The Memory Killer
“I headed home early, changed into fancier threads, made one angry and pointless call to my idiot brother, then headed back to Miami to take the simple-black-dressed Madame Morningstar to dinner. My blackened grouper, fried platanas and hearts-of-palm salad were superb. Morningstar opted for shrimp marinated in lime, peppers, and garlic over arroz con frijoles negros, and a mango-coconut salad. Being more a beer and bourbon fancier, I let her pick the dinner wine, a California Riesling she prono...unced to be “bodaciously good”.
When the plates were cleared we declined dessert in favor of rum drinks, daiquiri for her, collins for me. The orchestra, which had been playing a kind of Latin swing for the first set, ratcheted up several notches, like the musicians were waking up from naps. Chairs crunched back as diners took to the dance floor. Act two had begun, heralded by flourishes of conga.
We watched for several numbers. Actually, I was watching Morningstar watching the dancers, her shoulders bobbing and toes tapping.MoreLess
When the plates were cleared we declined dessert in favor of rum drinks, daiquiri for her, collins for me. The orchestra, which had been playing a kind of Latin swing for the first set, ratcheted up several notches, like the musicians were waking up from naps. Chairs crunched back as diners took to the dance floor. Act two had begun, heralded by flourishes of conga.
We watched for several numbers. Actually, I was watching Morningstar watching the dancers, her shoulders bobbing and toes tapping.MoreLess
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