Old Brown Eyes

The Way You Look Tonight

"She won't go to bed without listening to The Wee Small Hours," I said.

"That's adorable," Rich answered. "You're raising her right."

I grinned cradling the phone to my ear. "Of course. What else would she listen to? She's my daughter?"

We had been chatting for half an hour and I have been telling him all about my precocious five year old, Emma, and how she was a miniature bobbysoxer herself.

Rich went on to tell me about the first time he had seen Sinatra in concert when he was ten years old. "We were living in Absecon at the time. My mom bought me an ice cream suit. I don't guess you know what that is?"

"Actually, yes, I do," I giggled. "Were you wearing two-tone wing tips with it?"

"Absolutely," Rich confirmed with a laugh. "Brown and white. One thing my mom always made sure of was that me and my sister were dressed to the nines and one thing you never did was go see Sinatra dressed casually."

I listened as he described the day, the middle of summer in Atlantic City, The 500 Club owned by the infamous Skinny D'amato, everyone was smoking and there was no air conditioning. And yet, in spite of all that, Rich confirmed to me that it was the best day of his young life.

"Frank saw me sitting in the audience next to my mother," he went on, "and while he was singing I've Got the World on a String, he leaned over to me and gave me this exaggerated wink. It was great."

"Oh wow! That must have been a thrill for you!" I cried. "I can't imagine. One of my biggest regrets will always be never getting to see Frank live."

"Well, you've definitely got the next best thing right here."

I giggled. "Oh? Are you saying you're the next best thing to Mr Sinatra?"

"Well, there is that," Rich said and I could hear the good humored smile in his voice. From self-deprecating to self-aggrandizing, Rich's sense of humor captivated me. "But I was referring mainly to all these amazing concerts that will never see the light of day."

"Like the one you sent me?"

"Oh, there are so many more you haven't seen yet, baby," he said.

His use of the endearment "baby" sent a jolt through me. Were we still talking about Sinatra or had we yet again shifted to ourselves? I barely heard the rest of what he said although I knew he was telling me about concerts he had attended as well as concerts Sinatra had given all over the world and how wonderful they were. All I could think was that this man was taking chunks out of his day to talk to me, a virtual stranger eight hundred miles away, on the phone. And I suddenly realized it wasn't just his knowledge and proximity to my favorite singer that was drawing me to him. It was his winning personality, his interest in me that went beyond the music, and his wonderful sense of humor. I had never in my life met a man like him.

"I'm really digging these conversations with you," I said during a lull in the conversation, deliberately using a rat pack term.

"The feeling is reciprocated, babe," he said quietly. "So, how was your Christmas?"

I proceeded to tell him about our holidays, what I had gotten for Emma and her reaction to it and also thank you him for the small package he had sent me containing some DVDs of Frank's TV show and a magazine commemorating the anniversary of Frank's death.

Remarking on the magazine, I told him, "You know, I remember the day he died so clearly. I was at work and had just had a terrible fight with my boyfriend who was cheating on me..."

"Aw, baby, I'm so sorry," Rich said, then went silent, encouraging me to go on.

"It was just so surreal," I said, my throat clogging as tears filled my eyes. "I just couldn't believe it. He seemed like one of those figures who would go on living forever and ever and then when I heard the news, all I wanted to do was clock out and go home and just lay in bed listening to the music."