THE SEARCH FOR MR. ADEQUATE
Part XXXVIII
By Susan Silver

As you loyal Dear Readers know, I am always annoyed by loud cell phone talking, in fact, loud talking in any form. Especially at the movies. I stopped telling people to be quiet when my life was threatened by an overweight teenage girl running after me down the escalator. Fortunately she was too fat to catch me. Now I just move my seat. But there still remain myriad other annoyances which keep me on alert.

Though I love and adore my two little guys, Ben and Nate, who are perfect and inordinately well behaved ... yes they are ... other kids’ indiscriminate screaming does get on my nerves and I have been known to glare at parents who have lost control. (It’s never the kids’ fault, always the parents.) And walking alongside buildings, smokers huddled, puffing in the doorways pisses me off too. I make a gesture to wave off the smoke that lets them know it is making me cough.

In my building I am constantly on guard against workmen who smoke in the hall and/or leave the door open so that the mice escape to visit me. And on airplanes ... well, you know I can’t abide loud talking. So now we’ve established I am a grouchy girl ... but there is a new annoyance which has thrown me over the edge into probable insanity.

Around the corner from my tony condo on the Upper East Side is an even tonier townhouse. In fact, I believe it’s one of the largest townhouses in the city. It butts up against my terrace so to speak. Michael Jackson used to rent it. He never gave me any problems, did not ‘butt’ against anything I knew about, but who knows about the kids in the neighborhood.

In it’s various incarnations, the home has been owned by several people. And each time they do a major redo. I guess if you can afford a $25 million dollar home, you don’t want to take it “as is.” So I’ve had many a summer ruined by the noise of jackhammers and loud voices, not to mention the workmen on scaffolding watching me sunbathe. But the new owners have gone too far.

Last year they had a hideous Halloween display which covered the entire front of the house. It looked like the entrance to the Jeckle and Hyde Club. Some people thought it was “fun” ... I thought it was hideous and entirely inappropriate unless you live in Disneyworld.

Some of the other neighbors weren’t thrilled but they did nothing about it. I wanted to do something but wasn’t sure what to do.

This year, it is even worse. In addition to the ghosts and goblins and stringy white stuff that blows in the wind, they have added a sound effect of cackling and moaning. I stood in front of the house glaring and some witch screamed back at me. No not the owner, one of the mechanical figures.

People gather to take pictures and little kids are wheeled past in their strollers. Now mind you, I can’t see this from my own house, just if I go out and walk around the block, but it offends my aesthetic senses. It’s really ugly. So I called the head of the Block Association and complained. She said she had heard from a few neighbors but there was nothing we could do. I said I doubted that. But she was obviously not going to take it further. So now I just walk by on my way to the market and make loud “tsking” sounds which cannot be heard over the sound effects.

Yes, I am now as I said, the “official” neighborhood crank. I’m sure, as I’ve mentioned before, it’s got something to do with lack of sex.

But speaking of sex, I had a glimmer of hope last night. I went to see a preview of the new Broadway Show, The Jersey Boys. It’s the story of Frankie Valli and the Four Seasons, a legendary singing quartet of my youth. Frankie, a short but sexy singer, had a worldclass vibrato and their harmonies were the background theme of many of my memories and perhaps a lot of yours.

The kid playing Frankie hit notes that I don’t think even the real Frankie could. It was thrilling. “Sherry,” “Big Girls Don’t Cry,” “My Eyes Adored You,” “Can’t Take My Eyes Off of You ... ” you get the picture.

And it always amazes me how I remember every single lyric of those songs. I must have done nothing but listen to the radio as a pre-teen!

The show was great fun and will no doubt be a hit even though the critics probably will be gunning for it. But this is a word of mouth show and if you want to be dancing in your seats, I recommend it. The book is written by a well known writer I had known years ago when I was one of those writers hanging out at Elaine’s. He was there last night and we had a nice talk and I wish him great luck with the show.

He pointed out someone standing in the back of the theater ... one of the original Four Seasons! My girlfriend, who gets very excited meeting famous people, was jumping up and down like a teenager so we went up to the guy, who was tall, handsome and had a million dollar smile. I will not reveal which of the Four Seasons he was. I could call him “Spring” because my heart sprang into a flutter, I could call him “Summer” as he was hot, but I’m going to just call him “FALL ...” as I did for him. (Ok, ok ... listening to too many corny lyrics is catching, so I won’t go into ‘my frozen heart of Winter.’).

I told him I loved the show and as we spoke, he gave me one of those smiles and I felt that tingly feeling I had not felt in a longgggg time. I suddenly realized that this guy was turning me on and I became very flirtatious, touching him on the arm etc. Since I’ve had all my hair cut off, I couldn’t swing it, which is another sign of female preening ... but I made up for it in other subtle ways. Like saying to him ... “you are really cute!” How’s that for subtle? But it just popped out of my mouth.

He smiled and said, “so are you.”

I couldn’t help myself from sighing ... “I know” ... and the unspoken ... wouldn’t we be cute together?

But I just walked away, to the internal background music of “You’re just too good to be true, Can’t take my eyes off of you” ... because I knew there was no point, in that he was married and lived in another state.

My girlfriend, who is always trying to promote my social life, said why don’t I give him my card, which my younger self would have. But my older, wiser, not-going-to-date-married-guys self knew it would have been a mistake.
But, Dear Readers, for the first time in literally years ... I felt that old feeling. It is alive in there! Just waiting to be brought to the surface. And all those old songs, perhaps making new memories, are waiting to be replayed. So, I think I’ll just go see The Jersey Boys a few more times and dance in my seat. You never know who will be sitting next to me.

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