STARLIGHTER

  By the time we sat down for supper, the rain was slashing down in gray diagonal sheets, spears of lightning were ripping into the nearby woods, reports of thunder vibrated the windows and all the house lights flickered. Normally a frightening situation. But Jonathan, from the head of the kitchen table, exuded quiet reassurance, which the rest of us eagerly picked up. Even Blue seemed less paranoid.

  Maybe he was stoned.

  The table wasn’t meant to sit more than six ... even with the expansion leaf ... yet there were eleven of us chowing down. Eating became a kind of squinchy endeavor. Not surprisingly, Frankie Zurich dominated the dinner conversation ... he was directing salvos of political invective aimlessly into the ether. And except for Jonatnan, nobody was paying much attention. By the time we finished with the soybean mystery meat, the storm had subsided.

  Jonathan casually mentioned that night’s sleeping arrangements. He informed Henry and Connie that they were welcome to use the master bedroom (they being, of course, the master bedroom TYPE) and that he and his old lady would be more than happy to ’rough it’ on the floor. Considering Marianne’s pregnancy, this was a vastly magnanimous gesture on Jon’s part.

  “Don’t be ridiculous,” Henry protested. “We found o motel on the way up. Few miles from here ... Weirs Beach. Already booked the reservation.”

  There was the obligatory howl of objection.

  “No, really,” sayeth Connie unto the wretched. “It’s a divine little place.” Yeah, right! Valet parking, liveried servants, 24-hour room service, sunken heart-shaped tubs, canopied beds - the whole ball of wax. THAT would fit the two of them. Connie and Henry were not - under any circumstances - going to crash in the same house with nine unwashed freaks. For all the relative opulence of the Kaplan home, there wasn’t a silk sheet IN the joint.

  Before Jon or Marianne could offer up further objections, Henry swung the discussion unto a different tack. “We were thinking ... why don’t we all go out tonight? Knock ourselves out !” His voice shimmered with restless enthusiasm. A quiet evening with his friends was apparently the furthest thing from his mind. Henry just happened to have a pamphlet in his paw ... some drek churned out by the state tourist commission or something ... listing all of New Hampshire’s alleged hot spots. Brylcreem plowed through the pamphlet with rising hope that his zealotry was rubbing off. ’’ Here’s a cool-looking place. In North Conway. Where’s that? Says here, ’live music every night;. Whaddya say, Joey?”