THE CHRISTMAS PARTY

by Melodie Johnson Howe

I glanced quickly into the rearview mirror, the paparazzi were speeding close behind us. Except there was only one of them now.

Bones pops his head into my office. “Are you ready? Christmas party?” He points to his watch. He doesn’t wear a watch. He’s pointing to where he used to wear a watch.

“What’s the word for a single paparazzi?” I asked.

“Paparazzo.” Ryan Johns pressed his hands against the dashboard. “Jesus, slow down, Diana. The term comes from a character’s name in the movie La Dolce Vita. A photographer who took the pictures of stars by hiding in bushes and stalking them. The character was based on a real man who Fellini knew. Why?”

I have a drink in my hand and I’m standing in the main room of a country club. I always feel like I don’t belong in these places even though I look like I should. An enormous tree is perfectly decorated with expensive ornaments. Beautifully wrapped presents abound under the tree. I want to shake one to see if it’s empty inside. A roaring fireplace, so big you could cook a grizzly bear in it, is draped in long fir boughs tired with red velvet bows. A Wasp’s wet dream of Christmas.

I look down to make sure I’m dressed appropriately. “Dressy casual”, that’s what the invitation had said. The other women seem to have opted for the dressy while I am firmly in the casual.

(I think I should take out Ryan Johns’ information about the paparazzi. Clever but slows the action.) A man is talking me. He’s young and I don’t remember his name. I’m nodding and sipping. (Maybe I’ll leave it in. And make Ryan babble the information in a more desperate way to add tension.) The man is looking me at quizzically. I stop nodding. He’s obviously asked me something and I wasn’t listening.

“I’m sorry. It’s so loud in here. I didn’t hear what you said.”

He leans closer as if I’m a deaf old lady and yells, “How are you?”

Whoa tough question. How am I? My mind is blank. I know there’s one appropriate word that would answer this very intrusive question. If I could only remember it. (But I’m in the car with Diana and Ryan and he’s still telling her about the damn paparazzi. Cut it, Melodie.)

“Fine!” I hear myself blurting to loudly

The man’s head jerks back. “Well, good. Nice talking to you.”

I smile, nod, and sip my way to the roaring fireplace. (What comes after Ryan’s boring dissertation on the paparazzi?)

“Look behind us, Ryan, there is only one of them following now. Why is that? And why didn’t they take a picture of you mooning them with me standing next your bare ass? That’s a money shot.”

“What are you saying?”

“What if they’re not paparazzi?” I pressed down on the accelerator.

I’m wearing a sweater and I’m hot from the roaring flames. A man is standing next to me in a sweater vest and heavy tweed jacket. His face is bright red and he’s hot too. Why are we pretending it’s snowing outside? We live in California.

“How’s your writing going, Melodie?” He asks.

“Fine.” I have found the perfect word and I’m not letting go of it. (If Diana thinks they’re not paparazzi then she must think they are Parson’s thugs. Make the connection.)

I’m standing alone again. Oh God, was I rude to the man? Now I’m going to be up all night worried about my behavior. When I should be worried about Ryan’s and Diana’s.

I wander through the crowd of merry makers and find Bones. I put my hand in his and whisper, “Do you want to go?”

He nods. Soon we excuse ourselves and leave.

In the car, he asks,” Did you have a good time?”

“I decided take out the Ryan Johns’ dialogue on the derivation of the word paparazzi.”

“I like that. I’d leave it in.”

Oh, hell.