(Performed at a Farewell Dinner for Heather Cohane, the irrepressible Brit who founded Quest magazine, at a dinner given by Kathy and Billy Rayner, New York, NY, September 2007. Heather was on a brief visit to New York, shortly before moving to Monaco.)

Click to listen: (live recording)

Click to listen: (studio recording)

(to “Hello Dolly”)

Welcome back, Heather,

Seems it’s been forever,

It’s so swell you’re back in town

And all aglow,

‘Cause we have all been grieving

Since you took off, leaving us

To walk your doggies

On the beach in Monaco;

For one whole month we’ve waited,

With our breath baited,

For that glorious day

When Heather reappears – cheers!

Next time, maybe come back sooner,

Take a private jet, or schooner,

Life’s more fun when Heather’s back in town!

Though she warmly kisses us,

Pretends she misses us,

She’s having a ball in Monte Carlo,

Loads of fun;

Her social life is snappy,

Grandkids see she’s happy,

It’s her paradise where people smile

And don’t chew gum!

In the U.S. she’s anti,

She’s a vigilante,

If a stranger’s chewing gum she’ll give him hell . . .

The smell of movie popcorn she still despises,

Those who eat it she chastises,

Thrilled that Monte Carlo has no gum!

Like her Yorkie, Sparky,

She is cute and larky

And she’s prone to making mischief,

So beware!

Though genteel, not craven,

She’s a gossip maven,

You couldn’t wish for better dish,

Such sumptuous fare;

Although she misses Swifty’s

And Quadrono’s thrift, she’s got that

Naughty streak she carries everywhere – so there,

She’s a chic and stylish hellion,

Still ignoring, with rebellion,

Liz Fondaras saying, “Comb your hair!”

(to “That’s Why the Lady is a Tramp”)

At fancy parties where waiters pass trays,

We’ve all heard Heather, incensed and ablaze,

She’s quite indignant; you’ll hear her complain,

She can’t BELIEVE there’s no champagne!

Can’t stand those cheapskate billionaires

Who put on airs, black tie affairs,

But won’t serve bubbly, they earn her disdain,

This lady only drinks champagne;

And she can tell from only a sip

If it’s Moet or Piper-Heidsieck!

If it’s Dom Perignon she won’t abstain

Because the lady loves champagne!

(to “Cock-eyed Optimist”)

As a child during World War II she rallied,

In the air raid shelters she would shine,

’Cause she was the gal who could raise morale

And pretend things were perfectly fine;

Some decades have passed by

But still she’s game and spry,

And cheerful to the nth degree;

When life is throwing curves,

Heather barely swerves,

Goes on exuding joie d’esprit;

She grew up on the floor of the casino,

No stiff corset for Miss Fawcett, if you please;

She made friends with the swells

In the best hotels,

In a sense, she is still Eloise.

(to “Mame”)

When her first husband said, “Marry me,” Heather

Was thrilled and she accepted with glee, however,

He said they’d live in Pasadena,

Which she thought was near Peru;

Suburban California was quite a shock,

But what’s a blonde to do?

When Jack Cohane stepped into her life – insisted

That Heather must become his new wife – insisted

And when the question of her

Previous matrimony then arose,

Jack simply fought for Heather:

Punched husband number one upon the nose!

The Cohanes’ love life was just a bit – hectic,

Free love with partners who were a bit – eclectic;

The Duchess of Arygll was

Pictured with a mystery man, off guard,

Then Jack emerged as the

Recipient of the duchess’s regard!

They fought, they yelled, there was strife - romance,

But Jack remains the love of her life – so far!

They sailed the seas, had three great kids

And lived in Ireland, loved to walk;

And when their house burned down,

Heather was brave, tried not to frown,

And lucky us, she moved New York!

(to “That’s Why the Lady Is a Tramp”)

And like a phoenix, sweet Heather arose

Looking so chic in second-hand clothes,

She founded Quest, and soared to great fame,

That media star, Heather Cohane!

And borne aloft by dazzling charms,

She twisted arms,

Sold ads,

Yes, scads,

Tried spelling captions, but often in vain,

That quirky Brit, Heather Cohane!

Persuaded Ossian to take all the pix,

At every party, ’twas thousands of clicks,

But he adored her, and loved being her swain,

That femme fatale, Heather Cohane.

She mispronounces the occasional word,

It’s kind of charming, and sweet and absurd,

When called “Miz Cohen,” it drives her insane,

“No!” she says, “Not Cohen, Cohane!”

(to “Mame”)

Still has the naughtiness of her youth – Heather,

Now and then she fudges the truth – Heather,

A U.S. citizen, she feigns

She’s fresh from Europe at a drop,

Each time she’s stopped for speeding

She shows an Irish license to the cop!

She’s sunbathed topless, inspiring much awe,

And claimed sweet ignorance of the law, topless!

On Wainscott beach a red-faced policeman

Saw her brazen act of crime;

She said, “I’m sorry, officer,

“In Europe we do it all the time!”

You’ve made us laugh with joy

Through the years, Heather,

Through all your schemes,

And varied careers, Heather,

You’re such a constant friend

A source of inspiration, such a pal,

When we’re next in the South of France,

We hope for us you’ll save a dance,

You’re such a kick, one helluva gal!

(to “Bye-Bye Blackbird”)

Like Juancito, Sparky too,

When you’re gone, we miss you,

Ah, sweet Heather;

We will always think of you,

Picking up doggie-doo,

Ah, sweet Heather;

Look around, see loving friends before you,

Hope by now it’s clear we all adore you.

Hurry back, visit soon,

Perhaps next Thursday afternoon?

Heather – we love you!