Walking down a very familiar street, I was hit with the most heavenly scent. It came from the Muscadet Lily someone had planted right outside of the townhouse.
The scent was intoxicating and took me back to those times I played hostess with the mostest in my West Village apartment.
The dinner party involved several dishes - I was too ambitious for my own good as far as the menu was concerned.
But there's one thing I wouldn't regret. The summer centerpiece.
I should really call it the sidepiece as it was placed by the window overlooking the best corner of town. And the dining table was placed right next to the window.
The day of the dinner event, something possessed me to walk to the jungle on 28th St. - New York's famous flower market.
The lily took my breath away. The scent was intoxicating. So much so I bought forty. I remember carrying all those heavenly stalks in my arms on my trek back home.
I would spare nothing for creating a sumptuous fare, but when it came to the cab fare for 24 blocks, I found it wasteful. Back then (over a decade ago), I was happily nuts.
It was all worthwhile. The fragrant lilies towering over the night lights in the heart of the WV, the food, the extraordinary company - they left an indelible memory of summer pleasures.
Even when I had to pick up the messy orange pistils a week later, I was still enjoying the afterglow of such a successful dinner party.
Years later, I'd changed. I did mind the orange pistils. I never brought lilies into my home. One recent acquaintance from the Upper East Side had a tall vase of the same lilies but the pistils were gone. I asked her how this was possible.
She said she had the maid cut them off. "Ohhhhh, I see," I murmured. I remembered why I couldn't stand living in the UES. So sterile. On many counts.
Anyway, back to the present. I start thinking about Eliza Doolittle's young admirer - swooning, crooning, twirling on lamp posts. Just making a happy little ass of himself.
As far as Manhattan's concerned, enchantment certainly doesn't pour out of every door. But if the neighbor grows Muscadet Lilies, it's just on the street where you live.