"Yes" To The Dance Of Conversation

I was standing on the balcony of a penthouse apartment, located deep within New York City’s gentrified East Village.  It was a seasonably warm Monday night in December, and the town sparkled like stars under our noses.

The man to my right (whom we shall call M) and the woman to my left (whom we shall call B) appeared to be actors, or at least the “theater type,” with their perfect diction piercing the night air alongside the clink of half-filled wine glasses. Our hostess was The Reverend – a striking and dignified woman – who joyfully stated that “the choir came over every week for dinner.”

My new friend B had a high-pitched voice and cat-eyed Kate Spade glasses. Her hair was cut short and her clothes fell just right, giving the actress a casually posh appearance. To put in simply, B was the kind of go-getting gal you’d write a book about. 

Then again, nearly every person who occupied that penthouse had the look of a fascinating story about them.

“How’d I get here?” I thought to myself as M and I discussed everything from art exhibits to hurricanes to the sheer brilliance of some new flick.

Oh, I do so love a random soirée! How we dance that conversational waltz, attempting to briefly bond with strangers, never to be seen again... It’s fascinating to care about the trivial or noteworthy, half in jest and half for the challenge of greeting humanity’s neediness with a sure quip and clever grin.

Not to mention the captivating tales of life one can uncover. If I had the time (and if you cared enough) I’d write down the dozens of observations my brain clung to as M, B, and a whole cast of others glided effortlessly around the apartment -- sequins, cheese platters, and all. 

But I suppose the true story is that my friend Kortlyn has a set of benefactors, or “sugar parents” if you will, who graciously bought us poor girls tickets to see a show. The performance was something else, with music written by Larry Hart, a few songs preformed by Linda Hart, and a little ditty by The Reverend herself that had something to do with “stomping your Prada for God.”

Sneaking pictures

Then, before we knew it, Kortlyn and I were led to the cast's after party by the generous upper crusts of New York. To the northeast we walked -- bubbly in hand, patchwork makeup on our faces.

Finally, up an elevator we went. As our motley crew stepped into the  apartment, the greeting ritual commenced with a few “I’ll take your coats,” and several “The food and beverages are right this way.”  The top floor apartment was humble by city standards but the space and view were something I rarely witness.

So that’s how we got to the balcony of penthouse in New York.
On a Monday night.
In December.

And all of this just to say…

There will be those quixotic moments in life when you’ll want to say “yes” to any offer that comes your way. And then there will be those sulky periods of time when you’ll simply want to say “no,” "no way," or "hell to the no" at even the best of requests.

I suggest refraining from the later. 


Here  was my favorite clip from the performance:

"Big hair" gets you closer to "Gaauhd." 
Yeah.... it was like that