We had our own ritual that involved donning those padded face masks and turn them to our inside ears. We used to stuff a bit of cotton down our cleavage - during the first few years of puberty it was be very disconcerting to feel the presence of a stranger's boob next to your own. We'd long since aged out of that little worry. We're probably getting too old for to enjoy sleeping in the top bunk but we still loved the climb and besides Jenny was still in no condition to take the upper berth - or so we thought as we settled into our bed for the night.

It was the brush of long hair across our faces that woke us up. We don't know how she got up here but she was straddling our waist and leaning over us. Her eyes were open but she wasn't looking at us - not directly.

"Here... just suck on this a little... it's rain water, it's OK...." She cooed to what ever face was in between ours as she proffered the tip of her hair. We were frozen in fear as she edged down to our chest to listen to our hearts.

"Ohhhh! That's a nice strong beat! Buck up. We're going to make it..."

She started stroking our hair. We edged our arm over to the porter call button, worried about what she'd do when she felt a second head. Whatever nightmare she was going through didn't seem like we were starring in it. Feeling the button we kept tapping a frantic SOS even after we heard banging on the door and the jangle of his passkey as he let himself in.

"She's having some sort of nightmare," we whispered to the astonished porter.

"You think we ought to wake her?" he whispered back.

"Just hold her so we can get out from under her..."

Seasoned Company Man he was, he had a better idea. He lifted one of her arms to position himself under her and edged her over the side like he was plucking a child from bed. Standing but still in her dream he eased her down into her bed. She began sobbing into her pillow and we debated waking her then, but the sobbing subsided as if a new dream took over. It looked to be a sex dream because she was smiling, moaning and rubbing her pillow suggestively - legs writhed as well.

"I have some basic information about this girl you asked me to look into. I also have some things about her from the F.B.I. But I think I ought to tell you about the first time I'd run into her. It'll tell you a lot more about what kind of a person you're dealing with."

An unlikely looking shammus by the name of Michael Scanlon, bearing a Pandaflex folder stuffed with papers planted himself in the seat beside Walter Drake's desk. Walter was idly leafing through Jenny's recovered notebook.

"You see I didn't used to do this for a living. Till the end of 'Fifty-seven I was an engineer for the Long Island Railroad. Late New Years Eve I was taking a carload of revelers into The City for the Ball Drop. I was just coming into Amityville when all of a sudden these kids come out of nowhere about a quarter mile ahead of me. The first one tripped on the rails taking the other two with her and I hit the brakes and leaned on the horn hard. Well you can't stop a train in a quarter mile and... well they didn't make it. Got all three of 'em.

"They tell me I was so wound up they had to use a crowbar to pry me off the switch. All I remember is seeing this lady wearing a party hat trying to talk me down. She'd got into my wallet and was showing me picture of my kid saying stuff like, 'You gotta come back... They need their daddy too...'. If she hadn't been there talkin' to me, I probably woulda blown my brains out as soon as I coulda got to a gun...."

"You know what the real kicker is? As soon as she was done helping me, she gets her camera and whips out a press pass to show to one of the cops to see if she can get some shots for the paper. I only saw her take one picture but she sure made it count. She had the whole thing set up like a painting - she even took off her party hat and tossed it under the stretcher. I don't know how she managed to sweet talk the coroner boys into letting her set up her shot but she did."

"I have a clipping of the article, you can see the kid's all covered so you can't see anything but there's one arm sticking down as if reaching for that party hat. It's a pretty good piece of work. I bet half the parents on Long Island didn't even let their kids get near Lionel trains for the next coupla months at least. I know I kept a close eye on mine."

The article titled 'Three Little Damsels' read as follows, 'Remember those old time silent movies where the damsel in distress is tied to the tracks only to be rescued at the last moment by the dashing hero? This New Years Eve around 9:45 PM three little damsels bet their lives they could beat the train at the last moment across Bayview Avenue in town and lost. Now three little damsels will never see 1958 - till the Resurrection, they will live in 1957.'

'And for what? To save few lousy seconds, they paid with eternity. And they're not the only gamblers on this island. Thousands of times a day, people think their life is worth a few more lousy seconds in traffic and most of the time, they beat the odds but sooner or later, the law of averages catches up to someone with a heavy debt to be paid.

'This time three little damsels lie on a cold slab in the morgue, forever children of 1957. Debt paid in full.'

'Happy New Years. Jennifer Platt'

"Funny thing is, about two day later I get an envelope with no return address in the mail with fifteen hundred bucks in it and a note saying 'I came into some money after an unexpected death. My parents still take care of me so I figured you need this more than I do'. I wasn't gonna drive a train anymore so the Railroad got me a desk job in their detective office just so I could get my pension so I didn't really the money. Ended up giving most of it so the parents give their poor kids a decent burial."

Having said his piece he returned to the business at hand.

"Anyway, basic biographical data. Born Jennifer Van Der Plaat, May fifth, Nineteen Thirty-nine in Queens County, New York. Attending physician Doctor Martin Couney - you remember, that incubator baby fellow. This is pretty interesting - she dropped in on the grounds of the 'Thirty-nine Worlds Fair and stayed for a month or so as an exhibit. That's one way to beat the cost of a ticket."

"Birth certificate lists her mother as Evelyn Van Der Plaat - father unnamed. A few weeks later mother married a fellow by the name of Johannes Platt. They actually were married about eight months beforehand but it was annulled a few weeks later. Looks like he found out she had someone else's bun in the oven and walked out. Must've had a really big change of heart cuz he filled out adoption papers a couple days after they remarried. Looks like Jenny loved her old man - she petitioned the court to legally change her last name to Platt on her sixteenth birthday."

"Graduated with A's and B's from Amityville High School in 'Fifty-seven. Went to Carnegie Tech for her Bachelor of Architecture 'Fifty-seven to 'Sixty. Transferred to Rensselaer Polytechnic for her Masters. Says here she minored in Journalism. Took most of 'Sixty-two off to travel. Went to Cal tech in May of 'Sixty-three to pursue a Doctorate. Came back East in December..."

"Far from it! She actually just did some work for the Rockefeller presidential campaign. Just a good little Long Island Republican girl."

"I got a few things here. Copy of a background check the Secret Service did when she interview Mis'ess Kennedy for an article. One of her friends is in the publishing business and slips her a press assignment from time to time. That's how she got into your office. Anyway they found out she was related to the Kennedys - grandmother is one of the Fitzgeralds. When Kennedy got killed, they sent a plane down to Mexico to pick her up for the funeral."

"This set of papers here is a background request from the Electric Boat Company. Her granddad is in the concrete business and she was building a concrete submarine for the Science Fair. She wanted information where they got the air to refill the ballast tanks to go back up. They sent her a blow-off letter at first so she sends an angry one back on her father's letterhead and they send her some old declassified stuff. They go back and forth with her asking about using a closed air system so she could run an engine underwater - she was going to use the exhaust to recharge the ballast tank system which got them interested. The last letter from her asked them how they managed to resolve a problem she'd come up with on her sub. She'd done a dry run on land and everything was going OK till she tried an emergency blow. The air lines froze up and if she'd actually been in water she'dve been stuck on the bottom."

"Now get this. When that nuke sub went down last year they did a similar test on another sub to see if they could dope out what mighta happened and sure enough, the air lines froze up. There's another one of these background requests from North American. She wanted plans of the Apollo moon ship for a science fiction story she was working on. I got a copy of a note from J Edgar Hoover himself that if this girl should ever start asking questions around any of the defense contractors like that again, they better take her seriously."

"She's got a reputation for troubleshooting. Theater people around call her 'The Ferret' cuz she's always finding little things that could get someone before they're got. NBC has a standing order to let her backstage anytime she wants."

"Now here's something that relates to you. Somebody noticed she was sending a lot of letters to your partner so they send a G-man over to have a look into that. They must've figured since you do a public housing projects for the government she might've stumbled onto something that's in their bailiwick..."

"Looks like she did... this is pretty strange... no details on what you'd done just an agreement that she'd do some snooping around for them in exchange for keeping things hushed up..."

"Going by her record, this building of yours was probably falling to pieces on you. Or one of your buildings... Says here she was supposed to turn in a report on you today. Sure hope you're not on her bad side. Looks like she had you by the shorts."

