The Invitation

THE INVITATION

Social confusion, embarrassment, awkwardness and “fish-out-of-waterness” all perfectly describe an experience I had years ago when I was in an interval between colleges and back with my parents, who were stationed overseas at the time.

I’d been there a few months when my father, after work, handed me an envelope with my name written on it in blue ink. “Where did this come from?” I asked as I opened it.

“It was apparently in my interoffice mail from work. Marguerite (his secretary) delivered it to my desk along with the other mail.”

It was an invitation to a party, announcing an informal gathering hosted by Jim and Marie Anderson, to be held at their place, mentioning “cocktails and hors d’oeuvres,” with “No RSVP required--just come, next Saturday at 8 p.m.” Handwritten underneath was “Judy, looking forward to seeing you! Marie.” I studied the invitation, trying to put the name to one of the girls I’d met recently (I am terrible with names when first meeting people, but can remember them visually). I thought it must be the tall, redheaded girl with the yellow floral mini dress that I’d had a nice chat with at an embassy reception two weeks prior; although I’d been introduced to a number of people, she seemed the most likely. Our fathers both worked for USAID, we had some shared interests, and she’d said, “Let’s stay in touch.”

I debated going to the party at all, since I tended to be shy around people I didn’t know. At the same time, I was eager to make some friends and at least I knew Marie, plus, from her note, she wanted me there! As the days went by, I imagined myself happily interacting with a group of sympatico’s, forging new friendships, and learning the ropes of the relatively small American community there.

When Saturday rolled around, I set out for the party, wearing a colorful paisley knit top, mini skirt and sandals, which I concluded was an appropriately casual outfit and one that was fairly similar to Marie’s taste and style. Marie and Jim (who I assumed was her husband, though the subject never came up) lived in a nondescript apartment building in a residential area where a lot of Americans lived while in Ankara. At my knock, the door was opened by a blond woman in her mid-thirties whom I’d never seen before. Past her through the foyer, I could see people congregating in small groups in a large living room, drinks in hand, and could hear chatter and occasional laughter. The lady and I started at each other for a moment, me in confusion (I was expecting it to be Marie at the door) and she with a cryptic expression after she’d given my outfit a once-over glance. She said, “You’re here for the party? Come in. I’m Donna. Who are you?”

“I’m Judy, Judy Smith. Glad to meet you, Donna.” I held out my hand for a shake. Donna reciprocated with a skeptical look and said, as she was turning away, “Well, the bar’s down there and to the left. Help yourself.” Already feeling slightly uncomfortable, I wandered into the room to discover that I was under-dressed and way too colorful. I could see mostly black or navy cocktail dresses, knee length, for the women and sports coats and slacks for the men. I was aware of a few glances my way as I made a bee-line for the bar. As I approached, a jovial-appearing man looked up from uncorking a bottle and said, smiling, “Hello. What can I get you?”

“A gin and tonic would be good,” I replied.

“Coming right up. By the way, I’m Jim,” he said. Are you enjoying the party?”

“I just got here. Thought I’d get a drink before tracking Marie down.”

“So, you know Marie?” Jim asked with a quizzical expression.

“Yes, and you must be her other half,” I answered, trying to appear at ease and folksy.

He chuckled and said, “But you know we’re not identical; right? I chuckled back, hoping he didn’t notice how perplexed I was by this comment.

“You can find Marie in the kitchen. That door on my right,” and handed me my drink.

“Thanks,” I said and went into the kitchen, where a few party-goers were gathered, none of whom were Marie. They looked up briefly from what obviously was a private conversation, so I excused myself and went back through the adjoining bar, now empty. She must have gone back to the living room, I thought, and proceeded there. No Marie in sight. I passed by Donna and another woman and heard bits of their exchange.

“__says her name is Judy Smith,” she said in a low voice. The other woman gave a slight guffaw and replied, “You’re kidding; right?”

I was feeling pretty uncomfortable at that point. I’d been there about 15 minutes, and it seemed like an hour. I couldn’t place what it was, but something was definitely off. For one, they were mostly older than Marie and, with the exception of Jim, weren’t all that friendly, though I conceded they didn’t know me. And I’d misconstrued what “informal” meant with respect to attire. I guessed it was the cryptic comments I’d overheard and the occasional subtle but knowing looks I was getting from around the room that made me feel suspected of something devious.

I stood in a corner of the room, sipping my drink, trying to act nonchalant and unflappable, meanwhile anxiously scouring the room for Marie. Eventually, two guys came over to me, the taller with a mirthful, conspiratorial expression and the other with a less decipherable one.

“Hi, there! he boomed. I’m Matt and this is Hal,” gesturing to his friend, who gave a nod.

“I’m Judy. Judy Smith,” I replied enthusiastically. Finally! I thought. Someone to talk with. They gave each other a meaningful smirk, and Matt said robustly. Now, that’s a name to conjure with. For real?”

“Yes! I often get comments when I tell someone my name, like ‘What? Traveling incognito?’ In fact, once I---”

“Marie is looking for you,” interrupted the short guy, giving me an appraising look

“Oh, okay. Good! I was looking for her, too. Where is she?

“She’s right over there, talking to Donna,” he said, and they both sauntered away, laughing and shaking their heads. I looked over at Donna with another woman I’d never seen before tonight except in the kitchen and suddenly I realized what was going on and knew I had to get out of there. As I headed for the door, I heard Donna call out, “Leaving so soon, Judy Smith?” I mumbled a thank you for the invite and slinked out of the door.

***

In retrospect, I should have figured out that the red-haired girl I thought was Marie was not Marie as soon as Jim made the comment about not being identical. They were most likely fraternal twins, so he was not Marie’s husband or boyfriend but her brother. Therefore, Marie was not my red-haired friend, and I knew absolutely no one there. I wonder if they figured out that I was not a crazy person impersonating their friend Judy, but that my name really was Judy Smith and I had received the invitation by mistake. I wonder if the other Judy Smith could see the humor in the situation, even though she missed out on the party. My advice to anyone, should they find themselves in an embarrassing mix-up similar to this, is to try to be present in the moment, try to follow the clues, and try to be flexible and willing to question what you regard as the truth or reality in any situation. Above all, be charitable towards yourself and your mistakes. We all make them.