Tuesday, September 24, 2002

Charles Fitzhuge Fridge knew how to throw a party. Any gathering of friends at his house on the corner of Eslava & Ceder Street in the Church Street East District of Mobile Alabama could be transformed into a bona fide party, often times by merely proclaiming someone guest of honor. Those occasions that he thoroughly planned turned out to be major events that had people talking for days.
In the summer of 1985, Mark, my significant other at the time, and I attended "A White Party" at the home of Charles and Benji T. Those two had been an item for about a year and it was the first gathering I had been invited to after months of Benji-inspired isolation. That was to become a pattern every time Charles moved a new boyfriend into his house. But I digress; it was a wonderful party and a good time was had by all.
Things had changed for everyone by the spring of 1986. Charles and Benji had broken up and Benji moved across the bay to Fairhope. Mark had been transferred to Minneapolis, MN in February and I got laid-off from my job in a print shop in March. Mark came back in April and we packed up the contents of our house on Houston Street and put it in storage and I moved into Charles's house while trying to get my act together to join Fox up north. Over the years I'd seen many people occupy that room at Eslava Street and never believed for a minute that I'd ever be one of them.
On Friday the thirteenth of May 1986, Charles, Benji, DaviDC., and Charles and Patricia Mc. hosted "Another White Party" in honor of Mark and Sue Chastain, who were visiting from San Francisco. It was to be a much bigger affair than the first White Party and I wouldn’t have the luxury of being a mere guest at this one, this time I was living with Charles and my name was on the invitation as one of the hosts Things would be expected of me.

Cecil H., Charles’s 18 year old Baldwin County boyfriend, came over Sunday night and stayed until Wednesday. His parents thought he was at the beach with friends, instead he was at the home of a thirty something known homosexual breaking all kinds of commandments. He arrived shortly after Charles and Benji left to see "Ambushed by the Holy Majority," Tom Perez’s latest play. Of course there was a scene when the boys got back and Benji realized his ex-lover was seeing some one new (and much younger!) He left in a huff and we were all glad to see him go, me especially. A little bit of Benji T. goes a long, long way and my tolerance is way lower than most.
Monday morning after finishing coffee, The Young & the Restless, and marijuana, I put on a B-52’s tape and we all got busy cleaning house. The three of us were a cleaning machine, doing everything from putting shutters back on the front windows, replacing the curlicue trim on the front porch, to dusting, vacuuming, and mopping. Charles said he was very proud of his “nigra helpers.”
Tuesday was just as busy until Charles had to leave for his final board of directors meeting at the Mobile Yacht Club. By this time Cecil was getting bored with housework and I had things to do and didn’t feel compelled to entertain him. He sighed a lot. Charles came in a couple of hours later feeling good about the way he had handled himself at the meeting and proceeded to lecture Cecil on the difference between proper planning and mere conniving. Wednesday was busy too.

