From the book:
Pearl, then a foxy 27 year old, estranged from her husband, fled to the Rat Pack’s swinging palm tree paradise, Miami Beach, with me, her little 4-year old. She may have taken me to modeling and charm school, but Pearl was the one with charisma. She was still mambo-crazy, and the cocktail lounge at the Eden Roc Hotel, next-door to the fabulous Fontainebleau, was a venue that satisfied her dancing fever. It didn’t take long for her personality and good looks to catch men’s eyes. Her face was beautiful enough that she could carry off pulling her hair back severely. She wasn’t thin, but she was shapely and had great legs. Pony-tail a-swayin’, Pearl’s stilettos clicked to the Latin rhythms as men lined up for a chance to partner with her. Only Pearl would think of perching her precocious pre-schooler on a stool at the bar with a Shirley Temple parked in front of her. (Maybe that charm school was paying off!). I turned out to be the ultimate lure for dance partners who had an easy time making small-talk with a little lassie like me. “Remember…don’t call me ‘Mommy’; call me ‘Aunt Pearl,'” she admonished me, afraid men wouldn’t want to interact with a woman who was chained down by having a child.
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