Roberto opened the large metal and glass door of the art deco NYC building with one hand as he helped Margaret steady herself with the other.  It was not every day that his wife had to wear a floor length ball gown and four inch heels.  As they entered the Michelin starred restaurant, Margaret stared up at the grandiose white ceilings, embossed with gold. She admired the intimacy of the charcoal grey bottom third of the wall, with the room softly illuminated by dimly lit midcentury modern brass Sputnik Chandeliers and votive candles.  She wished that she and her husband were there to dine alone together; how lovely it would be to take pictures and document their night out at one of NYC’s most expensive restaurants on social media at her leisure.  To her dismay, she and Roberto were there to attend the celebration of Roberto’s Neurology Department’s first place ranking out of the top 100 hospitals in the nation, according to the latest survey by a reputable journal.  As the hostess led Margaret and Roberto to join their party, Margaret was preoccupied with the thought of Roberto leaving her isolated in a corner while he became engrossed in banter among his fellow physicians.  She caught a mirror on the way to the dining room and checked out her make-up. She strategically positioned her long, freshly dyed, auburn air to frame her face in order to disguise her aging, pale neck .  “Looks as good as it gets”, she thought to herself.

As they entered the private dining room, Margaret was mortified to see that she was the most overdressed woman in the room.  “What the hell, the invitation said black tie!”, she thought to herself.  “Oh why did I have to choose a floor length gown!  It is dragging on the floor! It only shows that I rented the dress and could not do alterations!” , all stormed through her mind.  All of the men were wearing black tuxedos, so her husband got it right.  The women, on the other hand, were wearing elegant, mostly tea length, evening wear.  “Oh well, I suppose it’s better than being under dressed.  “Don’t dwell on this”, she commanded to herself.  Roberto was attentive enough to Margaret to make sure she did not feel alone.  Margaret was endeared to see that while she was preoccupied with her dress, Roberto was proudly introducing her to everyone, as if she were his Helen of Troy.  Margaret knew that that was so typical of Roberto, as he is a natural optimist, with a heart like that of St. Teresa of Calcutta.  She accepts the fact that she is quite the opposite.  She takes ownership of being a natural pessimist, and while she does have a heart, it is not a heart like St. Teresa of Calcutta.

Margaret stood beside Roberto, upright, gut sucked in and smiling.  She listened to the faint melody of the champagne glasses hitting the butler’s treys and savored the fulsome, gamy smell of the tiny venison, liver, and blood sausage hors d’eouvre. Meanwhile, Roberto delved into a secret neurological jargon with his peers.  To the relief of Margaret’s feet, cocktail hour was over and the head of the Neurology Department asked the guests to go to their assigned seats.  Margaret was seated to the right of Jan, a Pediatric Neurologist, and her husband Don, a Financial Analyst.  There were two other couples at their table: Meena, a fellow Neurologist, and her husband Jaspreet, as well as another Neurologist from the department, Kevin and his wife Katie.  Jan enthusiastically shook Margaret’s hand and told her how she had been dying to meet THE Mrs. Roberto.  Jan was in her mid-40’s, she had silky, deep mohogany shoulder length hair tucked behind her ears.  Her chestnut brown eyes were so striking against her flawless, milky complexion.   “WASP”, Margaret said to herself.  “Ivy-League WASPY woman”, Margaret assumed.  “Nice to meet you as well! I have heard so many nice things about you too!”, exclaimed Margaret, lying through her teeth.  Margaret and the other woman exchanged greetings from across the large, round, white linen covered table.  Margaret awkwardly asked Jan if she had children, since she really could think of no other common ground.  “Yes”, said Jan, “a second grader and a fourth grader… and you? I heard you have a basketball team of your own! Do you work?”  “Four”, said Margaret, holding up four fingers of her fair-skinned freckled hand.  “And no, I no longer work.  I was a Respiratory Therapist what seems like a life time ago”, said Margaret, rolling her aquamarine blue eyes.  “Oh, I can only imagine you can not work.  How could you?” said Jan, as she picked apart her bread.  After a slight moment of silence, Jan immediately leaned over Margaret to tell Roberto that she was interviewing a Fellow to join her in July.

As Jan and Roberto were conversing, Margaret took notice of how little makeup Jan was wearing.  She looked around at all of the women sitting at her table and noticed that none of them had been wearing much makeup.  Their eyes had not been outlined by charcoal; rather, they were accentuated from their passionate gaze while exchanging ideas or sharing monumental accomplishments.  Margaret grasped her napkin off of her lap and managed to raise it to her mouth in spite of Jan and Roberto’s head continuing to occupy the front of her body.  She pretended to wipe her mouth as she discreetly wiped the lipstick off of her mouth.    She lowered the napkin back to her lap while covertly covering up the deep mauve that caused a crime scene upon the virgin white napkin. Roberto lovingly placed his hand upon hers.  Margaret appreciated his warm hand that cast off a green complexion against her pale pink skin.  She then looked at him, engaged in his conversation with Jan, and admired the sincere happiness that emoted from his ingenuous, big, round brown eyes.  She caught sight of the skin on the back of his neck and felt an infantile need to sniff the small patch off warm, oily, olive skin that was exposed above his white collar.  “I need just one hit”, she thought to herself.  Under the smell of cologne she longed for the familiar smell of musky oil mixed with a hint of what smelled to her like a baby’s saliva on their morning pajamas.  She could just imagine the scent penetrating her body through her nose and then nourishing her empty chest.

At that moment, Jan’s head was forced back to position, thanks to a white-gloved waiter serving Margaret from the left a small white plate topped with a sparse portion of mixed greens.  Roberto nudged Margaret with his elbow and joked, “Let’s see what million dollar lettuce tastes like!”  Margaret rolled her eyes and smirked at him.  As she sat in a rigid, upright position, she took delicate bites, and shallow breaths with her fork in her left hand, knife in her right hand.  She inconspicuously watched the way the others at the table held their forks.  Kevin stood out to her as he cleaned the back of his teeth with his index finger and then licked it.    She then looked at nothing but her plate.  As she ate, she immediately imagined what Jan’s mother must be like in comparison to hers.  She imagined Jan’s mother holding her as a baby, probably smiling with Chiclet white teeth, a sandy blond bob, and pearls around her neck.  She then thought of her mother in contrast, holding Margaret as a baby, feeding her a bottle while a lit Marlboro Red dangled from her lip.  Immediately, Margaret fast forwarded to Jan most likely moving in to her dorm at Princeton, her mom helping her move in of course.  Then she switched over to herself, twenty five years old, filling out financial aid forms to attend the Respiratory Therapist program at the local Community College.  Just then, Margaret began to imagine all those who failed her as a child as life size bobble head dolls that she could punch over and over again while watching their bobble heads furiously shake from side to side.  “How cathartic that feels to punch those faces”, she thought to herself.  Margaret then put down her utensils and pushed her olive green velvet chair away from the table as she excused herself to Jan and Roberto.  Margaret lifted up her enormous dress as she headed for the ladies room.  “These damn Spanx are going in the trash”, she said to herself.

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