I've been listening to cuts of Lee Wiley. Lee, in her early forties, in the early Fifties. B has mentioned so often how exciting it would have been as a Manhattanite then. Of course, we're talking plenty of moolah, n'est ce pas? Then, those watering holes and clubs, those floorshows and smoky closing hours, that smell of perfumed hair, that laughter of success -- then, it would all make sense.
Sometimes the surprise of this, this nagging 'narrative'. The impact of this. The tambre of Lee Wiley and the felt touch of her hand.
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