The limo came to pick us up at 6
How bourgeoisie – a Hummer stretch!
The honourees had the primo seats and we peons had to contort ourselves into the row reserved for children and small pet animals
It was at that point that my pants began their journey to where they would eventually pool around my ankles
The ride to Manhattan usually takes about 1 1/2 hours
– but the driver was good –
We were expected at 7:30PM but made it in by 7:10
The limo pulled up to the chic-est, historic Rockefeller brownstone
The address was assured to be one of the most expensive pieces of real estate in NYC
We were dropped off –
I unfurled myself from the back row hiked up my knickers
and went in
We had to sign in at the guest register with the doorman
and were escorted to the waiting area which looked out over the gardens
(Yes, I know, gardens! in Manhattan!) and the East River
But we were early
And they made us wait
and wait
and wait
till 7:30 when we took the elevator up
the door opened up to a glorious apartment where our names were announced by the Cambodian butler – he completely mangled “Eglute”
The receiving line included the ruddy faced, athletic-looking General Consul
and his small-boned, big-headed American socialite wife
I blabbered something like “thank you for inviting us into your home”
I swear her lips barely moved when she whispered…
“Charmed” (I think – couldn’t really tell for the botox)
We were ushered into the living room again with views to die for
A young man in a rented tuxedo was propped in a corner, softly strumming something classically Spanish on his guitar
The interior design ran to overstuffed, ornately-coloured, silk covered chairs and settees with bleached whitewhite walls that wouldn’t ever, heaven forbid, see a child’s dirty fingerprint
Yet another Cambodian servant was handing out glasses of sparkling water and
wine while his sister slave handed out meagre canapés
sigh – so few canapés – and I love canapés
I paused to study the females of the group
Two kinds of women there
Florin born and bred – sturdy, horse-faced
and their NY counterparts – socialites, size zero (if that) – tan, manicured, adorned with simple but expensive gold jewelry on muscular arms
and LOTS of eye makeup
at times I thought I was at the circus
I couldn’t help but watch the rise and fall of the fake eyelashes
The men, for the most part, looked as if they were born in suits
None of them anything to write home about
a few people introduced themselves to RFH and I
and made desultory comments about lilacs, the Hamptons, and yachting
after 15 minutes of such exhilarating(not) chumming
it was announced that dinner was served
We entered a formal dining room where a LONG (read: how many trees were felled to make this furniture?) table set for 22
the bad part was that I knew I was now going to be separated from RFH and that I would be seated next to strangers from a foreign land
The servant motioned me towards one end of the table between two gentlemen
on my right – CEO of Commonwealth Bank of Florin
and to my left – The Cultural Liaison from the Embassy
the CEO was a stuffed shirt
every time he spoke his pushed in face would swim before my eyes
and all I could see was a pig rooting for truffles
but he was genial and on his second pre-dinner cocktail
so I was assured of light, inane conversation in the least
The cultural liaison was younger, but had a thicker accent –
so I found myself nodding sincerely quite often in agreement
to who knows what
the table was simply gorgeous
elaborate linens, 4 crystal glasses at each setting
silverware of varying shapes and sizes
some to the sides
some above the plates
mini gilt-edged menus were placed in small silver knob thingies in front of
every place (as were dual-sided place cards – oh dear, both sides of the table would know my name now!)
Feeling a little lost – I brightened with the thought “dinner – finally!” – I could make small talk and hide my emotions in my cheek along with a mouthful of veal piccata
each crystal glass was a wine flight tasting with each course
white with Butternut squash soup
red with veal
sweet with dessert
the food was meh – spare – the socialites pushed it around their plates and ate
nothing
so as I said – I was looking forward to a lot of listening and nodding
when all of sudden
before the soup could even be served
the Consul stands up, welcomes everyone, says a few nice things
and announces that as no one knows each other at the table
that we would go around and introduce ourselves
and say a few words
I almost spit in my crystal water glass…
First one around the horn says –
Hello – I am the Florin ambassador to the US
Blahblah
the second one says
I am an expert in the indigenous Art of Florin blahblah
the third one says I am the cultural liaison from Florin to the US….
and then it’s my turn
WTH am I going to say?
my blood pressure crept up the charts
I burbled something about the honourees being dear friends
and having worked for said honouree great Master Printer
and, and….I’m blurring…. I think I said something else that was perceived of as witty and polite as I was rewarded by a collective murmur of approval from the table –
I took a sip of wine –
I had done it –
I was home free – onto the next course and the next goblet of wine!
when I took the moment to look across the table towards RFH
he was, IMHO, uncomfortably sandwiched between two gnashed-toothed socialites
one looked like Jackie O and I strained to hear her undertone to RFH-
“Your hair …just like a rock star”
Wuh?
the other one on the other side had her claws dug deeply into dearest’s arm speaking earnestly and occasionally licking her lips
Gah!
she looked exactly like a bleach blond version of Elvira – the vampire woman
complete with collagen swollen smile
the hair – was – how shall I put it?
