The Treehouse-Part 2 The Hooker
Tales from the Treehouse – Part 2
THE MAKING OF A HOOKER
Breaker, Breaker, Good Buddy… Meet FOXY LADY!
“BREAKER, BREAKER! YOU HAVE FOXY LADY ON MILE MARKER 100!”
AAAAAOOOOOGAAAA!!! AAAAOOOOOGAAAA!!!
The eighteen-wheeler’s air horn responded!
Now, before you jump to conclusions about that title, let me take you back a few decades.
Long before cell phones, Bluetooth, and FaceTime, there was the CB RADIO (Citizen Band).
Truckers had their own language. They had call names, known as handles, and communicated with one another over the airwaves as they traveled America’s highways.
“Breaker, breaker, good buddy!”
“Smokey up ahead!”
“10-4!”
Back in those days, hearing a woman’s voice over the truckers’ CB radios wasn’t an everyday occurrence.
Somewhere along the Garden State Parkway, behind the wheel of my burgundy Triumph TR6 convertible, I decided I needed a CB radio of my own.
I bought one, had it installed, and quickly discovered that I needed a handle!
One day, a trucker called out over the radio:
“HEY, FOXY LADY IN THE BURGUNDY SPORTS CAR!”…
And right there, on the Garden State Parkway, FOXY LADY WAS BORN!
I’d announce my handle and mile marker, and the truckers would answer with theirs.
We had wonderful conversations, complete strangers talking to one another as we traveled down the highway.
And when one of those enormous eighteen-wheelers pulled alongside my little British sports car, the driver would reach up and pull the cord for his air horn.
AAAAAOOOOOGAAAA!!!
Oh, those were the days!
My destination? Long Beach Island, New Jersey where my steady boyfriend at the time had a family summer home.
My beloved 1977 Triumph TR6 – burgundy exterior, camel leather interior, and classic British style. An illustrative recreation of the convertible that carried “Foxy Lady” down the Garden State Parkway in the 1970s.
EXIT 63 ON THE GARDEN STATE PARKWAY.
Because if you’re from Jersey, you know the joke question from others from out of state:
“WHAT EXIT?”
THE WILD TWENTY-SOMETHING YEARS
It was 1973 when I graduated from high school, and in 1975 I’d graduated from Endicott College.
The world was waiting, and I was more than ready to explore it.
I loved European sports cars. Actually, loved is putting it mildly.
I had an obsession for European sports cars.
My brother Kevin was involved with a racing team at Lime Rock Park in Connecticut, and a family friend’s Lotus Europa racing car was kept in my family’s garage.
That was where I learned to drive the Lotus and shift gears, sitting so low in the racing seat that I practically felt as though I were lying down.
I was hooked on driving a stick shift, and there was no turning back.
And then came my baby my first love,
MY 1977 BURGUNDY TRIUMPH TR6! A beautiful British sports car. I bought her from that very same family friend who owned the Lotus Europa.
He was a friend of my parents and Kevin, and because of that family friendship, he gave me a special price.
$2,200! Now, twenty-two hundred dollars was a lot of money back then!
But oh, was she worth it.
Deep burgundy paint. Tan leather interior. A beautiful burl walnut dashboard. And a wooden gearshift knob with the TRIUMPH LOGO right on top.
She was a beauty!
And she became FOXY LADY’S wheels on the Garden State Parkway.
In 1980, I bought myself a brand-new silver Volkswagen Scirocco. The new elite sports car.
And in 1983, I bought my SAAB 900. All right off the showroom floor. I was doing financially well in my career.
I loved those cars, and I loved what they represented: freedom, independence, and the rewards of a career I was building for myself.
That career began in retail and took me through Lord & Taylor, B. Altman & Co., Ann Taylor, and Bloomingdale‘s. All on the infamous 5th Avenue, NY, NY.
I was immersed in the world of luxury retail, fashion, and merchandising. And speaking of fashion…
I WAS THE WILD CHILD! And never feared trying something new and unique in clothing and shoes.
I wore gold lamé spandex pants with platform shoes to the disco before they were even a thing!
My father, who was the Chief Financial Officer of Brooks Brothers on Madison Ave. NY, NY, would look at me and say:
“YOU’RE NOT GOING OUT IN THAT OUTFIT, ARE YOU?“
Or his other favorite: “BUTTON UP YOUR BLOUSE!”
Mind you, he was referring to the TOP COLLAR BUTTON!
Here was the CFO of Brooks Brothers, the very picture of traditional American and English style, watching his daughter head out looking like a walking disco ball.
BROOKS BROTHERS BY DAY. DISCO FEVER BY NIGHT!
But Dad knew his daughter. And I could imagine him smiling behind my back, thinking:
“THAT’S MY GLYNIS.”
MIDNIGHT WAS JUST THE BEGINNING!
Oh, the discos! Those were the days when midnight wasn’t the end of an evening.
MIDNIGHT WAS WHEN THE PARTY WAS JUST GETTING STARTED!
We danced until the wee hours of the morning. And sometimes, after the clubs closed, we’d head to a diner for breakfast.
I remember coming home one morning at FIVE O’CLOCK. I was twenty-nine years old, mind you!
