I think I must have fainted. What I remember is that I opened my eyes and saw three faces looming over me. I was lying on the hotel room bed and made some squeaking noises when I tried to speak.

“Good thing Honey caught you before you hit the floor,” the face that belonged to Billy explained to me.

“I’ve been told I have the kind of face that makes men swoon not the kind that makes girls faint,” Honey laughed. She patted my cheek.

“I…I was just…like…”

“Shocked? I guess neither Billy nor Hank bothered to tell you when you guys left Memphis that I was hooking up with the tour again.” They both shook their heads. “Yeah, well, it’s a long story. Billy’s going to take us out to dinner to explain the whole deal.”

“I am feeling a bit peckish—” The three of them gave me confused looks. “That’s British for hungry? Oh, forget it. Where are you taking us, Billy?”

“The largest seafood restaurant in the world. Hackney’s. Heard of it?”

“Look, Billy, she’s turning a shade of green,” Hank pointed out as they helped me off the bed.

Despite my going into sickening detail about my aversion to seafood and my childhood familiarity with Hackney’s Seafood Restaurant (although Billy pointed out I did get an oversized plush tiger which I named Harold out of that misadventure), they shanghaied me to the restaurant anyway. The 8-minute drive to the northeastern part of the Boardwalk was filled with silence. Hank kept looking back at Honey and me in the back seat, concerned at the kaleidoscope sweeping across my face.

“You really don’t like seafood, do you? Billy says they got other things on the menu you can order. Have a salad.”

“You’re so slim, Shuggie. I’m surprised Bobby hasn’t been trying to fatten you up a bit. I know Hank likes women with a little meat on their bones. How ‘bout you, Billy?” Billy just grunted. “Yeah, Billy likes ‘em skinny and young.”

“Honey, just stifle, okay? You’re making Shuggie sicker than she already looks.”

I ended up ordering the Chicken a la King dinner and nibbled on the french fries that came with it. Billy had the Lobster Thermidor and Hank and Honey shared a double order of Hackney’s famous Clambake Dinner. Clams, lobster, and deviled crab in an unappetizing (to me) combo. They fed each other like young lovers. Billy rolled his eyes while I just looked down at my plate and avoided the sight of all that bounty of the sea.

“You’re wonderin’ how I decided to come back to y’all—”

“I think it was your agent and your lawyer that decided that,” Billy interjected. “The label was going to sue you and Atlantic for breach of contract unless Wexler’s bosses forked over six figures in ransom.”

“That was a part of it, sure, but I realized how much I missed Hank all the time I was away. We had a good thing going. Even if there were some bumps in the road. Right, Hank, baby?” She took Hank’s seafood-sodden hand in hers and squeezed, smiling broadly.

“It wasn’t no fun without you, Honey. Billy knows that. I was going to quit the act if you’d stayed away. Going solo doesn’t appeal to me too much.”

“I reserve the right to see the whole affair differently but it’s a moot point. The thing we need to discuss is how Shuggie fits into the picture now that Honey’s back. We can divide up the set—”

Honey jumped in. “No offense, Shuggie, but it says Hank and Honey on the marquee not ‘with Shuggie’. People are buying tickets to our shows and the record’s climbing the charts because of me…and Hank, of course. And nobody consulted me about making you a Honey neither—”

“The audiences seem to really like Shuggie, Honey,” Hank cut her short.

“I’ve heard good things about you on the tour, Shuggie. I’m sure Billy can get you started on a solo career. But there’s really no need for you in the band now that I’m back. Even as a Honey. Three back up singers is more than enough.”

“How’s about this?” Billy asked in an authoritative tone. “We’ve only got two more weeks on tour. I’m not going to send Shuggie home. She really has helped us out a great deal and, Honey, those reports about Shuggie are absolutely correct. You should hear the ovations. They want multiple encores. Encores for her! Why don’t we do this? Shuggie does a short set to open for you and Hank. 20 minutes, 4 or 5 songs. It’ll give you an extra half-hour before you go out on stage.”

“Yeah, you can take more time with your make-up, babe.”

“Hank, you saying I need more make-up?”

“No, baby, you can be more leisure-like putting it on.” He shrugged his shoulders in Billy’s direction.

“Okay, Billy, you take care of the details.” Honey took her napkin and wiped some pieces of lobster and crab off Hank’s cheek, ignoring Billy and me in her royal demeanor.

“I guess I don’t have a say in any of this? I might as well as go home. I mean, Bobby’s the only reason I’m with you guys in the first place and now he’s gone.”

