Party Crasher Story

Party Crasher Story

         “As far as closets go,” she whispers, this has to be the tiniest one we’ve ever hidden in.”  I tug at my tuxedo collar and straighten my cummerbund.  “And the warmest.”  She fans herself with a phony invitation we doctored up based on a tip from a certain wedding planner who charged me fifty bucks for a peek at the original.

         “You think we’d be used to this by now.” is all I can think of to say.  Outside the closet door a trumpet blast launches the Denny Billings Orchestra into Jones and Kahn’s “It had to be you”.

“That’s our cue!” she says with a smirk.  I’ve wanted to kiss those lips for fourteen months; now I’m two weeks away from too late.



The ballroom is huge, packed tight with high society types, celebrities waltzing, elaborate floral displays and a barrage of almost blinding twinkle lights.  As we burst out of the closet we blend in perfectly with the other dancing guests.  “Just like clockwork!” I say, my turn to smirk.

“Just like always!” she retorts.

“You look amazing in that cobalt evening gown.”

“Don’t I always?  After all I do wear this at every part we crash.”

As we grapevine across the dance floor, weaving in and out of the other guests the whole world around me shrinks, revealing only her shining blue eyes—pools of light I’ve been lost in every crash we’ve planned at Mel’s Diner on the Sunset strip, during every dance we’ve danced, and every free meal we’ve eaten on some celebrities dime.  The music stops but in that moment, having her in my arms one last time, I press her closer.  “Ira—the music stopped.”

“Oh, right!” I release her from my grip and step back.  “Sorry about that.”  We saunter off the dance floor as I try to get my game face back on and lighten the color in my cheeks with deep, relaxing breaths.

“What’s with you lately?  You’ve been daydreaming on every job this month.”  I want to tell her I love her, can’t live without her, and don’t want her to marry Jack…but, best friend’s don’t steal each other’s fiancées.

“Nothing.” Is all I say.  “I’ll be fine, so long as I get my “million dollar photo!”



The key to a good party crash is to look like you belong.  Melissa and I are old pros at this now.  Some crashers make the mistake of not talking to anyone.  Wallflowers at a ritzy wedding reception always get noticed—especially the one who avoids eye contact.  They get tossed out quick usually.  We, on the other hand, always make our way around the tables pretending to know people, making small talk even.  The table that we eventually end up sitting at is the table where people fail to hide their confusion about not knowing who we are, and have two empty chairs with no placards.  After we nest comfortably at table twelve I nudge Melissa and whisper,  “Remember that celeb wedding when we told the groom we were with the bride, and told the bride we were with the groom.”  We share a laugh, and I fixate on how musical her laughter sounds.  Jack is one lucky guy.

Paparazzi—there, I said it!  It’s a dirty word just about anywhere in the world, but hey, a guy’s got to pay off his student loans somehow!  I used to feel a lot worse about my job then I do now.  When I came up with this party crasher angle I knew Melissa was the best choice for a partner, and it couldn’t have worked out better.  Melissa has class, but she’s down to earth.  She’s smart, but not so smart that she seems stuck up.  She’s got a great sense of humor, too.  Best of all: she’s a woman who can actually stand being around me.  The startup for this plan was expensive, mostly because I had to pay for ballroom dancing lessons for the both of us.  She was nice enough to buy the dress on her own, though.  With her help, the money I’ve made selling these pictures has more than covered the expenses, leaving plenty for the necessities, and the occasional bribe to get inside the party—all thanks to Melissa.



Another successful crash technique for all celebrity weddings is selling the fact that you’re a couple.  Melissa and I have worked out a few techniques for convincing our table mates we belong together: (1) we have a couple of phrases rehearsed where we finish each other’s sentences; (2) and this is my favorite, Melissa will eat half her meal than without asking switch our plates and finish my meal.  Of course, as much as I’d love to sit around the whole evening I do have pictures to snap.  These days it’s not uncommon to see people with cameras everywhere you go.  At special events it’s normal to see people snapping pictures with cell phones.  So, to play it safe I bring my cell phone, top of the line model, and I leave the professional grade camera to the wedding photographer.  Since I’m inside the wedding and not outside of it, I can get away with a decent digital camera and leave my very obvious paparazzi camera at home.

