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Days of Youth and Glory (or when we were the shit and we knew it)

August 24, 2013

1960's dancing

I can’t wait, can’t wait, can’t wait” I said over and over in my mind as I bolted up the 17 steps of the apartment where I lived with my parents.  Happy to learn I was all alone, I dashed into my bedroom, closed the door and emptied the contents of the lingerie store bag.  And there it was, a luscious, black lace, satin-trimmed demi-bra,,my first ever.  I felt incredibly sexy just staring at it.   Still a virgin, on the cusp of womanhood I  realized this as a moment to be relished. I put on a little makeup and perfume.  Then the moment came.  I took off my top and “all-too-conventional” bra and slipped into the new demi-bra.  The top of the cup was cut very low, barely covering my nipples.  It exploded through the top of the sexy thermometer. 

    For the next half hour I paraded back and forth in front of the mirror stopping now and then,  as I leaned forward and formed a sexy pout with my lips, ala Brigitte Bardot.  I was all of 20 with an amazing body, and I knew it.  Next I stood sideways and lifted up my long brown hair, piling it on my head.  I glanced over my shoulder, looked into the mirror then lowered my gaze in feigned modesty. Shifting my weight on the ball of one foot then the other, I watched the undulations of the alabaster moons that rose and fell over a landscape of satin and lace. “Je taime Henri” I whispered to my imaginary French lover while staring into the mirror again.  I just couldn’t get enough of  this new, naughty me.

    On Monday I would share this totally narcissistic experience with my coworkers at MGM Records in Times Square, NYC.  Those gals were a fun group:   Susan, Millie, Tina, Judy, and Janet….all twenty-somethings.  We worked together as secretaries in the late 60’s and made it a habit to read Billboard every Monday morning to see how the MGM record releases were doing.  Susan was a petite and busty brunette from Sheepshead Bay in Brooklyn. Judy was a hard drinking, hard living, big blonde who moved to New York from Dayton, Ohio.  She often reported on her newest low-cost place to live in Manhattan.  Unfortunately she kept falling for guys she later learned were gay.  She had a funny side however.  We loved it when she did her Bette Davis imitation.  With a cigarette in one hand she looked around, then raised and lowered her hands as she assessed her surroundings and declared, ”What a dump!”  Millie, the only black girl in our circle, was a clothes horse and always showed off her latest finds from Bloomingdale’s and Saks.  Her dream was to meet and marry Smokey Robinson -it never happened.

    When the execs were out of the building, we took coffee breaks in one of their offices, turned on the 45 rpm player and spinned our favorite tunes.  Let the dance party begin!!!  “Ooo wah, Ooo wah, come on Kitty…tell us about the boy from New York City”.  With cigarettes dangling from our lips and coffee cups in hand, we danced around the desk, a tribe of embodied estrogen, with teased hair, wearing shell tops and pencil skirts, dancing, singing and laughing together.   We all knew the words and took dramatic pauses to act it up a bit ”Every time he says he loves me, chills run down my spine….every time he wants to kiss me, he makes me feel so fine…Oooooooooo!”            One time we played some somber Dylan song.  Judy hammed it up by putting on shades to look like a beatnik.  She puffed on a cigarette as she wailed “It’s all right Ma…..I’m only crying”.  Her head softly bobbed in a way that said she knew from what she spoke.  The send-up was side-splitting and hysterical!

    One of the execs,  Phil Picone, was a big Sinatra fan.  We enticed him once to treat us to an impromptu concert.  Most of our fun came from impromptu moments like this.  He slowly started to sing, “My kind of town,  Chicago is… kind of town,  Chicago is….my kind of razz ma tazz….”  As he got more into it, the inner performer emerged.  We clapped our hands and danced in place.  Now in full blown “ole blue eyes” mode, his desk became a stage as he leaped onto it.  The pen in his hand became an imaginary microphone and he crooned into it with heartfelt emotion. 

          Could I ever find a job like this anywhere else?  No way!   These truly were the days of youth and glory; filled with fun, sex and of course,  ROCK AND ROLL!


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  1. Reblogged this on Tovah-sez.

  2. Sheri Himelstein permalink

    You hit the nail on the head.
    I love your writing.
    Love. shero

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