There was electricity in the air as the orchestra’s maestro raised his baton and then gave the signal for a downbeat. A line of song and dance people on stage went into their act. They were all members of the Long Island Association of Developers, Realtors & Overdressed Lawyers. (L.I.A.D.R.&O.L.) The developers were in coveralls, borrowed from some of their workers — the garments still sported the owners’ names on their breasts, like “Brick,” “Moose” and “Julio.” Having not picked up a hammer in years, the developers’ coveralls fit like … sausage skins. The realtors wore tasteful blue blazers. Each tasteful blazer sported a tasteful button that said, tastefully, Hey big spender! Spend some time with me! The overdressed lawyers were, well, overdressed — pinstripe suits, Guccis, gold cufflinks.
The troupe started with a time-step, holding out their hands to His Honor, and the town fathers (and mothers) on the village board and committees in the front seats. Then, they burst into song, while gazing with headlight eyes at His Honor and the town fathers (and mothers). We wanna be loved by you, they belted out, just you, and nobody else will do! His Honor’s eyes and those of the town fathers (and mothers) grew moist. We wanna be loved by you alone, boo boop pe do! His Honor now sobbed, softly, while some of the town fathers (and mothers) brought handkerchiefs to their noses, discretely.
The L.I.A.D.R.&O.L. performers pirouetted in unison, more or less, then dropped down on one knee, a few wincing in pain as they did so. Two or three of the sausage-skin coveralls split, but the troupers paid no heed as they stretched out their arms to His Honor and the town fathers (and mothers), and sang on, voices deep in heart-felt passion, We couldn’t aspire, to anything higher, than call you our own!
This night of Sag Harbor nights was organized by the three fab gals, Tiffany, Amber and Wendi to celebrate the Hamptons City condo complex, formerly the Bulova factory, in which the three fab gals spend sensational summers, another multi-story condo sprawling along Ferry Road to block all views of the water, and all the other condo complexes covering the town, giving Sag Harbor its exquisite Queens Boulevard cachet. The three fab gals were inspired to reenact the long glorious struggle His Honor and the town fathers (and mothers) had fought not so long ago, through good times and bad, to turn Sag Harbor into the urban condoland of the East End.
“It’s only fitting that we honor His Honor and the town fathers (and mothers),” said the Highly Reverend Paul Schmuckler. “After all, Sag Harbor’s ‘the most hamptony of the Hamptons.’” He was quoting a famous phrase from His Honor. You see, during the heroic campagin for the condo complexes, some vile reactionary said that Sag Harbor should remain “The Un-Hampton.” Whereupon His Honor thundered, “We’re tired of being put down like that! Sag’s gonna be the most hamptony of all the Hamptons!”
And then that vile, vile Group for the East End sued in court about the town not having filed a Draft Environmental Impact Statement (EIS) for the Bulova project, as required by the NYS Environmental Quality Review Act. This included the trucking of thirty thousand cubic yards of potentially toxic soil in 3,750 trips by full eight-cubic yard trucks past countless homes and schools. His Honor fought that picky-picky Group in court with truly inspiring righteousness. At much taxpayers’ expense. “The great cost is more than worth it,” His Honor boomed. “It’s time that these environmentalists be taught to get their priorities straight!”
So the three fab gals approached their Wall Street hubbies for financing. “No problem,” they said, “even in tough times.” You see, Uncle Sam had bailed them out, so each was able to pay himself his usual multi-million dollar bonus right on schedule. The next step was to hire a producer-director-choreographer for the extravaganza. At His Honor’s suggestion, the three fab gals approached the off-off-Broadway figure, Quinton Terpsichore, who had recently retired with his wife to their Sag Harbor summer cottage. “I’m afraid that this is not quite in my line,” said Mr. Terpsichore, picking up on a cue from his wife who stood behind the three fab gals in the cottage’s kitchen. Amber pleaded, “But we’ll pay you three hundred and fifty to do it.” Mr. Terpsichore smiled politely, and was about to decline again when Tiffany added, “That’s three hundred and fifty thousand dollars.” Mrs. Terpsichore had to hang on to a kitchen cabinet to keep from falling.
There were some slight hitches during rehearsal time. For example, Wendi’s husband had given one of his p.r. people the job of preparing the evening’s program. This young woman had listed Wendi as “Mistress of Ceremonies.” Well! Wendi could be heard from one end of Hamptons City to the other screaming on the phone to her husband that she’d “never be anybody’s freakin’ damn mistress!” Her hubby promised to re-do the program, and simply list Wendi as “MC.”
With a similar nod to reality, a decision was made finally to give a public explanation of why so many exceptions were made to favor huge condo development in Sag Harbor. Trivia. Such as the town refusing to file for the Bulova project an EIS as required by law, and not building thirteen units of affordable housing. Instead the developer donating $2.5 million, i.e., about $192,300 per unit, which would not even buy an outhouse in Sag Harbor. So a great legal scholar strode majestically to center stage and explained the legal reasoning, regally. “Ipse dixit, null mens rea, hic et nuc,” he said, “pax resurgum utsupra damnant quod non intelligunt ex mero motulocus in quot hoministot sententias.” Amber, pressing her thighs together, swooned, “I love it when a man talks French!” But no one heard her for the loud acclaim by members of the audience, like His Honor, who shouted, “Bravo! Brilliant! You reporters — you make sure you get it right this time!”
Much too soon, it came time for the finale, which Quinton Terpsichore introduced as, “The orgasm of musical climaxes that will make all other musical climaxes seem like they need Viagra!” But there was a short delay. You see, the clean-up crew, made up of former owners of the village’s long-gone mom and pop stores, were a bit slow in sweeping and mopping the stage between acts, to earn three bucks an hour. “Everybody wants to be in show business,” muttered a frustrated Quinton Terpsichore.
The curtain rose, and there were the three fab gals, wearing dancers’ leotards with thong bottoms, best to show the results of their stay last winter at the St. Moritz Divine Derrieres Cosmetic Surgery Center. Behind them was a chorus line composed of His Honor and the town fathers (and mothers). They had wanted to wear thong leotards like the three fab gals, but Tiffany set them straight. “Look,” she said. “I know you’re saving your pennies to go to the Devine Derrieres Center, but you haven’t made it yet, so it’s ordinary leotards for you!” As she later explained to the press, “Sometimes you gotta be cruel to be kind.”
The music started and the three fab gals and the official Sag Harbor ensemble went into their act, dancing, and singing to the members of the L.I.A.D.R.&O.L., who were now in the audience, You can make us do [hard hip bump to the right], what you want us to [hard hip bump to the left], but you gotta know how! You can make us do like this [double hip bump to the right], and you can make us do like that [double hip bump to the left], and, ohh, you sure know how!
RICHARD GAMBINO loved the show.