spynotes ::
  June 11, 2006
I've been to a marvelous party

It was his mother�s 70th birthday, he told us. He was in town for two days, could we meet him there? It�s tomorrow. It was abrupt and strange, but he once drove me to a church on an important day � my husband has known him since childhood � so we went anyway.

We picked flowers from our garden in lieu of a gift, arranging them in my favorite vase: yellow irises, pale pink peonies, fragrant mint and trailing strands of petunias. I tied on a green ribbon. AJ made a card.

It was a party to which we weren�t really invited. I deliberated about shoes. Pointy toes? Or the ones with the tiny silver buckles? I chose the latter.

They were gathered in small groups all over the house. First I said hello to his grandmother. She�s 94. She once knit a tiny hat for AJ for him to wear home from the hospital on a snowy March day. She remembers sometimes, but she never forgets her sense of humor. I could have talked to her all evening, but instead drifted off to join those closer to my own age and found myself at a kitchen table with his girlfriend. We�d met her once before, at a French restaurant before New Year�s. She�d been talking on her cell phone outside the door as we walked in. Strangely, she had been doing the same thing when we arrived at the party, this time shuffling from foot to foot in a suburban garage next to a cooler in her Chanel dress. She may have nodded when we walked by. My husband worries about her. I think she might be inevitable.

She introduces us to her friend N. He is very beautiful in that way that is a little too studied. I wonder if he measures his calculated stubble with his manicured hands. He tells stories of privilege and power thinly disguised as insider knowledge, the kind of stories some urban dwellers like to tell to declare their place in the world. I knew better. I had seen him sweep up and block four Oldsmobiles with his Porsche so that all the old people would have to ask his permission to leave.

I thought it odd that he made cryptic references to what he did. It didn�t occur to me at the time that it was because I should know what he did, that everyone else in the room knew what he did. I just thought it was odd. I refused to be baited. Later, when I saw his preternaturally blue-eyes blinking at me from a television screen, I understood more. But I know some of his stories now. He will not fool me. I wonder what it is like living a life where you expect everyone to know who you are before you meet them.

We all ended up at the drive-thru with Tarzan and Jane hot dogs on the roof, us for the food, them for the kitsch. We passed our fries back and forth through windows, and then we headed out, back to the suburbs to feed the cat, give the fish his medicine and put AJ to bed in his airplane pajamas. Where they went, I cannot say. But I know this: next time we meet, I will be wearing better shoes.

5 people said it like they meant it

 
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