A few celebrity photo ops, small talk before and after to not raise suspicions, and my work here is done; this is when I signal Melissa and we move toward the kitchen to make our exit—usually.  I’d be lying if I said I never noticed how she seems to flaot across dance floors.  Ass I readch for her hand she grabs, just as rehearsed, but instead of a swift exit I pull her on to the dance floor, walk over to the band leader, and slip him twenty bucks to play Only You by The Platters.  Melissa doesn’t know this, but I consider this our song.

“Ira?”  I love the way says my name, even when she’s completely confused.  “This isn’t part of the plan.”

         “It is tonight.” I say spinning her so the cobalt dress twirls around her ankles.  Silently we dance.  I can see it in her eyes—she’s trying to figure me out.  It’s been all business this past month.  I’m glad her wedding is so soon: if she and Jack had put it off until later I’d have cracked and told her to run away with me.

         “What’s wrong Ira?  What are you not telling me?”  I pull her close, spin her out with a twirl, then spin her back into my arms before going into a dip.  I pull her tight so her head rests on my shoulder.

         “I’m in love with you Melissa.”  Her head jerks up, but I softly push it back into my shoulder.  “Don’t look at me, please!  I won’t be able to get through this if you look at me.”  I draw in a deep breath.  The smell of an entire room of gardenia centerpieces fills my sense of smell.  “I didn’t mean for this happen, and I’m not asking you to do anything about it.  I just wanted you to know…why I won’t be there in two weeks.  She pushes away, her eyes and cheeks turning red.

         “You’re not coming to the wedding?!”  The lead trumpeter stumbles over a couple of notes; prying eyes turn in our direction.”

         “Melissa: please understand, I---“.  She storms off toward the kitchen and through the door.  I chase after her, grab her by the elbow, she pulls away, and marches on at a faster pace.  I speed up and cut in front of her near the walk-in freezer.  She turns in anger, looking toward a pile of dirty pots sitting in a utility sink.  “Why tell me this?  Why wait until now?”

         “I’m sorry Melissa.  I didn’t mean to hurt you.  I didn’t want to ruin what you and Jack have together, but after tonight…my whole life gets flipped upside down.  You get married, I go back to being a lonely photographer snapping pictures of the rich and famous from a crowd of other people just like me.  This past fourteen months has been the most fun I’ve ever had with anyone!  I couldn’t stand to lose it.  Even worse, though, was the thought of losing you.  I couldn’t let you leave without telling you how I really felt.”  She glances toward me; her eyes begin to soften.

         “Who says I’m leaving you?”  I shake my head.

         “Melissa, you know we can’t do this anymore!  You and Jack---newlyweds: that’s no way to start a marriage.  This, tonight, was our last hurrah!”  I look down at my shoes, the white parts of my wingtips scuffed from a night of activity.  “I should’ve just let it go.”  I glance over at the drain in the floor, as if waiting to see my life slip away into the darkness beyond it.  “In two weeks, I’ll be back on the other side of the velvet rope with all the other lowlifes and losers, but I wanted to hold on to this night as long as I could: one last memory of keep for the rest of my life.”  Then I feel two warm hands cradle each side of my face.  She raises my head gently, and we meet each other’s gaze.

         “I’ll always be your friend, Ira.”

         “Just a friend Melissa?”  She smirks.  I should’ve kissed those lips months ago.

         “I need you to come to the wedding Ira.”

         “I don’t know; I’ve already agreed to do a job upstate.”

         “Please?  For me?  I need my best friend there.”  I stare into her beautiful blue eyes one last time before I walk out the door. 

“Tell you what:  save the last dance for me.”  With that, we linked arms and I drove her home for the last time.