Come-As-You-Are Social Evening

A collector of Art’s photography and my shop’s rarities invited us to dinner.  “Casual, come as you are.”   We were told it was the house in back of the one fronting the street.  Knowing the street and its elegant homes I supposed this single guy lived in the coach house.

We took the driveway that branched to the back and drove up to two huge doors guarding the entrance with its little dial-up box.  “Come in,” his voice replied, and the doors slowly swung open.  We found a place to park among the other cars, and he greeted us in the doorway.  No, it wasn’t a coach house.  It was a house fronting Lake Michigan.
 
I will not describe the house.  Open a decorator magazine for the page with something palatial.  After he took my coat and introduced us to the other guests, he must have noticed my eyes popping and my mouth hanging open.  “Would you like to see the rest of the house?”
 
We made the tour.  Then upstairs on this glorious winding staircase with shallow risers making it very easy to walk up.  “There is an elevator, but I never use it,” he said.

“Wow,” I said, in the first bedroom.  “This is a guest bedroom,” correcting my mistaken assumption.   He took us to the Master Bedroom.  I was happy for its lived in look.  Clothes scattered, bed not made. 
 
Back in the corridor I motioned to the three large wardrobes along the long wall.  “These are very handsome”, I said, “Did you choose them yourself?”  “They are built in,” he said, and opened the double doors of the first wardrobe.  Inside was a large bedroom.  What a great joke!  The other two wardrobes are just storage containers as one might suppose. 
 
Each floor was a grand circle.  There was no getting lost.  You just continue roaming until you get to the starting point.  I would love to see a blueprint.  Even having walked through it, I cannot understand the architecture.
 
We returned to the dining room with the table set comfortably for sixteen.  Delightful, accomplished young guests.  One beautiful couple (and I mean that literally – movie-star-beautiful man and woman) had their infant with them and took turns holding the baby.  Food was set out on the buffet.  Never mind what we ate: it was delicious. 
 
And here’s the best part.  The ultimate best part.  The host has a chef!  His own personal cook!   Not just for parties.  His very, very own cook! 
 
How’s that for whip cream on the cake.  It even beats opening a secret wardrobe door.
 
Don’t ask me what I’d like to eat today.  I’ll sit down, just put in front of me.  Aaaaahhh!
 
----Florence

Comments

[Penny]

Oh, my! You always tickle my fancy, or whatever it is that is tickled, and make me smile. What a delightful time you must have had with circles and hidden wardrobes and personal chefs - and your host sounds very gracious, and you are the perfect story teller.

[Peter Byrne]

And where does the lord of the manor keep the photographs Art did of the bums on West Madison Street? Don't tell me it's in his safe. That wouldn't accommodate the solid gold frames he's added. The chef is surely also a connoisseur of the beaux-arts. There should be wall-space in his penthouse apartment. Ah, the sweet mysteries of Art's art and its devotees. Myself I'm going to deck out my prison cell with that shot of Mayor Richard J. Daley playing the harp.

[Florence Shay]

Peter, I will send my own photo to hang in your prison cell, where? in Italy? You have a lot of fans who will deck the walls of your cell. Get rid of Daley. Better still, stay out of jail.