All right, back to the Main Squeeze was my new dysfunctional family, with a few more characters. There was Sandro, the gorgeous Italian waiter who joined the waitstaff at some point in the spring. He had the loveliest warm, light brown eyes and smile, and sandy light brown hair. As he didn’t speak English well, but wanted to learn, I befriended him & told him I had an American nickname for him: Sandy.
Problem was, I kind of had a crush on ol’ Sandy, and knew it would be a doomed romance, so I felt a little awkward. I also wanted to learn Italian, so hanging out with him just got confusing -- him wanting me to practice English with, me wanting him him to teach me Italian. I think he had a sister (or maybe a girlfriend who he called a sister so he could flirt with me more shamelessly and conveniently) in London, and needed to spend time with her. Anyway, after a few weeks, it didn’t work out for him at The Main Squeeze and so, no more Sandro.
There was also an Australian waitress named Michelle who worked there for a bit, who had a sweet, sad face (she had lost a baby to crib death back in Australia a few years previous) and a rather relaxed manner about her. Not remarkable looking but down-to-earth and kind of indescribably appealing, she worked at the Main Squeeze for a few months, and during that time, met and dated a celebrity who came to the club for dinners, a young pop star we knew as Adam Ant. Mr. Ant, by the way, was a really nice guy, not at all snobby or full of airs. . . that song he sang, “Goody Two Shoes,” really made sense!!
Other celebrities came and went through the doors of that subterranean den of sin. . . they regularly had parties that were run by Carol, a P.R. person who had a charmingly annoying nasally accent and was quite funny (cheeky!) so of course I liked her.
Every week, a jazz band played a regular residency at the club, and set up on a postage stamp sized wooden dance floor (well, maybe actually about 10’ by 10’). The drummer in that jazz band: Mitch Mitchell, who hailed from the Jimi Hendrix Experience. Not a shabby claim to fame, nosiree!!
And many others came through those doors when there were parties. . .
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