The Houseguest from Hell
Thursday morning Charles called to tell me he was going to Fairhope so Benji could finish a portrait of him and from there, onto to Pensacola to get booze and to pick up John D., who was flying in from West Virginia for the party. It amazes me how much cheaper it is to fly into Pensacola or New Orleans than Mobile. I borrowed the next door neighbor’s lawn mower and cut grass in order to take my mind off the fact I hadn't heard from Mark in over two weeks. Long distance love affairs suck! Charles and John arrived at about 2:00 and that’s when the real fun began.
John was well on his way to being very fucked up by the time Charles picked him up at the airport at noon. He had popped Valiums for breakfast, had three or four beers on the plane and at least that many more Valiums. John had always liked drugs, particularly prescription medication, and since a bad car wreck a couple of years before, had used this as a good excuse for doing it all to excess; we’re talking milking something for all it’s worth here. They stopped in Bay Minette to see John’s family and a scene straight out of a Tennessee Williams play unfolded right before Charles’s eyes. John’s pious grandfather met them at the back door and said he could smell beer on their breath. John slurred, "So what?" Charles poured his beer down the drain and popped a Certs in his mouth, mentally girded his loins, and followed John into the house. His grandmother was on her deathbed and apparently has been since sometime in the mid 70’s. It seemed his entire family was quite skilled at milking a situation to death. Several family members were in her room, including John’s mother, his aunt, and a couple of young cousins or nieces. They all commented on John’s obvious state of intoxication and he said,
“That’s right; “I've had 3 beers and 3 valiums. What’s wrong with that?”
“Oh John, you shouldn’t mix those pills with alcohol,” said his poor sick granny.
“Why not? You do!!” snapped John. A tense silence fell over the room. He seemed to have realized this flair-up wasn’t going to get him what he wanted so he managed to calm down long enough to sit at the edge of granny’s bed and ask in his sweetest voice if he could use her Mercedes for a couple of days while he was in town.
"Of course not," she said, "Especially in your present condition. How could you possibly get it to Mobile? Perhaps if you were to come back when you're a little less intoxicated, but certainly not today."
That really pissed John off and he started telling everybody how no one in the family ever did anything nice for him. They all told him that was not entirely true and that he was simply going to have to do something about his drug and alcohol problem. He retorted by telling everyone to fuck off and it just got uglier from there. John never did anything half-assed so I had no problem visualizing this Southern Gothic drama.
Charles dropped John off at 550 Eslava and we unload the car while John droned on about how unfair life is and how everyone misunderstood him. Charles gave me a couple of knowing, almost apologetic looks then went to the Yacht Club for a few hours. It was obvious to me that John was real loaded and I immediately copped an attitude. John and I had never been friends; we were polite to each other and occasionally enjoyed each other’s company, but it was Charles we had in common. I’ve never liked being around drunks and just couldn’t help my righteous indignation from showing thru.
First thing John did was fix himself a screwdriver, splash some on the floor, and proceeded to tell me how he had just gotten Charles involved in the nastiest family fight of the century. I listened to his story once but apparently didn’t seem interested enough on the second telling because he stopped in mid sentence and whined something about he could tell I didn't give a shit.
“John, you’ve told me the story with more detail than anyone should have to endure and now you’re repeating yourself.” That was probably the wrong thing to say and he turned extremely surly.
He called his dad at work in Atmore and told him what had happened, including how many pills he had taken and how many times he had told whom to fuck off. I was in my room writing while John cried and screamed at his father. Mr. D. must've asked John what he wanted him to do about it because John started screaming, “You’re my father, my father; you shouldn’t have to ask me that.” When he began repeating himself for the 3rd time, I went outside and started pulling weeds. This was an absolute nightmare as far as I was concerned. This was Charles’s friend, but merely my acquaintance and I had never cared that much for him in the first place.
Soon John came out to the back porch (with a fresh drink in his hand) and asked me to come inside and talk to him. It was too hot to stay outside. He was upset because his father finally hung up on him.
“He told me he was with a couple of clients and couldn’t talk to me anymore. Now what’s more important; his son or a couple of clients?”
“John, what did you want him to do?”
“I wanted him to hear what I had been through! Those people treat me so bad. I’ve been through a lot of shit and they treat me like trash. My own grandmother told me I’m different. Now what do you suppose that means?”
“He did hear what you’d been through; three times at least. All he could do at that point in time was hear you out. He was at work, for God sake! Sixty miles away! What the hell did you expect from him?”
He moaned and groaned a little more and told me I just didn’t understand the situation, then went back to the phone. I told him I was expecting a call and to please keep it brief, then went outside. I don’t know who else he called or how long he talked because I tried to stay out of his way. In the mean time, he went through half a bottle of vodka and staggered around the freshly cleaned house like a bull in a china shop, knocking things over and spilling drinks.

