One evening he was playing the piano for the regular group, plus a couple of English girls. When he picked up his guitar, he looked around, but couldn’t seem to find his pick. “Anybody seen my guitar pick?” he asked. One of the English girls looked up and smiled. “It’s upstairs on the night table next to your bed. I’ll get it.” All eyes, including mine, zeroed in on her as she made her way up the stairs, aware that she was now the center of attention.
