So the party is over

What a party my life has been. I've been lucky enough to have had a life that has been one long fiesta. As I lie here on my bed, waiting to join my beloved Gerald, I think of the good times. Gerald has been gone for eleven years now. We met as teenagers in East Hampton and married when I was 32.

"Sarah, you cannot marry this man. He is in trade and not good enough." I remember my parents telling me. Gerald's parents didn't approve either. But his father didn't approve of anything Gerald did, period. And we were old enough to make our own choices.

Six years later we moved to Paris with our three children, escaping our families' dissatisfaction. Gerald began painting. He loved painting but complained the light was unsatisfactory in the city. He was moody and unhappy. Eventually we moved to the French Riviera where he bloomed. His paintings improved and his mood grew happier. After a while he started hanging out with a group of artists and writers he'd been introduced to by his old friend Cole Porter.

I remember him coming home after one meeting. "Sarah, you'll love these guys. They are everything New Yorkers aren't. I've invited a few for drinks, I do hope you don't mind." Of course I didn't mind. I was excited and couldn't wait to meet these people that had managed to change Gerald's outlook.
The evening went swimmingly. Gerald's new acquaintances included Zelda and F Scott Fitzgerald, Picasso and Dorothy Parker. They were young but keen. They were intelligent and they offered Gerald and I something we'd never had before. Real freedom to do what we loved most. Party. We had created between us something unique and we called ourselves "The Lost Generation".

And oh, what parties. But the best had to be the one we held in 1923 to celebrate The Premiere of Les Noces, Stravinsky's ballet, at the Theatre de la Gaite in Paris. Gerald and I agreed that we would hold a celebration party on July 1st on a barge.

Looking onto the Seine that night, we couldn't have been more excited. No one could fail to be dazed by what Gerald and I had planned that night and even the mysterious river seemed to dazed by the anticipation.

"My darling, you are shaking. Let me wrap your scarf around your beautiful neck." Gerald was always looking out for my comfort. "No", I responded. "It is just a small breeze. I find it refreshing." His reassuring voice relaxed my nerves, the true reason I'd been shaking. We had thrown parties before, but this was going to be something special. Even Stravinsky had agreed to attend. We had spent a fortune on food, drink and decorations. Gerald had hired five chefs. The champagne would flow and the party would be talked about for years to come.
There was a problem. I had wanted to decorate the barge with flowers. But all of the Magasin de Fleurs were closed. I'd forgotten it was a Sunday. I scoured the shops and ended up purchasing a hoard of toys. Fire trucks, dolls, clowns, stuffed animals and toy trains. I bought them all. The Lost Generation, would love it.

And they did. Pablo of course, with his artist's view, decided to pile all the toys together, topping it off with a cow on a fire truck ladder. " Inspired dear Sarah, and I will paint something to remember this by. You throw the most wonderful parties." he declared before strolling off to get his palm read by Goncharova. I had posed myself for dear Pablo before and was intrigued to see what he would come up with.

"The ship is sinking ". Oh my, what a scare. Cocteau enjoyed scaring us, not just the once but throughout the first half of the party. He of course thought this was hilarious. We were only slightly drunk the first time and took him seriously, but after what seemed the hundredth time of his warning, we were all so blotted that we too thought it rollicking fun.

Ah, what times those were. But now the party is over but maybe they'll be more upstairs...I do hope so.

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