– shaped into a very uncommon hairstyle
sort of like the Pope’s hat
perhaps a unique Florin custom
whatever – I truly was looking forward to dessert – Profiteroles!
of course, it is proper to wait until all 22 are served before digging in
it took a while for the waiters to make the rounds
I waited and chafed and chafed and waited
– when I glanced up to the head of the table –
noting in horror that the Gen consul was rising yet again to intone another pearl of diplomacy
“And now we would appreciate a moment to hear some stories from our guests”, he pronounced,
Eglute would you care to begin?”
I looked down at the glistening profiteroles and swore under my breath
A story? Me? – Who do I look like – Isak Dinesen?
I am without a clue
I begin a ramble (and I have a voice that projects)
I seem to remember something about art, rocks, trucks, sleeping
I know not what I uttered
RFH’s eyes were widening with every word
I think I had finished as the table sounded with polite applause
I have a face that blushes easily
RFH told me later that by the end of the story I was crimson
So duly chastened and mortified… onto cream puffs at last!
I look around and the skinny women were using a spoon and a fork, at the same time, to attack the little globes
I am amazed but decide WTF – when in Rome/Florin…
I almost caused an international incident
the cream puffs (which should have been soft and luscious)
were frozen and cold …..and hard!
In my attempt to bisect one (as one couldn’t really stuff the entire golfball-sized sweetness in one’s mouth – could one?)
with above mentioned etiquette-correct spork-age
my hand slipped and managed (mayhaps subconsciously with malintent) to launch a solitary chocolate sauce enrobed orb into the air
in slow motion I perceived the projectile volleying its way towards blond Elvira’s uncommon hairdo
I must have been nodding to something of great import in the minutes before
as the thickly accented cultural liaison was paying close attention to me and my plight
in mid-incoherent-sentence he deftly plucked the sphere from the air returning it to my bread dish with aplomb
and a smile
how grateful was I?
I salute Florin
Just when I thought the evening couldn’t offer any more labours
at 9:30 on the dot – the Consul (slurring now)
says all guests that wish to leave could do so now
the rest could join the Ambassador and the Mrs in the parlour for coffee
how regimented!
I looked longingly over at the honourees we came in with and then towards RFH
but they were deep in sober convos
and were herding themselves towards the living room and “a cup”
that’s one cup – tea or coffee – that’s all you get
milling…I can do that – that’s when you pretend to admire the artwork – everyone was exhausted of chatter anyway – edging closer to the door and goodnight…right?
what! a final dreadfulness! – Consul rallies the remaining guests with….
”…and now, can we all stand for a group picture?”
my pant waistband is at this point slung well below my hips
I potato-sack race for the B-room
where a scented candle burned in the boudoir nook (as the bathroom is not just a toilet – it is made up of three rooms – the toilet room, the sink room and the boudoir – albeit with low ceilings) – the vervaine taper was using up all the available oxygen – I was beside myself – and feeling faint
I endeavoured to wrestle my clothes into submission
and frantically washed my hands with cold water to rouse myself
I espied a wrought iron tree next to the sink with linen hankies on it
is that what I dry my hands on?
no – there are towels here – and there and there
I probably soiled the family crest linen – whatever –
the swoon was accelerating, I willed myself to stay in the here and now
in a flash of reverie I saw them all leave and my body only discovered the following Tuesday slumped over the commode
(as socialites don’t pee – you know)
I burst out – smiled for the Cambodian slave photographer
and joined the conga line as we were politely ushered out
just before the stroke of 10
With a weak handshake from him and herself and the parting favor of a CD of the classical guitarist’s greatest hits, we hit the street in search of the Hummer stretch and home
It’s tomorrow and I am not quite right yet –
I play scenes of both ceremonious spectacle few are privy to and self-conscious discomfiture in my head
I know it was a once in a lifetime experience
But I am happy to be back in my house/castle
and pantless if I wanna be
Cream puff – anyone?
-Eglute
Rebecca Said:
on May 15, 2010 at 4:56 am
Loved this! Thanks for sharing your evening with us. 🙂