"We had some words..."

"Looks like last words to you Hope you got plenty of Chap Stick cuz I don't think the flower shops have a 'Please don't rat me out to the Feds' bouquet and it looks like you're gonna need to do some major league ass kissing."

"If I had to pick being on your shoes or relive that day in 'Fifty-seven I'd hafta think real hard about it. Oh and a bit of a parting note for you. You've seen the papers about that 'Surf Angel' business? Well I found a little article in the back page about her being found in a state of shock after going missing from the same area as that surfer. I'm new to the detective racket, but even I can put two and two together."

"She came late all bruised up this morning, but she never said anything about that..."

"Bet she never does. And I'll bet you another thing. I'll bet you my fee she filed an honest report on you and I'll bet she went out of her way to give you the benefit of the doubt. Like my poppa used to say, some people are born with class. Some people just have money. Been nice doing business with you. I'll try to see if I can get to that report before it hits the fan."

Jenny nudged us awake a few minutes past Syracuse with a warm Dixie cup of coffee to the side of the brow.

"Rochester in a half hour. You guys sleep good? I had the strangest dream last night..."

"You don't say..."

"Not too Freudian I'm afraid... Just a mash-up of some things. I in the Cleveland train station running down the platform to catch up with this train see. Then I find myself in the orangey sort of underworld place with black devils walking around with sacks of coal. One of them was trying to get an extra empty sack so he could smuggle me out of there but they kept a tight inventory or something."

"Anyway the next thing I know, I'm in this blue grottoey sorta cave. Like a pool flipped over. I see this little channel going off to the distance with severed arms and legs floating down it."
"I look over into this other part of the room and there are all these girls in various states of dismemberment hanging on meat hooks. They all look like my cousin Bitsey and they're all still alive cuz I can hear these weak sorta moans and ucks. There was one Bitsey in the middle all intact and she's comforting this other Bitsey next to her who's nothing but a head and neck."

"I turn to find a way out and I can see in a high window this orange operating room where they're cutting up another Bitsey. I look up and I can see a bit of Cleveland's Terminal building through these skylights. So I fly up to them and I'm pushing at the glass to try and get out - I was an angel with wings all this time - but the glass wouldn't budge and that's when I got up."

"I'm gonna hafta make a painting of that sometime..."

"You don't happen to remember any other dreams last night do you?"

"No... nothing important. Should I?"

We wanted to say that she was sitting on top of us shoving her hair in our faces but we let it pass for now. We were still on the road and didn't want to ruin her chipper mood.

"We usually don't bother with coffee on the halfway point. We figure on getting a little more sleep on the ride back"

"Good thing I only got one for myself. Didn't know when you two'd be awake and didn't want to stick you with a cold pot. You want a quick bite now or are we eating on the ride back?"

"Ride back. By the way, we don't bother getting dressed, we just wait for the next train in our jammies. More fun that way and it puzzles the heck out of the other people on the platform."

"All right," she shrugged. "To eaches peaches."

We idled in bed while Jenny remade her bed and gathered up our belongs for the ride back - cleaning people would probably think the cabin was unoccupied for the trip. We got up to lighten our load for the trip home about when the porter announced we had entered the Rochester city limits. Jenny made a last sweep of the room to clean up after us and we stood by the vestibule hall to take in the view of the railroad side of the Flower City. The porter joined us as our train lumbered into the station. Or what was left of it. There were a few people waiting on the platform but the station building looked like it hadn't been lit for years.

"I hope you don't mind how we left the room..." Jenny apologized. "Didn't have a lot of time to straighten up things."

"I don't know... I just never liked having people pick up after me. Probably on account of I don't like people going through my things and saying stuff about me... Hey, I didn't get fresh with you sometime last night, did I? I kinda sorta remember being in your arms for no good reason... don't remember a whole lot else. I remember being in the water... and looking up at my board... it was on the surface... Kept thinking I had to get up there..."

Jenny flicked her head back and forth, trying to shake out another memory. She got nothing.

"Oh, I wouldn't worry too much about it ma'am... Sometimes it's best to forget things. Good Lord, you're not going out there in nuthin' but your jammies aren't you?"

"We're going right back to bed as soon as we get on the train back," We replied.

"My goodness," He sighed. "Heck of a long ways to go for a nap isn't it?"

"What can we say? Train rides make us sleepy... sorry we didn't bring any luggage. Hate to get you shanghaied by some old lady with a full set of steamer trunks to portage."

"Don't bother me none. Long as I get my rent paid on Friday... Say why'd Ezzie give you the full VIP treatment anyway. You folks somebody I should know?"

"Oh Jenny does articles for Travel Panorama." She actually did from time to time. "Has a column called 'Dispatches from Desdemona'."

"Oh I used to get that magazine when I was a kid. Always wanted to go places... Hope you give us a good write-up..."

"Oh I wouldn't worry about that. Might be doing this more often I think..."

The New York Central line curves through Rochester in such a way that the westbound trains actually have to head southwards across the Genesee River to get out of downtown. Hearing the sound of water falling, our little party trailed behind to 'investigate'. We had to hop down from the platform to follow the tracks to the bridge. In the end we weren't rewarded with much as we were looking from the top of the falls so we crossed the tracks to look at the city side.

"Ponte Vecchio," Jenny remarked, about the row of shops lining one of the bridges in the distance.

"Crossed that during the war," the porter replied. "Only one the damn Krauts didn't knock down."

She bobbed her head towards what passed for a skyscraper on the south shore. It had an odd looking spire, like black feathers on an arrow. We had our Leica on us so we clicked off a shot.

"That's the Time Square building," He noted with authoritative pride. "Genesee Valley Bank owns it - top has stylized sea shells."

We could hear the eastbound train bleating its way through the south side, so we walked our way back to the platform. We stole a look at the early morning traffic roiling below the station square, which was more like a triangle. The streets had a funny layout down there, like they couldn't make up their minds about what sort of street grid to go with and chose all of them.

"Remember when we saw those Louise Brooks movies at the MoMA?" Jenny inquired. "I read that she lives down there somewhere. Be funny if she's looking up at us right now."

"I don't think I recall her," the porter interjected. "I remember seeing Josephine Baker over in Paris just before The War. Now that was a woman! Mmmm mmm...."

If any one of us had the idea of waiting for the next train and getting a longer look at Rochester, they kept their peace as we boarded the homebound train. The conductor had a telegram from Ezzie in hand, yet he still looked rather confused about the idea that we'd come all the way to Rochester just to come back on the next train. He shrugged an 'Oh well' and led us to our stateroom - berths were lowered and waiting for us.

"Wake us up at half past Utica for breakfast," we said as we clambered up to our berth. "Make that quarter to Schenectady..."

"I read some Biblical scholars in a study funded by the University of Battle Creek have discovered that Kellogg's Frosted Flakes are an exact recreation of the 'manna' given by God to the Israelites," Jenny deadpanned as we dug into our bowls.

We love her matter of fact way of letting off a funny.

She was having the bacon, egg and cheese sandwich, swabbing delightedly at the pool of egg yolk on her plate when her attention was fixed on the little rack of menus. There were different sizes for breakfast, lunch and dinner and she took them out to play with the arrangement - she had a skyscraper design in mind. She finally settled on a tall diamond shaped building with flanking half diamond 'wings' when she took out her notepad to try out some sketches. The first was a straight translation of the menu model.

She didn't like and and the next sketch had the final form in mind. The diamond core was softened and the middle third of the floor plan was squared off. This had the effect of making the side wings resemble flattened left and right arrows. At the four storey level she duplicated the shape of the central mass to fill the well space between that and the wings. At the lobby and mezzanine level she continued the shape of the wings to join up with the central core.

The whole effect looked like the prows of several ships in a line. After drawing a look down view, we couldn't help noting it looked like something else...

Making a familiar shape with our hands we declared, "Looks very... feminine..." We didn't have to elaborate further.

Jenny raised an eye and flashed a smile as if to say that what she'd intended. Jenny looked at the sketches she made before making her final judgment. She flipped her notebook to a blank page to make a list of supplies she'd need. She was on a roll and would have a mere three hours to build a concept model before pulling into Grand Central.

