One night I decided on the upscale Merci that served expensive dinners on the main floor and, with a cover charge, live music upstairs. As the mostly young crowd streamed in I sat at the back of the room sipping a drink.

Soon a group of older folks in chic evening attire commandeered a large round table near me. One of the men carried an elaborate floral arrangement so I imagined this must be a birthday, perhaps of the slender lady next to him. A Brazilian grande dame with coal black hair swirled high on her head and in ivory silk that covered her to chin, ankles and wrists.

From the first lilting notes of a familiar Brazilian tune the audience cheered and applauded, and the band kept going until a crisp announcement in Portuguese. At that the willowy woman in the shimmery sheath moved to the bandstand and sang a favorite of mine since Brazil 66. The way she belted out “Laia Ladaia” she owned it!
 

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Afterwards the flowers were presented to her and she resumed her seat. But who was this woman? With my lack of Portuguese and no English speakers to be found, to this day I have no idea.

Positively, Carolan