Duke Littleton invited a select number of guests - only 40 couples or so - to attend a cocktail party on the night prior to the public opening of his new exhibit at the Rocks. His scavenged collection had created quite a stir in the media, and Roberta and I were among the couples lucky enough to score one of the coveted invitations.
Our fortune likely had less to do with our rung on the social ladder that the fact that Duke and I were the sole survivors of our ill-fated camping trip to the Adirondacks during our graduate years at university. I won’t relive the experience now by its retelling, but please suffice with the explanation that we’ve had a deep bond ever since. Where Duke’s typical Littleton family aloofness inspires him to recognize this bond by issuing invitations for me and my wife to the occasional social function, I fear my recognition of the same is merely in accepting them.
While we rarely know anyone at these events, we will on occasion encounter the infrequent acquaintance. At last year’s tennis invitational, besides meeting two former presidents, we did have a nice chat with the current poet laureate, who seemed at least as out of place as we did. Such is the feeling we held once again as Berta, in her lovely blue gown, and I, in a rented tuxedo, strolled through the foyer of the Rocks for our evening with discovered art and artifacts from times past.
We were quite surprised when we ran into two actual social friends, Marisa and Scott. Only recently married, the two clung to each other in the similarly unfamiliar surroundings and discomfort that high-level dignitaries contribute to the atmosphere. Relieved to see a friendly face, with no sign of Duke anywhere, we gathered in front of a large mural depicting a scene of a serene sub-surface lake whose surface was ablaze.
