The caterer I worked for is a lovely older woman named Shirley. She reminds me a bit of Doris Day with her classic style and elegance. Shirley catered these parties and only these parties, and had done so for years. No one would ever dare to hire anyone else. Shirley's daughters were her main helpers, and I just helped where I could.
Shirley called me and asked me if I could work a dinner Art Buchwald was having that night. I was to keep the word mum that President Clinton may be the guest of honor. I loved Art's house. Though it's an old New England house it's decor was straight from the 1970's. Some interior designer had decorated it in say, 1975, and it hadn't been touched since.
I loved the hopelessly optimistic banana yellow vinyl upholstery that was everywhere. It was a great complement to the gold crackled mirror tiles.
Art's house was buzzing with nervous energy and excitement that afternoon. Art had received word that, yes, President Clinton may be arriving, but they can never tell you for sure for security reasons.
We were all working in the kitchen when the phone rang. It was Bill Stryon. Bill and Rose would not be attending, as they had decided to throw a little house party of their own that night. Weird. Throw a party on the same night as Art's and not invite Art? Not have Shirley cater? A cardinal sin! And, hello, the President might be coming?
More phone calls. Walter Cronkite canceled. Then others. It didn't take long for the truth to come out. Bill and Rose Stryon invited President Clinton to THEIR house that night too, and that's where the President decided to go.
Walter Cronkite and Bill Clinton
Dinner was a somber affair. Art was livid. As we served dinner to this brooding bunch, it was clear that everyone was wishing they were down the street at the Styron's house.
Moving my blog...
11 months ago