Could You Take John to the Hospital?
Charles came back at about 4:15 and asked me if I’d take John to the hospital to have his stomach pumped. What??!! Mr. D. had called Charles at the Yacht Club and requested it because each time he talked to John, the number of pills he claimed to have taken increased, and the line at 550 Eslava was busy. Charles simply didn’t have the time to deal with this. I had no idea it was that serious, so we lugged John out to my car then searched his bags for his insurance card, drivers license, and the pill bottle. John said he threw it across the street but we found it in his overnight bag. Out of 40 prescribed 10mg Valliums, there were 15 left and it had been filled the day before. I started to take the bottle with me but Charles said, “No, they’ll just take ‘em away from him. Let’s keep ‘em ‘cause we can use ‘em!” And proceeded to pour them into his shirt pocket. At that moment the phone rang; it was Sue Chastain, wife of the guest of honor, calling from Magnolia Springs to see if Charles wanted to have supper with them that evening.
“No, I’ve still got a lot to do around here and an old friend arrived this afternoon from West Virginia and has tried to commit suicide by O.D.ing on valiums and booze and we’re about to take him to the hospital,” he said, oh-so calmly. Thank God Charles had only taken 2 of John’s pills and they were effecting him like they were designed to. I think it’s the 1st time I’d ever seen valium work the way it was supposed to.
“You’re not serious! That’s not really happening!” I heard Sue shriek, obviously thinking Charles was joking.
“Oh yes it is honey, believe it! I’m so glad y’all made it in okay and I would love to chat a while and come visit tonight, but I’ve really got to run now. See y’all tomorrow! Bye!” Charles never ceased to amaze me.
So I drove John to the Mobile Infirmary in an intense afternoon thunderstorm while he babbled senselessly about the raw deal life had dealt him before finally passing out near Five Points. I got him inside then went to the Admissions desk to supply the necessary info. The place was nearly dead when we got there but within 5 minutes it was a bustle of activity. A fat redneck man was waiting his turn at the admissions counter as I told the woman all I could, including that we figured he had taken as many as 15 pills, 5 or 6 beers, and at least 3 stiff cocktails.
“Fifteen valiums? Nobody needs to take that many!” said the man.
“Nobody needs to take them period. Except for people whose friends come in from out of town and take too many!” I replied. Everyone present appreciated that.
The waiting room was full of some of the absolute ugliest people I’ve seen in recent years. It seemed that everyone was trying to outdo each other in terms of the severity of his or her loved ones condition and they didn’t like me ‘cause I wouldn’t play with them. Tough shit. I watched the news then went to see what John’s status was. He was resting comfortably and no one knew if he was going to be admitted or released so I gave our phone number and went home.
I hadn’t eaten anything since a bowl of Cheerios that morning and the Cherry Coke I drank at the hospital was about to eat a hole thru my stomach lining so I stopped and got a burger and went home to eat it. Afterwards I mopped up John’s messes then went outside and pulled more weeds. It was wonderful, mindless therapy for a wired body!
A while later someone from the hospital called to say John was fine and ready to come home. I called and found out Charles had left the Yacht Club but he came in as I was writing a note telling where I was going.
“No, don’t go get him yet; he’ll keep. Let’s go smoke pot and you tell me about your day and I’ll tell you about mine,” he said, taking my hand and leading me into the house. He looked so tired and child like that I felt an incredible wave of love and empathy for my friend “Chuck.”
We sat in my room while Charles told me all that had happened from the time he got John at the airport and I told him my end of the story. The hospital called again, asking to speak with Mr. Culwell, but Charles fielded the call, saying I wasn’t there. Then he got on the phone trying to find someone to keep John. We simply did not need that man around the house that evening; he would have required far more hand holding that I was willing to give or even allow. There was too much we had to finish in time for the ‘party of the season’ and baby sitting a failed suicide attempt wasn’t on my list of things to do. Eventually a friend of John’s called and when told of the day’s events, said she’d be glad to go get him and keep him for the night. That took a load off our minds!
Later Cory, one of Charles’s boyfriends from or Pensacola arrived -on crutches with a broken toe. He settled down in the living room and promptly asked for an ice pack. I knew right off that he’d be a lot of help. Within 20 minutes I’d thrown his crutches across the room, after tripping over them for the 2nd time, and told him nobody there was prepared to play step'n'fetchit for him; he’d best keep out of the way and tend to his own needs. Somebody had to say it and I’m usually happy to be that one. It’s good to growl at people sometimes!
Within an hour there was an absolute bustle of activity at 550 Eslava. Steve I. came over with an ice chest, Sally, Charles’ mom, came to sew curtains for his room, and Benji came to hang paintings. The place was a madhouse and I was a nervous wreck until I popped a valium, at Steve’s insistence. For some reason, every little thing was bothering the hell out of me! It worked its magic and soon I was fine. I scored big points when I fixed Sally’s sewing machine. I don’t why people think I’m so damn mechanically inclined, but it’s always David who gets asked to fix things. At midnight, David T. and Andrew, his current lover, arrived from Orlando. Lots was accomplished that night and I didn’t pitch any more fits.

