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A Mellow Afternoon at a Neurotic Party
Zsuzsa craved incongruity. She was feeling tired and thwarted after being dumped by her latest beau. She woke up Saturday morning, the morning after Gregory had told her to take a hike, and went through the motions of making coffee. Gregory's dismissal of her had wrecked her routine. It had been months since she had waken up on a Saturday morning alone, and quite frankly, she'd forgotten what to do.
So, she made coffee and opened the paper. Living in the city meant there were things to do, places to go. Certainly, she could pluck some event out of the newsprint that would appeal to her. But as she scanned the calendar page, she kept thinking "too crowded," "too boring," "done it," "saw it," "too expensive" -- and by the time she had finished rejecting every activity in sight, her coffee had grown cold. She let out a moan of anguish and threw herself onto the couch. She touched the remote control and wondered if television would save her. But then, suddenly, piercing into the silence of her sun-drenched apartment, the phone trilled. She sat up, startled, and stared in horror at the phone. "What fresh hell is this?" she said, trying on the Dorothy Parker 'tude, which hardly fit.
She grabbed the phone and whispered huskily into it: "Hello?"
"Zsuzsa! It's Yvette. Glad I caught you at home."
Zsuzsa despised her cousin Yvette.
"Sweetie! I'm so glad you called!" Zsuzsa purred.
"I'm having some people over tomorrow afternoon. Just a little barbecue kind of thing. Strictly informal, you know. Pot luck, really. Well, I am laying out quite a little spread -- you know me! Can't not buy out the delicatessen! And well, everyone's dying to see you. I know you're always busy, but --"
"Would love to. What time?"
Yvette was surprised. "Really? Wonderful! Oh, starts about 1 p.m. Bring some wine, sweetheart. You always find wonderful things."
"Certainly."
"And, of course, Gregory is invited."
"Oh, how nice for him," Zsuzsa muttered. "I'll be there. See ya."
She hung up. She now had a plan for tomorrow. And today. Today, she would find the perfect dress to wear.
* * *
Sunday, at around 2 p.m., Zsuzsa found herself on her cousin's doorstep, a small grocery bag clutched in her hand. It was summertime, and Zsuzsa, after spending the day before scavenging the usual thrift stores, had found the perfect dress. She looked splendid in her new outfit: a purple lamŽ flapper-style dress, a large straw hat decorated with fresh violets, and dark purple sandals that laced up her calves. She rang the doorbell and took immense delight when Yvette answered and nearly fell backwards at the sight of Zsuzsa's outfit. Yvette, in contrast, was dressed in simple khaki shorts, thongs, and a peach-colored scoop-necked t-shirt tucked neatly into her shorts.
"You look --" Yvette began and smiled cheerily, "smashing."
"It's good to see you, dear," Zsuzsa said and kissed her cousin's cheek.
"I did say informal, you know," Yvette said as she ushered her cousin inside. "You didn't need to go to that much trouble to dress up."
"This is informal, sweetheart. No cummerbund."
"Ha ha," Yvette offered. "Well, we're all in the backyard."
"I brought some wine. Per your request. And some pasta salad. Homemade. Hope you can stand it."
"Zsuzsa, since when do you cook?"
Zsuzsa gave her cousin a cryptic yet gracious scowl.
"Yvette!" came a scream as Deirdre, Yvette's younger sister, bounded down the stairs, wrapped in an Aztec-print towel, her hair dripping wet. "You don't have any shampoo! What am I going to do? Oh, hey! Zsuzsa! When did you get here?"
"Just now."
"Deirdre, there's at least four different kinds of shampoo in that bathroom! Right on the windowsill. Are you blind?"
"Yvette, you know I don't use any product that's been tested on animals! I cannot in any good conscience use those!"
"Oh, for chrissakes, Deirdre, how can they torture animals with shampoo?" Yvette snapped.
"I'll just put these in the kitchen, shall I?" Zsuzsa said as she edged her way towards the kitchen. Deirdre had descended all the way down the stairs now and was beginning to describe in graphic detail the cosmetic torture of bunny rabbits. Yvette turned towards Zsuzsa pleadingly, but Zsuzsa left her to her fate.
