Drift On By

All relaxed and happy after an evening with Dionne, we returned to Onesti’s for dessert. This time we went downstairs to their martini lounge. I don’t know what was more exciting. That their great singer was still performing, or that we’d finally found a place open in this country beyond 9 p.m.
The room could have actually been the basement of your house. Low ceiling, fireplace, comfy sofas and a bar. (For those readers from outside the country, a lot of Americans do actually have bars in their basements, which could explain why you can’t get a drink in a restaurant past 9 p.m.)
Of course the real reason I like cocktail bars is not the drink, but to people watch. (Believe that and you’ll believe anything). After a couple of minutes we realized we definitely weren’t in Naperville anymore.
A thick set man came in with some young ladies. It was like the cast of Jersey Shore. It brought back fond memories of England. How I miss those Essex girls!
Anyhow, the singer suddenly spotted a couple of stars in the intimate audience and asked if they would like to sing.
The word Drifters started being banded about.
“Hey,” I hissed at Grumpy. “You don’t think it’s THE Drifters do you? I thought they were dead.”
“More like the Grifters,” he said, unkindly reaching for his encyclopaedia. Recently Grumpy has insisted on bringing his encyclopaedia wherever he goes. He says its his cell phone, but I’ve never seen him make a call on it. He couldn’t find anything.
The men sang solos, and they were really good. Could they be the real thing?
We were introduced to the Jersey Shores guy, who turned out to be their manager, the manager of the legendary Drifters we were told.
I was beside myself. What luck! A free after concert. I hardly noticed that the amazing David Elliot, who we had just heard singing with his mother, Dionne Warwick, on stage was in the room.
We finally got home at 2 a.m. after one of our rare ‘real’ Saturday nights out. As we got into bed Grumpy was laughing, which is odd because usually it’s the other way round. (Think about it).
“I’ve found them on my phone,” he said. “They weren’t the legendary Drifters, they were the Legendary Drifters, a tribute band.”
So in the end we had spent the night in a basement with a sound-a-like band in a little town in the middle of nowhere. But I’ll always remember it as the night we visited the coolest Chicago nightclub and jammed with superstars. It was just that we’d had to leave them to spend an hour with Dionne Warwick.