Back Stage
Friday the thirteenth was extremely busy. Charles woke everybody up at 8:00 and made a pot of coffee and baked cinnamon rolls. It took us about an hour to get started, then everyone busted ass all day- except Cory of course, but at least he wasn’t in the way and didn’t get on my nerves. I managed to complete a couple of tasks I’d set for myself. I installed a brass knocker on the front door that Charles had had for 3 years, and replaced a window pane that had been broken since he moved in. Steve stopped by at about 5:30 as I was getting out of the tub, with a hit of acid for Charles and me to split. I had been looking forward to tripping that night as much as anything else and ate my half then. By 8:00, I was wishing I hadn’t. Later Charles said he didn’t think he could’ve survived without his medicine.
Charles hired a friend and former coworker named Barbara to play bartender and work in the kitchen. She was about 5’4” and weighed upwards of 200 pounds- kind of like a miniature version of Mammy! John arrived while I was in the tub and was working on preparing the table when I joined in. I must admit the food looked fabulous and he was wonderfully subdued. I guess a botched suicide attempt sometimes has a calming effect on a lot of people, so anyway, he definitely redeemed himself.
We placed white paper bags with candles all around the sidewalks and patio, and rented 25 white wooden folding chairs for the back yard. Sally loaned us her stereo and I set it up on the veranda below the bathroom window. Carmen Brown, local D.J. and totally hip black woman, supplied wonderful jazz tapes and manned the stereo all evening. Her toddler was the only child there but he was a delight. He slept on my bed for hours with people coming in and out and rarely stirred. We had a reel to reel tape player in the living room with Laurence Welk type music for the older folks, thinking they’d stay in there, but the patio was the place to be. I filled the fountain with magnolia blossoms and a few yucca flowers and it was just too piss elegant for words. There were 3 or 4 vases around the house with yucca flowers I swiped from an old woman across Canal Street. She had a shit load of them growing in her yard and I asked real politely if I could have some for a party we were having the next day but she said no and got real ugly about it. I went back that night and took about twice as many as I would’ve taken if she’d just let me have them when I asked. Besides, it’s usually easier to get forgiveness than permission!

People started arriving at 7:00, just as the invitation stated. At first they were mostly Charles’s friends and a more diverse group I’d never seen. There was the president of Springhill College, who was also the commodore of the Mobile Yacht Club as well as Charles’ love toy. And believe me, the image of that coupling, usually aboard a boat in the middle of the bay, is not a pretty sight to have flash in one’s mind. We had artists, lawyers, doctors, queens, politicos, and several ordinary folks.
I still hadn’t come on to my acid yet and that was odd because it had been over an hour and a half and I always come on well within an hour of dosing. I was feeling good and knew I looked good. Originally I had on a pair of black, gray, and white Jam pants Charles bought then decided not to wear, black leather high-tops with red laces, red sun glasses, and a white sleeveless tee shirt with lizards block printed on the front. I change into my white 501’s when Benji walked in wearing the same pants! That’s okay too; the jeans made my package look most impressive!
At about 7:30 I walked across the street to the vacant lot we used for valet parking and smoked a joint with Cecil on the hood of Steve’s car. The house looked great in the waning sunlight and I enjoyed seeing the pink neon circle glowing over the fireplace. We admired our handiwork on the house and I told him about John’s escapades the day before.
“So... Are you ready for this?” I asked. We braced ourselves and went in to the party. As soon as we got inside, we encountered Steve and Jim R., who said we needed to go somewhere & sample something he had. We smiled & mingled towards the back of the house & came upon a guy Cecil knew and a couple of his friends, and the 7 of us went into my room to smoke another joint. I honestly don’t know how long we stayed in there, but as soon as I opened the door to leave, I saw there must have been 100 people in the house and I immediately came onto my acid with a sudden jolt that made me stagger back into Steve. I slammed the door because suddenly I couldn’t go out there! It flipped me right out and immediately I longed to be merely stoned, not fucked up. We all giggled about it and I angsted big time over it for a few moments before deciding it was too late now, then we spilled out of my room like a noisy gaggle of faggots and joined the party.
There were so many people there I didn’t know and some I did know but could have cared less about. I managed to be pleasant and say “hello” to most everyone I made eye contact with. There were a few I took great delight in snubbing. There were people I wanted to spend time with but only managed brief moments in passing. Charles was the perfect, charming host. The man was born to host large parties! Every time I saw him he seemed to be with an older person or couple. Workin’ that crowd and makin’ those contacts! He took care of his, I took care of those I perceived to be mine, although all I really wanted was just to be able to enjoy this wonderful party I was at! Benji had his crowd and Charles Mc. and Patricia W. had a rather large following. Many people mixed freely between the various groups, but I noticed that for the most part, it was a very cliqueish gathering. Twice Charles and I passed within close proximity while flitting here or there and he said in his deepest, most charming Southern drawl, “Hello. Are you as high as I am?” I felt I probably was but hoped my eyes didn’t look as bleary as his. I had seen him disappear into his bedroom more than once so God only knew what kind of drugs Chuck was on.
At the peak of the party, which must have been about 10:00, there were probably between 130 and 150 people in and around Charles’s house. I was amazed at all of the upscale autos parked out front. Someone on the front porch counted 5 Mercedes, 4 Volvos, 4 BMWs, and 2 Porches. Yep, Church Street East was the place to be that night! Most everyone wore white or white and a pastel, and looked absolutely lovely. I heard delightful snatches of conversation and saw some very dear folks that I just don’t see enough of these days.
I caught some spaced-out queen from Mississippi about to drop a piece of blotter acid in my African water frog’s bowl which was on the mantle in the living room.
“What the hell are you doing?” I demanded, not raising my voice at all & real glad I had happened by at that moment.
“Oh, It would be so cool to watch the frog trip-out,” came the reply.
“And just what makes you think this tiny amphibian will react to acid the same way we do? Go share that stuff with a friend and leave my frog alone.” Once again I was amazed at the blatant stupidity of some people!
Too often I was interrupted while engaged in conversation with a beautiful person I didn’t know but in whose presence I was delighting. I was practically in heat that evening and was fanaticizing about each and every good looking man I met. Glenn B., a person I've known since collage and truly detest, did that twice, once to ask an inane question and later to make some pointless comment about something that mattered not at all, which caused everyone to walk away, casting backward glances. If I could’ve wished him gone with my mind, people would be wondering where he was today.
I didn’t hear many drinks spilled, nothing major was broken or stolen, and no one fell through the banister into the holly bushes. The railing around the front porch wasn’t all that stable and I had envisioned a severe catastrophe happening with all of those drunk people on the front porch. Charles’s theory is that when you dress people up in white, they tend to be that much more careful He was so wise.

