The Party I Never Attended

The Party I Never Attended

By

James Robert Smith.

An old pal came to me.

“I just want you to know,”

he said.

“I’m going to a party.

and they’re going to be there.”

“Oh,” I said.

“That’s interesting.”

In those days I still

shared

a few

mutual friends.

But not for long.

“I just wanted to tell you,”

he told me.

“Just so’s you’d know.”

“Okay,” I said.

“Is there anything you

need

to tell me. You know.

About them.”

I thought it

over

for a minute.

“Well, I can tell you

something

she’ll do.

She’ll know you’re

a writer.

She’ll get someone to loan

her

your work.

She’ll read as much of

it

as she can before

the party.”

He nodded

again.

“And she’ll

flatter you.

That’s what she does.

She’ll flatter you and make

you think that

she thinks

you are great.”

He pondered this.

“And she might

even

critique your work.

Tell you where you

went wrong.”

He seemed to

consider

this, too.

“In a small way,”

I added. “Just to let

you

know that she was paying

attention.”

“Okay,” he said.

A few days later

I

saw him

again.

“Damn,”

he said.

“You were right on the

number.

She did

everything

you said

that she’d

do.”

I shrugged,

feigning

modesty.

“What a skank,”

he said.

We both roared.