Flipping through a month old copy of a TV Guide, I found hidden under the sofa, I saw this article; "Want To Be The Smartest Person At Your Oscar Party?: Here's How." I was stunned! Do the multitudes of everyday movie viewers give or go to parties on Oscar night? I never heard of such a thing. Sure Hollywood gets all decked out for the occasion; with it's spotlights the size of Delaware, with it's zillions of miles of cable for the media, with it's palatial style of rolling out the red carpet, and it all adds up to a tacky gilding of the famous town. But, hey. That's entertainment.
So, now they tell me I'm supposed to throw an Oscar party too? Whoa, Katie bar the door. Does this mean I have to pay attention to who actually wins this thing and care about it too? I mean, do I really need to be nervous while some schmuck in a five hundred dollar suit leers at a scantily clad, thinner than legal, made up, costumed and a hundred capped teeth blazing in the lights, semi important actress? I don't think so.
However, far be it from me to go against the trends. So, with that in mind, I decided that late was better than not at all. I got out my trusty old address book and started calling all my friends and neighbors. We were gonna have a party. If I had to do this to be in vogue, I was gonna do it with style.
"Hello, Barbara? Is that you?"
"Mfruhfn...sjhrnb."
"I can hear a baby squalling, but that's all," I yelled into the receiver.
"Click," I was disconnected.
Well, maybe I would try her later. Ok, next on the list was Olin, hubby's drinking buddy. Dialing his number, I was thinking this ought to be interesting. Olin's idea of dressing up was a new baseball cap and applying a brush to his teeth. But I was determined to get this party off the ground.
Finally, he answered, "Yyyup. Your dime."
"Hi, Olin. What's going on in your part of the world?" Not that I was interested or being polite, just giving him a chance to recognize my voice.
"Oh, hi. How's it hanging?"
"I'm a girl Olin, I don't hang."
"Well, excuu..se me. Yer always so mad at everybody, Jude. Must be that PMS thing, huh?"
I took a deep breath and ignored his fighting words. "What I am calling about, Olin, is we are going to have a party next Saturday night. An Oscar party. Would you and Thelma like to come?"
"Sure, we love a party, but who is Oscar? That one of yer Yankee friends come to visit?"
Squeezing the cordless phone hard in my hand, I counted to ten and then counted to ten again. "No, Olin. Not a friend, a party to celebrate the Oscar's. You know the statues they give to the best actor and best actress? The statues are called Oscars."
"Yer gonna have a party and give somebody a statue called Oscar?"
"No, Olin, I . . ."
"Well, if we come to yer party, and I ain't saying we will, are you gonna give me one of those statues? Say, what do those Oscar things look like?"
"Well, the statue is about 18inches tall, it looks like a man and is covered in gold." I was getting into the swing of things now, "but, you don't get one Olin, they are for the celebrities."
"What kinda uniform is on this statue that you don't want to give me?"
"No uniform, it's a nude."
"Nude? You mean butt naked! What kinda party you having Jude, with erotic party stuff?"
"It's just a statue Olin. An Oscar statue." Exasperation was setting in quickly, and I found myself clenching my teeth.
"Ya know, I always thought you were kinda stuck up, Jude. I can't think why yer calling me to come to yer party, Thelma and I ain't no swingers. We don't go in for those swapping partners kind of things."
"This is not a swingers party, Olin!" There I went, losing my temper. "It's just a damm party with friends."
"I don't know, Jude, maybe we just better sit this one out.
"That's fine, Olin. Say hello, to Thelma for me." I slammed the phone into its cradle. My jaw tightened and I wanted to hit something. I took a big gulp of my diluted ice tea and start dialing the next number in the book
"Thornapple residence."
"Uh . . . is Sandy there?"
"Yes, Ms. Thornapple is in. Whom shall I say is calling?" A snotty voice asked me.
"Uh, who is this?"
"I am the housekeeper, madam." Housekeeper? Sandy had a maid now?
"Just tell her it's Jude." Hearing the click that told me I was on hold, I lit another cigarette, while I thought about this maid business.
"Hi Jude." Sandy's voice bubbled through the line, filling me with sunshine and visions of fluffy blonde hair atop an exercise-hard, "to die for" body.
"Hey yourself, girl. Since when do you have a maid?" I took a deep drag and blew it up to the ceiling.
"Oh, isn't it the neatest thing. Cole hired her for a month for my anniversary present." Sandy's tone sounded like a purr.
"Well, if you're not too high up there in the clouds, maybe the two of you would like to come to a party Saturday night? I'm having an Oscar party. What do you think?"
"Oscar party? You mean like a party out in Hollywood?"
"Yeah, I had this idea . . ."
"Oh, that sounds like fun. I've got a full length black dress I can wear. Maybe Momma will let me borrow her fox stole and diamond drop earrings." She went on and on about her wardrobe and I just had to put a stop to it.
"Sandy, we are not going to dress up like celebrities or anything like that. You know Denny won't go for getting all dressed up. I just thought we'd get together and pretend we were at a Hollywood Oscar Party." I had to make it clear that I wasn't going in for all that hoopla, just getting some friends together for an evening.
"Well, what's the sense of calling it an Oscar Party, if you're not going to dress up and act like we are really there, Jude? I mean what's the point. You did plan on having champagne, I assume?"
"You know I can't stand that stuff, besides I don't have clothes like you're talking about. I bought a new sun-dress the other day and thought I could wear it to the party." Sandy was not amused. I could tell by her dramatic sigh.
"Really! Look, if you have a theme party, you have to stick with the theme. You need to have it catered with shrimp and maybe caviar, a few bottles of champagne - even if it is domestic - you have to dress the part and get your hair done. You have to do it right!"
Sandy sounded exasperated and my cute idea was fast going down the proverbial drain.
"Well, I just thought... ," I had to get out of this as gracefully as I could.
"No Jude," Sandy's voice was quiet now, " you didn't think."
The silence was thick. Neither of us knew what to say. She was right, though. I didn't think ahead. I just sat here in my messy den; feet propped up on the coffee table, sipping my warm tea, smoking my ciggies, thinking I could plan a silly party
"I'll tell you what we can do, Jude. We could have a cookout at our place this weekend. We could say it's a "Welcome Summer Party." You can wear your new sun-dress and I'll get one too. How about it? Want to grill some steaks?"
The song, "That's What Friends Are For," drifted through my head and I felt myself perking up. Yeah, a cookout. I knew how to act at a party like that.
"Okay, Sandy, that sounds like a winner. Call me later and let me know what I can bring to load up the groaning board. And it won't be caviar." We both laughed at my little joke and agreed to talk again the next day.
I hung up the phone as Denny arrived from work. He pulled off his truck-driving-cowboy-boots and flopped down on the sofa. Snatching up the discarded TV Guide, he thumbed through it.
"So," he asked, "what's for supper?"
"Hamburger helper," I sighed.
Hey, look at this! This columnist thinks people really have parties in their homes for Oscar night. Is that the lamest thing you've ever heard of or what?" He actually had the gall to laugh. I got up quick, heading for the kitchen, so I didn't have to hear him.
"What's the matter, Jude? Did I say something wrong?"
Ignoring his questions, I reached into the refrigerator and pulled out a package of ground beef, slammed the skillet onto the burner and turned the heat on high.
"I swear," I heard him say, "who ever heard of a stupid Oscar Party?"