My new husband (at the time) and I were required to go to
dinner at my parent’s, longtime friend’s house. I’d known Roberta most of my life; knew her ups and downs
and drunken stupors, too. I wasn’t
particularly looking forward to extreme intoxication even before dinner. But, I was too young to just say no and
Roberta was having a few people over to celebrate my marriage. We were spending our honeymoon in Santa
Fe.
We arrived right at the cocktail hour, dressed up
fancy. It was a very nice group of
people, all tall and thin and dressed in Santa Fe black. We were all
twenty-something except for Roberta who was my grandmother’s age. We lounged around and drank and chatted
for an hour or two before dinner.
It was enough time for everyone to get snockered. I drank more than usual, too, though
neither my husband nor I were really drinkers and we preferred beer, not hard
liquor.
Roberta was wearing a wig. Her hairline looked peculiar to begin with. I hoped I wouldn’t stare. But as the evening wore on, that
hairline got lower and lower on her forehead, at one point almost covering the
high arch of her eyebrow, on one side.
I tried not to look. I
don’t think anyone else noticed, they were so drunk when that happened. At one point one side of her wig was 3
inches longer than the other side, making the whole lop-sided thing, well, VERY
lopsided! She also started
smacking her lips and slurring. It
was time to eat! Please god!
When at last dinner was ready, we were ushered to a large
glass table with dainty plates and napkins and lots of silverware. It had turquoise wrought iron
legs. Roberta had the best
taste. Her eclectic adobe home
gave evidence of that. Everything
was visually very stimulating, at least.
Every one at the table of nine was male except for Roberta
and me. And, other than my
husband, they were all gay. I knew
they liked my spouse. We’d had
this experience before. We used to
occasionally go to gay bars in Dallas.
My husband danced the night away with everyone but me. He was the best dancer (I couldn’t
dance at all) and everyone wanted to dance with him. He was handsome, too, just over six feet tall and lean.
The minute we sat down, Roberta let her two toy poodles
inside. They raced around the
table, round and round. They
yapped and did that heel-biting thing that little dogs do until I thought I’d
scream. Roberta was oblivious to
them. Eventually, finally, they settled down for the most part.....for a few
minutes.
After our salads and before our beef stroganoff, the male
toy poodle began sniffing my husband’s shin. I could see him down below, right between my plate and the
knife and spoon. I focused on the
dog for a minute and then got into some conversation for a few minutes with
someone across the table. When I
looked back, I noticed my hubby twitching and looking down. He was wearing such a pained
expression. I looked through the table again. I could see the dog was no longer
sniffing my husband’s leg but was now beginning to hump his leg. My husband was shaking the dog off,
violently. That did not dissuade
the poodle, at all. He came back each time, running/humping for that leg!
My husband was polite for about 10 minutes but then he began
to jerk harder. The men began to
notice through their gin-soaked martini glasses. Everyone was moving their plates to one side to get a better
look. The dog would NOT stop. I told Roberta, but she lunged across
the table for the salt-shaker almost knocking one guest off his chair. She replied, “Oh yeah, hic, that’s
Murphy, he gets like that” and her voice trailed off.
Meanwhile, my husband’s leg was getting aggressively
raped. Everybody saw through the
glass table and EVERYONE was watching (except Roberta who was extolling about
how long Murphy had been in her life, through the last two of her husbands and
“still he was so frisky”). No one
else was talking, at all.
It wasn’t until dessert was finished that Roberta took
notice that everyone was looking down.
She moved her plate aside and saw that her dog was being kicked off and
kicked under and around the glass table, still humping like there was no
tomorrow.
Roberta laughed that whiskey kind of laugh and yelled, “Oh
don’t let him bother you! Just
step on his back toes when he does that and he’ll stop”.
And then she got up from the table to pour everyone a
cognac, lurched across the chaise lounge halfway across the room and passed out
cold.
Murphy, exhausted, curled up beside her and we all left.
