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shot down the hallway and out the front door, half expecting to be trapped in this tiny, strange, horrible world forever. When I encountered the rest of my posse in the backyard, I nearly wept with relief. Instead, armed with my acoustic guitar and a bottle of wine, I proceeded to sing - almost desperately - at the top of my voice. Rick utilized a picnic table as a drum kit, propelling splinters everywhere. Danny, who was not really a drinker, wandered off to buy more wine.

Amelia lurked at the window, "willing" us to cease, but only when the last bottle was empty did we wobble off to our quaint, cheap rooms.

The next morning I trudged downstairs, head throbbing horrendously. It was another scorcher. The lobby of The Mayflower looked like a geriatric ward. There were about 15 very old men and women lined up in front of a huge coffee urn. They all turned to gawk at me as I got to the back of the line for my caffeine fix. As I methodically stirred Coffee Mate into my cup, I thought: Well, I finally made it. The big time.
Clutching my styrofoam cup, I meandered outside. Glommy was on the porch, ogling a couple of pubescent girls. "This is good coffee," he said dreamily.
Rick was busy snowing Amelia.
"This place is GREAT!" he blathered, "I plan to come back every summer!"
I shot him a look of disbelief.
And yet, in the light of day, Amelia seemed oddly fond of we rockers. She told us to drive safely and wistfully said, "Come back and visit us any time, now."
"I'm sorry if we got a little loud last night, Amelia." I felt compelled to say.
"Oh, it's alright." She said, with a little smile. "It's just that I got elderly people stayin' here."
I smiled in return. "Yes, you certainly do. And a fine bunch they are."
We thanked her one last time and checked out of The Mayflower.
Traveling back to New York, Glommy volunteered to drive. Yet another careless judgment call - we let him. Three hours into the journey, we realized he made a wrong turn following a rest stop and that we were heading back to Wildwood.

"The fun just never lets up," I whooped, collapsing into a delirious, giggling heap on the floor of the van.
"Okay, she's officially had it." Craig observed.
We eventually got home and actually had a gig in New York City that same evening, of which I have no memory whatsoever.
Though not exactly a professional stepping stone, this fiasco was enlightening. Subsequently, I resumed managing my own career and Glommy was unceremoniously dismissed.
Occasionally, I find myself wondering how Amelia and The Mayflower gang are doing. I doubt that I shall ever return to Wildwood. But you never know.

Learn more about this author, Lynn Ann.
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