Flagging down our porter she handed him the list inquiring, "Is there any way to wire ahead to an art supply store in Schenectady or Albany?"

"I thought you said you were a travel writer?"

"Oh that's just a sideline. My 'day job' is in architecture... Think they'll have a conniption fit if I put some newspapers down on this table?" Turning to us she commanded, "Hey float me a few bucks for the swag..."

We handed her two tens, a twenty and a five - a damn fair bargain.

It was too late to get anything at Schenectady so Jenny was obliged to pass the agonizing half hour to Albany working out service core plans. She toyed with the idea of marketing the two wings separately from the core and gave them separate lifts, cans and stairs but left the option of having a floor connect with the central core available. She had two basic floor plans - one scaled for twenty five storeys and one for thirty-five storeys by the time we pulled into Albany. There were a couple dozen people on the platform waiting for the train - and one rather puzzled looking sales clerk holding a bag of art supplies. They must've got him out of bed. It was only nine thirty.

We climbed up to our berth and laid out our supplies - three Cokes (one for Jenny), Hershey bar (for Jenny), potato chips, and Cheez-Its and copies of the Post, the Daily News, the World Telegram and the Journal American which had the best Beatle coverage of the lot.

"Hey Jen, you're famous!" We passed down the Journal American which described her encounter at NBC as 'Jenny Penny Serenades Fab Four via Satellite'. She took one look, shook her head in embarrassment and passed it back unread.

We moved onto the World-Telegram and Albert Towley's column. He was a pompous, self righteous and downright mean to boot. He went with 'Heiress Sings for Mop Tops, Snubs First Lady'.

"Looks like the World has it in for you Jenny..."

"Just the world? Sounds like a fair fight. Now if the Martians were to jump in... Lemmie see..."

She snatched up the paper to give it a read. It was a nasty little bon-bon of interposition and nullification and wildly inaccurate.

'Some people are born with class and others just born with money. Case in point is the tale of Little Miss Jennifer Van Der Plaat who celebrated her trust fund birthday in style at the Rainbow Room last night after a private musical session with the Beatles down in NBC's studios. To be fair, she did sing for her supper - mutilating a perfectly good Lead belly song with her own lyrics in the process.

'It looks like our newly moneyed socialite has yet to learn the social graces of our town - not that her elders couldn't use a few lessons in class themselves. It seems they have a lot of pull at the Rainbow Room and were able to oblige Mrs. Kennedy and her party, who'd hoped to have the room in privacy, to huddle in a far corner as Little Miss Jennifer was treated to a grand feast with NBC's Johnny Carson, squiring a twins act from the show, her personal court jester.'

'Mrs. Kennedy, ever the lady, tried to make the best of things by inviting Little Miss Jennifer to her table by little Jenny had her eyes on a greater prize, namely the first down payment on her inheritance, about $150,000. The girl had her priorities, you know.'

"Can you believe that? He had the nerve to call me a damn dirty 'socialite'! Well... if I ever had the idea I wanted to be famous, there's the reason why I didn't... Poor Miss Kennedy, I can't imagine she wanted it out there that she was on the town for anything."

She gave us back the paper and returned to her model making. It was fairly quick work laying out cut lines and following through with the X-acto knife. Since her building was going to have mostly curved corners, she made liberal use of her little trick of 'breaking the back' of the cardboard with the dull side of the scissors to make folding easier.

She took out the tin of green paint to apply the 'glass' to the façade parts - this was going to be an all glass building. By Poughkeepsie the paint had dried sufficiently and she took out the pot of rubber cement for final assembly. As the train slowed for the turns into Spuyten Duyvil, she had a cursory landscaping arrangement for the 'grounds' drawing a few custom-made sponge and bent toothpick. 'trees' from her snail bag she'd saved from a previous project.

We were a bit disappointed not to hear 'shave and a haircut - two bits' coming from the train - the train didn't even try to slow to a crawling stop and the parking lot where we expected Ezzie to emerge drifted by in silence so we used the final leg to Grand Central to get dressed and straighten up the room. Even with the added mess of paint splotched newspapers and cardboard trimmings, cleaning ladies would starve on rooms this kempt.

With a large fragile cardboard assemblage to schlep over to Long Island, we practiced the Roman custom of impedimenta and waited for our fellow travelers to clear the platform. Ezzie finally made a cameo appearance to ensure that all was well and was off to minister to her station. Jenny gave us the honor of portaging The Building over to the Forty-second Street Shuttle.

We never got that far.

Leaning against a column at the end of the platform was a casually dressed mule faced man with arms folded to reveal a pair of Marine honed muscular forearms. It was Amityville's town sheriff and father of Jenny's lost love, John Misener. He peeled himself from the column as we approached as a way of greeting us.

"The town of Amityville is always going on about their excellent personal service but isn't this taking it a bit far?" Can you tell they're old and dear friends?

"I still don't remember much," she started to say as we made our way to the ticket hall. Looking around she inquired, "which way are we going?"

"We're going up," He replied jerking his head towards the escalators leading to the Pan American building.

"Fine way to spend my dad's property taxes, eh?" She jested.

"I was able to finagle some stick time with the Guard. They needed the training anyway."

Just before getting on the penthouse elevator, he made a call with his handie-talkie to have the pilot start up his engines.

"I tell you something Jenny. I've seen some heavy shit in Korea, and I've seen that million mile stare on my brothers coming off a battle... but that look on your face... God dammit, I don't ever want to have to see that again..."

He stopped to dab away a tear and regain his composure. Jenny took the opportunity to change the subject.

"They ever figure out where my car ended up? The other kids at the party had given me beer money to go on a run. I'd hate to lose that on them."

"Yeah one of the ferries spotted it in The Bay this morning. Some of the townies took their boats over to give it a tow."

"That's a load off my mind. Lot of those kids hafta work real jobs for their weekend fun. Grandmother just hands me a check."

He put an appraising hand to her building and replied, "A mind like yours shouldn't be burdened with that sort of bother. That's quite a number you've got there. Looks like meat and two veg on a cold day..."

"Look at it straight down," We retorted, turning the building to it's side.

"Ohhhhhhhhohoho..."

"You guys have such filthy minds!" It was a half-hearted rebuke from Jenny.

"Jen.. I know you and Scott didn't part on the best of terms, but I want you to know as far as I'm concerned it would be a great honor to have you think of us as family. If you want to talk to someone about what happened this weekend and you feel like you can't talk to your parents for any reason, you can always come to me... And you know I can take the badge off if need be..."

Jenny could only nod back at him before he finished the conversation with a hug.

"Just promise me one thing," she finally requested. "Promise that if for any reason you see me arguing with some guy on the street you won't go off on him thinking he's 'the one'. I feel bad enough about Scott, the last thing I need is have another thing like that on my conscience."

With that we started up the stairs to the roof where one of those new Bell UH-1 helicopters in New York National Guard colors was idling on the pad for us. Even sitting on the pad, the rotors were kicking up enough wind that we got worried about Jenny's building getting away from us. We got into Sheriff Misener's wind shadow and gripped the model as tightly as we dared till a crew member from the 'chopper relieved us of responsibility for the model. We were given a seat next to the pilot while Sheriff Misener and Jenny got into the back cargo deck with that other crew member and we were off.

"You kids ever been up in a helicopter before?" Always a good line for a helicopter pilot.

"Actually we have. Parents have a ranch in Oklahoma. We used one to round up cattle. Of course all we had to look at was brush... Yowza! There's a view..."

We'd peeled around to a point just over the Chrysler Building's spire and got a brief straight-down perspective before heading across the East River for Queens. We weren't going to be doing any sight-seeing on this run.

"Look at all that city down there," we noted. "You really get a feel for the vastness up here..."

When you look down at a city from an airplane the scale is such that you really can't figure the size and from the ground you only see a little bit. Even from the Empire State building, you only get the perspective from a fixed point in space. Fluttering through space at about fifteen hundred feet or so really brings home the enormity of the beast that is The City.

"Thirty One Twelve to New York Control... Be advised we're going to make a touch and go approach to the Worlds Fair Heliport for training before continuing on to Amityville."

