within ten minutes of our targeted time. A sign balanced on an easel inside the lobby doors of the Marriott points the way to the Winsted Corporation Annual Awards Dinner. The dinner has already taken place, and JB of JB and the Enthusiasts, whose name is actually Joe I’ve learned, has instructed my parents to arrive after nine to see the band. We can already hear the music as we approach the open doors of the function room. As we get closer, the melody of “New York, New York” becomes clear. Hovering in the doorway, we peer in at a typical hotel function room with crystal chandeliers, walls papered in shimmering gold, and round tables surrounding a parquet dance floor. To the left of the dance floor is a platform that serves as a stage for the band. The band has several pieces, including a horn section. Beside me, my dad is subtly swaying to the music. “Pretty good,” he comments, raising his voice to be heard. “New York, New York” is his kind of tune.
To the band’s credit, the dance floor is full. But its occupants appear to be Wall Street refugees who have been enjoying the open bar for several hours. Of course, Laura and Jonathan’s friends aren’t that different from this group. After “New York, New York” finishes, they go right into “What a Wonderful World.”
“They’re terrific.” Dad smiles at me.
“They’re the most expensive one on the list,” Mom comments, obviously not pleased that Dad likes them so much.
This dampens his enthusiasm.
“What do you think?” Mom asks me. We’re still standing in the doorway.
I am far from an expert on live music, but I know the playlist hasn’t interested me so far. I shrug noncommittally.
“They are pretty good,” she admits.
“Do they play any songs written in the last fifty years?” I ask. The entire band seems to be playing music from their own youth.
“You don’t think they’re contemporary enough?”
“They’re not contemporary at all.”
“Did you like the other band better, Jack?” she asks my dad.
He shakes his head. “Not particularly.”
“I can ask them if they play more contemporary music for the kids,” Mom offers.
“Good idea,” I answer, trying not to grin at the thought of Laura, Jonathan, and their friends being referred to as the kids. But I’m soon distracted from my thoughts when the band starts playing their next tune. The horn section suddenly comes alive, and the room buzzes with excitement as people pour onto the already crowded dance floor. I now recognize the song as “25 or 6 to 4” by Chicago.
I look to Mom and Dad for their reactions. Dad cringes and Mom put her hands to her ears. “Too loud,” she mouths.
At that point, they decide they’ve seen enough. If I had known we weren’t even going to enter the function room, I wouldn’t have changed into a dress.
“They were terrific up until that last song,” Dad muses once we’re back in the quiet of the parking lot.
My ears are still buzzing from the noise. “I thought they were great on the last song.” It may be a foolhardy move, but I’ve decided to go ahead and offer an opinion. “Did you see how the dance floor filled up? Everyone loved it.”
“It was awfully loud. Wasn’t it, Jack?” Mom asks with obvious distaste.
Dad nods.
“It looks like they can play different types of music though,” I offer.
“Those first two songs were great.” Dad softly hums “New York, New York” as he unlocks the car for us.
“We’ll have to decide if they’re worth the extra money,” Mom states. Then she turns to me and asks, “You’ll call Laura and tell her what you thought?”
“Sure. Would you like to tell me what I thought before I call her?”
I hear Dad chuckle.
Mom narrows her eyes at me--not the first time tonight. “Very funny, Andrea.”
Laura really has to try to see the humor in this process if she’s ever going to survive it.
Laura calls me from her car. It’s nearly eleven, and I’m about to call it a night.
“How was the closing?” I ask, stifling a yawn.
“Fine. No surprises. How was the band?”
“They were pretty good. Dad loved them until they belted out a loud Chicago song. Before that, they played some sedate Frank Sinatra and Louis Armstrong tunes. But I don’t think Mom liked them overall.”
“Well, that’s it then. They’re off the list. Glad I didn’t waste my time on them. Thank you for going.”
“My pleasure. Are you almost home?”
“Nearly there. Andy.” She hesitates before continuing. “I’m