Margo Lemberger
Featured Author, Sept/Oct 2014
MARGO LEMBERGER is a writer from New York City who holds a master’s degree in journalism from Indiana University’s Ernie Pyle School. A former headline-and-caption writer for the NY Post, Margo has been published in the Jewish Forward, Arts Indiana, NUVO Newsweekly, The Columbus Republic, and many other periodicals. She also served as the News Director and morning drive co-host for WRZQ/Q-MIX.
A professional in theatre and a long-standing member of Actors’ Equity and SAG-AFTRA, she is a script doctor and dramaturge for new plays, has served as a judge for the Indiana FEAT Festival and the Daytime Emmys, and was the editor of actor Tony Roberts’ memoirs. Margo has also worked as a personal assistant to actresses Paula Prentiss and Marj Dusay.
Six at Six
Margo Lemberger
The table was laid out beautifully. The crisp, white cloth was accented by silver trays neatly stacked with canapés, hors d’oeuvre and other chic offerings, and crystalware was lined up on the sideboard with an array of wines, top-shelf liquors and mixers.
Myra glanced at her watch. It was 5:45; the guests would be arriving soon.
She carried the gleaming silver ice bucket to the kitchen and filled it, carefully wiping off finger smudges before replacing it. She did a last sweep of the apartment, making sure nothing was out of place: the plastic runner by the door was ready to receive wet shoes and umbrellas, the coffee urn was warming the special blend she had selected, the bathroom had paper and a stack of decorative hand towels on the sink, and the coat rack she’d set up in the bedroom had plenty of hangers.
The cat was sleeping contentedly on the pillow, as Dean’s severe allergies forced her to remain away from the group for the duration of the gathering. Myra picked her up, cuddled her, then took the brush and ran it over her soft fur. She then walked back out into the front room, where she sat on the sofa and waited for the first to arrive.
She stared into the fire. One of the benefits of top-floor living was one of the few working fireplaces in her pre-war building. The two things she’d missed most about living in the Midwest were having a fireplace and the sound of rain on the roof. Tonight, she had both.
Unlike previous parties she’d hosted, Myra was not at all nervous. Every detail had been carefully planned, down to the last pimento and fold of the napkins. She smiled, remembering that—for all the fancy, fussy, finger foods served-- at her mother’s parties, the biggest hit was always the exotic peanut-butter-and-jelly rollups. Funny how when something simple was presented as something elegant, it was automatically accepted as such.
“Nothing is as it seems,” Myra said aloud, as the buzzer sounded. She went to the door and pressed the call button.
“Hello?” she said into the box.
“Myra, it’s Alex.”
“Come on up.”
She buzzed him in. It was show time. She waited by the door until she heard the elevator open, then stepped into the corridor to greet him.
“Alex, darling, so glad you could come,” Myra said, giving him a peck on both cheeks. “Here, let me take your coat.”
“Thanks,” he said, shaking off the wet in the hallway before handing it to her. “It’s really picking up out there. It seems the weatherman was finally right about something, but it had to be the nor’easter?”
“Well, it’s warm and dry in here,” she said, taking his coat to the bedroom. “Go help yourself to a drink. The others should be here soon.”
He wandered over to the bar and poured himself two fingers of whisky. “Monkey Shoulder. I haven’t had this since Edinburgh,” he said, adding two ice cubes and swirling them around in the glass.
“I had a terrible time trying to find it in the city, but I know how much you like it, so I ordered it just for you all the way from Scotland,” she said. “It’s amazing what you can find online.”
He raised his glass in a toast and sat down. The buzzer went again.
“Excuse me,” Myra said, heading back to the door. “Hello?”
“It’s Dean and Laurie, let us in, it’s coming down in buckets out here!”
In a moment they were at the door, kisses exchanged, wraps taken.
“Where’s Tipsy?” Dean asked, looking around for the cat.
“I’ve asked a neighbor to look after her for the night, even scrubbed the place down for you,” Myra said. “Alex is in the living room, go help yourself to food and drinks,” Myra said. “I was expecting ten people, but I’ve already received regrets because of the weather, so we’re just waiting for Max and Betsy now.”