Our pilot slowed to a hover above the rooftop helipad to make his point and continued on into Nassau County, making a long sweeping S-turn towards the Atlantic coastline. We followed the dunes of Jones Beach till we got to the archipelago in The Bay that was due south of Amityville. He got some instructions over his radio headset that he acknowledged before dropping down to just over treetop height.

"They got her car over at the Marina Del Porto yard," shouted the pilot over the din. "I'm gonna try to set you guys down there..."

On the west side of Amityville sat a vast collection of boats and since this was the summer time, empty boat racks apportioned amongst the half dozen or so marinas and repair shops that lined the lower Narraskatuck Creek where it meets with a little canal. We could see a powder blue convertible in a sling dangling from a crane as we made our final circle 'round for a landing spot before the pilot settled for the lawn in front of the Marina Del Porto's clubhouse. As we were being helped off, a girl in some sort of utility cart drove up to greet us.

"You always did know how to make an entrance Jenn!"

It was Stacey Ketcham, someone we remember as one of Janice's classmates that drifted into Jenny's circle of friends. Stacey was one of those 'tomboy' types that even (gasp!) took shop class in school. She had wavy blonde hair with bangs and was wearing blue jeans, a men's flannel shirt unbuttoned so that you could see she was wearing a bikini top under it . When she stepped out of the cart to greet us we could see she had the same sort of boating shoes Jenny was wearing.

"It seems I also know how to make a disappearance as well," Jenny replied "What are you doing on this side of town, polishing your street sign?"

There are two names in Amityville big enough to rate getting streets named after them, the Ketchams and the Irelands. Ketcham Avenue fed into the town's little marina district. The Ketchams lived across town on the Bayview side.

"We were doing some fishing out in The Bay and caught ourselves a convertible," Stacey replied.

"Gee, I don't think the Long Island Sport Fisherman's Association has an import motor vehicle category..."

We piled into Stacey's cart and she drove us the half block over to where Jenny's car was being lowered from the crane.

"What kind of car is that?" Sheriff Misener inquired. "I don't think I've seen that model before."

"It's an Amphicar!" Jenny replied with a cheerful pride of possession. Sensing the sheriff continued befuddlement, she added. "It's a car that can drive in the water. They make 'em in West Berlin."

"You mean like that old Schwimmwagen my brother used to have?"

"Yeah! In fact, the same guy who did the Schwimmwagen designed these..." Turning her attention to the car she cooed, "Awww you poor braby... Were you all lonesome out there?"

"Looks like 'Car-tanic' had a run-in with an iceberg while you were away," we jested. There were at least a couple inches sloshing around the bottom.

Jenny scooped up a palmful to taste and spat it out declaring, "Oh it's sweet water not salt. Must've been from all the rain... And don't call her Car-tanic! You'll hurt Cynthia's feelings."

One of the yard workers brought over a wet/dry vacuum cleaner to drain the floor well while Jenny ducked under the rear to undo 'Cynthia's' bilge plugs. To her satisfaction, only a pint or so of water needed to be released. Another yard worker came out with some towels to swab down the interior. He gave Stacey a peck on the cheek before handing them to Jenny.

"Don't tell me you're going out with Paul Porto..."

"Brother of Peter Porto," Stacey continued as if on cue.

"Who is a Saint!" the two of them finished in unison to the embarrassment of poor Paul.

We'll have to explain that when one of Jenny's teachers used to call roll he'd say line that every time he got to Paul's name. Now everyone that went to school with Paul knew that line by heart. Peter was five or six years older than Paul and has since moved away unseen by us at least. He probably doesn't even know that that's how a small slice of a small town's population remembers him.

"He was, but they sent him over to Alaska to check out some of that earthquake damage," Paul replied with no hint as to who 'they' were but we figure he was a geologist.

"My dad is up there for some of the insurance companies," Jenny returned as she toweled down 'Cynthia'. "Supposed to be back sometime today."

With the seat dried out Jenny hopped into the car to try and turn over the engine. At least the keys were still in the ignition. She tried a couple times before looking at the gas gauge.

"Big dummy me... Looks like Cynthia is out of dinosaur juice..." She looked around the yard for a second before adding. "Did anyone happen to see the trailer I was towing? Had all my boards on it."

"Oh that's back at the station," Sheriff Misener replied. "We found that out in the marshes behind the dunes. So where'd you get this little honey?"

"Worlds Fair! They've got an Amphicar dealer showing 'em off in the Amusement Zone. Nice little birthday present for myself, eh? And look... it's got tailfins like cars are supposed to have!"

Paul ambled up to Cynthia with a offering of fuel in a heavy plastic jug for her belly. But where is to find the gas cap?

"It's up front hon! Here let me get the trunk for you..." Jenny said as she went to open the hood of the car to reveal the gas tank. "Engine's in the back so they had to put the tank and spare tire up front for balance."

With Cynthia fed Jenny was able to get her to purr in appreciation with one more turn of the ignition. That crisis over she remembered to check the glove box for that beer money entrusted to her. Several crumpled wads of dollar bills and a heap of change were still sitting in the black derby hat the Platts passed around at big gatherings when it was time to pay for something. Jenny couldn't help straightening out the bills as she sorted them out. Smoothing out the wrinkles by rubbing the bills against the dashboard reminded her of something.

"I remember this one time back in Middle School when some dumb City kid tried to show up Scott by taking out a dollar bill and smoothing it out on the desk in study period. Without batting an eye Scott whipped out a fiver and smoothed it out on his desk. The stupid things we used to do to show off, huh?"

"All I had on me were these Jamaican dollars Gramma gave me..."

"Oh really... So what about the time Scott told me about when some girls asked you if you were a lesbian and you hauled off and French kissed one of them. That happened didn't it?"

"Oh yeah that was me. These Aquanetters from The City come up to me at lunch with the old 'I heard you were a lezzie' gag. You're supposed to deny it all frantic like while one of them claims you made a pass at them so I just ignored them so they'd lose their momentum. When they finally got really insistent, I stood up saying 'Well there's one way to find out!', grabbed the biggest Aquanetter in the pack and just went for it."

Stacey finished the story, "Yeah and when she finally lets go of the girl, she licks her chops for a few seconds and says 'Nope! Why'd you ask?' and goes back to her lunch like nuthin' happened. You were the class hero for that one."

"Uck! It took me weeks to get that hairspray taste out of my mouth. Never gonna do that again... Anyway, if it had been Scott he woulda told 'em to suck his dick and see if it tasted like shit."

Everyone had a laugh and then a sad sigh at that one.

"Say what do you want us to do with this building?" It was starting to get heavy on us.

"Just put it in the trunk... Oh that reminds me... Stacey, you better stop work on that wire frame model. Drake is claiming my dissertation as a some sort of 'work for hire' so that project's off."

"Yeah it was a big argument," we added. "She ended up chucking the whole works down the incinerator."

"That's a rotten deal! And I just finished the thing this weekend!"

"That's alright. Grandmother gave me fifteen hundred bucks to dry my tears with. You'll hafta put whatever I owe you on the cuff till I can deposit the check."

"Well the model's paid for..."

"I was talking about for Cynthia... you know... for the tow and gas..."

"That sounds like a deal." Turning to Sheriff Misener she waggled the hat full of money asking, "You did get some of the names and numbers from that party when they reported me missing I presume? I figure I own them a little shindig or something at the clubhouse for their trouble."

"I suppose I could bring them in for some further questioning," he replied with an implied wink and a nod. The Amityville police would have a nice little 'training exercise' this evening.

We should note Sheriff Misener really was as honest as they come, never took bribes, never shook people down and never fixed tickets or framed anyone or anything like that. That didn't mean he wasn't above having a little bit of fun with his job title. He kept the department to a tight budget and nobody's ever had call to ask for his badge.

"So... can I give you a lift somewhere?" Jenny gave him a minky smile as she revved Cynthia's little motor.

There is something about the look on peoples faces when you're riding by their dock in a Amphicar with the radio playing an old Chuck Berry tune. Just getting in the water is a fun mess-with peoples-heads moment - they think you've gone nuts or had an accident of something... till you engage the propellers and start scooting off under your own power. Then they don't know what to think. We made a note to look into getting one of these for ourselves - hell we'll get an extra one for the ranch back home.

Stacey had been with her grandfather Frank when they recovered Cynthia so she followed alongside Jenny in his motorboat. Sheriff Misener rode shotgun with Jenny. We had the back seat to ourselves so we sat on the folded convertible top for a better view.

