about the party-set to music. Anjoli’s best friend Alfie’s specialty was replacing lyrics of holiday classics with his own. Guests shouted famous tunes and Alfie reportedly made up new ones on the spot. He claimed they were improvised, but I knew he secretly wrote and rehearsed them beforehand.
Never one to miss the chance to throw a dinner party, Anjoli also hosted a Seder at Passover for her Jewish friends. In New York, even the Roman Catholics were Jewish friends. They set out a cup of wine, not for the spirit of Elijah, but for Liza. Minelli, that is. Every year they sent her agent an invitation to the Seder and pretended they were completely shocked when she didn’t show up. “Some alcoholic she turned out to be!” Alfie gasped.
I picked up a book at the library and bought a furry black beret from one of the guys on Sixth Avenue. “No problem is so big that a new hat can’t fix it,” Anjoli claimed as she handed the vendor ten dollars. When we returned home, she insisted that I take a nap because sleep was the best medicine. Other times she said it was water. Often it was Echinacea. But today the remedy was rest and I couldn’t have agreed more.
The doorbell rang. “Perfect timing!” She fluttered to the door. Anjoli is birdlike in her stature and movements. Painfully thin, she has the body of a ballerina, which she, in fact, once was. After having spent a lifetime of extending her neck, it is unusually long and slender. It supports a dainty head with porcelain skin and a sharp nose. She has a European sexiness about her as opposed to Kimmy’s milk fed Ivory-girl look. “Entrez-vous, Henri.” In entered a gorgeous, tan twenty-something Frenchman with a shock of wavy brown hair and a smirk that said “I’m so sexy, I’d blush if it weren’t so uncool.” Unaware that I was standing at the rail of the third floor looking down, Anjoli shouted to me. “Lucy, I have a little surprise for you. Someone is here to help you relax!” she sang. My mother is never one to overlook the healing properties of a sexy man’s company.
My mother is the best! I was such a lousy, ingrate to ever say that my mother is not nurturing. She is undoubtedly the coolest mother on the planet to bring home this fantastic man for me. This is soooo going to relax me! I absolutely love her to- huh? What the hell is that? What is that thing he’s schlepping in the front door? What does he need a harp for? Oh man! He’s not here for therapeutic sex? He’s going to play music for me? Sweet thought, but I’m not going to be able to fall asleep with Henri in my room. I haven’t had sex in seven months. That’s two full seasons without the feeling of a man’s firm body pressed against my flesh. My God, just the mention of sex—even in the context of not having it—is driving me wild with desire. I am supposed to take this delicious creature upstairs to my bedroom and lie in bed while he plays harp for me? And I’m supposed to fall asleep during it? Ha! I’ll be lucky if I can refrain from humping my stuffed dog’s paw while Henri plucks and caresses goddamn harp strings.
“Yes, Anjoli?” I descended the staircase with a dramatic flair usually reserved for her entrances. “Oh, hello,” I said as if I’d just noticed that yet another gorgeous Frenchman was in our living room.
“Mademoiselle,” Henri said, kissing my hand.
You think you could use a little tongue?
“I read an article in Healings and Feelings that harp music is very therapeutic, darling. Even alpha wolves are completely docile when they listen to harp music. The vibration of the harp music is deeply relaxing.”
Deep? Vibrations? This evil woman is simply toying with me!
“Zees eez true,” Henri concurred.
“Henri’s harp will really take the edge off, Lucy,” Anjoli said.
Not as much as a long passionate night of exhilarating, glorious, and ultimately exhausting sex.
“You haven’t heard music until you’ve experienced what this man can
Never one to miss the chance to throw a dinner party, Anjoli also hosted a Seder at Passover for her Jewish friends. In New York, even the Roman Catholics were Jewish friends. They set out a cup of wine, not for the spirit of Elijah, but for Liza. Minelli, that is. Every year they sent her agent an invitation to the Seder and pretended they were completely shocked when she didn’t show up. “Some alcoholic she turned out to be!” Alfie gasped.
I picked up a book at the library and bought a furry black beret from one of the guys on Sixth Avenue. “No problem is so big that a new hat can’t fix it,” Anjoli claimed as she handed the vendor ten dollars. When we returned home, she insisted that I take a nap because sleep was the best medicine. Other times she said it was water. Often it was Echinacea. But today the remedy was rest and I couldn’t have agreed more.
The doorbell rang. “Perfect timing!” She fluttered to the door. Anjoli is birdlike in her stature and movements. Painfully thin, she has the body of a ballerina, which she, in fact, once was. After having spent a lifetime of extending her neck, it is unusually long and slender. It supports a dainty head with porcelain skin and a sharp nose. She has a European sexiness about her as opposed to Kimmy’s milk fed Ivory-girl look. “Entrez-vous, Henri.” In entered a gorgeous, tan twenty-something Frenchman with a shock of wavy brown hair and a smirk that said “I’m so sexy, I’d blush if it weren’t so uncool.” Unaware that I was standing at the rail of the third floor looking down, Anjoli shouted to me. “Lucy, I have a little surprise for you. Someone is here to help you relax!” she sang. My mother is never one to overlook the healing properties of a sexy man’s company.
My mother is the best! I was such a lousy, ingrate to ever say that my mother is not nurturing. She is undoubtedly the coolest mother on the planet to bring home this fantastic man for me. This is soooo going to relax me! I absolutely love her to- huh? What the hell is that? What is that thing he’s schlepping in the front door? What does he need a harp for? Oh man! He’s not here for therapeutic sex? He’s going to play music for me? Sweet thought, but I’m not going to be able to fall asleep with Henri in my room. I haven’t had sex in seven months. That’s two full seasons without the feeling of a man’s firm body pressed against my flesh. My God, just the mention of sex—even in the context of not having it—is driving me wild with desire. I am supposed to take this delicious creature upstairs to my bedroom and lie in bed while he plays harp for me? And I’m supposed to fall asleep during it? Ha! I’ll be lucky if I can refrain from humping my stuffed dog’s paw while Henri plucks and caresses goddamn harp strings.
“Yes, Anjoli?” I descended the staircase with a dramatic flair usually reserved for her entrances. “Oh, hello,” I said as if I’d just noticed that yet another gorgeous Frenchman was in our living room.
“Mademoiselle,” Henri said, kissing my hand.
You think you could use a little tongue?
“I read an article in Healings and Feelings that harp music is very therapeutic, darling. Even alpha wolves are completely docile when they listen to harp music. The vibration of the harp music is deeply relaxing.”
Deep? Vibrations? This evil woman is simply toying with me!
“Zees eez true,” Henri concurred.
“Henri’s harp will really take the edge off, Lucy,” Anjoli said.
Not as much as a long passionate night of exhilarating, glorious, and ultimately exhausting sex.
“You haven’t heard music until you’ve experienced what this man can
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