the other night the husband and i were invited to a party, at the home of a friend's, in beverly hills. they were having about sixty people for a sit down dinner and dancing. the yard was beautiful, a perfect los angeles evening and the dj knew just what music to play for our crowd. during the cocktail hour i circulated, trying to see who i would want to sit with. every so often the husband and i would rendezvous in a corner and compare notes. well into the cocktail hour neither one of us had made the kind of connection that would make us want to commit to an entire evening of chatter.
finally, dinner was called and, much to our surprise, the seating was, in fact, not in our hands. the hostess had taken care of it and, as she told me the next day, had taken great pains to seat people with other like minded people. it's a good thing i didn't know that before hand because, on laying eyes on my table mates. i would have questioned her sanity.
there were three other couples at our table. all the men looked like the husband but the women - wow. first off. each of them were second wives. not a one was under five ten. they each had long, blond, perfectly streaked hair, legs up to their armpits and, since none of them had ever borne children, they had the perfect flat stomachs and toned bodies of the childless. while they were each at least ten years younger than me, they had all added plastic surgery to their grooming routine, with perfectly unlined faces and wide opened eyes. but is was the lips that fascinated me. you could not, in spite of the perfect bodies and flowing hair, take your eyes off their lips. they were mesmerizing. the sheer fullness of them made me wince, thinking of how many needles had gone into that tender flesh, to create such puffiness.
i wanted to hate these women. and i most especially wanted the husband to hate them but there was a problem. they were really, really nice. maybe not the brightest bulbs on the block but they were warm, friendly and funny. their husbands all older, of course, were the typical l.a. men married to those kind of women. one a producer, one a garmento and one a doctor. they were nice enough, and certainly rich enough to maintain the grooming bills of their younger wives, but on the whole they were slightly boring. one of the women kept dancing with the husband (that would be my "the husband") and at the end of the evening told him what a great dancer he was. she then confided that her husband wasn't very good at dancing and was also not that good at other things as well.
normally, i would have been jealous at such a blatant come on from a beautiful younger woman directed at the husband, but i just felt sorry for her. she was a walking, talking barbie doll and she had married her ken. she really had no choice. she did exactly what tall, blond , beautiful women have done since the beginning of time. the problem is that barbie never found out, until it was too late that ken was a bore and barbie's dream house, after a while, started to look a lot like a prison.