My Room
Several times during the evening I retreated to my room for a breather. I guess one of the best things about having a party at home is knowing where all of the good hiding places are. It turned out to be a great place to hang out and some of the best moments of the evening took place there. The decor was unlike the rest of the house; neon was glowing and my computer was on, running a kaleidoscope program.
I had invited Rich and Linda T. because they are neat people and also because I like Rich and have had some very interesting moments with him in the past. It turned out that Linda and Mark Chastain had been very close friends in school. They had been out of touch for years and were absolutely delighted to see one another. I felt good about that. There was a good payoff. Linda told me about her connection with Mark as we sat on my bed, with Carmen’s child fast asleep and nestled in a bunch of pillows, out of harms way at the headboard.
Someone looked in while waiting in line for the bathroom and asked what we were doing.
“Baby sitting,” replied Linda in that wonderfully sultry voice of hers. “There’s a baby and we’re sitting.”
“Oh...” replied the woman, then took her turn in the WC.
People left me all sorts of pills on my bedside table, and I found that very interesting. I perceived it as offerings of some strange 20th century ritual. I’m not a big fan of pharmaceuticals, and I’d certainly never take a pill that I wasn’t absolutely sure of, nevertheless, the collection of pills steadily increased and changed during the course of the evening. Whenever I was in there with people, I offered them freely and several times one or more was popped by a grateful party guest. I hope nobody died.

The Acid Effect
I experienced a major identity crisis in regards as to what my role should be as one of the official hosts of the party. There had been no doubt of this up until guests started arriving. It had to have been the drugs that caused me to make such a big deal out of this because I always know what to do. We hadn’t assigned specific duties before hand but it seemed everyone had assumed a useful function but me, so I did what I’ve been doing since age 5: took out the trash. I grabbed a trash bag and made periodic passes thru the house gathering empty cans, cups, and dirty glasses. Barbara wouldn’t let me, or anyone in the kitchen except to take out the trash and bring in glasses. We worked well together that night. Once she even sent word that she was running out of glasses!
With all of that good looking food on hand, on the table that John kept looking nice, all I ate was a few slices of smoked turkey in a roll with a blob of mayo. I don’t like to eat at parties because I’m always the one who ends up with crap between his teeth that nobody will tell.
This acid trip promoted more hardcore guilt than I’ve ever experienced before. I didn’t like my story for the evening, the circumstances that had kept me in Mobile, seeing all those people I’d said goodbye to a month earlier, etc, etc. It was much closer to what I feel like on mushrooms. That’s not to say I didn’t have some truly wonderful moments. I decided that LSD is not the proper party drug for me. I’m a fun drunk because I become so damn loving, but LSD opens too many doors that should remain shut. I’ll save that drug for private times.