This was another lie, but she’d made sure the spread looked as though it could accommodate at least that many.
“Well, I’m not waiting, I’m starving,” Dean said, and he headed directly to the table, grabbed one of the little plates and piled it up with the niçoise crostini and prosciutto-wrapped scallops.
“Delicious,” he mumbled through his mouthful. “Dolores really outdid herself this time.”
“Actually, I gave Dolores the day off,” Myra said. “With the bad weather coming in, I didn’t want her to possibly get stuck away from her family for the weekend. Queens is hard enough to get to during rush hour on the best day, so I told her to just stay home. I did all the preparations and cooking myself.”
“You made these?” Dean asked.
Myra laughed. “Well, don’t sound so incredulous, Dean, I do know my way around a kitchen, you know.”
“The figs and bacon are incredible,” Laurie said.
“It’s English bacon, much better than American,” Myra called back over her shoulder as she went to let in the last of her guests. More kisses, more talk of the extreme November weather.
“I believe this completes our little group,” Myra said, as she led Max and Betsy into the living room. “Food and booze are self-service, Max. Can I get you something, Betsy? I have juices and soda and coffee.”
“Coffee sounds great,” Betsy said. “It’s nights like this I wish I could still have a little Bailey’s in it.”
“Since we don’t want this to turn into an intervention, how about some regular cream, instead?” Myra replied. “I have some almond syrup, if you’d like to pretend it’s Amaretto.”
“Sounds perfect,” Betsy said, as she, too, filled a plate with food and took her place next to Max on the loveseat. Myra went into the kitchen and filled a cup,
“It’s a special blend from Bali,” she said as she returned, “some people find it somewhat bitter, but the cream cuts it. Definitely an acquired taste, but well worth the effort.”
Myra handed Betsy the cup, poured herself a glass of syrah and perched on the edge of the sofa.
“Everything looks and tastes beautiful, Myra,” Alex said. “And the fireplace makes it really cozy. This was a great idea.”
“Thank you, Alex,” Myra said. “We’ve been talking about doing this for so long, I figured, screw it, let’s just do it. And I couldn’t have picked a nicer night, it seems.”
As if on cue, a lightning bolt flashed outside the picture window, startling everyone. They all laughed, nearly covering the sound of the thunder.
The ensuing evening was very pleasant, filled with conversation, cocktails and catching up on old times and new plans. Bottles were emptied, and the trays of food depleted.
“When’s the last time we were all together like this?” Max asked after what seemed like hours. “Was it your 45th birthday party, Dean?”
“Oh, it can’t have been THAT long,” Laurie said. “That was AGES ago.”
More laughter, from everyone but Myra this time. “It wasn’tthat long ago,” Dean said. “I only just turned 47 last month. But, no, I believe the last time was Pete’s memorial service.”
There was an uncomfortable silence.
“Of course,” Laurie said gently. “Has it really been two years already?”
Myra ran her finger around the top of her wine glass, eliciting a high-pitched tone that made the others cringe. “Two years on the 25th, yes,” she said.
More silence.
“I still blame myself, you know,” Betsy said finally, looking down at her plate. “I’ve gone over that night a million times in my mind, talked it through with my therapist and my AA group. No matter how many times I try to tell myself there was nothing I could have done…” Her voice trailed off.
Myra set down her glass and sat next to Betsy, putting her arm around her. “Nobody blames you, sweetheart, truly, it was just a terrible accident. It’s not like you pushed him, he just… fell.”
“Any one of us should have grabbed him, we were all standing right there,” Alex said quietly.
“I wasn’t there, so I can’t really speak to it,” Myra said. “But I know Pete wouldn’t want any one of you to blame yourself.”
“He fell trying to keep me from stumbling onto the tracks,” Betsy said. “If I hadn’t been screwing around on the platform, if I hadn’t been so drunk, it never would have happened. I haven’t ridden the subway since.”
“It costs us a fortune in parking and cabs,” Max slurred.
Everybody glared at him, and Betsy’s eyes welled with tears, which Myra firmly dismissed.