The kitchen was decked out for its role as command central. Food, wrapped carefully in plastic, was spread out strategically over every spare inch of counter space, ready to be transported out into the garden. The refrigerator was stocked well with beer and soft drinks. Zsuzsa tossed her pasta salad next to a tray of cold cuts and drew two bottles of merlot from her grocery bag. She opened one and found herself a glass. As she was pulling the cork out from the bottle, she glanced out the window above the sink that looked out into the backyard. There were about fifteen or so people outside, sipping beer. Zsuzsa recognized most of them. A knot of pain suddenly flared in between her shoulder blades. She downed half a glass of wine and filled the glass again nearly to the rim.
She exited the kitchen into the dining alcove where the patio doors were. Glass aloft, she sauntered into the backyard.
She was descended on at once. Flurries of "Zsuzsa, it's been so long!" "How are you?" "What have you been doing?" surrounded her. She smiled and nodded, kissed cheeks, gave a few hugs here and there, and sipped her wine in between. "Fine, fine, yes, yes," she muttered. She was related to some of these people.
"And where is that gorgeous Gregory of yours?" one person asked.
Zsuzsa toasted her inquisitor and said nothing.
Soon, they became bored of her non-committal answers and returned to their places. Zsuzsa sat down on the plastic lounge chair near the ivy-covered trellis by the edge of the house. Just as she had settled into a tolerable position, she saw Martin approaching her. She sipped at her Merlot. Martin was Gregory's friend and Deirdre's boyfriend. Martin had introduced her to Gregory months and months ago in this very backyard at an event not so very different from this one.
Bring me a new one, she thought. The last one was defective.
"Hey, Zsuzsa, how's it going?" he said. He hovered above her, blocking the sun. She couldn't help staring at the intricate design of copulating rabbits that patterned his T-shirt.
"Great shirt," she said.
"Thanks. Deirdre hates it," he said and laughed. "Is Gregory with you?"
She thought about not answering or lying or simply saying "no." But Martin would know soon enough, so she shrugged her shoulders and said quietly, "We broke up."
"You're kidding! When did that happen?"
"Friday night," she said. "Hey, do me a favor. Don't spread this around, 'kay? I don't feel like dealing with the Sympathy Patrol today, you know?"
He gave another laugh. "Oh, what do you take me for? A girl?"
She smiled wanly. "Oh, gosh, no, Martin. You're all American beef." Get out of my face, jerk, she thought.
He walked off, laughing at that, too. Huh huh ha ha huh. Yes, it was that funny.
As she finished off her wine, she looked into the empty glass and hoped she wasn't getting drunk. And hoped if she was, she wouldn't get maudlin.
* * *
Deirdre cornered her in the kitchen as she was refilling her wine glass. Deirdre was dressed now, although her hair was still wet.
"Solve the shampoo dilemma?" Zsuzsa asked.
"Couldn't use 'em. I just used some lemon juice instead."
"Ah."
"Martin just told me you broke up with Gregory Friday night. Why didn't you say something?"
"I told Martin not to tell anyone."
"Oh, he only told me. Why don't you want anyone to know?"
"Because I'm trying to forget."
"What happened? Do you want to talk about it? Are you okay?"
"Nothing. No. Yes."
Zsuzsa poured the last of the first bottle of merlot into her glass and reached for the corkscrew to open the other one. She wished she could go home now, but she'd foolishly taken the bus here and arranged for a ride home with Deirdre and Martin when they left. She was just going to have to wait it out and make the best of it and hope they didn't interrogate her too badly on the way home.
* * *
Ensconced once again on her chosen lawn chair near the ivy-covered trellis, Zsuzsa tried to sip at her wine slowly. The barbecuing had actually begun. On the other side of the patio, the guests were hovering around the live coals making decisions over their choice of meat. "Sausage for me." "I want the turkey sausage. I'm watching my fat intake." "Burger -- with everything! To hell with that healthy crap!"
