Parta

parTA My sweet little gran-mire is 94 Years old. She still works, as the chairwoman of the family trust. You can call her “Godfather.” The “frail old lady” is a humorous disguise she dons to bamboozle the unwitting - like tiger stripes. Don’t be fooled, or lulled and don’t ever try to BS her. The business cosmos wheels behind those eyes. Her heart was replaced with an abacus, centuries ago. She’s met everyone in the world who matters. She has body guards and minions. Tonight there’s a small birthday party at the Musée Marmottan Monet (museum) in Paris. When she comes in, the 40 or so guests formed an impromptu receiving line - so I queued up too. Stewards regularly pass and I manage to gulp down two flûtes of champagne while waiting (I LOVE Paris). This has the makings of a great party. Finally, it was my turn. *we cheek kissed.* I took her small, gloved hand in mine and it struck me that little white gloves are genius. “Thank you for inviting me,” I said inching closer because the music was loud, “Nothing tops a big-budget party.” I said. “We agree.” she said with a nod. “Happy Birthday.” I mouthe. We cheek kissed again and I moved on so the conga-line could progress. Ooo! Another steward!