Green for miles was the first thing that your eyes took in. The perfectly sculpt shrubbery framing the Huffington Mansion was lit up by a five tiered water-fall like fountain, serenading the approaching ears. When you strode into the party, the click-clacking of dress shoes filled your ears, followed by the laughter and chatter of excited voice. You were lost in the mix of Italian waiters, all you saw was red, but then there was black. Was it a grand piano you ask yourself, but right then four handsome middle aged men waltzed past with their beautiful sweethearts, like a pair of figure skaters on freshly shaven ice. In a frazzle, you take a right, light driving on a busy intersection, in hopes to conquer this obstacle of a house. As if the time stood still, the waves of people parted at the center, creating a walkway for a mysterious guest, your head spins, what was happening? Emerging out of the center of the crowd was the lovely Miss Anita, the queen of the house, which also happened to be the apple of your eye.
It was the summer of 1957 in late June when the ladies and gentlemen of the town had one thing in common: they were all counting down the days until the masquerade ball was to take place in the exquisite Huffington mansion. It was the perfect spot to have a party because it was tucked away in the ritzy area that bordered the shoreline of the glistening lake. Everything about this place was ideal, from the grass, to the flawlessly white swans quack-quacking down the rippling water into the never ending sunset. It was surely a sight to take in. The Huffingtons were known for their wealth and extravagant estate that everyone envied. The Huffingtons had precisely planned every minuet detail, knowing that this was their time to shine. Since they lived in a very comfortable fashion, their servants were put to work as soon as possible.
Purple, red, white. Purple, red, white. All around you were servants buzzing around like busy bees flying in and out of the mansion with fresh grapes from the vineyards. The squish squashing of the grapes along the thick, granite counters stained the bare hands of the arduous working servants. Thoughts encircled you as you floated like a stray balloon into the kitchen from the vineyard, like taking a trip to the toy workshop of Santa's little elves, the one wish you could never dream enough about. The aromas of the finest wines were swept into your nose the minute you strode in through the mammoth-like doors that led from the fantasy land that would have been a plain Jane's backyard.
The richness of the music strummed through the room, your heart was in your ears, the thump thumping putting you at peace with the vibrant surroundings. If you wouldn't have taken a second glance at the pianist, you would have thought that Mozart was gracefully pouring his music over the piano, creating those magical works he was so eminent for. Was that Anita? The piano was showing off your dear Anita who was perched atop of it, like a proud finch incubating her sacred, speckled eggs. You could smell the perfume she was wearing from a mile away, almost like it was tracking you down. It didn't waste time engulfing you, hugging you like a warm blanket on a snowy winter day. You felt all warm and fuzzy inside, not wanting to move like an intricately carved sculpture of a Greek God looking out upon his surroundings with no worries in the world.
There was much work for the servants to do not only was this going to be a party that was to take place inside, but many people were bound to drift outside for the weather was predicted to be dazzling. Out went the servants to begin their work, past the ceiling to floor windows that let the sun pour through them, warming your body like a hot shower, and out through the towering oak doors that led to where all the magic of the outdoors took place. Rows and rows of stunning poppies lined the smooth marble walkway. The poppies were an irritated artist's last attempt to get his paints the right color, splattering the pinks, yellows, and oranges haphazardly about the landscape.
Walking, walking down to the lake, so many things to stop and look at, where to turn, where to turn? There, here, over there. Feeling as if you were trapped inside a fish bowl, the silky, warm water bounced you up and down, exaggerating the whereabouts of the other guests that swam past you, you watched the brilliant colors, like a kite in the wind mixing and falling into one another like whipping the ingredients of a cake. You're out, and you dry off, enough swimming for one day, you think to yourself, but wait, were you even swimming?
Lying before you is a Kentucky Derby's worth of soft grass, some strands lost from the rest, and others holding onto the bottom of your shoes just for the ride. You take your just shined black shoes off, and tuck your best dress socks into your shoes, hiding them safely inside from the world outside. Your warm, naked feet welcome the grass from all around, sending a crisp, but refreshing feeling through your toes, up through your veins, to the tip top of your head, awakening the almost forgotten memories of your childhood, running barefoot on the grass with no intention of ever stopping. Suddenly startled, you snap back from your mind's chicanery. your top hat which was seated upon your head was stolen by the crisp summer breeze as your feet led you to the whispering willows that were settled aside the crystal clear lake. You plopped down next to a dancing willow, eavesdropping on the wind sharing all kinds of wild secrets with the tree. Wondering how they could be telling secrets with the hustle and bustle of the party, you submerge your feet into the lake, letting it cleanse you like a pouring rain, hoping to become incognito with the landscape that unpleasantly scratched your underside. As the breeze played games with your flowing hair, your sun kissed face radiated out into the distance.
Clink, clank, went Anita's fine china as the guests intermingled through the river of poufy dresses, and fine suits that occupied any open space like liquid in a sponge. Glittering jewels reflected upon the walls like gems in a mine, making the onlooker curious as to what precious stones the wall was hiding inside of it. Everyone looked perfect, not a single strand of hair lay out of place, for it hugged the guest's scalps as if they were in line at the barber shop for their few-month-too-late hair cut. you thought your eyes were busy, but your nose was about to retire, until the smell of garlic and butter crept through the thick cloud of perfumes and colognes that hung in the air like bats, too stubborn to move. The extravagant feast of warm pasta towered miles high on the decorative table settings that lined the king's table, next to loaves of garlic bread, and freshly picked lettuce that was waiting to be devoured. Smiles, old friends, new friends, clink, clank.
The party went on until all hours of the night when miss Anita Huffington strolled out onto the moonlit marble path. She was greeted by twinkling white stars smiling at her from the jet black sky. The gentle summer breeze led her to the gates of her mansion. Staring down the drive, she waved guests goodbye, and dreamt of the man who saw her on the piano.
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