Post Party Party
By midnight, all of the old folks had left and pot was being smoked openly throughout the house. John rode to Gulf Shores with some friends and we shared a good moment before he left. He thanked me for taking him to the hospital and apologized for any trouble he might have caused. We hugged and I assured him it had only endeared him to me that much more. See? I most certainly can lie convincingly once in a while! Seriously, it did make me think much more highly of John D. I was able to spend more time with the few quality people left and the party continued on in earnest until about 3:00. Lisa N. and I had a good talk on the patio about love, Mobile, and how often the two don’t mix very well. She had seen several old friends that evening and was happy about it.
By 2 am, there were only about a dozen people left, with 5 of them staying the night. Ron P. and David T. talked in depth about the hotel business for quite a while as Charles laid on the couch and fought hard to stay awake. He motioned me over and told me he wanted to suck Ron's dick and I said everyone in the room wanted to suck Ron’s dick. I also told him I wanted to go to bed with Cory. “Okay, let’s trade,” he said. Trade what? Ron wasn’t mine to trade and if he had been, I wouldn’t have swapped him for anyone there!
“Ron, does it bother you that everyone in this room wants to get into your pants?” asked Charles from across the room. I know he was trying to be seductive, but it didn’t come across that way at all; in fact, a slight shiver ran down my spine. I don’t remember Ron’s reply, but he wasn’t flipped out by it. There are those who are convinced that Ron is a closet case and it’s only a matter of time before someone gets him.

Putting it All Away
Charles finally passed out before the last of the guests left. It had been quite an evening for him and I was surprised he lasted as long as he did. I knew it would be days before I was able to receive a full party report from him. I got Ron to help me bring in the stereo and silver punch bowl, which still contained about a liter of White Russian and had a couple of neighborhood cats lapping contentedly from it. We stacked the chairs and collected most of the paper bags with candles and put the trash out. After he left I loaded the dishwasher and coffee maker, and started a load of towels. For whatever reason, we went through an awful lot of towels that evening! By 4:00, every one was gone or in bed, except Cory. We tried to rouse Charles but he was down for the count so we opened up the other couch into a bed and rolled him over onto it. We loosened his belt, removed his shoes, and tucked him in for the evening.
Cory and I retired to my room for mutual back rubs and one thing led to another and I had satisfying sex for the first time in months. He decided to sleep with me because he knew everyone else would be up long before him and he didn’t want to be in the middle of the living room with us trying to clean up around him. The logic of it made complete and total sense. It was 5:00 when I finally went to sleep.

There’s Got to be a Morning After
Saturday morning Charles came in at 7:30 and woke us up. I’ve always had a hard time dealing with those folks who think that if they’re awake, then everybody else should be awake too. Someone had called to see if the party was still going on! Can you believe that? I told Charles that the coffee pot was loaded and ready to go and he left. I tried to go back to sleep but soon realized I was wide awake. Charles was stomping around in the kitchen making lots of noise and besides, Cory was in a weird position and wouldn’t budge, so I got up. I fixed myself a cup of coffee and went out and sat with Charles on the patio in the very early morning sun.
Charles was upset because he woke up alone then found his “trick for the evening” in bed with me. You’ve just gotta hate it when that happens, right? I found this incredibly ironic because just a few hours earlier he had been most distraught because he finally realized he had 4 or 5 active boyfriends at the party and felt sure they all expected to spend the night with him. What’s a guy to do? Sounds like orgy time to me! I assure him that he hadn’t been abandoned, but rather lovingly tucked in. That seemed to have done the trick; he had been reassured. Then he started talking about the party and actually wept when he recalled how truly beautiful it had all been. I was immediately reminded of the scene in The Great Gadsby when Jay shows Daisy his wardrobe and throws shirts everywhere. Daisy weeps and says, “Oh Jay, I’ve never seen such lovely shirts!” That was Charles to a tee on the morning after Another White Party.