We drove for flat marshy miles, arriving in Napa at dusk. Dad had his AAA book open and wanted a 3-diamond hotel, but Napa was packed. We finally pulled into a fairly ritzy place and Dad, who seemed slightly desperate, went in to beg. He returned looking sheepish. There were no rooms with beds available, but they could give us a couple of parlors of $300 a night suites with rollaway beds for $45 a night.

After some uneasy discussion in the car, we went in to see them. The room Tim and I would share was very nice but small, with the usual parlor furnishings, a table and armchairs, sofa, bathroom, and TV set. A rollaway was pushed against one wall. I walked out on the balcony. Through leaves I could see a swimming pool where people were gathered, swimmers talking. That and the scent of cooking shrimp made me think of the old Monroe Country Club. We decided to see what Mom and Dad’s room was like and as we stepped into the hall we encountered a man pushing another rollway. He told us we didn’t need a second one because our sofa pulled out into a bed.

After some drinks in Mom and Dad’s room (wine over ice) we settled on a place called The Penguin for dinner. It was, of course, packed. We waited for an hour in the bar, sitting in a booth behind a row of noisy drunks, men and women who looked like executives out with their secretaries. When we finally got a table, we only had two menus between the four of us. The table on one side of us held the drunks from the bar. On the other side was an equally drunk older couple who smoked and farted the whole time, laughing at the farts. Our waitress, a harried woman in a tuxedo, did her best, but it took us two more hours to get our food — which was quite good.

Back at the hotel, Tim and I discovered the rollaway bed was too lumpy for sleeping, and the TV would show us only a porno flick we were supposed to pay $6.50 to watch. We slept together on the sofa rollout, sharing a pillow.