The wine was making Zsuzsa sleepy. She closed her eyes and begun to drift off to the sounds of the meat roll call. Just as she was nearly asleep, she felt a hand grasp her shoulder and shake her awake.
"Zsuzsa, Zsuzsa" went the voice, pleading urgently.
"What? What?" Zsuzsa replied, opening her eyes to see the concerned face of Deirdre bending over her.
"Gregory's here," Deirdre said as if she were announcing the death of her parents.
Zsuzsa screwed up her face. Oh fuck, she thought, but she said nothing.
"I don't know why he'd come," Deirdre whispered breathlessly.
"Oh, come on, Deirdre. He knows most everyone here," she said. But that wasn't why he'd come. He felt as bored by these people as she did, and while they'd been seeing each other, they pretty much made a combined effort to avoid these types of little get-togethers. And so he was here for the same reason Zsuzsa was. He had no one to avoid the party with, and probably nothing else better to do. Still. That didn't mean she wanted to see him.
He hadn't come into the backyard yet. Deirdre said he had just arrived and was still in the house, saying hello. So, Zsuzsa did the only sane thing she could think of. She sneaked back into the house through the garage, waited until Gregory had actually gone out onto the patio, and then she went upstairs to hide.
* * *
From Yvette's bedroom, Zsuzsa watched the scene out on the patio. The window was open, and she could hear a great deal of what was being said on the patio below. Gregory made the rounds, kissing, hugging, getting the same royal treatment Zsuzsa had when she had made her entrance. Yvette held his arm and craned her neck to search the backyard.
"Well, she was just here a moment ago," Yvette said.
"Who?" Gregory said.
"Zsuzsa."
Gregory suddenly looked pained. What an affected jerk, Zsuzsa thought. "She's here?" he asked, anguished.
"Why, yes." Yvette looked confused.
"You do know we broke up, don't you?" he said.
"No, no, I didn't," Yvette said and looked properly horrified. "She never said a word."
"Oh, well, we did."
Because their exchange had been conducted in normal speaking voices, enough people heard, and within seconds it seemed that most of the females in the backyard gathered around Gregory to offer condolences, get the details, and look over the goods. Gregory had always been a shameless flirt, and had misled enough of these women into thinking if it just wasn't for Zsuzsa, well . . . .
Zsuzsa knew the truth, though. Gregory viewed sex as a commodity. He liked to think he was free in that area, that he had figured it all out and was above the usual games. But he was the ultimate game-player because he was playing a game with himself as well. Gregory's faithfulness to her hadn't been out of any loyalty, but because he was careful about whom he doled out his sexual favors to. He wanted to be liked, and if he flirted, if he made people feel desirable, then they liked him. But actually dispensing a sexual favor was a loss of power for him. It was the only commodity he thought he had to trade. And he was both careful and cruel with his favors. He wasn't free at all, Zsuzsa thought. He sold his body when it suited him to, traded it for what he wanted, whether that would be affection, access to another world, or even, she suspected, so he could hide from himself.
Well, well, she thought as she watched Gregory shrink back from the intimate touches of these overly sympathetic women who were mostly her relatives and childhood friends. If he didn't watch out, he was going to get seduced that very night.
"Oh, here you are," Deirdre said, appearing in the doorway. "I was worried about you."
"I just didn't want to --" she began and tried to find the right phrase.
"Oh, I know just how you feel! You poor thing! Can I do anything?"
"Yes, you can. Bring me up the rest of the wine."
"You shouldn't be sitting up here all alone."
"I'll be okay," she said. "I just don't want to -- watch. At least from down there."
Deirdre nodded sympathetically, empathetically. Then, she went to fetch the wine.
Zsuzsa took another look out the window. Yvette was rubbing his shoulders now, speaking soothingly and in low enough tones that Zsuzsa couldn't make out what her cousin was saying.
Zsuzsa hated these kinds of informal relaxed little get-togethers.
No one ever seemed to relax.
Not for a moment.
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