“It’s just two more weeks, Shuggie.” Billy offered “This may even be for the best. You’ll have the spotlight all to yourself.”

Billy walked me back to my hotel room. Before I turned the key to open the door, he mentioned that we’d been extended through the end of the week at The Steel Pier. “Just think of the exposure you’ll be getting. People in the industry pay attention to the acts that play The Steel Pier. The Stones and The Beach Boys were in here already this summer. Give it your best effort, Shuggie. You never know who’s in the audience.” He gently hooked his index finger under my chin and lifted my face, looking into my eyes. “You have the talent to be bigger than Honey will ever be. Believe me. Trust me.” He planted a short but sweet kiss on my lips and walked off down the hall. I shivered before turning the room key.

Walking along the Boardwalk the next day, I wanted to be alone with my thoughts, jumbled as they were. I wanted to be with Bobby but that was not possible. I wanted to continue my summer of girlhood but that was coming to an end soon, one way or another. I wanted to believe Billy that I had a bright future as a singer but could I really trust him? Was he motivated by greed or genuine respect for my talent? Was he just trying to seduce me? Everyone says he’s a lothario, especially with young girls like me. Like me? But he knows I’m not really a--.

“Hey, are you Sugar Pie?” I turned around and was face to face with a short, swarthy young man with a few days’ worth of stubble on his cheeks. He had spoken with a rough British accent. I wasn’t sure if he was faking it.

“That’s me. Who’s asking?”

“I thought it was you. The picture of you in the paper doesn’t do you justice. I’m Eric Burdon. I’m with The Animals. Heard of us?”

“Sure. What are you doing in Atlantic City? Aren’t you on tour or something?”

“Yeah, we follow you into The Marine Ballroom at The Pier. Monday. We got here early for a sort of busman’s holiday. Just hanging out for a few days. How about you? Walking around by your lonesome rather aimlessly?”

“I’m doing some thinking. About my future.”

“From what I’ve been told, you have quite a future ahead of you. We were in California a few weeks ago and this guy Jim Morrison—”

“Oh, him again! Why can’t he just keep his mouth shut about me? That creep!”

“No, no, he told me you can really sing. He thought you’d replace Honey Hutch before long or go solo. That good, he said. And these guys who opened for us in San Jose, The Jefferson Airplane, they were raving about you too. One of them took me aside and confessed they’d replace the current girl with you if given half a chance. But the other guys in the band wanted someone named Gracie or Grace, I’m not sure. Anyways, they all think Billy Schechter’s got you under exclusive contract.”

“Gosh, I didn’t know. I thought they just wanted to pick me up. Guys are like that.”

“Well, a bird like you…I can see why you’d think that. Say, have you had lunch yet?”

“I am a bit peckish.” I paused but he didn’t react. I guess it isn’t funny to someone who actually is British. “Anything as long as it’s not seafood. What do you suggest?”

“We can get some hotdogs and sit on one of the benches overlooking the ocean. Sound alright?”

We were talking about Eric’s plans after his tour ended in September. Apparently, he and his band were at a crossroads as well. He had lost his keyboard player, Alan Price, earlier in the year when he departed for a solo career, and his bass player Chas Chandler was thinking of becoming a manager for this young guitarist he had “discovered” in New York in June. He wanted to bring him over to England.

“I was in New York in June. What’s the guy’s name?”

“Well, he was going by Jimmy James but Chas wants him to use his real name Jimi Hendrix—”

“Hey, I saw him at the Café Wha!”

“That’s the dude. So, I’m probably gonna have to form a whole new band after September.”

“Going back home? Where are you from in England? Liverpool? London?”

“Guess you can’t suss out my Geordie accent. I’m from Newcastle. Known for coal and long-haired gnomes who sing rock and roll like me.” He laughed and threw a piece of his hotdog bun to one of the seagulls circling the benches for tidbits from people. There was one particular seagull who was squawking at us for not being quick enough with the free food. I swear he was staring us down.

“But I’m not heading back there when we get off this tour. I’m tired of dodging rain that comes at you sideways. I’m going to spend some downtime in San Francisco. I love the area. It’s so scenic and the kids are really groovy there. You might want to move there yourself.”

“I’m probably going back to finish school in September. I’m only 17.”

“Really? You didn’t run away from home, did you?”

“Oh, no, well, sort of. But my dad gave his approval. Just for the summer. Then he wants me back in school and back in…uh…my schoolbooks.” I giggled to smooth over what could have been an embarrassing moment.

