A Taste of Fame by Linda Evans Shepherd

hung by four stout ropes, gently swayed between them. “Forward march!” David said as Mother shrieked.
    A young man’s voice floated toward us. “And now, our guest of honor, Mrs. Inga Swenson.”
    The doors to the activity center opened as if by magic. Mother made her grand entrance. Just behind her, Donna and Evie carried a large birthday cake covered in lit sparklers.
    “Oh my,” she said as she gazed upon what only could have been Mrs. Rittenhouse’s parlor. Our guests stood and applauded. Our women guests were smart in black dresses draped with long ropes of plastic pearls. The men looked elegant in their suits.
    The room was ablaze with lights and the greenery we’d rented from a nursery in Denver. Hefty, hand-sketched windows of paper and foil were carefully stuck to the walls, mimicking their movie counterparts. A large, roughed-out painting of an Englishman on a white horse hung between two curtains just behind the head of our table. The painting was a contribution from the local high school art teacher, who’d done a great job making it look like the canvas that hung at the heart of Animal Crackers ’s plot.
    Five teen boys, dressed to look like butlers, greeted my mother. Their young voices sang a silly ditty from the movie and ended with a rousing chorus of, “Let’s give her what she deserves, what she deserves!”
    Our porters carefully settled the litter on the ground, and with the help of David, my mother climbed out. “What’s all this?” she hooted, much to the delight of the crowd.
    Nelson, Lisa Leann’s son, stood before her, dressed like Groucho Marx. He wore round, wire-framed eyeglasses and sported heavy, black brows that were glued above his green eyes. His look was completed by a thick but very fake mustache. He’s blond hair was dyed black and parted down the middle. He waggled a cigar between his fingers and said to the crowd, “Thank you for this magnificent washout, I mean turnout.” Then to Mother, he said, “Do you mind if I don’t smoke?”
    I held my breath, wondering if she would catch the spirit of the fun from this icon she would certainly recognize. She smiled and said, “Of course not.”
    Nelson pointed to Donna and Evie holding the birthday cake. “Good, it looks like your cake is already smoking.”
    “Surprise!” the guests shouted in unison.
    “What’s all this?” Mother asked again as I rushed to her side and kissed her on the cheek. “Happy birthday, Mother.”
    She scowled. “It’s not my birthday. You shouldn’t rush me to get any older than I already am. My birthday’s not for two more months.”
    Lisa Leann joined us in the spotlight and said, “Two months? That’s close enough for reality TV,” while the crowd tittered with laughter.
    “Groucho” turned to Mother and, in a flirty Groucho sort of way, said, “You’ve got beauty, charm, and money! You have got money, haven’t you? Because if you haven’t, we can quit right now.”
    Bless her if she didn’t laugh.
    As our porters carried the litter back into the foyer, Lizzie swooped in and led Mother to the head of our lovely table. It was really a string of long tables pushed together, then covered with white linen. Its long center line blossomed with a lovely arrangement of mirrors, plastic pearls, greenery, and china.
    Nelson turned to his mother and, in his best Groucho voice, said, “Why, you are one of the most beautiful women I’ve ever seen, and that’s not saying much for you.”
    The teen playing the head butler cleared his throat. “Announcing our celebrity judge, Mr. Brant Richards!”
    The party guests gasped, then stood and cheered as the judge who’d been chosen to observe our event made his entrance inside the litter. As Brant climbed out, Groucho wiggled his eyebrows and said, “Welcome! You must stay. Too bad you must be going.”
    The two men shook hands, then Groucho said, “I’d buy you a parachute if I thought it wouldn’t open.”
    There was more laughter