The Christmas Party
. True to her word, not long after the twins were sound asleep, Momma slipped into our room. She looked so beautiful my heart swelled with pride and admiration, and with some envy too. Her long formal gown had a skirt of flowing green chiffon; the bodice was of a deeper green velvet, cut low to show off a lot of cleavage. Underneath the streaming panels of lighter green chiffon were shoestring straps that glittered Diamond-and-emerald ear- rings dangled long and sparkling. Her scent reminded me of a musky, perfumed garden on a moonlit night
somewhere in the Orient. No wonder Chris stared at her as if dazzled. Wistfully I sighed. Oh God, please let me look like that one day . . . let me have all those swelling curves that men so admire.
And when she moved, the panels of chiffon floated as wings, leading us out of our sequestered dim place for the first time. Down all the dark and wide halls of the northern wing we followed close at Momma's silver heels. She whispered, "There's a place where I used to hide when I was a child, to watch the adult parties without my parents knowing. It's going to be cramped for the two of you, but it's the only place where you can hide and still see. Now promise again to be quiet, and if you get sleepy, slip unseen back to your room--remember how to get there." She told us not to watch longer than an hour, for the twins would be frightened to wake up and find themselves alone. Then, possibly, they'd wander out into the hall, looking for us--and God alone knew what could happen if they did.
We were secreted inside a massive oblong dark table, with cabinet doors underneath. It was
uncomfortable, and very stuffy, but we could see well enough through the fine, mesh-like screen on the back side.
Silently, Momma stole away.
Far below us was a mammoth room brilliantly lit with candles fitted in the five tiers of three gigantic crystal and gold chandeliers suspended from a ceiling so high above, we couldn't see it. I never saw so many candles burning all at once! The scent of them, the way flickering lights glowed and caught in the sparkling prisms, to scatter and refract beams of iridescence from all the jewelry the women wore, made it a scene from a dream--no, better, more like a movie, sharp, clear, a ballroom where Cinderella and Prince Charming might dance!
Hundreds of richly dressed people milled about, laughing, talking. And over in the corner towered a Christmas tree that was beyond belief! It must have been more than twenty feet high, and it sparkled all over with thousands of golden lights to shine on the colorful ornaments and bedazzle your eyes!
Dozens of servants in black-and-red uniforms flowed in and out of the ballroom, bearing silver trays laden with dainty party food, and they set them on long tables where a giant crystal fountain sprayed pale amber fluid into a silver receiving bowl. Many men and women came to hold stemmed goblets and catch the sparkling liquid. There were two other
punchbowls of silver, with small matching cups-- both bowls large enough for a child to bathe in. It was beautiful, glamorous, exciting, exhilarating, . . . and so good to know that happy living was still going on outside our locked door.
"Cathy," whispered Chris into my ear, "I'd sell my soul to the Devil to have just one single sip from that crystal-and-silver fountain!"
My very same thought!
Never had I felt so hungry, so thirsty, so deprived. Yet we both were charmed, enchanted, and bedazzled by all the splendor of what great wealth could buy and display. The floor where couples danced was laid out in mosaic patterns, and was waxed so it gleamed like reflecting glass. Huge gold-framed mirrors were on the walls, reflecting back the dancers so you could hardly tell the images from the reality. The frames of the many chairs and sofas lining the walls were goldcolored, and the padded seats and backs were of red velvet, or white brocade. French chairs, of course-- they just had to be Louis XIV or XV. Fancy, goodgolly day!
Chris and I stared at the couples, who were the most beautiful and young. We commented on their clothing, their hairstyles, and speculated on what relationships they had going for them. But most of all we watched our mother, who was the center of attention. Most often she danced with a tall, handsome man with dark hair and a big moustache. He was the one who brought her stemmed goblets, and a plate of food, and they sat on a velvet couch to eat canapes and hors d'oeuvres. I thought they sat too close. Quickly I took my eyes from them, to take a look at the three chefs behind the long tables, still cooking what looked like pancakes to me, and little sausages to be stuffed with fillings. The aroma of all that drifted up to us, making our salivary glands overwork.
Our meals were monotonous, boring things sandwiches, soups, and that everlasting fried chicken and eternal potato salad. Down there was a gourniet feast of everything delicious. Food was hot down there. Ours was seldom even warm. We kept our milk on the attic stairs so it wouldn't sour--and sometimes we found ice on the top. If we kept our picnic basket of food on the attic stairs, the mice stole down to nibble on everything
From time to time, Momma disappeared with that man. Where did they go, and what did they do? Did they kiss? Was she falling in love? Even from my high and remote place in the cabinet, I could tell that man was fascinated by Momma. He couldn't take his eyes from her face, or keep his hands from touching her. And when they danced to music that was slow, he held her so his cheek pressed to hers. When they stopped dancing, he kept his arm around her shoulders, or her waist--and once he dared to even touch her breast!
I thought that now she would slap his goodlooking face--for I would! But she only turned and laughed, and pushed him away, saying something that must have been a warning not to do that in public. And he smiled and took her hand and raised it to his lips while their eyes locked long and meaningfully-- or so I thought.
"Chris, do you see Momma with that man?"
"Sure I see them. He's just as tall as Daddy was."
"Did you see what he just did?"
"They're eating and drinking, and laughing and talking, and dancing, just like everybody else. Cathy, just think, when Momma inherits all that money, we can have parties like this on Christmas, and on our birthdays. Why, in the future, we might even have some of the very same guests we see now. Let's send invitations to our friends back in Gladstone. Boy, won't they be surprised to see what we inherit!"
Just then, Momma and that man got up from the couch and left. So we fastened our c
harmed eyes on the second most attractive woman in the group below and watched her, and pitied her, for how could she compete with our mother?
Then into the ballroom strode our grandmother looking neither left nor right, nor smiling at anyone. Her dress wasn't gray--and that alone was enough to astonish us. Her long formal gown was of ruby-red velvet, tight in the front and flowing in the back, and her hair was piled high on her head, and curled elaborately, and ruby and diamond jewelry sparkled on her neck, ears, arms and fingers. Who would ever think that impressive, regal-looking woman down there was the menacing grand- mother who visited us each day?
Reluctantly, we had to admit in whispers back and forth: "She does look magnificent."
"Yes, very impressive. Like an Amazon, too big."
"A mean Amazon."
"Yeah, a warrior Amazon, ready to do battle with the glare of her eyes alone. She doesn't really need any other weapon."
That's when we saw him! Our unknown grandfather!