The basic itinerary was to 'escort' Stacey and Frank to their place on the Bayview side which was also where Sheriff Misener lived. Sheriff Misener was like an overgrown kid, waving to passing boaters and people in their yard. Jenny kept her cool, she was one of those 'serious' drivers, but every so often we'd se her dip her fingers into the water to play with the current.

"Hey! What's that up ahead? Hey, slow down. You're gonna hit it..."

From our vantage point we could make out a grayish shape laying dead in the water. Frank and Stacey saw it two and had throttled down to dead slow ahead before Jenny cut her engine as well. The poor thing bumped against Cynthia's grill and was turned around by her momentum as she slowed to a halt. It was a shark, a six footer at least.

"And its a boy," added Stacey. "Going by those claspers me-thinks he'll be sorely missed by all the lady sharks..."

Frank leaned over and grabbed one of the sharks pectoral fins to roll him upright.

"It looks like somebody bashed his brains in! How could somebody do something like that? These aren't man-eaters."

"Suppose he got hit by a boat?" Jenny offered. She kept to her seat making no move to lean over for a look.

"No... it looks like someone hit him with a blunt instrument," Sheriff Misener deduced. He saw an oar sitting on the floor of the back seat and picked it up. Holding the tip of the blade end over one of the more visible wounds, he concluded "Almost matches up perfectly. This fellow was stabbed to death!"

We didn't say anything more because we had a good idea who would've used an oar in a stabbing motion. Ten years ago we were watching Jenny playing in a softball game when these four City girls decided they didn't like us being conjoined twins. They quickly had us on the ground and were pulling at our arms and legs to 'separate' us when Jenny came up wielding her bat. She didn't swing it at them, but instead used it as a lance to shatter the ringleader's collarbone. It wasn't too hard to imagine her in the middle of The Bay, in the dead of night, facing off against a beast of the sea.

"Hey Jenn! Your seat's all wet!"

Water, water everywhere, but there otherwise wasn't a drop to be found inside the car. Jenny splashed her lap with hands full of water from the bay - there's no better hiding place for a puddle of salt water than the sea itself.

It was decided that the poor fish should be towed out to sea so Sheriff Misener transferred over to Frank and Stacey's boat to lend a hand, leaving us to make the ride home alone. Even though Amityville is a boating community there weren't a lot of places you could just drive in and out of the water that we knew of. Jenny had that problem taken care of. Pulling up to the family boathouse, she reached into the glove box for her remote control to open the door. Once inside she reached for a control box dangling from the ceiling on one of those metal flex cables to operate her little 'Jen ovation'. She'd saved the lifting mechanism from a second hand forklift truck she'd acquired for an earlier project and by flipping the lifting bed over and having Stacey weld on some metal grilling, she had for herself a home-made Amphicar lift.

We emerged from our cleaning chores to find Jenny in a white and yellow flowered sun dress and floppy hat on her back patio at a café table cooking a couple slices of Spam on a hot plate with two slices of toast and a slice of pineapple awaiting on her plate. It was a favored recipe she got from one of the family's trips to Hawaii. Epicures the Platts were not - not that our family went in for the Julia Child stuff, but we have the excuse of religious dietary restrictions. Oh, well.

We opted for a liquid lunch, making do with a bottle of Manischewitz and a pack of cigs over to her table. We were going to make a joke about trading lunches but she shushed us. She had a big old Halicrafters aviation radio by her side to listen for her father's plane.

Looking at her watch she calculated, "If he left Hartford at noon... should be making the clubhouse turn 'round The Stacks any minute now."

'The Stacks' were a set of four smokestacks serving a power plant around Northport.

Jenny's radio didn't have the range to pick him up till maybe halfway across The Island, but since Amityville's little airport didn't have an air traffic controller, he'd have to call in to have the other pilots slot him into the lineup. She'd be able to hear their responses to his calls.

For now there was intermittent chatter from the flying school's fledgling pilots so Jenny returned to her lunch. She'd cut the sandwich into four pieces. If her eyes proved bigger than her stomach, she could put the rest away or share it with someone else.

"JP Twenty One-Twelve this is Two Forty-Six Papa over Plainview. Just wanted you to know your little girl's home and safe."

"Twenty One-Twelve this is Zero Zero Seven Charlie outbound over Syosset. Looks like clear sailing to Republic. Give her a hug and a kiss for me will 'ya?"

There were three more calls like that till the staticy voice of her father wafted through the ether. Jenny reached down for the microphone.

"Home Sweet Home to Twenty One-Twelve, shall I have your pipe and slippers ready?"

She got back at least a half-dozen 'Hey Jennys' from the peanut gallery before her dad picked up.
"Don't know about a pipe and slippers, but I sure could go for one of those hula sammiches you like to make."

"Speak of the deviled ham! I've got two quarters left if you want them. You need a ride from the field?"

"You sure you're up to it?"

"Oh... I'll live... Anyway, I wanted to get a few things done in town...."

"Hey Seventy-Eight Seventy-Three Quebec, be advised this plane makes very wide turns..."

"Looks like I better let you go..."

"Seventy-Eight Seventy-Three Quebec, sorry about that. Seems I picked up a little stowaway back in Ireland... Ow... Dammit... That's it... Out you go..."

"Very well. Carry on... Oh... and see you at the field Jen..."

With that Jenny shut down the radio and hauled it back inside to its spot under a side table in the dining room. She took care of the hot plate and its extension cord, meticulously winding the cord like she's seen done a thousand times at the N.B.C. studios. The remnants of her sandwich were given equal affection as she lovingly wrapped them in a sheet of wax paper to bring to father. She drew a bottle of Canada Dry from the fridge and packed it, the sandwich and a few napkins in a little shoebox. Pulling a ring of keys from a rack on the wall by the phone, she was ready to go.

Since her car was parked in the boathouse section she would be driving father's Mercedes Coupé - it seems they both like to buy their cars from the old country. We're no strangers to fine automobiles but it always struck us as to how she was with automobiles of any distinction - she treated the Forty-seven DeSoto she used to own with the same sort of casual elegance. We clambered into the back seat and we were off.

First stop was to the police station to retrieve her utiliy cart and her quiver of boards - of the five, there was one missing. That she hauled over to the parking lot behind her father's building on Broadway. With such linited real estate at the family homestead the gated lot behind the J Platt & Company Headquarters stored much of their surplus paraphernalia.

The next stop was to the bank to deposit grandmother Gloria's check. Call us the hopeless romantics, but we'd sorta hoped that somehow the check remained with her uncashed for the rest of her life either by defiance or just that she simply never got around to it. Oh well.

Her last stop was the beer store outside of town for a couple quarter-kegs and a case of sodies. Those were put in the trunk. She bought a six-pack of Rhinegold for herself, giving that the honor of sitting up front with her.

She took a side street to get onto the road leading to the airport, passing a Niké missile station, located ironically enough, directly across the street from a Catholic school, before arriving at the main gate. Jenny breezed past the flock of resting Cessnas, Pipers and Beechcrafts stopping at the big hanger with the word 'Zahn's' plastered over the door. Father had already done his post flight walkaround and was waiting for her with briefcase in hand a garment bag over his shoulder and leather travel bag at foot..

"Hey dad! Didja bring back a pengie?" Jenny called out as he tossed his luggage into the trunk

"No, they were all out... Would you settle for an Eskimo kiss? I see the twins will have suds for tonight..."

"That's for the clubhouse. I was supposed to go on a beer run before old man Poseidon made other plans..."

"No fatted calf for my homecoming?"

"You'll have to settle for Salisbury steaks."

"Pencey's?"

"Yeap."

"That'll do it. Carry on." Still saddlesore from his flight, he opted to sit with the Rhinegolds.

We rode back into town in the usual silence stopping first at father's office where she helped with his bags and then at the clubhouse where he helped Jenny bring in the beer. The caterer from that rehearsal dinner was there to retrieve her equipment so she and her crew picked up a second job in helping with Jenny's party which was penciled in at around seven-thirty to ten-thirty with Jenny showing up around seven. A phone call from her sister asked if she would look after the kids while they went into the city for dinner and a show. So Jenny would be there at six-fifteen.

