“I think I’ll talk to Sam and see what he says about my serving it. He’ll be home in a few days, and I think he might agree that maybe something a little more festive wouldn’t hurt.”
“That would be perfect! We don’t want them so sloshed they can’t get across the lawn to my house.”
Much relieved that Mildred saw the wisdom of toning down our plans, I was also more enthusiastic about our new ones. No one I could recall had ever had a double party in adjoining houses. It would be the talk of the town, and invitations would be eagerly awaited and quickly accepted.
And, soothing to my troubled mind, I doubted that anyone would give a second thought to Madge Taylor’s invitation to view a refurbished warehouse for miscreant teenagers.
Which brought up another question—should I invite Lynette Rucker, the pastor’s wife? If I did, which under ordinary circumstances I certainly would, Mildred would have to invite the pastor as well. What would he think of my serving spirits? Did I care?
All things considered, I didn’t think I did.
Chapter 24
Quickly coordinating our guest lists, Mildred and I discussed, then either discarded or agreed upon, one name after another. I ended up with forty-two ladies’ names and Mildred, who included husbands on her list, more than double that, considering widows and divorcées and their male counterparts, in addition to a number of elected town officials and their wives plus the immediate neighbors of the Cochran house.
“Let’s use informals for the invitations,” I suggested, “and have Louise Hemphill write them. She has a beautiful hand, and she needs the money. She’s fast, too—we can have them in the mail by the end of the week.”
“Oh, yes,” Mildred agreed. “I’ve used her before and she does a lovely job. Just be sure you give her a correct original to go by. One time I misspelled cotillion on the original, and she sent out two hundred invitations with the same spelling.”
I had to laugh, for something like that would happen only to Mildred.
—
Working with Lillian, I decided on a menu suitable for a presupper party—neither too heavy nor too skimpy.
“We just can’t not have ham biscuits, Lillian,” I said, toiling over a list of party hors d’oeurves. “I mean, it is an autumn affair where they’ll be expected, but they might be too filling. We want the guests to be hungry enough to go on to Mildred’s for a meal. She’ll have my head if I fill them up before they get there. Or if they decide not to even go.”
“Why don’t we have them little, teensy biscuits?” Lillian said. “Like one-bite size, or maybe two for some ladies. An’ when the tray’s empty, jus’ not put out any more.”
“Well, that’s a thought. We’ll have lots of fruit and several cheeses. Maybe a dip with vegetable spears, and maybe water crackers with cream cheese and a dab of caviar on top. And I’m thinking we should have only one sweet tray.” Sighing, I put down my pen and looked up at Lillian. “I’m giving serious thought to serving alcohol in some form or fashion—it would take the place of a lot of food. So,” I went on, “Sam may divorce me, but let’s have a spiked punch. Oh, I know! I have Etta Mae Wiggins’s champagne punch recipe. That’s what we’ll have, along with coffee and maybe hot, spiced tea. And oyster stew, Lillian. We have to have that, and serve it in my demitasse cups. That way people won’t fill up.”
“Yes’m, but if you give ’em too much to drink, they might all have to go to the bathroom at the same time.”
“Goodness, surely they’ll pace themselves. Oh, and another thing, Lillian,” I said. “Do you know a couple of young girls who can take coats upstairs as the guests come in?”
“Yes’m, but I hope you know what you doin’ with spiking that punch,” Lillian said with a skeptical frown. “You havin’ your preacher?”
“No, but I’m having his wife. Mildred’s inviting him, but she’s an Episcopalian so he’ll know what to expect there.”
“He prob’ly wouldn’t ’spect it here, though.”
“Well,” I said, somewhat sharply, “he doesn’t have to drink it. But if it offends him, then too bad. He’s offended me often enough.”
“Law, Miss Julia,” Lillian said, laughing. “You a pistol when you get on your high horse. One good thing, though, can’t nobody say you set in your ways like a lot of people get.”
“You mean, like a lot of people get when they get old?”
“No’m, I didn’t mean it ’zactly like that, although it do be the truth.”
I laughed. “Thank you, Lillian, I take it as a compliment to be able to change with the times. Although,” I said, a little pensively, “the times don’t always suit me, and I reserve the right to denounce them whenever I want.”
“Me, too,” she said. Then, mumbling, she went on, “Whatever that means.”
I continued to sit at the kitchen table, checking and double-checking my lists—not only of guests to be invited and food to be served but also of Christmas decorations to be bought or brought out of storage—while Lillian worked around me. I declare, the Department of Defense was overlooking a valuable resource by not employing socially active women in their strategic planning offices. It took a far-seeing eye attuned to detail and an analytical mind to plan a mode of attack as well as a decent social affair.
Just as I was about to finish, I heard a rap at the back door. Looking up, I saw Hazel Marie open the door and walk in.
“Am I interrupting anything?” she asked. “I can’t stay but a minute. I’m on my way to the dry cleaner’s, but just had to stop to give you the latest news.”
“Oh, do come in, Hazel Marie,” I said, pleased to see her. “Come have a seat. Lillian and I were just finishing plans for a
