My favorite national columnist* has returned from
vacation and it’s time for a party. I have missed Eve
because a voice comes through her posts that sings of
sophistication and gaity and happier days gone by.
In honor of her return I have arranged a little party
in my rooms at The Dakota, off Central Park. The year
is 1930. Oscar Levant is leading a small group in a
bawdy version of “There’ll Be a Hot Time in the Old
Town Tonight.” Fats Waller sits at the piano,
accompanying Bessie Smith. George Gershwin is
chatting up Fred and Adele Astaire and a young Ethel
Merman looks on, longing for a part in Gershwin’s new
show. George M Cohan is mixing drinks while pondering
where his career will go, now that a new generation
has taken over Broadway. Dropzone has just lost to
Ernest Hemingway in arm wrestling.
Harpo Marx, Robert Benchley, and Dorothy Parker are
looking for a fourth for cards and Talulah Bankhead
begins to remove her dress as the Teeming Millions
arrive. . .
-* Cecil, look at her picture and factor in that I
am a hetero male. Nothing personal, man.*
Thanks, drop, dahling. Ordinarily, I’d lace myself into a corset and come as Anna Held. But since you say it’s 1930, I will come as Ina Claire.
She’s the soigné Broadway star who married matinee idol John Gilbert. When the press asked her “what’s it like being married to a famous star?” Ina purred sweetly, “I don’t know, dear—why don’t you ask my husband?”
That’s why I never go out without my “WWICD?” (“What Would Ina Claire Do?”) bracelet.
Parties like this aren’t easy for me to fit into. A bit rich for my tastes. However, I had to drop in just to let you know that I’ve really missed you. I had to resist the temptation to post an inquiry after your fate because such things are more than a little tacky when they come from someone you hardly know.
So glad you’re back, Eve. Now, I must be off. Should you need me, I’ll be taking my scotch out in the fresh air.
Eve, DAHLING! How nice to see you back here! Recognize me? Mary Philbin. I was in that film a couple of years ago, Phantom of the Opera. I had just a small part, though ;).
I’m just arriving from Los Angeles, where I greeted Leo Forbstein, the new orchestra leader at Mann’s Egyptian, and Mayor Workman. What do you think of my new dress? I’ve been dying to show it off.
Eve,
Very funny. I meant it purely as an adjective. (And they are easy to confuse, now that you mention it.) Thanks for the invitation. I love your parties. Only the BEST people, you know.
I see John Barrymore’s already at it. tsk,tsk.
Who is that little thing with Irving Thalberg? Oh…HER. Well, I hate to gossip, but I hear she’s just after juicier roles…
Good evening all, the hors d’oeuvres smell delish. Is that them over there?
Oh but where are my manners. Everyone, this is Dashiell. He does a bit of writing, detective stuff you know, but some of it’s passable. Yes. Perhaps George and Ira (say, where is Ira?) would like to set one of your little stories to music, eh Dash? Why don’t you go over and mingle with him, there’s a fellow.
[Don’t get him going on socialism, though - this is supposed to be a party, haha haha haha.]
Papa! What are you doing here? Why I haven’t seen you since Madrid. How long has it been, now? We really must make plans to go fishing one of these days and catch up.
Ina! My God, you look great! And isn’t that The Awful Truth. When you get bored with this party, let me know. I’ve taken up art and I’d love to have you around to see my etchings. I’ll be on the balcony tossing a few back with my old friend, the delightful mister Astaire. Oh FRED? Now where’s he got too?
I have left and returned in the persona of Robert W. Wood, world-class physicist and world-class eccentric. Why am I dressed like the Phantom of the Opera, Miss Philbin? This is the way I walk around my native Baltimore. I carry little packets of sodium metal. Every now and then when I pass a puddle of water I throw one in and it explodes. THAT shakes up the passers-by!
Hmm?What do I really do? Well, my book on Physical Optics is the definitive work on the subject. And I also wrote little book called “How to Tell the Birds from the Flowers”. Illustrated it, too. See, here I tell you how to tell the Parrot from the Carrot.
N-Rays? I thought you’d never ask. Then I’ll tell you about my Chin Puppets…
Hello! Where’s the party gone? I don’t hear any music. What’s that Fred? Upstairs in the game room? Well, I suppose it’s possible that’s where they went; why don’t we go up and see.
Ah, there they are. I see Mr. Cohan is kicking Hemmingway’s butt at darts, and Ethel Merman seems to be quite the pool shark. And is that Dotty admiring the Monet? How are you, my dear? I didn’t see you when I came in. I see you’ve been led to culture, how interesting.
This party needs more booze to get it going. I gave Scotty Fitzgerald some money to go buy a few bottles and bring them round. Gin, of course; there IS that pesky eighteenth amendment. It’s been a while, now, what could have happened to him?
I meant it purely as an adjective. (And they are easy to confuse, now that you mention it.) Thanks for the invitation. I love your parties. Only the BEST people, you know.