Right next to that door was a Mission style table that in addition to providing cover for Jenny's radio set, served as a dropping point for whatever people carried in from their day's journey. Under one windows sat a bookshelf loaded with various engineering books and journals and under the other sat a matching shroud over the radiator.

Between the hallway door and the kitchen door stood The White Metal Cabinet, the Platt family repository for every event and moment they saw fit to photograph or acquire a souvenir of. If it looked like it might've been taken off a ship, it was. In a previous life it served as a wardrobe for a first class cabin of some coastal night steamer long sent to the breakers.

A cursory inventory included neatly labeled shoe boxes of slides cataloged by, work projects, family trips as well as special events pertaining to each of the children. Another shoe box held postcards acquired from vacation and business trips - with three women in the family, shoe boxes were in plentiful supply. Interspersed with the shoe boxes were tchotchkes obtained equally from business trips and vacations. Their Hawaii trips contributed a plastic Ukulele, a dancing ceramic hula girl for dad and a couple film canisters of black sand. We might also mention that sister Janice was 'obtained' on a Hawaii trip but she wouldn't fit in that cabinet.

Rounding out the inventory were the children's awards, ribbons, badges and trophies. A ball and glove from Jenny's softball days was relegated to the bottom shelf next to Janice's tournement winning tennis racket and ball and Jamie's old leather football helmet. He lasted three games with that before breaking both forearms running into a goalpost - the casts sat under the helmet. Peeking over the pressed metal cornice, were a few of Jenny's snail tchotchkes. They were secreted everywhere in the house, peeking out of windows and cabinets, marching across the cornices of doorways and windows or guarding bookshelves.

Pencey's frozen Salisbury steaks came in these little boil-in bags that you reheated in a pot of water. To get at your Pencey steak once cooked, you were obliged to cut it free with a pair of scissors. This made them more of a kitchenette meal than something that rated the formal dining room. Nevertheless Jenny managed to serve them with all the pomp and circumstance of a waiter at The Stork Club - tonging each bag to a plate and passing 'round the kitchen scissors. The whole effect was like something out of those old Robert Benchley shorts.

"I was hoping I'd have something for you by this time but I'm still not remembering anything."

"I suppose we'll have to table that for a later discussion..." Drawing a torn newspaper article from his shirt pocket, he moved on to new business. "So... is there anything to this row you supposedly had with the former First Lady?"

"The basic facts are close enough to the truth, but the interpretation is wa-a-ay off. I wasn't snubbing her, I just didn't think I could handle dealing with her."

"He had the nerve to call us one of Carson's 'twins acts'! They even got Jenny's last name wrong."

"So they have... I take it you're not going to do anything about this."

"What would be the point? Damage is done. No taking things back in the news racket. That's what they used to say in those jounalism classes I took."

She sat for a few moments to consider something.

"I hope Miss Kennedy's doesn't try to get enyone fired over this. I can only guess one of the waiters was feeding tips on the side - don't think the Secret Service people'd squeal and if it was the Luces, they'd put it in their own magazines..."

"What about this thing where you're singing for these... 'Beatle' people? How would they get that from a waiter?"

"Another paper had that one so that's probably an NBC release. Wish I'd given N'eddie a heads up on that. She loves getting stuff first... Oh well I have a 'Dispatch from Desdemona' for her when I can get to it."

"Going back into writing? What happened to your job with Van De Lay?"

"The six months are up and Mister Drake didn't want to pick up my option."

"There was a big ruckus over that. The thieving weasel tried to steal her big dissertation project... said something about a 'work for hire clause' in her contract. She ended up tossing it down the incinerator," we blurted out without really thinking about it.

Her voice cut off as she tried to swallow another bite of steak - something wasn't working right. She tried washing it down with drink from her sodie but that seemed to make things worse as she hastily rose from the chair to make a bee-line for the bathroom down in the hall. As she made these desparate sounds like a strangled chicken, we filled her dad on a few things.

"Don't know if you've seen any of the local papers but we're almost positive she's that 'Surf Angel' they've been talking about all weekend."

"You don't say..."

"Last night while we were sleeping she was on top of us talking in her sleep like she was talking to someone in a raft or something... and this afternoon we were out in the bay looking at this dead shark, she wet herself like maybe she had run into him before... and she's not even afraid of sharks!"

"You are not going to believe what just happened," Jenny declared as she returned to her seat. "All the time I was eating, it was going down the throat but it wasn't going into the stomach. It was just backing up into the gullet! Isn't that just wierd?"

She reached behind her chair to looks at some papers on the credenza. It was her itemized bill from the hospital. Going down the line of charges, she found what she was looking for. Giving it a 'eureka' slap, she triumphantly handed it over to her dad.

"They gave me Darvons! I'm not supposed to have those on account of being a preemie..." That's not excuse-making on her part. Among other things different with her, she's freakishly nice on that day of the month.

Jenny managed to put the rest of her dinner away without incident and was cleaning things up when the kitchen phone rang. She picked it up, grunting an 'Mmm?' and listened for a few seconds before hanging it up. A few seconds later it rang again. This time when she picked it up, she didn't say anything. After a few seconds, she hung it up again. The next time it rang she picked up the reciever just enough to clear the hook and put it right back down.

'That was Drake. I'm not talking to him... Ever." There was no arguing with her on that point.

With time to kill before Jenny would have to get ready for tonight's party, her father treated us to a slideshow of his Alaska trip. Since everyone in the family kept odd working hours they each had their own bedrooms and Father Platt had the one in front with its own bathroom. He only used when he was on jobs that would get him home late, otherwise he bunked with the wife like every other happily married man not in the construction business. To emphasise that point, he had it set up for use as a TV watching roon in the daytime with a foldout sofa bed for sleeping. Only a 'tallboy' chiffonier and a mirrored dressing table betrayed it as having any other purpose.

One of the perks of being married to someone in the television business is being able to get hold of a neat little gizmo he had set up for showing slides - on television. Evelyn was able to get hold of a surplus flying-spot scanner from the RCA labs and with the help of our brother Avi, yoke it to a carousel projector. No sitting in the dark for this family.

The slides were pretty much as taken by the camera, he hadn't grouped them properly yet so we were seeing things in the order he saw them. The first stop was Anchorage with several shots from the air where the crackled ground looked like dried mud puddles, only the cracks had bits of full sized houses sitting in them.

The set that got Jenny's interest were of the Anchorage J.C. Penney's store where the façade had been shaken off in the temblor. Sheets of building panels lay tilted against the ground floor crushing automobiles like so many tin toys. You could see stockrooms exposed to the sky with parcels still in on their shelves. Several more frames consisted of close-ups of the fastening system and their points of failure. He didn't even have to ask if Jenny wanted eight-by-ten glossies of those - by now Jenny was roughing out stress calculations in the back of her mind.

The shots we tended to remember most were the 'engineer poses' - it seems to be a tradition to have the survey crew pose for a group shot around a particularly spectacular piece of damage. The Platts had practically millons of those in their files. We figure its a way of saying to themselves everythings going to be OK.

There were slides of the wave damage to look at but it was time for Jenny to get ready so we switched to the early news programs. Jenny brought down her waitress outfit and hung it over the bathroom door, she was going to use dad's shower so she could listen in. The news had another facet of the continuing Surf Angel saga. Apparently the Surf Angel had come ashore in front of a cluster of vacation cottages own by this old Norse lady.

"Hey Jenny! It's your friend Ezzie! She's on the news!"

Ezzie was translating for her grandmother who saw some 'crazed lady' go down the line of cabins, pounding on the doors and screaming incoherently. Her fear of this 'young hooligan' apparently were justified because the she eventually gave up on the guest cottages and smashed a window of the storage building to unlock its door. She then made off with armfull of towels and blankets and of all things a boat oar - luckily the boats were chained up and under lock and key.

"Well that's just strange," Jenny declared. "Isla EsmÈralda is well inside the Fire Island inlet..." Turning to us she added, "I think we'll take Cynthia over to Janices to pick up the kids. I suppose I'll hafta pop up on the Town Beach..."