“That’s too bad. Say, if you’re not under Billy’s thumb, you should think about moving out west or even across the pond. After you’ve finished school of course. If you’re good as everyone says, there’d be work for you in either place.”

“I’ll think about it. It’s really complicated though. When I’m 18, I’ll be free to do what I want. That’s almost a year away. May to be exact.”

“Hey, it’s almost 1 o’clock. I’m supposed to do a soundcheck in the Ballroom right about now. You guys have the Ballroom after us. So, maybe I’ll see you later. I’d like to meet this Billy Schechter character myself. I hear he produces gold records like a hen lays eggs. Daily.” He threw the last bit of his hotdog bun to the angry seagull and walked off in the direction of The Steel Pier.

Still in a mope, I strolled into the hangar-like Marine Ballroom at five of three that afternoon, expecting to see the band already running through Honey’s numbers. Now that she was back, my part of the setlist was down to four songs. They’d probably run through my numbers last in the soundcheck. But on the stage, still playing, were Eric and The Animals. Hank, Billy, and Honey were in front row seats in the otherwise empty Ballroom while the rest of the band was scattered throughout the 5,000-seat capacity room.

In mid-song, Eric stopped and pointed at me as I walked down the center aisle toward the front row.

“Hey, it’s Sugar Pie! Look, fellas, it’s that girl I told you about. The one who did that version of “House” at Newport last month.” I smiled and waved. Finding a seat across the aisle from Hank, Billy, and Honey, I sat down.

“One more number and the place is all yours, Hank. Okay, hit it!”

It was the familiar sound of The Animals’ current single, “See See Rider.”

There was applause from our band members when Eric and his group climbed down from the stage and their roadies started to clear their equipment away.

“I hope we pass the audition!” Eric laughed as he headed straight over to Billy and Hank. They engaged in some glad-handing and back-patting. Eric’s head nodded toward me a few times as they conversed. Billy frowned and looked at me before responding to whatever Eric had asked. Honey and the girls had already positioned themselves on stage.

“Hey, Hank. Can we do the run through now? It’s already three-fifteen. I’ve got a spa appointment at 4. I don’t want to miss it.” She placed her hands on her hips and pouted. Hank excused himself and climbed up on stage.

Billy and Eric walked out of The Ballroom, loudly discussing something about recording studios in LA and San Francisco. I assumed Eric wanted to persuade Billy to produce The Animals’ next album. I sat there, metaphorically twiddling my thumbs, watching the band run through its set…without me. I closed my eyes and almost fell asleep but opened them wide when I heard the first song Honey performed. It was a song Carole King had played for me in her office it now seems ages ago but was really less than two months in the past. She, of course, hadn’t written it for me but I liked to think I had a special connection to it. That thought was shattered as Honey sang “Oh No Not My Baby.” Was it my imagination or was she looking right at me as she sang? I had been singing that since we installed it in our set-list at Newport. Now Honey had swiped it back. And it was one of my favorite numbers to sing. I leaped out of my seat and hurried out of The Ballroom, afraid to let Honey and the others see the tears that were poised to roll down my cheeks.

I ran a fair distance down the Boardwalk, but I had no idea where I was going. Finally, out of breath, I sat down on one of the benches overlooking the ocean. I heard the familiar squawk of an angry sounding seagull and just burst out laughing. My laughter must have frightened the seagull because he did an abrupt about face and stomped over to harass some other pedestrian. I looked up and Billy was standing in front of me, smiling.

“You have a way with animals, I see. Want to come back to The Ballroom? I want to go over your new set-list with you. Then we’ll run through it together. Some of the guys in the band said they’d play behind you. No, actually all of them did.” He offered his hand. “Let’s go back. I think we better walk this time.”

Billy had decided to be the leader of my band on stage during my 20-minute set opening for Hank and Honey. So, he had me learn a new song and he would perform a song himself. All along, I had suspected that Billy was just itching to take off his producer uniform and resume his own performing career. Taking charge of my opening set served both purposes. I was happy to see his enthusiasm as we tackled the first rehearsal.

Hank and Honey had left The Ballroom, Honey to go to her spa appointment and Hank to take a siesta by the hotel pool. The rest of the band, including The Honeys, were anxious to run through my segment of the concert. Billy had us do several takes of “Love is Enough” before he pronounced it just right. It was a lovely slow tempo ballad and it resonated emotionally with me as I sang.

Of course, the whole set couldn’t be slow-paced ballads, so the number that Billy chose to perform was a rocker called “She Touched Me.” I didn’t do much except bang away at a tambourine, but I enjoyed the fact that Billy kept his eyes on me as he sang.

