Issue 122, Spring 1992
Orient Point, Long Island.
The guests are arriving, across the lawn. It is Friday afternoon. The men are coming in on the late train in the parlor car, and others have come on the ferryboat steaming in on the blue sea at dusk with gay lights.
My old flame, Hobby Fox, is sitting on a deck chair in the night alone. He is the nephew of Constant Fox, the heartthrob. Possibly Hobby is too gruff and crusty to be an exact heartthrob. But he is one anyway. “His eyes are so blue it just makes you want to go jump in the river,” as Margaret commented.