If there had been a competition for coolest family in Amityville in the Nineteen-fifties, well there would've been no competition. The Platts would've whipped them all with just two words - The Clubhouse. Many a garage in town played host to one kids fantasy of being the next Elvis Presley, but only the Platts would back up their children's ambitions by opening a club for them.

This wasn't a few tables in a vacant storefront, this was a full fledged family project that involved carving up a surplus railroad car into four pieces, rearranging them into a square and building a fully functional diner amongst the bits. Jenny did the engineering and exterior design, contributing the space-age wavy roof design over the entry vestibule. Jamie rounded up classmates to do the construction and Janice handled the interior decorating. Since the club was to be a showplace for her singing, diner style booths were out in favor of easy to move café tables and chairs.

The real topper is that the whole thing was built on one Grandpa Platts concrete barges and moored on the Amityville Creek just off Merrick so they could move it out into the bay if the mood struck them.

Needless to say, the Platts ruled their high school. To their credit, it was a benevolent dictatorship, The South Shore Club was open to just about anyone who was willing to contribute either time or money to the joint's upkeep and who didn't make a nuisance of themselves. With its location only steps away from the High School, it became the afterschool hangout in the five years a Platt family member was a student there.

The three Platt children have long since graduated but the South Shore Club managed to carry on as an extended family room for the Platts and as an inexpensive meeting room for the various town clubs and organizations - like the local photography club. They also hired the place out as a catering hall for startup companies, doing a brisk business with the Negroes, who were still having trouble renting space on The Island.

Jenny was behind the counter in her beloved waitress outfit helping the catering lady with inventory while we slump in a corner chair as Danielle, one of Janice's girls, surrounded us with café chairs squealling "Now you can't get out.". She was having fun and we mulled over whether we wanted to spoil it by pushing out way out. Maybe later when nature calls, we'll pretend we're Godzilla.

Danielle considered rebuilding her prison walls before joining sister Stephanie and one of the catering lady's boys in a game of Chupa-Cabra. We lit up some smokes and scooched our chair over to the old man to check out his collection of old blues and gospel standards.

"Looks like you gonna git a couple customers," he wheezed as a car pulled up to the door.

"Ohhh.... Krep....," we let out with amazement when the occupants got out. It was Emily Drake and Doughnut Boy. As they argued their way to the door - she thought doughnut boy knew his way around Long Island - we corralled the conga line of kids as they ran into our corner.

"Sit down and watch this," we commanded. "See that lady? Jenny used to work for her dad... She invited her to a party and made her wait tables... This is gonna be good..."

"Let's just get something to eat and go home..." Emily surveyed the room as if looking for the maître d'. "Hello-o-o!"

"Just sit at the counter. We're not quite ready yet! Meat guy isn't here,"

Jenny yelled out to them from the back in blissful ignorance and returned to talking to the catering lady about the Kosher equipment kept on the premises. The lady had wondered why some stuff was kept under lock and key. Jenny explained that it was som Jewish club member would know they were really serious about maintaining Kosher capability.

The lady had another question...

"What's with the head up on top of the fridge?"

"There's a story to that... Our family used to have an estate on one of the islands out in the bay. Back in the Eighteen-fifties this poor fellow turns up at our family's door pretty close to death - this was when they were cracking down on people helping people escaping the slave trade. He'd come up the coast from down in the Carolinas... It seems they would punish him by sticking him in a little box undergound so as he laid dying he begged my great-great-grandparents not to bury him in the ground with the promise he would look after the family in the afterlife. My ancestors believed in honoring a dying man's wish and told him he'd have his room 'till the resurrection'."

"Sadly, we only have his head and his heart left now. We keep him in the kitchen so at least he can enjoy the smell of cooking. You know... we'd been looking into the idea of trying to find out where he came from so we can send him back home."

"Uhmmm! Can we at least get a menu? Hello?" Emily was getting impatient. Looking around the room she added, "Say does anyone know where Twenty-one-twelve Ocean Avenue is supposed to be?"

Two-thousand, One-hunded Twelve Ocean was the official address of the family's estate on the now washed away Platt Island. They still kept the number for sentimental reasons for their aircraft's call sign as well as for their telephone number AMity two-zero one-one-two. Not that we were going to say anything to Emily.

"Oh we don't really do menus around here. When the meat guy gets here we'll be fixing burgers, dogs or Philly cheese-steaks," Jenny said as she finally faced Emily and her escort. Without even batting an eye, she added helpfully, "If you're really hungry now, I can get you the inventory sheet and you can pick something off the list..."

Emily had to stifle an open-mouth gasp while Doughnut Boy offered, "Well... I see you've landed on your feet anyway..."

Ignoring their comments, Jenny set down a couple glasses of ice water and two sets of tableware wrapped in napkins. "I'll get you that list..."

You would think they'd run into one of their school teachers at the store from the way they carried on to each other as Jenny was out of range.

"Oh my gawww... and she's working for colored people!" Emily tried to hold down to a whisper.

"Hope she doesn't spit in our food on nuthin'..."

"Oh she wouldn't dare... Ya wanna give her the business?"

"Better idea... let's skip out on the check," Doughnut Boy countered.
"Oh you're so evil," she complimented.

While they looked on we hopped up onto the counter and leaned over to grab a can of Charles Chips from underneath. While we were at it, we grabbed a bottle of sodie from the cooler.

Proffering the open can, we goaded, "Want some? She won't know the difference..."

Jenny came back out with the list noting, "We got some cold cuts... some chicken... egg salad.... some cheeses... tuna... don't suppose you'd want one of my delicious Spam and pineapple Hula sammiches would you?"

"No... just give me a grilled Swiss cheese," Emily decided. Doughnut Boy went with the tuna fish.

"I used to love tuna sammiches when I was a kid," Jenny commented while she mixed a can of tuna with some mayonnaise. "Till this one week I was on a trip with my dad and I just had too many of them. Haven't had a bite since. Same thing happened to me with raisins. I guess some foods you can only eat so much of..."

"I wouldn't know about that," he replied as Jenny walked to the back grill to take care of Emily's order. With a set of shelves surrounding stairs to the storage room belowdecks between her and them, no one'd be the wiser if Jenny wanted to be vindictive.

"Gee I hope you don't think I'm up to something. I didn't want to use the front burners 'cuz they tend to heat up the place..."

She handed them their plates with a friendly 'Here ya go...' and stepped back a bit to watch them eat. Emily nervously bit into her sandwich before giving it a nominal pass. Sometimes the wait for the shoe to drop is all the torment you need.

"Gee you put an awful lot of mayonnaise in this," Doughnut Boy quibbled as he lifted the bread off his sandwich.

"Oh gee... that's how dad taught me to make 'em," She cooed walking over to their side of the counter. Pointing to a random spot she shouted, "Look! Over there!" She siezed up the top slice of bread, scraped it against the counter, blew on it to remove any hairs and slapped it back on top.

"Ewww... gross!" Emily shouted till she saw that Jenny had the offending slice still in hand. Then she let out a the kind of laugh you let out after being worried about something for a spell.

"Well you told her you didn't want so much mayo," she scolded. "Now eat your food!"

"Oh well you see... this is a private clubhouse so we're not supposed to charge directly for meals..."

Looking past their confused faces to a truck backing up to the club, she cooed, "Ooohh, the meat truck is here!"

The meat guy was loading his hand truck just as some of the kids from that Friday surfing party were trickling in on foot. Whatever irritation they might've felt from being rousted by the Amityville police was dispelled by sight of Jenny bearing free grub - and the beer she'd promised to get for them.

"I figure I owed you guys interest on that beer money you left with me," she said as she ushered them into the club. "We're just getting set up so we could use a little help with things..."

With the extra hands, it was quick work unstacking the café chairs and getting the juke box reloaded with the club's records. Jenny mentioned something about how they often have to change record positions around to even out wear on the selector buttons.

Pointing to a set of microphone jacks she added, "We set this up so we can use it as an amplifier. I have a feeling that 'Lady Desdemona' might want to come out and play..."

Lady Desdemona was Jenny's musical 'alter-ego' and some-time literary nom de plume she'd come up with to separate her artsey interests from her serious side. Even though Janice had formed 'The Aquanetters' and was their lead singer, almost everyone remembers the lineup of 'Lady Desdemona and the Aquanetters' because of the times when Jenny filled in for Janice the two times she'd taken off to have her kids. Under Jenny's somewhat reluctant helm, the Aquanetters actually managed to have one of their song break into the regional Top One-hundred. She had been on a grueling tour of Europe to fill in for her sister when the whole mess of Scott's disappearance went down.

