Juliette on the Verge

Toe-Dipping [excerpt]

          Cruising down the freeway in my little old Bimmer convertible, top down, hair wrapped in a turquoise Grace Kelly scarf, I’m feeling anxious. Sarah’s party is my first foray into social life since my divorce, and I’ve got teenager angst— well maybe a 20-something— anyway the nerves of someone who hasn’t dated for a long time. But it’s a theatre party, which is where I know Sarah from. I’m bound to know people there, and, what the hell: I can always leave if I hate it, right?

           I’ve timed my arrival to be fashionably late. Sarah lives in a huge apartment complex and I get lost driving around deciphering an incomprehensible numbering system. Then I hear music and party noise, and know I’m close. I find probably an illegal parking spot next to a dumpster, lock my purse in the trunk, and. stuff my car key in my bra  It’s a balmy night, not quite dark yet, and I spot people milling about on the manicured lawn, drinks in hand, chatting and laughing. A few notice me but I don’t know them so I keep going. Looking up, I see more people hanging out on a third floor balcony, also drinking and laughing, perilously perched and reciting Shakespeare, or rather rewriting him with raunchier verse. Definitely the right place. Climbing the stairs, I take a deep breath and brace myself. You’ve got this, Juliette. Don’t get cold feet now. 

          “Juliette! You made it!” Sarah shouts as I enter the apartment filled with party-goers and blaring music. She crosses and gives me a quick hug, and says, “Gurl, you’re lookin’ good! And you smell good too! Come on over and get a drink.”

           Sarah’s probably 15 years younger than me, but in the theatre world age doesn’t matter much. She’s bubbly, a natural party host, taking my arm and guiding me through the masses to the kitchen where the countertop is filled with bottles of all description. She hands me a plastic cup and shouts, “Take your pick! And go mingle! Have fun!” She throws a kiss and heads back into the throng. I peer furtively around the kitchen and don’t see a familiar face. A couple of young men with desultory looks stand drinking and idly look me over. I pour myself half a cup of white wine. Keep moving, Juliette.

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