Perspective

We plan the party to coincide with the full moon, on the hope such a detail will lure our friend Jasmine and some of her woo-woo sidekicks. There are no quibbles as to whose house. Jason and his wife Leanne are the only ones who have their own place, a spacious two-bedroom house in the hills with a backyard hidden from neighbors, a deck, and a cedar hot tub under a weeping willow tree.
The first of us arrive early, around six to help Leanne in the kitchen and Jason at the bar-be-que. We light candles claiming to keep mosquitoes away, and hang Leanne’s string of tiny Japanese lanterns over the picnic tables at her request. We marinate meat. We break into the white wine, saving the red for dinner and afterwards. We stare at the hot tub, assuring ourselves that this time, we will stay late enough to take a dip. (A soak in the hot tub is never offered before 2 a.m.) We check our cell phones to see if any of our friends have cancelled or confirmed or gotten lost. The men among us set the phones to vibrate and stuff them in our pockets. The women turn the sound up, changing the ringtones to the most hip-sounding, most likely to receive kudos ringtones we can find.
We filter in, a light sweat clinging to our skin from driving in warm weather. Lacey Krous waltzes in with a man none of us have ever seen. He looks like he’s walked off the cover of Details, dark gelled hair, a loud collared shirt, dress pants, and penny loafers. Those of us far enough away not to be noticed exchange meaningful glances. Glances that all say something to the jist of “Lacey’s got a new boy toy, eh?” Lacey glows, partly due to the fact that she and Mr. Details shared a joint in the car before coming in, partly due to the fact that her moisturizer creates a sheen, and partly due to the fact that she has not yet been intimate with Mr. Details and is reveling in anticipation.
We pretend to have serious conversations as Leanne, Todd, Jack and Susan bustle in and out of the kitchen. Kids, careers, lovers, ailing parents, spirituality, philosophy. Are you happy though? Are you really happy? Is this what you really want to be doing with your life? We drink in the atmosphere, the aromas, the heightened (in some cases, faked), enthusiasm.
“How many are we expecting?”
“I think this is it,” Leanne says, glancing over the crowd. About 14 of us. No Jasmine. Yet. We all silently observe this fact, but assure ourselves she’ll turn up later.
We fork chunks of steak, grilled salmon and garlic chicken into our mouths, watching their juices slowly spread across our plates. We savor ripe melon, sip strong wine, bite into soft bread rolls, and try, but fail, to daintily eat corn on the cob. By the end of the meal, the warm afterglow of the summer evening has slipped into chill. We stuff our hands into our pockets, rub our arms, hunch up our shoulders, or dash back inside for a sweater or coat. Jasmine shows up as we begin to clear the outdoor picnic tables, dumping the remnants of wine bottles into each other’s glasses.
“Hello? Hellllllllllllo!” Jasmine calls from the doorway, eliciting smiles. We greet, we exclaim. We greedily drink in her pronouncements: “Mary, your aura is just overwhelming! You’re shining, like a star! Joe, you’re in love, I can tell. And is that Edie? I had the strangest dream about you last month. We were…” She’s even thinner than we remember, almost skeletal. She’s brought four friends, three in paint splattered clothes, one in a loose linen shirt and black yoga pants. Leanne grabs a stack of clean plates from the cupboard and carefully arranges leftovers for the late guests. “Are any of you vegetarian? Vegan?”
“So what have you been up to?” we ask Jasmine. We all live vicariously through her artsy, flamboyant, spur of the moment whims. Envy her for refusing to be tied to a steady job, just one lover, a firm living situation…
“Well, I’ve taken up painting. Actually, we’re all just coming from a class. Gale here,” she points at the lean woman in yoga pants, “is a nude model.”
We turn on music. It’s discovered that Mr. Details has a hefty stash of E, and if you allude to the existence of this stash he will give you a pill, and politely accept any cash you’re willing to offer for it. Nearly all of us make our way over to Lacey and her new beau and procure ourselves a little bliss. The music is changed to a salsa mix and Jasmine insists on teaching anyone who will indulge her, the basics of the dance. We stand in a line, laughing and stumbling over each other, trying to keep up with the beat. Time slows and speeds. People start trailing their fingers over things—skin, the back of the couch, clothes, their hair. The painters start eyeing Jason and Leanne’s living room critically.
“What a beautiful room.”
“The light from the chandelier and that lamp in the corner are making amazing shadows. See? Look at that, by the bookcase.”
“The set-up is quite nice too.”
“Get a figure on that table, and you’ve got a lovely backdrop.”
“We need to paint this.”
“Definitely.”
“Certainly.”
We’re all in a pretty good mood when Jasmine announces the painters want to hold an art class in the living room. Gale has volunteered to model. They’ve got extra canvases and at the very least, large sheets of white paper we can all draw on. Why the hell not?

(obviously, this scene is in progress – not done yet!)