ONE: The Balletomania: A Quizzical Potpourri of Ballet Facts, Stars, Trivia, and Lore, by Andrew Mark Wentink, party:
1. Who wore combs in her hair at this party?
a. Patricia McBride.
b. Mme. Marie Taglioni.
c. Birgit Cullberg.
d. The Duchess of L’an L’ing.
2. Where was this party held?
a. At a friend’s house.
b. On the roof of a building.
c. In a private supper club.
d. At the Vincent Astor Gallery in the library at Lincoln Center.
3. At this party there was one woman who
a. said in a loud voice, “This is Ruth Page.”
b. blew kisses across the room to women she obviously didn’t even know.
c. had a huge pile of dry wood on her head.
4. At this party, there was a man in a khaki-colored suit, and his name was
a. Peter Marshall.
b. James Van Allen.
c. Anthony Dowell.
d. Harvey Fuqua.
e. Álvar Núñez Cabeza de Vaca.
5. At this party, there were a lot of
a. things to drink.
b. races to run.
c. closets to clean.
d. babies to feed on time.
6. At this party, one girl said,
a. “I want to live now.”
b. “Close Encounters was a movie, 1941 was a film.”
c. “I have never in my entire life seen anything like it.”
d. “I think being funny is a joke.”
e. “I want to go home now.”
7. At this party, people were
a. talking animatedly to each other.
b. reading the Introduction to the Principles of Morals and Legislation, by Jeremy Bentham.
c. looking at decorator colors on a paint chart.
8. At this party, a different girl from the one mentioned earlier said,
a. “Boy, if I never go to another book party I wouldn’t care. This is the best book party I have ever been to.”
b. “I like hot dogs.”
c. “It’s just amazing how good I can be when I put my mind to it.”
d. “Yes, I know what you mean.”
e. “I want to go home now.”
Answers: 1, a; 2, d; 3, a; 4, c; 5, a; 6, a; 7, a; 8, e.
Two: The Baseball Diamonds, edited by Richard Grossinger and Kevin Kerrane, party:
The man from one of the city’s daily newspapers walked up to the bar and asked for a drink. He had to ask for it a couple of times before anyone seemed to even notice he was there. When he finally got his drink, he drank it. In one gulp. The drink obviously went down his throat straight to the bottom of his stomach, and stayed there—at least for a little while. The man from one of the city’s daily newspapers asked for another drink, and after he drank that one he asked for another, and after he drank that one he asked for another. This was one for his stroll around the room. As he strolled around the room, he greeted people, some of whom he knew—they were in the daily-newspaper business—and some of whom he was meeting for the first time. Clearly, he was glad to be in
this room, glad to be with these people, glad to have a drink in his hand, glad to be alive. A woman came up to him and said, “Hi, I like your great writing,” and the combination of the drinks and the woman’s saying such a thing to him made his face turn red with pleasure. He beamed at her, and she, in turn, beamed at him. As he moved on, he shook his head and shaped his eyes into a playful squint. The words “Well, well” formed on his lips, and he put his free hand on his nape, perhaps reminding himself that he was, after all, a man from one of the city’s dailies. He said out loud to himself, “I better call my wife.” His clear blue eyes suddenly clouded over. He said, “I better get out of here.” He looked up. His eyes met those of another woman. She wore a black dress, a white apron, and a little white cap. She was one of the waitresses hired specially for this party. He looked at her, his eyes pleading. She looked back at him, and in looking so closely and deeply at him she knew everything about him there was to know at that moment. She brought him a fresh drink.
—June 23, 1980