I smiled from ear to ear when Chubby, our keyboard player, stood up from his piano and announced to everyone, “Good jam session, boys and girls. I’m going to enjoy working an extra half-hour every night.”

We played 8 concerts in 6 days at The Steel Pier’s Marine Ballroom (two a day on Saturday and Sunday) and the place was packed every time. Apparently, Billy had spread the word to every radio station in the region that Honey Hutch was making her much bally-hooed return to the band. It seemed like all of New Jersey was coming through the turnstiles of The Ballroom that week. I had a passing thought about seeing someone who knew me, maybe even from school in Bergenfield, in the crowds. That would be mortifying. But would anyone except my closest friends even recognize Shuggie Brennan in the guise of Sugar Pie, up and coming soul diva?

The highlight of the weekend for me was Sunday matinee when Eric Burdon joined me and Billy on stage for a cameo appearance. The crowd went wild! We had worked on this special number every time we crossed paths at our daily soundchecks. At first, we just viewed it as a cool little jam among friendly musicians but when I told Eric about Bobby being drafted, he insisted we dedicate the song to Bobby and play it live at least once before our gig was finished on Sunday. And so, I took the microphone and introduced Eric to the audience. Cheers went up from the crowd as I continued. “This is an oldie but goodie from Eric and The Animals. “We Gotta Get Out of This Place.” I’d like to dedicate this to my best friend in the whole world, Bobby, and all the boys fighting overseas.” More cheers erupted and we launched into the song.

We left the stage to thunderous applause from the sweaty, overheated capacity crowd shoe-horned into this auditorium that resembled an airplane hangar with seats. Still waving to the crowd, Eric and Billy had arms around my waist as we headed backstage. We passed Honey Hutch standing there, arms crossed, an annoyed look on her face. I do believe she had a little extra make-up on.

I was sitting on my “designated” bench overlooking the Atlantic Ocean, throwing breadcrumbs to thankfully placid seagulls, contemplating my future. It was late Sunday afternoon, hours before our final concert in the Marine Ballroom. There was heavy tourist traffic on the Boardwalk as we were just over a week away from Labor Day and the unofficial end of summer. Suddenly, I felt two large hands grasp my shoulders from behind.

“Shuggie?” I whipped my head around to see my father standing above me, an enigmatic smile on his face.

“Daddy! What are you doing here? Where’s Mom?”

“We came down for the day. Bobby’s parents are here with us. We’re going to take in the Al Martino concert at The Convention Hall tonight. Your mom and them are shopping for taffy or something. I’d rather just take a walk along the Boardwalk instead. You know I hate shopping.”

“Sit down, Daddy. Are you mad at me for looking like this?”

“Well, sweetie, I’m sort of confused and disappointed seeing my son in a dress. But I have to admit you look beautiful. Too beautiful for words. You look just like your mother did when we first met.”

“I thought you and Mom came down to see me sing.”

“No, honey, we thought you’d already finished your dates here. Yes, your sister kept us apprised of your tour schedule.”

“Billy got us extended for the whole week. Because of Honey coming back.”

“She came back? I didn’t know. Anyway, it’s the last week of the tour. You’ll be home come Labor Day.”

“Yeah, Daddy, don’t remind me.”

“Look, Shuggie, we made a deal. You get to do this…this girl thing all summer and then you come back and finish school. As a boy. Which is what you were born as and how we tried to raise you. Though I guess I didn’t do that good a job of it, did I?”

“No, Daddy, you’ve been a great father. Even if you won’t accept me as a girl. When I’m 18, I’ll live my life the way I want. You can’t stop me.”

Dad stood up and took my face in his large, strong hands. He looked in to my eyes for a long minute. “Sweetheart, I love you. We’ll work this out somehow. Just come home next week and we’ll talk. You mother wants to get you some counseling and doctors who are specialists in your…uh…condition. We’ll find the money somehow. Just come home. We…I miss you.” We hugged and I got a little weepy. I think Dad was tearing up too, but he turned away quickly to walk off.

“Daddy, how are Bobby’s parents holding up?”

“As well as expected, I guess. Do you want me to tell them you’re here?”

“No, I don’t think I’m up to seeing them right now. And Mom too. Don’t tell her you saw me. You’re all coming to see me in Brooklyn next week, right?”

He nodded and waved. I watched my father blend into the crowd on The Boardwalk and resumed tossing breadcrumbs to the pesky seagulls clamoring for their afternoon snack.