Chapter 22
“Mildred?” I said when Ida Lee called her to the phone. “I’m coming over.” Then, pulling myself together and recalling my manners, I asked, “Are you busy? I really need to talk to you.”
“Well, come on. I’m so bored that I’m thinking of redoing the whole house. I’m tired of having everything Louis the something-or-other. What do you think of midcentury modern?”
“Not much, and certainly not for your house. But get ready, I’m going to cure your boredom by giving you something to really think about. See you in a few minutes.”
—
“I got one, too,” Mildred said, glancing at the invitation I’d brought with me. She waved the wrinkled, kitten-embellished invitation away with a dismissive gesture of her hand. We were sitting in her chintz-filled sunroom—she in a large, cushioned wicker chair and I on the edge of another one. “Already threw it away, too,” she said, “without RSVPing. A big no-no, I know, but their arrogance doesn’t deserve a response.”
“Oh, I couldn’t agree more. But, listen, Mildred, I’m thinking of having a tea on the same day at the same time and inviting everybody I can think of. They’ll all think I’m doing it out of spite, and they’ll be right. But I don’t care.
“The problem is,” I went on, “how can I keep people from attending both—you know, dropping in for a little while at both parties?”
“Well-l,” Mildred said, her eyes lighting up as ideas began to pop into her head. “First of all, why don’t you have it here? My house is bigger, what with that huge foyer, my double living rooms, and so on. We could invite twice as many if you would. And as far as making sure that everybody comes—and stays—for the full two hours, we could call it a soiree.”
“But it has to be from two till four, when they’re having theirs. It won’t accomplish anything if we do it at a different time, and soirees are evening affairs.”
“Who cares?” Mildred said with another wave of her hand. “If you and I call it a soiree, then that’s what it’ll be. I mean, who would question it? We’re the social arbiters in this town, or haven’t you noticed? And what we say goes. But soiree does imply something special, so the way to keep everybody here for the full two hours is to give them something special. Start thinking what it can be.”
“Well, the end of November is a little early for Christmas, but—”
“No, it isn’t. Get that pad and pencil on the desk over there if you will, and let’s make some notes.”
I did, and sat poised to write whatever she came up with, because when Mildred gets on a roll, she can really throw a party.
“Here goes,” she said, her eyes gleaming. “First, I’ll have the house decorated for Christmas—a huge tree in the foyer and greenery everywhere. Write that down, Julia. I’ll call a couple of florists to do all that. Also, food. No problem with that. Between Ida Lee and Lillian and a couple of bakeries, we’ll have a feast. Don’t worry, Ida Lee will see to the menu. Now,” she said, leaning forward as far as she could bend, “we have to have something for our guests to look forward to—something for them to come early and stay late for. What about putting on the invitations something like ‘Two o’clock sharp, doors close at two-fifteen’? Or maybe ‘No admittance after two-fifteen.’ What do you think?”
“I think,” I said, laughing, “that it’s a good thing we’re not inviting Emily Post or Amy Vanderbilt. Nothing like that has ever been done.”
“But that’s the beauty part of it,” Mildred said. “It’ll put the guests on notice that something special is going on and they have to be here for it. Let’s think what it could be.”
“Well, music, for one thing.”
“Yes! But not some tinkling piano or sleep-inducing harp, though. Let’s have a trio or a combo or something that’ll play a few Christmas carols—for the spirit of the season, you know—but also some good dancing music. It should be fast, toe-tapping music that’ll get people moving. The foyer will be cleared out except for a huge Christmas tree, and it’s a wonderful place to dance.
“The thing to do, Julia,” Mildred went on as if in confidence, “is to designate a few couples beforehand to start the dancing. Hazel Marie and that handsome man of hers, for one. And Binkie and Coleman, and Sue and Dr. Hargrove—couples like that who’ll encourage others to dance.”
“Oh,” I said, excitement beginning to build, “I can see it now. This is going to be fun, Mildred. But wait, there’ll be some who won’t dance—they could get bored and want to leave early.”
“Well, hold on, I’m getting an idea. What do you think of having a drawing?”
I frowned. “A drawing? Like a picture?”
“No, like a drawing for prizes.”
I frowned. “You mean a raffle?”
“No, not a raffle, for goodness’ sake. We won’t be selling chances. What we’ll be doing is giving away prizes! And the guests have to be present to win. See, we can have a drawing, say, every thirty minutes, and the prizes should be worth waiting for. And,” she said, her face lighting up, “we’ll save the best and last prize for five minutes to four! But they have to be here to win, and anybody who’s already won something will be eligible for that one, too!” Mildred sat back in her chair as if to rest after the exertion of party planning. “If that won’t keep them here and away from that other party, I
