I was searchin' on a one-way street,
I was hopin' for a chance to meet,
I was waitin' for the operator on the line
(She's gone so long) what can I do
(Where could she be)
Don't know what I'm gonna do,
I gotta get back to you.
Slow down sweet talkin' woman
You got me runnin',
You got me searchin',
Hold on, sweet talkin' lover,
It's so sad if that's
The way it's over.
Sweet talkin' woman.
I was walkin', many days go by
I was thinkin' about the lonely nights
Communication breakdown all around.
(She's gone so long) what can I do
(Where could she be now)
Don't know what I'm gonna do,
I gotta get back to you.
Sweet talkin' woman.
I've been livin' on a dead end street,
I've been askin' everybody I meet,
Insufficient data coming through.
(She's gone so long), what can I do
(Where could she be)
Don't know what I'm gonna do.
I gotta get back to you
I first smiled glibly at Sarah through gritted teeth. No good Catholic mother likes her son to have a life, never mind one dripping in women. I tried to be hip, liberal and understanding - I just wasn't very successful at it.
We were having the usual 'Mr. Pumpkin Party' in the Hamptons and even Phillip, my husband, had closed the law firm early to make the celebrations. My Hallow'een parties are legendary - I don't like to blow my own trumpet, but everyone should know that I at least own one. All the kids from Mickey's class came, and their parents, and some of them even smuggled in friends and family. It was the O'Connel holiday, for sure. The Brisk's cornered Hanukah, and the Goodhausen's had Christmas, this holiday was all ours.
Our eldest, Steven, lived on the wrong coast and only made it home four times a year. Each time a new girl would come with him for the family seal of approval and was invariably replaced for the next visit. This time proved no different, and we prepared to involve Sarah into our most sacred of holidays. In the midst of the ice sculpture being delivered, she arrived alone.
"Where's Steven?" I asked, once she had assured me that she didn't belong with the other waitresses around the back.
"Picking up a few things from town." She breezed past and ran her pink, painted finger nails over the crystalline pumpkin king, "This is great Mrs. C. Stevie said you pushed the boat out over the holidays. I can't recall a time I saw as much ice in one place, without Popsicles bustin' out of it!"
"Yes."
Thankfully, Phillip and Steven entered the hall at the same time, whisking the bubbly Sarah away before I could respond more fully, and it wasn't until dinner that I saw her again.
The Chinese lanterns danced, and the soft Fall breeze was still warm enough for all our guests to be comfortable under the open sided party marquee. An array of fine wines and meats were ostentatiously spread before them, with special emphasis on wild game and imported British hunting delicacies, such as Grouse and Pheasant. We even had the most divine suckling pig, complete with apple, when I noticed Sarah's empty place and Steven looking at me with open mouthed disgust.
"Mother, I told you she was a vegetarian. Hell, you know she's a campaigner for animal rights and an ambassador for PETA! How could you do this?"
He rose and re-entered the house. It took several long seconds before the conversational hub-bub returned to normal, only then did I venture inside to freshen up. I entered the large downstairs cloak and heard Sarah and Steven outside in the hall, cooing and soothing each other, so I wasn't surprised to see them curled on the chais-lounge when I came out.
"Soooo sorry, Sarah." I breezed. "My Steven will tell you that I'm a completely forgetful old girl sometimes. I'm surprised I even got your name right and didn't call you by one of his other girlfriends names! Forgive me, dear?"
"Totally." She sniffed away an old tear. "I guess we'll just have to get used to each others funny little ways."
She held out her hand showing me her pink fingernails, newly adorned with a matching pink sapphire.
"He's my Steven too, now. Shall I call you mother?"
(573 wrds) |
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