The Tragedy of Loving Jamie Clarke by Rebecca R. Cohen Page B

shadows as partygoers mingle inside.  Skull shaped lights wrap around a velvet rope that separates the outer patio from the restaurant. I feel like I'm entering the set of a Tim Burton movie, which centers around a bald giant. Every time The Anchor holds these appreciation parties they hire a bouncer (for lack of a better word). It is a special event for the employees and their families, not for resort guests.
    “Anna and Jason Marks and our daughter, April,” my father says to the burly man with a naked scalp and metal hoop running through his lip.
    “Go ahead,” the pierced bouncer says nodding toward the door and giving me a once over.
    It is strange having a grown man look at me like that. Amber would have loved it. She enjoys being gawked at by any human being with a penis. I however only want Jamie's eyes on me.
    The party is exactly as I expect it to be. There is a chef’s table in the rear of the restaurant with a bevy of food items bathing in hot water inside chafing dishes.  The bar back is decorated with spider webs, pumpkins and black cat cutouts. The bar houses the finest wines and top shelf alcohol; everything’s the same as it was for the last party the Anchor had here. Princesses, Ninjas, Cats and a few Captain Jack Sparrows stroll about, taking it all in, some of them cradling their drinks like they’re made of gold. Like mom and me everyone has recycled their costumes from last year’s party.
    “Anna! Jason!” A middle-aged Cinderella shouts as she and her Prince cross the sea of people. “Don’t you two look wonderful?” 
    “Well if it isn’t Cinderella Kaitlyn and her Prince Asher,” my mother says giving Amber’s parents a hug. “I see you, like everyone else, went with last year’s costume.”
    “It’s a tradition,” Asher says shaking my father’s hand. “And April, you are by far the prettiest mouse I have ever seen.” He says this every year.
    “Hi Mr. Hill,” I reply. “Was Amber upset she couldn’t come...again?”
    Every year Amber begs her parents to bring her along so she and I can spend the night making fun of their co-workers and every year they deny her request. “No guests allowed remember?” Mrs. Hill always says, and of course Amber will whine about how her best friend is there and she should be with me. These parties would be a lot more fun if Amber were here. I didn’t tell her that I invited Jamie to come with me tonight. She would be pissed that I didn’t ask her first.
    “Oh you know Amber and parties,” Mrs. Hill chuckles. “If that girl could live her life in one extended party she would.”
    “So, Asher, did you see that piece on the news last night about the economic status of the working class? It looks things are finally starting to improve now that…” dad’s voice trails off as I detach from the conversation.
    “April, why don’t you go get yourself something to eat? We’ll join you shortly,” mom says. That’s my queue and I don’t need a second invite to eat.
     
    Lobster Alfredo, Chicken Parmigiana, Filet Mignon, Garlic & Herb Linguine and the choice of a garden salad or classic Caesar! “Lobster and Chicken, and both salads, let’s go for it!” I cry. I may be a small girl but I can pack the food away. I lay on a few spoonfuls of the linguine.” I would love to try a piece of the filet but my plate is so heavy I am going to have to sit down.” I say to myself. 
    Making my way over to one of the only tables still available I notice the ice cream sundae bar. “Oh my god, every topping in the world…and vats of vanilla, chocolate and strawberry!” I already know the sundae I am going to be making for myself: Vanilla topped with some of the maraschino cherries, hot fudge and M&M's, a concoction that can only be completed by whipped cream.
    I love coming to these parties but I really wish they would pick better music. Would it kill them to play something current? These one note tunes drive me insane The DJ is an elderly