I tiptoed into the kitchen, trying desperately not to wake my parents.
Who should I find standing at the stove, putting the kettle on for his morning tea?
Main Street, Nantucket, circa 1978. The vintage cars, the familiar urn in the center of town, and the little road leading toward the Steamship Authority wharf capture the Nantucket I remember. An original photograph from my personal collection.
MY FATHER! “Dad! What are you doing up?” I whispered.
He whispered back: “I WAS JUST ABOUT TO CALL THE STATE POLICE.”
Oh, Dad! He would wait up for me to come home, worried about his wild child being out all night.
There we were at five in the morning. I was finishing my night, and he was putting the kettle on for his morning tea.
FROM DISCO QUEEN TO NANTUCKET PREPPY
Somewhere in the early eighties, my wardrobe underwent a transformation. I traded my risqué gold lamé disco pants for the PREPPY LOOK.
Nantucket had already become part of my summers in the seventies.
In fact, I recently rediscovered photographs I took of Main Street and the Steamship Authority wharf in 1978.
There were the seventies cars, the famous urn in the center of town, and the little side street leading down to the ferry.
The wharf was so modest that other boats could dock alongside it. And the ferry! Cars below, passengers above, bicycles aboard.
Nantucket Steamship Authority wharf, circa 1978. A glimpse of the island as I remember it, when the ferry carried cars below, passengers above, and bicycles aboard, and other boats could still dock alongside the modest wharf. Original photograph from my personal collection.
It was the Nantucket I remember.
I was driving my SAAB 900 in the eighties, heading toward the Nantucket ferry with my L.L.Bean yacht tote packed and a copy of THE OFFICIAL PREPPY HANDBOOK tucked inside.
Yes, I actually had the handbook! It was my bible to everything preppy!
Apparently, after years of being a fashion rebel, I needed an instruction manual to make sure I was properly PREPPY!
But don’t be fooled by the wardrobe change. Foxy Lady still had a few adventures left.
THE LAST HURRAH
By 1984, I was twenty-nine. My girlfriends had gradually moved into different chapters of their lives. Some were married. Some were mothers. Others were busy building careers.
I had exactly ONE single girlfriend left. My old boyfriend from the late seventies was long gone. Yet I wasn’t quite ready to hang up my dancing shoes.
Believe it or not, there were Thursday nights when I would go to the disco ALONE. It was very different times back then ladies!
There was a disco in a neighboring town called Parkers. That’s where I met a New York Giants football player.
NUMBER 44! Special Teams.
Whenever any of my guy friends found out I’d dated a NY Giants player, they inevitably asked:
“Did you know LT? Lawrence Taylor? Phil Simms?”
Lawrence Taylor was a close friend of the player I was dating, so LT was often there, too.
Interestingly, LT lived in Upper Saddle River, New Jersey, while I lived in nearby Allendale.
It was quite a time to be young, single, and living in northern New Jersey.
But even as I enjoyed those last adventures, something was changing. And I wasn’t quite prepared for it.
From disco nights to Nantucket days! My monogrammed L.L.Bean Boat and Tote and the original 1980 edition of The Official Preppy Handbook — because becoming a proper preppy apparently required an instruction manual! An illustrative recreation inspired by my Nantucket memories and original 1978 ferry photograph.
TRADING DISCO BALLS FOR YARN BALLS!
One by one, my girlfriends were getting married and having babies.
They were trading Disco balls for maternity clothes and I was trading Disco balls for Yarn balls.
YUP, there I was,29 years old, boyfriendless, living at home with my parents and my mother…
and I would be CROCHETING BABY BLANKETS FOR THE VERY GIRLFRIENDS I’D ONCE DANCED WITH UNTIL THREE IN THE MORNING!
And the irony? MY GIRLFRIENDS WERE STILL UP AT 3 A.M.!
Only now, instead of dancing beneath disco balls…
THEY WERE FEEDING THEIR BABIES!
And me? I was sitting beside my mother in our oversized club chairs, crochet hook in hand, watching Saturday Night Live.
Gilda Radner. Jane Curtin. John Belushi. Chevy Chase. Dan Aykroyd. Bill Murray. They were my new social life.
And here’s the part that really got me. Before 29, midnight was when the evening was just getting started.
After twenty-nine? Midnight became past my bedtime! What on earth had happened to FOXY LADY?
Somewhere between the discos, sports cars, the New York Giants player, and those Saturday nights beside my mother…
FOXY LADY HAD BECOME A CHRONIC HOOKER!
A crochet hooker, that is!
The so-called HAPPY HOOKER, feverishly working away with a crochet hook.
But beneath all the laughter, I was beginning to wonder what my own future held.
My friends were building families. I was crocheting blankets for theirs.
And as I approached 30, I couldn’t help wondering whether my life would ever take that same turn.
Little did I know, when I turned 30, my whole life would change…
NO LONGER THE BRIDESMAID.
I WAS THE BRIDE.
And as for FOXY LADY?
She wasn’t gone.
She was simply heading down a different road.
And over my CB radio in my mind I heard… “10-4, GOOD BUDDY”!