The Transporter Couch

Sunday my mother is having a party.

I remember being a little boy in the arms of the maid when my parents would leave for parties, and my mother was a creation in red lipstick and powder. It’s not exactly that way, anymore. Lipstck colors change.

But she’s HAVING the party this time and she’s on extra-alert.

I think people should remember their college days when they have parties. I can’t imagine mom in college. I suspect it was all very formal.

INTERMISSION: what’s up with powder, anyway?

OK so, she’s got this party happening and I just don’t know where I fit in except to be the bartender. But am I “this is Brian, he’ll attend to your drinks?” or “this is our son, Brian, who pretends to write, and if you’re nice to him he might pour you a drink”; or “this is my son, Brian, the unemployed bartender who will see to your needs?” or “get me a scotch and soda.” I guess time will tell.

The party is for “the new neighbors.” I’ve never met them. Evidently, I will. Zeo can’t come, which is sort of alarming. Shit fire! his name as “Zeo” is so ingrained in me I can’t recall his actual name though it’s something like James or John. Don’t ask. Don’t tell. My own father’s name is James, though he goes by Jim, or Jaime. Or “Massa Walker!” Depends on the help.

Errrr…. yes, so the new neighbors mom says are quite intereseting people. And there are ….. well let’s see…. 4 sets of new neighbors. Not like they swooped in. Rather they congregated and everything’s settled down. I note that the Joneses were NOT on the list. This after the last time mom invited them to a party and they were too aloof to appear. Their loss. And quite literally, they are the Joneses. Catch up, bitches! You don’t keep up with the Joneses anymore. You keep up with the Walkers.

Seriously, it hurt mom’s feelings when the Joneses politely but firmly declined to attend her Christmas party two years ago. And they’re people of substance and can do what they want and go where they want, when they want; but they live ACROSS THE STREET and mom took it personally that they wouldn’t come to her party because it was just the local riffraff. Or so she perceived it. Anyway, she got over it pretty quickly and it was a NICE party and no one missed the Joneses.

That actually was a nice party. There were about 50 people there. Kitty came and decorated, but couldn’t stay. But Anne was here and I held my own. There was plenty of food and plenty of wine and everyone who came had a good time. This party sounds equally exciting. Probably more like 30 people. A little more intimate. And mom’s got her shit together with the menu but still I have to be the bartender. I guess my role in life is sealed *sigh*.