where there were few people, and looked at it in meditation. If only it were possible to capture this instant in a picture, Jazz wished briefly, but she knew it was impossible because if she were in the photograph she couldn’t take it, and so much of the joy she was experiencing was tied to being in her own skin and looking outward, knowing that she was in her own beloved home place, wearing a dress whose value only she appreciated, as well as the priceless family shawl. And carrying it off with a flair that no other woman there could match—why pretend to false modesty on such a night? Or on any night for that matter?
Unable to resist framing the scene in her photographer’s eye, Jazz made an improvised viewfinder of the circle of her thumb and forefinger and peered through it, framing the scene. Impulsively, moving toward the last row of lights, to widen the focus, she took three quick steps backwards.
A sudden impact jarred her so abruptly that she almost tripped. She had backed into someone whowas—no, make that someone who
must have been—
eating an enormous plate of chili, she realized in horror, as she stood stunned into immobility, feeling a mass of the semi-fluid concoction spreading in a hot, oily, quickly widening splotch of tomatoes and beans and hamburger down from the edge of the shawl to the bottom half of her skirt. Slowly, ever so slowly, as if that could minimize the damage, she turned her head over her shoulder and looked down her back.
“No, oh my God, no, tell me I didn’t do this!” It was a man’s voice.
She raised her eyes from the appalling mess to look at her assailant. The oaf, the clumsy, unforgivable klutz was an absolute stranger, flushed with dismay, a big redheaded lunkhead in a navy blue pinstriped suit and black city shoes, more out of place among the men of the party than a clown. Would it be unladylike to kick him in the balls?
“But—you—did,” she said, so stunned that she could barely get the words out.
“I’ll get club soda, I’ll get salt, just don’t move, stay there, I’ll be right back,” he implored her.
“Club soda? Salt? They never work, not even on a little spot on a tablecloth.
You’ve ruined everything. For good!”
“No, wait a minute! Don’t get so upset! I’ll buy you another dress, I’ll find another shawl, I promise you I’ll replace them as good as new. Better!”
“Oh, will you really? You think it’s that easy? Listen, dickhead, one of the ten best-dressed women in the world would have to
die
before another dress like this becomes available, assuming she didn’t will it to her daughter, and as for the shawl—it belonged to my great-grandmother—it’s one of a kind, irreplaceable, an heirloom. That is, it used to be, before you took a shot at it.”
“Shit!”
“That’s the first halfway intelligent word you’ve said so far. Shit is exactly the word for it. What kind of a cretin eats chili standing up? You’re like a highway accident just waiting to happen. Don’t you see allthose tables and chairs over there? Haven’t you ever been to a party before?” As she spoke, Jazz got angrier and angrier. The chili was now puddling on the ground, and she could feel its wetness under her hem.
“Look, I’m as sorry as I can be, I couldn’t possibly feel worse, but I was just standing there, out of the way, minding my own business, watching the crowd, when you came out of nowhere and backed into my elbow with a hell of a jolt. I had a good grip on the plate, but you just popped it out of my hand. I take all the blame, every bit of it, but to be fair, it wasn’t a hundred percent my fault.”
“Aha! Let’s play ‘blame the victim’! The next thing you’ll say is that I was trying to attract your attention and couldn’t think of any other way to do it.”
“No, the next thing I’ll say is that if you tried to exercise some tiny sense of perspective, we might agree that this isn’t exactly the Exxon oil spill,” he
Unable to resist framing the scene in her photographer’s eye, Jazz made an improvised viewfinder of the circle of her thumb and forefinger and peered through it, framing the scene. Impulsively, moving toward the last row of lights, to widen the focus, she took three quick steps backwards.
A sudden impact jarred her so abruptly that she almost tripped. She had backed into someone whowas—no, make that someone who
must have been—
eating an enormous plate of chili, she realized in horror, as she stood stunned into immobility, feeling a mass of the semi-fluid concoction spreading in a hot, oily, quickly widening splotch of tomatoes and beans and hamburger down from the edge of the shawl to the bottom half of her skirt. Slowly, ever so slowly, as if that could minimize the damage, she turned her head over her shoulder and looked down her back.
“No, oh my God, no, tell me I didn’t do this!” It was a man’s voice.
She raised her eyes from the appalling mess to look at her assailant. The oaf, the clumsy, unforgivable klutz was an absolute stranger, flushed with dismay, a big redheaded lunkhead in a navy blue pinstriped suit and black city shoes, more out of place among the men of the party than a clown. Would it be unladylike to kick him in the balls?
“But—you—did,” she said, so stunned that she could barely get the words out.
“I’ll get club soda, I’ll get salt, just don’t move, stay there, I’ll be right back,” he implored her.
“Club soda? Salt? They never work, not even on a little spot on a tablecloth.
You’ve ruined everything. For good!”
“No, wait a minute! Don’t get so upset! I’ll buy you another dress, I’ll find another shawl, I promise you I’ll replace them as good as new. Better!”
“Oh, will you really? You think it’s that easy? Listen, dickhead, one of the ten best-dressed women in the world would have to
die
before another dress like this becomes available, assuming she didn’t will it to her daughter, and as for the shawl—it belonged to my great-grandmother—it’s one of a kind, irreplaceable, an heirloom. That is, it used to be, before you took a shot at it.”
“Shit!”
“That’s the first halfway intelligent word you’ve said so far. Shit is exactly the word for it. What kind of a cretin eats chili standing up? You’re like a highway accident just waiting to happen. Don’t you see allthose tables and chairs over there? Haven’t you ever been to a party before?” As she spoke, Jazz got angrier and angrier. The chili was now puddling on the ground, and she could feel its wetness under her hem.
“Look, I’m as sorry as I can be, I couldn’t possibly feel worse, but I was just standing there, out of the way, minding my own business, watching the crowd, when you came out of nowhere and backed into my elbow with a hell of a jolt. I had a good grip on the plate, but you just popped it out of my hand. I take all the blame, every bit of it, but to be fair, it wasn’t a hundred percent my fault.”
“Aha! Let’s play ‘blame the victim’! The next thing you’ll say is that I was trying to attract your attention and couldn’t think of any other way to do it.”
“No, the next thing I’ll say is that if you tried to exercise some tiny sense of perspective, we might agree that this isn’t exactly the Exxon oil spill,” he
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