Mix and Mingle
A year ago, four of us were unpacking boxes in this house, gazing through the glass panels past a new lawn that lay between the patio and the old orchard. We’ve been through a season of growth and harvest and learned some lessons. We were slow to collect the fruit from the trees, allowing a late crop to drop and lie on the ground. Now we live in an uneasy truce with roof rats, an offshore species of invader that travels the highway of telephone wires above our heads.
Today, we are a messy tribe of seven and counting, spilling into the street on nightly walks with silly Boofus. When everyone is home and up for a walk, we look like the international entry in a holiday parade. Boofus leads, pumping his short legs, keeping rhythm with his jaunty tail. Hitched to Boofus by a slim lead, Roger and Andy trail behind talking football scores. Valerie and I nip at their heels, remarking on whose landscaping is thriving and whose could use some attention. Sophie and David drift in our wake, paying no attention whatsoever to their surroundings. Bringing up the rear, Ursula pushes Simon Tanaka in his stroller, Danny by her side paying close attention to every word she says.
Today, we are out delivering invitations to our open house. We introduce ourselves to the new neighbors in Laura’s house. They accept our invitation on the spot and then return to their front porch swing to watch their little girls play dolls on the walkway. We’re making our way back around to the Dolds’ house where Lukas is bouncing a ball against the garage door. Good. I can hand him the invitation to take inside to his parents. I break away from our formation and motion the rest to continue on up the street.
As I approach Lukas, I see the curtain in the front picture window flutter. Kay is like one of those prairie dogs I’ve seen at the zoo, the ones that stand for hours at the threshold of a hole in the earth, erect and watching for threats. The front door opens and Kay signals me with an urgent wave of her hand.
“Dee, do you have a minute?” She strides with purpose down the walk and alongside the driveway to join me in the street. “Lukas, stop banging that ball against the house and go inside. Wash up for dinner.”
Lukas gives the ball two more hard bangs against the garage door. Then he rolls the ball under a shrub and heads into the house.
“Dee, I’ve been hoping for a chance to catch you. There is something I think you should know.”
Whenever I hear those words, I know that somebody is going to tell me something I really don’t want to know. I put my hand in my wool jacket pocket and feel for the second-to-last envelope. I want to be ready to hand it to her at the first possible opportunity.
“I think someone is watching your house.”
“Huh?” You mean, besides you and Mr. Nosy next door? “What makes you think so?”
“Whenever your family is away from the house, a blue van drives up and parks by the hedge in front of Carlo’s house. Whoever it is seems to know your schedule, because they always drive away before you come back home.”
Kay’s words give me goose bumps. “Does anybody get out of the van?” I choose my next words carefully. “Or, does anyone come out of the house to talk to whoever is in the van?”
“Not that I’ve seen. But it seems strange, don’t you think?” Kay seems to be seeking my approval.
“A little strange; thanks, Kay. I’ll keep an eye out.” I pull her invitation out of my pocket and explain that we’re inviting the neighbors in for cocktails next Saturday, that there will be cider and cookies for the children, and that we hope they can come. Kay takes the envelope and opens it up. Pulling out the card, she inspects it, front to back. Valerie and I silk-screened these invitations ourselves in my studio. I felt quite proud of how they turned out until I see one in Kay’s perfectly manicured hand. Does handmade seem childish to her?
“Well, you really are an artist, Dee. This is lovely. Thank you for the invitation. We’ll be there.”
“Okay, good.” There are not very many people that make me feel tongue-tied, but Kay Dold is one. I don’t know why.
Across the street, Roger is walking up the driveway. He jabs his forefinger in the direction of Carlo’s house and gives me an evil grin.
I drew the short stick on this one. We actually drew straws to see who would be the one to knock on Carlo’s door and invite him and Marjorie. Sophie refused, saying there was no way she would get anywhere near that creepy old man. We didn’t press her. Now I wish I had declined to participate in this charade.
As I stand in front of the Santorini’s mailbox praying for grace, Petey runs snarling to the end of his leash and Carlo pops out the front door. I think I have enough adrenaline gushing through my veins now to do this. Is this what grace feels like?
R
If there is one thing I’ve learned in life, it’s that the thing you spend the most time worrying about never happens. Like two slices of toast, Marjorie pops out of the house right behind Carlo and I grab her and butter her up.
“Marjorie, hi! I’m so glad to see you.” I toss my words over Carlo’s bony shoulder like he isn’t even there. Marjorie elbows her way around him, shouts at Petey to shut up, and rolls up in front of me like a tank. Marjorie rarely leaves the house. Sometimes I see her out in the yard knocking the heads off flowers with a blast from the hose, but I’ve never noticed her leave in the car, with or without Carlo.