“Let’s not turn this into a sad occasion, it’s a party! Come on. Eat up, I didn’t take the day off of work to have you not enjoy yourselves.”
The mood had been broken, though, and Alex looked at his watch.
“Actually, I think it’s time I was going,” he said. “I’d like to get home before I need a kayak.”
The others chimed in in agreement.
“We’re driving, can we drop you guys somewhere?” Bestsy asked. Everyone jumped on the offer, and they all stood to leave.
“I want to thank you all so much for coming,” Myra said, rising. “Let’s not wait another two years to do this again. I’ll get the coats.” And with a gentle touch on Betsy’s shoulder, “Let me fix you up a cup for the road, make sure you get home safely. It’s a long drive out to the island.”
“Thank you, Myra,” she said, looking over at Max, who was nodding off on his feet. “It looks like I’m the designated driver.”
“How times have changed,” Myra said. “Anybody else want a road coffee?” There were no takers, so she went into the kitchen, where she unwrapped the Starbucks travel cup she’d bought expressly for tonight. Being careful to use the dishtowel so as not to touch it, she filled it with coffee, cream and syrup, then opened the utility drawer and pulled out a small envelope containing a single capsule, which she emptied into the cup. She watch a moment as the white powder dissolved into nothing. Amazing what you can find online, she thought, as she twisted the lid tight.
She then went into the bedroom to retrieve the coats, taking the time to pull the cat’s hair from the brush and carefully rub it along the collar and sleeves of Dean’s trench, and place bits in each pocket. Black cat, black coat, perfect. She also removed the ever-present EpiPen from the inside breast pocket.
“Here you are,” she said, walking to the door with the armful. “Oh, don’t forget to grab your coffee, Betsy. It’s on the counter.”
Betsy went to get it as the rest claimed their coats. A chorus of ‘thank yous’ and ‘we must do this agains’ rang out. Myra walked everyone to the elevator, and with a final round of kisses, they were gone.
After the doors closed, she walked back into her apartment, let the cat out of the bedroom, and began cleaning up. She made sure every dish and glass was washed and put away, all the garbage had been sent down the chute, and the empty bottles were deposited in the recycling bin two floors below. After one last check to see that everything was back in its place, she scooped up the cat and headed off to bed.
When Myra awoke the next morning, the storm had diminished to a steady rain. She went down to get the paper, poured herself a cup of coffee and turned on the television.
“… In other news this morning, the extreme weather is being blamed for a horrific crash that killed five people last night on the FDR. Among the dead are Max and Betsy Reynolds of Cedarhurst, Long Island. The identity of the other victims is being withheld pending family notification. Alcohol is not believed to be a factor.”
Myra sipped her coffee and smiled, mindlessly petting the purring cat beside her. It was going to be a good day.
The Top Ten . . .
Movie Insults:
Margo Lemberger
1. “Should she know that I think you’ve turned into one of the most beastly, bourgeois, babbity little snobs on the eastern seaboard, or will you be able to make that quite clear without any help from me?” –Auntie Mame, 1958
2. “To call you stupid would be an insult to stupid people! I've known sheep that could outwit you. I've worn dresses with higher IQs. But you think you're an intellectual, don't you, ape?” A Fish Called Wanda, 1988
3. “You are nothing! If you were in my toilet I wouldn't bother flushing it. My bathmat means more to me than you.” Swimming With Sharks, 1994
4. “I could eat a can of Kodak and puke a better movie.” The Mirror Crack’d, 1980
5. “You've got to remember that these are just simple farmers. These are people of the land. The common clay of the new West. You know... morons.”Blazing Saddles, 1974
6. (Ingrid Bergman, to a group of eminent psychiatrists): “I must leave this nursery.”Spellbound, 1945
7. “I’ll use small words so that you’ll be sure to understand, you warthog-faced buffoon.” The Princess Bride, 1987
8. “You clanking, clattering collection of caliginous junk.” The Wizard of Oz, 1939
9. “I see that, in addition to your other charms, you have that insolence generated by an inferior upbringing.”Stage Door, 1937
10. “I can see you right now in the kitchen, bending over a hot stove. But I can't see the stove.” Duck Soup, 1933