Traffic is bad. It’s going to be a looonnnggg, slooww ride. I turn on my satellite radio and find the ’40s station. The sound isn’t three dimensional surround sound, it’s “flat”. It is rich and orchestrated, and the hiss of an original recording is an essential part of the listening experience. This unique combination of sounds transports me.
I wear a cobalt evening dress with a skirt of chiffon, light and airy, my handsome man’s hand in the small of my back as we walk into the smoky nightclub. Benny Goodman and his band play “Sing Sing Sing”. The maitre d’ leads us to our table and I walk along in my high heels in time with the music. He pulls out the table for two and we squeeze in and he pushes the table back in.
We are seated at the table, now with cocktails. I fiddle with mine and Benny Goodman ends his song. The Mills Brothers start “Paper Doll”. I sip my cocktail and smile. A dashing man is dancing with his girl, and as they come around the dance floor past us, he winks at me. I look into my cocktail and feel my man next to me tense. I look at him in his black bowtie and white coat and I smile. I take his hand and squeeze it, gazing into his dark eyes and with looks alone tell him he is the only one for me. He smiles, runs a finger along my cheekbone and down my neck. I shiver with pleasure.
I wear a strapless satin evening dress in sea foam that hugs my curves and I wear long matching gloves, my man’s hand in the small of my back…