I babble on about the party while she wipes her hand on her apron and reaches out a meaty arm for my last invitation. Carlo stands behind her, rising up on his toes, trying to see around her. She shifts her rump and catches him in the hip, throwing him off balance.
“Go inside Carlo. I got a sauce on the stove that’s going to burn if you don’t stir it.” Then she looks at me with the most beautiful smile of pure delight I’ve ever seen.
“Dee, I’d love to come to your shindig. Carlo will be there too, the old rascal, whether he wants to or not. Just make sure you don’t offer him too much liquor. If he asks for grappa, tell him you don’t got any, okay?”
I tell this story over and over at the dinner table. If he asks for grappa, tell him you don’t got any: this becomes our new catch-phrase.
R
After the first killing frost, we are experiencing an Indian summer. This means we can set up tables on the patio and the children can play in the backyard. What started as a simple open house from six to eight o’clock has become a scripted production. Father Mike and his merry band of boisterous boys will arrive at four-thirty and hold their meeting in the living room. The kitchen crew, Valerie, Andy, and I, will be in the family room assembling the snacks on the counter and setting up the bar cart. The stage crew, Roger, will be out on the patio stringing lights and running cables to every available outlet.
Danny and David have assembled a combo for the occasion. The Tanakas have graciously lent us Ursula for the evening to help serve the food. They experiment with different outfits in Sophie’s room trying to decide what look to go for, French maid or hipster chick.
At four-thirty on the dot, Father Mike rolls in with a dozen young men. Laura trails behind with half a dozen young ladies. Someone forgot to tell me that part of the plan. David drags some folding chairs into the atrium so the girls can have some privacy for their meeting. Sophie comes out when she hears the girls and it’s hugs all around until she excuses herself to go back and finish preparations with Ursula.
The meetings break up at five-thirty. Some of the kids wander out on the patio to watch the combo set up. Others grab sodas from the kitchen and head down to the deck over the creek. Above the deck, delicate paper lanterns dangle in the pepper tree alongside the rose-colored berries that hang heavy among a lacy weep of bright green leaves. I go stand in the middle of the lawn to breathe in the old tree’s pungent fragrance and look back toward the house. It is alive with light and laughter. I hope this is what our guests will see.
Kay and Gunther are first to arrive. Lukas, bless his heart, has organized a dodge ball game in the street. As the other guests arrive, he peels the children away from their parents and assigns them to a team. For the next two hours, I flit bee-like from one conversation to another. Valerie sits on the patio surrounded by neighborhood women. They compare delivery room stories and debate the merits of disposable diapers. Sophie and Ursula step their way through the clusters of people like graceful flamingos. They have chosen little black cocktail frocks dressed down with ballet flats. Food disappears from the trays they circulate faster than the men can leave their wives’ sides to gather around the girls.
Carlo has Roger cornered at the bar cart. He lectures on crab grass while knocking back whiskey on the rocks. Gunther plants himself on a diamond stepping stone and delivers a history lesson on the development of the neighborhood: from the early days when Jesuits planned to build a University where the golf course now stands; through the sleepy days when small houses filled up on Memorial Day and emptied back into the city on Labor Day; to the present day expressway that bisects the neighborhood and cuts off our access to local businesses. At some point Walter joins him to field questions about traffic light timing. I don’t remember inviting Walter.
From the deck below, the young people send emissaries up to the patio to mingle dutifully. They answer questions about their career plans and listen to advice on subjects that range from which colleges they should consider to how they should handle the military draft. Whenever I hear that subject come up, I direct one of the girls into the fray with a fresh plate of food.
I asked the boys not to start the music until people have had a chance to visit, but now the first hour has passed and the food is running out. I give David the signal that he can start. They begin with an acoustic set of popular tunes, and then they tune their electric guitars and go all out. By eight o’clock, most of the neighbors have set their glasses down and tapped our shoulders to say their thank yous. Only Yoshi Tanaka remains, in deep conversation with David about the device he saw the boys testing to adjust their sound.
Mike and Laura join us while we start cleaning up in the kitchen.
“I think you could call this evening a success.” Mike yawns and pats Laura’s hand.
“Everyone seemed to have had a good time.” Valerie catches Mike’s yawn.
“Even creepy Carlo,” Sophie punches Roger’s shoulder, “your new best friend.”
“And what about Marjorie? When I lived on this street before, I never saw her. Tonight she was the belle of the ball; well, except for you two.” I poke Sophie and Ursula drops a curtsy.
There will be more discussion tomorrow, I’m sure. I’m done for tonight. We walk Mike and Laura to the door.
“Can I come over tomorrow after church and help you finish the clean up?” Laura asks. “There’s something I need to talk to you about.”