...America's greatest sport.....

Cocktail Party

We're dressed to the nines, and in the middle of an allotted thirty minutes for arriving late, we're greeted as if my wife and I are their only guests. I wonder how much practice it takes to be so good doing that so well. .

As we move into the party's social scrimmage, our hands pluck from heavy silver floating trays, fine crystal wine glasses. They are filled properly with very good, from-the-jug wine.

Studying the assembly of neighbors, friends, business musts, and a sprinkling of strangers, I sip slowly into my psyche on the why of it all.

Harlequin masks of familiar faces reveal more than owners would believe; distinct expressions of the cool condescending wealthy, and participants still playing in overtime after the game is over. They are lonely but isolated by choice, I surmise.

Over there are wax museum smiles on ambitious social climbers, hoping to further careers already shaky and time-heavy with unrewarded ambition.

Present, too, is a newly made corporate officer, accompanied by an uptight mate, The two seem unaware that their status of "Purchased social positions," requires an initial period of cool avoidance by the crusty rich.

Boldly stepping into the fray, we're on a treadmill balancing bland wine, while pumping vigorous handshakes or enduring touchy-feely hugs.

At last we are able to slip into low gear after nods from long time friends, who have brought along a new and delightfully appealing couple. After introductions, we find much in common; chatting and laughing all the way through suspicious finger food, more super market wine, before wrapping up the evening by losing a bout with a defiant and super sweet dessert.


2005 F William Broome