It's an office party, or so it seems, and the mail clerk has had just enough vodka and cranberry juice to get up and pulsate with song. But the office is really Manhattan's subterranean Copacabana, one of the best-known bomb shelters in the world, and the mail clerk is little Bobby Darin, a $350,000-a-year corporation with ducktail by Lilly Daché.
In the middle of a three-week run at the Copa, Bobby Darin exemplifies the shallowing reservoir of young U.S. pop singing talent-an immodest boy with modest ability, whose fan club has just a little more to crow about than the followers...
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