The battle cry is “More parties for us!” because it is apt, and because I broke my no-shopping fast with a pair of amazing shoes. Shoes are black faux crocodile leather, open toe, a cross-strap in the front, a wedge heel in the back. These are not “nice” shoes, they are not “great,” please, they are so beyond cool that they are H-O-T. The bonus is, I can even walk in them.

(Friday afternoon I was in the store trying very hard to not buy these shoes. I told the salesgirl I don’t really wear black shoes, and I said, “You see? Like, I have this skirt”—and here I flapped my pink and red flower-print skirt like I was Marilyn Monroe standing on a subway grate—“and they just wouldn’t go.” And I put on the shoes to demonstrate, and they went. “Um,” I said. “That didn’t quite work out as planned.” The salesgirl wrapped up the shoes quick.)

When my shoes and I got to India’s tonight, the hallway smelled of a pastry-based good, hot in the oven. Surprise, then, because the smell wasn’t coming from India’s. However, at India’s: a coconut lime-curd layer cake maybe eight inches high, a chocolate gingerbread cake, and a merguez couscous. There were people, too, including India gorgeous in green roses, and John, a vegetarian who makes exceptions for bacon. When I met Cedric, my mouth said: “Cedric. That’s an unusual name.” At which point I thought I should leave the room for idiocy, so I did.



What gets people talking at a party is a roadtrip. Christina said we should check out Dollywood. Edward suggested we go to the Four Corners, where Utah, Colorado, Arizona, and New Mexico meet—to which Maud said, “But where is it?” Stewart told about finding a giant snakeskin on a motel bed in Tennessee. With a sort of otherworldly rapture, Jennifer spoke of the fatback to be had in an Asheville, North Carolina, greenmarket. Somewhere in talking about Philadephia, people got excited about Philly cheese steaks, and then people got very excited about the triplet marvels of Cheez Whiz and Velveeta and Easy Cheese. (Raise your hands if you are surprised that Easy Cheese is spelled “Easy Cheese.” I was so sure it was going to be, like, “E-Z Cheez.”) Also, apparently there exist SAUSAGES WITH A MOLTEN CORE OF CHEESE RUNNING THROUGH THEIR CENTER. People, America is a great land full of wonder.

Then Henry tried to tell us that MacDonald’s milkshakes are made of plastic, but we weren’t having any of it. When he said he’d heard it on the news, Christina made the newsflash sound—“Deet-de-deet deet deet-de-deet”—and said, with authority, “Tonight: milkshakes are made of plastic.”



Later, there was the grand exodus, and I put on my coat to leave, but then Stewart said to stay a minute, and we like Stewart, so I sat down again. And then the flurry was over, and it was “Desafinado” clear like contentment, and India and Stewart and I gossiped like old ladies about (a) everyone who wasn’t there, and (b) everyone who was.

Almost two, it was warm in there, and the sofa was low and sinky, and Sarah Vaughn was soft on the stereo. And the comfortable, and the yawning, and time to leave for real. After rain all day, on Smith Street the mist made halos of streetlights.