Another pack from the surfing party poured out the back of a Paddy wagon in good cheer with Sheriff Misener bringing up the rear.

"I sure hope none of you kids have to worry about this being a school night..."

"We don't need no stinkin' education! We're post-graduates," answered one voice in the crowd.

"Thanks for the ride in the wagon though. When you're sober those things are far out man!"

"Hey! You think next time you could get us some of those striped suits?"

Since Sheriff Misener used to hail from Philedelphia, he was orraled by Jenny for KP duty as the local cheese steak expert. Jenny had us handle the beer serving with the usual standing order to cut someone off if they saw four of us. Much of the conversation centered on the identity of the 'Surf Angel' and Jenny's ordeal - she still had nothing to report.

"Well maybe you ought to talk to somebody who has," she said, wrapping her arms around an unsuspecting EsmÈralda as she walked in the door. "Just saw you on the news talkin' about her. Nice to know you're still willing to break bread with us simple peasants, Ezz!"

Ezzie blushed at being the object of a good old-fashioned Long Island ball-busting as chants of 'Ezzie's been on television!' rang out from the loving crowd. She tried to cut them off by ratting out Jenny's time of doing the surf forecast in California for a local TV station. The consensus was that Jenny's TV time didn't count because they were professional engagements. Jenny had to end it all by slipping Ezzie a pair of walnuts to present to the crowd for the ceremonial Final Nut Stomping. It was almost time for Lady Desdemona to do her number.

A space was cleared around the jukebox and a small kettle drum was rolled into the room from a nearby storage closet. One of the kids took out a guitar while another picked out the 'snake charmer' flute used in the song. The instrumentation was fairly simple for the Song of Desdemona - this was intended as a showcase for Jenny's love of jokey wordplay.

As the kettle drum set the mood for the song, Lady Desdemona emerged from her hidden lair belowdecks dressed in a long flowing Gypsy robe, her equally long flowing Gypsy hair let down with a only a part through the middle to define it. She whispered final cuing instructions to the band members before she started. In a voice she herself has likened to a musical saw, she delivered the verses while the band shout-sang the chorus...

Her tears were like raindrops... that danced upon her skin
She reigns with her teardrops... and dances for your sins

It's tha testemona... Desdemona! Testemona... Desdemona! Testemona... Desdemona...

She was dancing in the moonlight... when someone caught her eye...
It had rolled off the verandah... and landed on some guy.

Spastically blinking her still-bruised left eye, she declared, "Still works too!"

It's tha testemona... Desdemona! Testemona... Desdemona! Testemona... Desdemona...

It's tha testemona... Desdemona! Testemona... Desdemona! Testemona... Desdemona...
Go Dez! Go Dez! Go Dez! Go Dez...

She let the music continue as she went into one of the joke-telling parts of the song.

"A gentleman friend of mine took me down to the marina one day," She intoned wistfully.

"He pointed to a bunch of big boats saying 'See all those yachts over there? They belong to some of the richest stockbrokers on Wall Street...'"

"'But... where are the ones that belong to their clients' I asks him."

In a Cockney voice she delivered the punchline,"See them rowboats over there..." and returned to the song

You asked what lays on the road.... a head that does not know...
You say... that it's all over... my love, but does it show...

It's tha testemona... Desdemona! Testemona... Desdemona! Testemona... Desdemona...
Go Dez! Go Dez! Go Dez! Go Dez...

Desdemona swayed into the crowd for the schmoozing part of the song, finding the catering lady's grandfather in the back with the kids.

"Ooohh I used to go out with a sailor fellow with no hair up on the crow's nest... His shipmates used to give him the business for it all the time. One of them rubbed the top of his head saying 'Hey! It feels as smooth as my wife's bottom!'. So the fellow rubs the top of his head to check and says 'Why.. you're right! It is as smooth as your wife's bottom!' Oh you naughty boy!"

The frisky old man had given her a slap on the ass.

Mincing her way back through the crowd, she came upon Emily and Doughnut Boy.

"Ahh... isn't that nice... a young couple in love... Oh my... you look like the kind of girl who's been wined and dined and ermined all her life. Am I right dear? Oh, I bet you already have a mink coat in your closet. Hmmm? You know... A dear old friend of mine once said she'd do just about anything for a mink coat... now the poor thing can't button it over her belly..."
Testemona... Desdemona! Testemona... Desdemona! Testemona... Desdemona...

Her tairs were like raindrops... that danced upon your skin.
For lovely Desdemona... spend wages on her sins...

Emily looked on in awe as Lady Desdemona left the stage to return to her lair.

"No way... No way! I used to love that song!"

Jenny emerged from the stairs in her waitress outfit acting as innocently as Clark Kent did when he showed up somewhere just after Superman had departed the scene.

"Hey guys! I heard y'all were having a good time up here while I was gone... did I miss anything good?"

The evening wasn't over yet. Jenny drew a Stratocaster from the storage closet, plugged it into the back of the jukebox and sat down to play her version of 'Miserlou' to wind things down a bit. It was a more precise slower-speed number based more on klezmer music yet still had some of the surfing feel of the Deltone's rendition - you played her version after the day's surfing was done. Somebody asked for a Beatles song so, keeping to the basic Miserlou tune, she edged towards playing 'My Bonnie' only the gang insisted on singing it as 'My Jennie'.

Janice and Wesley returned from their evening around ten after ten, just as the beer supply was giving out. By this time Jenny punched up 'Where Do You Worka Joe' on the jukebox to encourage the gang to pitch in and tidy up the joint.

"Well I sure know when to enter a room, don't I," she declared as everyone chanted along to the chorus.

Janice had a look almost diametrically oppoesed to Jennys with short, feathered 'pixie' hair to Jen's long mane, and actual breasts under that multi-flowered sun dress of hers. She was a forehead shorter than Jenny and maybe twenty pounds heavier from having two kids already and a perky enthusiastic voice to match her breezy bohemian personality. With the choice between the flashy Jan and the less fleshy Jen, it probably wasn't surprising that Wesley fell for Janice.

"Hello... Weaseley." Even though Jenny had long forgiven Wesley for ditching her in favor of Janice, she was the one who got him an interview with Grumman, we still liked to keep him on his toes. Philandery aside, he was actually a nice soft-spoken fellow and to tell the truth, Janice was a better match for him. Still, Janice saw a lot of her friends move to Jenny's orbit for a time over the whole sordid affair.
Jan and Jen spent some time in the kitchen going over the events of that weekend as Sheriff Misener packed the last revelers into the Paddy wagon for home. We saw Emily and Doughnut Boy to the door. She was still flabbergasted at Jenny's musical side.

"Why didn't she say something about being a real live singer? With a hit record and everything! That really was one of my favorite songs when I was in school. Always wanted to meet 'Lady Desdemona' in person..."

"Well you know... she sorta wanted to keep that part of her life separate from her professional career. Didn't want misty-eyed fans bugging her all the time... especially when making some sort of presentation. She really only did it as a favor to her sister so they could keep their band going while she was having her kids."

"I remember her doing a show at our college," Doughnut Boy reminisced. "I was a DJ at the radio station and interviewed her on the phone. To think I had to be a smartass and ask about what she felt about how some of the Aquanetter fans were resentful of how different the music was with her as the lead."

"You know, Jenny spun some wax at her college's radio station. She wrote these radio plays... you probably never heard of the Homme Wreckers..."

"Never heard of it? That thing's a legend! Somebody got a recording of it and passed it around to a bunch of other DJs... That was Jenny?"

"Actually that was us. Jenny was on the production end. She destroyed the only recording of it. They musta got it off the air..."

"Amazing... the things you find out about people... You know Mister Drake has been worried about her... hired a private Dick and everything..."

"Well Jenny's got a job lined up already so he can stop worrying... and stop calling her. And by the way, Jenny was being really nice about you crashng her private party but it really wouldn't be a good idea for you two to show up again... Ever."

As a parting gift, we handed them a couple of Amityville's finest doughnuts from the display rack on the counter.