The wedding countdown had me down to two days. I still hadn't called Kate, and of course, she hasn't called me. Even stranger than not hearing from Kate was not hearing from Liz. I hadn't heard from or seen Liz since Christmas, when I got fired from a telethon, battled with a butt inflammation, and passed out at Helena Storm's. I know she left with Helena's son, but still, it's strange that she hadn't called—if nothing else, to taunt me about how she's having sex with someone new.
I actually felt hurt, a little lonely, and had a dash of envy because I hadn't heard from her. Then my mind took me to tragedy. What if something happened to Liz? What if Helena's son kidnapped her? What if that food poisoning thing had a delayed reaction and she was lying in her apartment inches from the phone? And if in fact she had the bacteria she mentioned, the question of being contagious was never answered. I was so concerned I made a mental note to call her, as well as one to call Kate. And when I make mental notes, I can be assured that I'll remember at least half of them.
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Like Dizzy Gillespie's Cheeks
HumorMusician Sam Greene will play the piano at any dingy Chicago establishment that will hire him. At the end of many evenings, he can count on his longtime mentor, jazz great Ben Webster (the piano player, not the sax player,) to join him for a few num...
