Last night, Monday evening August 27, 2012 was my first official evening of “vacation” also known as unemployment in more than six years and I was lucky enough to spend it doing the one thing I haven’t in so long due to my work-dictated schedule. The ever elusive dinner with friends.

It seems like such a small thing to be able to take a few hours to sit and sup with people you enjoy…and their friends.

At 6:45pm, Jeremiah and I set out with a bottle of Prosecco for dinner at my friend, #%*^’s, home. We arrived on time because if you know me you know that I hate being late and I don’t much care for those who consider being “fashionably” late, and showing up 30 minutes after everyone else, a worthy trait. But that’s just me.

So, what was to be dinner for 10 quickly turned into dinner for 8, as is expected in NYC, someone had double-booked and someone else had to cancel last minute. Now my friend, #*%^, is a gracious hostess and puts together a lovely dinner party with an always enjoyable mix of people from all arenas. I once had the pleasure of dinner with her parents and heard the most amazing stories of their lives as young Japanese Americans living in NYC and Boston after WWII. We’ve also dined with coworkers from various shows. Last night’s fete brought together great minds…two history teachers, the head of a prestigious private school, his partner and his father, the hostess, her precocious and multi-talented son, two fabulous black women, whose ships passed in the night and myself. I say that the two black divas passed in the night because one stopped in before she whisked herself away to make the engagement for which she had double booked and the latter was, well…late!

I had forgotten that the black diva still existed in a modern younger version. Long since the time of the theatrical divas as Vivian Reed, Sheryl Lee Ralph and Jennifer Lewis. These women who enter a room with a flourish and a fan and hold court. It’s clear that they took up the banner from gay men before them and have in many cases handed the banner back to the modern gay with his bag in the crook of his arm, don’t get me started, and his billowy tank top and coifed hair. I’m gonna need more fan-fared divas, please.

Diva number one, as I shall call her, is a young woman who I’ve known since my days working as a talent agent. When we met, she was a docile creature who was a fierce actress but doubted her singing ability. A sweet girl. She’s since starred in three broadway shows as a powerhouse singer and has found her voice. She flew into the room in a whirlwind of laughter and hair extensions with her frenetic energy and batting eyelashes. This is a women you want at a party, as long as she turns off her phone long enough to focus on the people IN the room. But we love her and forgive any self absorption that comes with being an actress. That gusto is something that is missing from many parties of mixed genders. I’ve been to countless all male soirèes and there’s always at least one gay man who can keep the room laughing and on the edges of their seats, regaling them with stories of past conquests.

Then diva number one left, as quickly as she’d arrived.

We were ushered to the table, by the talented albeit precocious son and seated for dinner…my female friend and seven men. If I were her, I’d always keeps those numbers. Nothing like being the only pretty girl in a room!

About half way through dinner we hear the bell announcing the arrival of our “Juanita come lately” final guest. Hold onto your iPads, hurricane “Fabuloso” just arrived. Diva number two, a former dancer and current faculty member at one of NYC’s world renowned dance companies, literally entered glowing of freshly applied body oil, wearing a flouncy bosom-bearing shirt, in a swirl of fabulousness with a fan. A mother-fucking fan!!! I knew this girl would either work my last nerve or be a handful of glitter…lucky for me, she was the latter.

Diva number two with her natural hair was ebullient and engaging, leaning forward enough for her less than bountiful charms to be seen by her student, the precocious one, and the other men at the table. Esprit de corps! Right?

Why did women stop wearing chiffon dresses and objet d’art as jewelry? GLAMOUR, GLAMOUR!!!

The conversation was definitely held captive by our modern day Isadora Duncan and myself, speaking freely about everything from Gabby Douglass’ hair to gay marriage to the abilities of American children and the electronic age they live in. Occasionally the educators would chime in but I must say its difficult to speak when two passionate artists are in the room. There were many differing views on child rearing and the importance of Facebook in the world, the development of an all boys academy in Harlem for the purposes of getting young at risk black men into programs that will allow them to attain more than the jail cell that awaits a third of all men of color under the age of 21, differing views on integrity and how much integrity we expect of our leaders. Those who know me well, know that my views and opinions are very clear. I expect perfection of myself and I hope that others will reach for the same goals. I don’t think, for me, that expecting less of others is the way to get them to do their best. I have never believed in the ideology of working so that the weakest link doesn’t feel “lesser”. I say, if I’m working harder or doing more, everyone else needs to BUMP UP their games.

One of the interesting moments of the evening was definitely the conversation of black women’s hair. The two black men and the black women clearly dominated this conversation with the others sitting back and listening, I think out of fear that someone would question how racially they could speak on the topic…except for the octogenarian male who accompanied his son and his son’s lover to dinner. He spoke clearly about how we each come to situations and views, as products of our surroundings and development. We each see things differently and expect or require what we require because of what we bring to the table. A farmer from Iowa has a different base of information than a teacher from Oregon or a dancer with a fan from NYC.

Amazingly, we all were able to have an open dialogue on many subjects and keep our food and drinks down. No fights, no low blows, no name calling…just conversation and laughter.
I left the evening feeling invigorated and looking forward to the next few weeks of “vacation” and lots of dinner parties.

I may have to start carrying a fan, just in case.