‘Give me a hug, sweetheart,’ the robot would then demand.

The patio of the Sagebrush Cantina in Calabasas was loud and lively Friday afternoon as the employees of a Valley electronics firm called Rantec gathered for their company picnic.

It was a festive scene of red and white gingham and cowgirl barmaids prancing between tables, pitchers of margaritas raised high.

Some of the Rantec people had changed into denim and bandannas. Others were still in three-piece suits.

The contrast went right along with the atmosphere of the little village of reincarnated Western buildings set beside oak-spotted hills and crammed with expensive European cars.

But there was one anachronism--the robot.

It was white with blue pinstripes and had a clear plastic head revealing bundles of electronic gear. A Polaroid camera took the place of a top hat. It wore ski sunglasses and a black bow tie and had a lady’s garter on one of its arms of polyvinyl chloride pipe.

Its function was not immediately apparent.

It moved about frenetically on small rubber wheels, frequently turning pirouettes. Rock ‘n’ roll music blasted out of a speaker in its shell.

Showing no social grace, it pushed its way into groups of people, bumping those who failed to yield.

It did antics to get attention. When two or three people looked it in the eye, the camera flashed and a picture rolled out.

It chattered in recognizable English, mostly to women.

“Hi. What’s your name, sweetheart?” was its opener. “Give me a hug, sweetheart,” it would then demand.

When it got a hug, it purred like a baby lion and then dashed off to break in on another conversation. A moment’s observation established that the source of that odd behavior was a young man standing in front of the bar.

He had a brown camera bag at his side and a camera around his neck. But he never took any pictures. One of his hands stayed in the camera bag and the other repeatedly popped to cover his mouth. His eyes darted around furtively, but he didn’t talk to anyone.

Upon being confronted, he introduced himself as David Levanthol, a 22-year-old student at California State University, Northridge, and feigned distress at being caught.

“Once people find out its me, it’s like a magician telling his secrets,” he said.

Under questioning, Levanthol admitted more. Like the fact that the electronic gear in the robot’s head is phony.

“The purpose is so that people look at it and try to figure out what it is,” Levanthol said.

Levanthol himself doesn’t know what it is. He bought it at a junk store because he liked its looks.

“In all honesty, I don’t know the first thing there is to know about electronics,” he said. “It’s all a space-age illusion.”

Levanthol built the robot himself. Basically, it is powered like a wheelchair and controlled like a model airplane. Its personality is all Levanthol’s.

“In case you might not have noticed, the ladies like it more than the guys,” Levanthol boasted. “Noticing that, that’s why I called it Casanova. It used to have a different name which was totally senseless.”

Blushing, he admitted that the original name was “Le Reauxbought.”

Much too cerebral.

In a more refined setting, about 25 people gathered Sunday afternoon in the Roy O. Disney Hall at the California Institute of the Arts in Valencia to hear a young piano student give her graduation recital.

The audience consisted of friends, fellow students and relatives of the soloist, 25-year-old Beverly Serra-Brooks. The two-hour recital was the climax of her two years at Cal Arts.

Although not precisely a final exam, the recital is given by all instrumental students. A credible performance is required for graduation. The programs are long and challenging. The students spend months preparing.

Serra-Brooks, who came to Cal Arts to study under Leonid Hambro, said she rushed through her training in only 12 weeks.

But she had the advantage of experience. She had already given solo recitals and performed chamber music in Germany with the Alban Berg Quartet.

“God willing,” Serra-Brooks said, she is now ready to make “the transition from professional student to professional artist.”

On Sunday she played pieces by Bach, Beethoven, Chopin, Liszt and Debussy as well as two contemporary composers named Michael Fink and F. Lee Brooks.

Her manner at the piano was forceful but reserved. Her long, strawberry blonde locks rested motionlessly on her shoulders as she played. At her most ebullient, she tossed her head slightly to display her pleasure in the music, which she played beautifully.

During two pieces, she read from sheet music. A young man with a long red beard sat beside her to turn the pages. He was F. Lee Brooks, her husband.

They met at Pasadena City College and studied together at the Music Academy of the West in Santa Barbara and again at Cal Arts.

This summer they will travel together in Italy on tour with the American New Music Consortium, she as a performer, he as a student composer.

Then they will split up. He will return to Cal Arts to continue his studies. She will enroll at the Peabody Institute in Baltimore.

“Him being a composer and me being a concert pianist, we sometimes have to move in opposite directions,” Serra-Brooks said.

In a subdued greeting after the performance, Serra-Brooks’ mother Kathy hugged her and handed her a bouquet of roses and sweet peas from her brother’s garden.

Then the extended family strolled together into a drizzling April dusk, ready to face the itinerant life of music.