this. He lectured me all the way to the elevator, telling me that the beverage must be consumed there or delivered to my room. I assured him I was taking it to my room, got on the elevator, and pressed the button for the lobby. The trickiest part was carrying the bottle under my arm inside the jacket, as I had taken the precaution of having the bartender open it.

All three women were happy to see me with a bottle and four glasses. I climbed back into the carriage, poured champagne for four, and off we went again.

I do believe I was at my best that night, and that might have been my peak.

Quebec City for Four

Dee Dee, my father, his girlfriend (Carla) and I decided to spend a Labor Day weekend in Quebec City. We drove up in my car, stopping overnight in Watertown, Maine.

This was the third time I had done this, having gone once with Marylou and once with Dee Dee. All three times I stayed at the same hotel in Watertown and the same motel in Quebec. I'd recommend them to you, but I no longer have any clue about their names.

Speaking of recommendations, if it's still there you should have lunch or dinner at Chalet Suisse, a small fondue restaurant in downtown Quebec City. Or at least you should have thirty years ago.

On Saturday Dad and I took the girls for carriage rides. My best advice to you is that if you're going to do this in Quebec City in September, bundle up. Our teeth were chattering when we finished.

Somewhere along the way Dee Dee jumped out of the carriage for a minute and bought some candy from a vendor. She had a sweet tooth that wouldn't quit. After the rides we all did a little sightseeing and a little shopping, then returned to our rooms. The minute we got into our room Dee Dee began unwrapping some candy. I sighed and watched.

"What's the matter?"

"Dee, you know you don't eat much as it is. We're going to a nice restaurant and if you eat candy now you won't eat at all later."

"Oh, I'll eat it all, I promise."

She kept unwrapping, finally stopped, and said, "You're gonna be mad if I eat some, aren't you?"

"No, just irritated. I'll be furious later when you don't eat."

Silence, followed by the munching of candy. She offered me some.

"No thanks. I'm having dinner soon."

This made her irate, which I found very funny, and soon she was the one who was annoyed and I was the one who was having a good time.

There came a knock on our door, and I let Dad and Carla in. One look at the storm clouds on Dee's face and they knew something was wrong.

Dad: "What's the matter, Dee?"

Dee: "Oh, he's mad because I ate some candy. But I'm gonna eat all my dinner."

This, by the way, almost certainly would have been a first. Dee was a light eater, and I doubt that she had eaten "all her dinner" since the day she was born. But as I said, I had now shrugged it off and was in a good mood.

Donnie: "Dee, will you carry an extra pack of my cigarettes in your purse?"

Dee: "NO!"

Donnie: "If you'll carry my cigarettes I'll carry your candy." Then I collapsed on the bed, laughing. Dad laughed, and Carla, knowing that Dee needed an ally, had to bite her tongue and turn her back to hide her smile.

Naturally, at dinner, Dee ate about three bites. Astonishingly, she was actually surprised that she couldn't eat "all" of it. She looked up at me with a truly apologetic expression. "It's OK, Dee. Don't worry about it."

A couple more "Dee in Quebec" anecdotes:

• On Sunday the four of us had lunch at a modern family restaurant just outside the city. Carla and I spotted a luscious looking dessert on the menu, "Hot Fudge Lucerne," an obsecenely concocted, stroke inducing, ice cream kludge, with a hot fudge sundae as its base. We both ate lightly and then ordered that dessert. Dee, perhaps as penance, did not. But . . .
  
  Monday morning we agreed to stop for breakfast before beginning the long drive home. For Dee, nothing would do but that we stop at that same restaurant for breakfast, and while the rest of us had eggs, pancakes, or whatever, she had the Hot Fudge Lucerne.
  
  
• On our previous trip to Quebec, Dee and I decided to use the motel swimming pool. When we got out there, there wasn't another human in sight. Just before we entered the water, Dee spotted a frog in the pool.
  
  Dee: "I'm not going in the water with that frog in there."
  
  Donnie: "He won't hurt you. He'd probably feel the same way if you'd gone in first."
  
  Not one step toward the water.
  
  Donnie: "Just use the other end of the pool."
  
  That worked. In she went, floundering around and enjoying it.
  
  Dee, testily: "What's he doing in here anyway? Frogs aren't supposed to be in swimming pools."
  
  Donnie: "I'd guess he can't get out. The water's too far below the edge of the pool."
  
  Instantly - instantly - her expression changed from one of annoyance to one of sympathy and concern. She dogpaddled over to the frog, came up under him with her hand, and set him on the ground. He hopped off without so much as a "Kiss me, I'm a prince."