Frances
As things turned out, there wasn’t as much to do as I had thought there would be to get ready for the party. Back at home, whenever Mom and Dad throw a party, they always get all nervous, cleaning the house and making lots of new recipes to impress their friends. But Clover said that what Aunt Theo liked best was for the feel of a party to be spontaneous.
“What does Aunt Theo serve at her parties?” I asked Clover.
“Deviled eggs.”
“Deviled eggs and what else?” Valentine wanted to know.
“Just deviled eggs. Or, if she doesn’t make deviled eggs, then maybe she’ll make an omelet.”
“What do you mean, an omelet?” repeated Valentine. “You mean to say that she makes one omelet, for a whole bunch of people?”
Clover nodded.
“But that’s ridiculous. That’s insane. I would starve!”
Val and I do like to eat. Whenever we’re at a party with our parents, we go straight for the cheese platter: it’s true.
“An omelet and a bottle of champagne, Theo used to say…” said Clover dreamily.
“I know!” I said, remembering that it was still the month of August and probably going to be very hot on the night of the party. “Let’s have picnic foods. Like, not deviled eggs, they’re too sloppy! Let’s have hard-boiled eggs and those yummy pale green olives and cold chicken—chicken is so delicious when it’s cold, cold, cold—and tomatoes and salt and…”
“Sea salt,” said Valentine, opinionated.
“Sure, sea salt. And fruit. Fruit for dessert!”
“Figs,” said Clover. “Figs would be just the thing in August.”
“I don’t like that,” said Val. “Not that I have anything against figs, but. It does seem to me that if you want a party to be festive, you have to have cake.”
“Wise words, Valentine,” admitted Clover. “Franny, dear, I think your sister’s quite right. If you want a party to be festive, you have to have cake. Even if Aunt Theo will not be likely to eat it herself.”
“We will!” Val and I said together, and laughed. Cake is like cheese and crackers. We simply can’t resist it.
Leave it to Clover to know the place to go for cake. She knows the place to go for everything. And when the day of the party finally came she sent us uptown to a bakery on Madison Avenue called Lady M. It was very fancy and also it was Japanese. There were these Japanese ladies behind the counter. Val and I oohed and a ahed, and got to taste different samples. There was this green tea crepe cake which I thought was just heaven—the most exquisite soft pale green: like eating poetry—but Val said, no, we have to get chocolate. I did have to admit she had a point about that. So we ended up choosing this type of cake they called “Checkers,” which was black and white and really great-looking. Classic-looking, I thought, just the thing for Aunt Theo. Still, who could resist vanilla and chocolate sponge cake with fresh whipped cream? Not us! Oh, I hoped that Aunt Theo would like it, even though—to tell you the truth—I couldn’t really picture her eating pastry. Pastry is for mere human beings, and she still seemed to me from everything I had heard about her to be something apart or above.
20
Palazzo
“Who’s coming to this party anyway?” Val wanted to know. We were on the secret roof-deck, secret no more, and the three of us were busy arranging flowers. Anemones in particular—Clover had bought bunches and bunches of them, saying that they were her favorite. Anemones are purple and red and white and look kind of like sea creatures. Not as pretty as roses, say, but interesting. Kind of like Aunt Theo herself.
“Why, Valentine,” Clover said now, “that’s a very rude question.”
“It is?” Val sounded genuinely shocked that Clover would say this.
“Well, I am only quoting Aunt Theo,” Clover admitted. “Once, when I was young, oh, younger than you, I made the mistake of asking her that. Asking her who was coming to a party, I mean. And she said that was a very rude question, and then I did just what you did, Valentine. I asked her why.”
“Oh, yeah, and what was the reason?”
“She said: Because every party should be a mystery.”
“Hmm,” said Valentine, and went back to arranging anemones.
That was kind of how I felt about Alexander Austin showing up tonight: I wanted him to be a mystery, a “mystery guest,” as I had said. I saw what it was that Aunt Theo was talking about.
Clover, as if she were reading my mind, said, “A party should be a place where one can fall in love, for instance, Aunt Theo thought. But unexpectedly. Unexpectedly is best.”
Valentine said in an actressy kind of voice, as if she were reading a line out of a play, “Oh, but I shall never love again.”