The Hostess

"Are you coming tonight?” trilled a voice. "We'll be starting shortly."

Verity grimaced and held the phone away from her ear. She really did have to get the hang of this caller ID and let people like her neighbor Monica go to voice mail, although on second thoughts, that might prompt Monica to come round in person. She had almost given old Mr. Davis a heart attack last year by calling the police to check on him after he didn’t answer the phone or hear her knocking on his door.

            “Monica,” Verity said pleasantly. Glad that Monica could not see her, she still pasted a polite smile on her face. She had just settled comfortably in the recliner with her cat Furball on her lap. “What is happening tonight?”

        “Don’t tell me you forgot,” said Monica. “It’s my Chef Extraordinaire party. You said you would come. It’s a wonderful line of products and we’ll be learning how to make some very elegant hors d'oeuvres.”

What was it with women and sales parties? Verity wondered if men would attend parties for car detailing products or woodworking tools. Somehow she doubted it. She hated to think how many hours of her life that she would never get back had passed at Monica’s sales parties. Candles, clothes, makeup, jewelry, underwear, cleaning products... it all merged into a blur. Verity had lost count over the years. She didn’t know if Monica thought she was going to get rich or or just enjoyed hosting these parties. Monica had always enjoyed directing things and she was very hard to refuse. The trouble was that the small circle of friends she always invited had dwindled over the years for various reasons. Some had died and Verity suspected some had changed their names and moved abroad to avoid Monica. Verity was one of the few stalwarts who had the dubious honor of always being invited. However, she had no recollection of receiving an invitation to this particular party and had never heard of Chef Extraordinaire.

      Verity could not have said why, but she had spent what seemed like a small fortune buying products just to be supportive and avoid being guilt tripped by Monica. Fred, her husband, said she needed to grow a backbone and learn to say no. She had ended up with all sorts of items, some considerably more useful than others. There were fancy cleaning cloths that were supposed to whisk dust off anything and ecologically safe cleaning fluids that sounded more like herbal remedies than cleaning products, although to her mind, no number of products could make it fun to clean the house. At least she could brag that she was doing her part towards saving the environment.

        She had to admit that the wine and makeup party had been enjoyable. She and the other ladies had spent a pleasant evening sipping wine, having a facial treatment and being made up by the consultant. Verity went home looking glamorous but afraid to smile in case her façade cracked. Fred hadn’t noticed a thing, of course. Verity had twirled around him in the living room, ostentatiously pushing her hair off her face, finally asking if he noticed what was different. He had stared in bewilderment, then tried guessing that she’d lost weight, gained weight, had a new hairdo or was coming down with a cold before Verity gave up in disgust. The other problem was that she could never remember the multiple steps required to complete the regimen. Did the Dewy Firming Moisturizing Lotion come before or after the Collagen Infused Facial Scrub? Was the Refreshing Mountain Spring Toner to be used once a day or twice? Would the products start boiling on her skin if she applied them in the wrong order, like using ammonia and bleach to clean the toilet? She made heroic efforts to follow the instructions but always lapsed after a few days. Much easier just to wash her face and slap on some cold cream.

                She gathered that the people who named the colors of cosmetics went to the same school as the people who labelled the paint in the hardware store. Listening to the sales lady rapturously describe the colors, Verity found her attention wandering and started coming up with her own ideas. Crimson Glory lipstick could be Raw Beefsteak Red, while Smokey Amethyst eye shadow could be Bruises. Deep Emerald nail polish could be Gangrene Green. She had whispered some of her ideas to her friend Sheila, and soon the two of them were giggling like kindergartners, stopping only when Monica glared at them. Sheila had not been invited to the next party. Verity had given the samples to her granddaughter to paint her face for Hallowe’en that year.

        The home décor products party had been heavy on artificial flowers, strings of beads and cutesy framed inspirational sayings. Veronica had thought of it as the frou-frou style of decorating. None of it blended with her rustic furnishings. She had won a wreath of silk flowers which she dumped on the chair in her bedroom when she got home. Fred had told her quite seriously next morning that she was too old to be wearing things like that. He had approved of the elegant tapers she had bought at the candle party, but she could not break him of his habit of blowing them out instead of extinguishing them with the candle snuffer. She didn’t even try to get him to hug the candle to keep the wax in shape as they were taught.

          Fred looked at her questioningly now from his recliner.

          “Who is that? What now?”

          “Monica,” she mouthed. He raised his eyebrows and rolled his eyes. “Her Chef Extraordinaire party. I don’t remember getting an invitation, but she seems to think I did. They’re going to be making hors d'oeuvres.”

Fred was an easy going fellow who never usually tried to tell Verity what to do. Now, he suddenly seemed to swell up in his chair with exasperation.

          “For once, just say no,” he hissed in a stage whisper. “You can blame me. Tell her I’ve turned into an ogre who has cut your allowance and only lets you out of the house once a week. Horsey dervies indeed!”

Verity bit her lip to smother her laughter.

            “Can’t do that,” she whispered back. “She’ll call Social Services on you for mistreating me.”

She cleared her throat and took a deep breath.

            “Monica, I apologize for any misunderstanding, but I will not able to come. However thank you for thinking of me and I hope you all have a very enjoyable time.”

Fred beamed and gave her a thumbs up.

"See?" he said. "That wasn't so hard, was it?"

"No," admitted Verity, adjusting her position in the recliner.

"Why are you squirming around there? Ants in your pants?" said Fred.

"No," said Verity. "I believe I feel my backbone growing."