Family of One Celebrates a Birthday

There is something a little more special about a birthday that falls on a Saturday. At least, I have always thought so and when my birthday fell on a Saturday in 2004, I decided to do something different and have a dream party for myself. I had been living in Miami for about two years, had a favorite restaurant in the still dilapidated Midtown part of Miami, and had collected an interesting array of acquaintances. I asked the owners of the restaurant, a small Victorian home featuring better coconut cake than the Peninsula Grill, to close for the night and we planned a buffet menu and asked their piano player who had played with Count Basie and accompanied Sammy Davis, Jr. at the Fontainebleau to be there. Because there was a theme to the party--it was going to be a jazz cabaret and everyone who wanted to could sing a song. I prepared two songs. H, one of my BFFs, flew in from Atlanta. I had 25 RSVPs.

It was the worst birthday of my life and when I tell you what happened, you will see why I gave up on planning parties.

As a family of one, birthdays in general are fairly tricky. I had been part of a couple for nine years just before this birthday and was used to having someone plan the celebration. In the years after our parting, I took a trip somewhere like Sanibel or the Keys for a couple of days.

But, I liked the idea of this party and it was received with much enthusiasm. As I began planning the party, I started seeing an attorney and it was going well, so I was faced with the dilemma of whether or not to invite him. My instincts screamed no, but I fretted that he could find out about the party and have hurt feelings. He was very enthusiastic when I invited him and offered to be my accompanist since he was an accomplished piano player.

Everything was all set. I was beside myself with excitement. But, the day was eerily quiet. I developed a strong sense of foreboding throughout the day. Around 4:30, B called on all my phones while H and I were taking rests--much like Scarlett and the girls did before the Twelve Oaks barbecue. When I heard his voice on the message, I knew what a mistake I had made. He professed to have food poisoning. I was upset because I knew he was lying, but I was also counting on him to play the piano for me. In addition, a couple of people had invited their beaux to fly in from places as distant as Connecticut so that they could hang out with us.

Just after I spoke with him, the phone began ringing incessantly with people calling to say things like-my husband's cousin is in the hospital and we are going to need to go visit him or I forgot that it is Chick Flick night with my girls group and they will kill me if I don't come. Suddenly, the guest list was down to twelve.

My heart was no longer in the party. I just wanted my friends to reopen the restaurant and I would pay them the $500 I had promised them. H convinced me to just show up. So, I did.

And, it was a wonderful affair. The 12 people who showed up all hit it off. The buffet was magnificent featuring a roast turkey, all kinds of pasta, and a chocolate fountain. Billy Ray showed up to play the piano and he and I melded perfectly. At one point, I looked around and thought--how amazing that these people came together in this charming cottage in the heart of one of the worst neighborhoods in Miami for such a night.

Everyone tactfully avoided mentioning B. But, towards the end, a local radio personality with a flair for the theatrical and for wearing clear plastic pumps designed to look like Cindertella's leapt up on a table and screamed out, "B has a tiny dick". I was horrified because many of the people there attended my church. It was very interesting that they were the ones cheering her on with additional vicious epithets.

I found out months later that B's Brazilian girlfriend with whom he had a stormy history had called the night before the party and asked to come back and live with him. Four months later, when she moved out again, he was calling me contritely.

Even though it turned out to be a lovely evening, I decided to not put that kind of pressure on myself again. So, tonight, I am ensconced at the Gramercy Park Hotel anticipating a lovely dinner for one at EMP on Saturday night and a day spent reading and relaxing in Gramercy Park with a stop at Think Pink for a mani/pedi. My dear K is journeying in from Rhinebeck to have lunch with me at EMP on Friday.

When I drove away from the RoseBriar Cafe on June 5, 2004, I could not have imagined the dark days that were ahead--which is a good thing. But, nor would I have ever imagined the wonderful and splendid delights that were ahead, many of which involve you, my dear, dear friends.