The Best Party Ever

I can’t remember the last time we had trick-or-treaters. I miss the little children dressed as wanna-be witches, princesses and superheroes, rushing to the door, yelling, “Trick or treat!”

I liked dressing up as a child but not as an adult.

I cringed when we received an invitation to a costume party. It seemed like such an effort, but they were always fun. Dressing as a nun was easy while I still had my college robe and fun when paired with a male dancer. I also had been Edward Scissorhands, and a member of Kiss.

We had a lot of parties in those days. When it was my turn, I decided that, instead of the usual costume party, I wanted to up the ante. Do something different.

Decades later, we still talk about that party.

The inspiration for it came from a scene I witnessed back in the 1960s at The Oliver Twist Inn, presently the Beach Bar in Hampton Bays. The large patio that wrapped around the front of the building was packed on a hot summer night.

A guy with a megaphone, who rented the neighboring house, was drawing a crowd with the familiar refrain, “Faster than a speeding bullet, more powerful than a locomotive … it’s Superman!”

With that, a young man appeared on the roof of the garage in full costume. He struck an imposing pose, flung open this cape and flew into the crowd. Friends below were prepared to catch him.

Not only looking like the character but living the character was what intrigued me.

Although my performance party didn’t require death-defying feats, it did call for shedding traditional roles and stepping out of one’s comfort zone. The invitation I pieced together using words from newspaper clippings, like a ransom note, dared my friends to come dressed as famous performers, ready to lip sync their songs.

It wasn’t like other parties, where you just show up with a bottle of wine. This involved the pressure of first deciding on a role, then trying to capture the look of that person, choosing a song and practicing your act. This personal investment, as well as anticipation, fueled fear for some and excitement for others.

Two funny friends transformed into the Blues Brothers. Even their body types matched Dan Aykroyd and John Belushi. In black suits, hats and glasses, they perfectly imitated the hop steps and hand motions of Elwood and Jake’s “Saturday Night Live” skit. We collapsed in laughter as they belted out “Soul Man.”

An early follower of Billy Joel, our local orthodontist, dressed in jeans and a muscle shirt, danced around his adoring wife as he sang “Uptown Girl.” A songwriter by night, he was in his element, as he took on the role of master of ceremonies and stagehand.

One of my favorite performers was my dentist, Tony Bennett incarnate. Suave in a tuxedo, microphone in hand, he crooned “I Left My Heart in San Francisco” as he worked the crowd.

Meanwhile, his wife — who hasn’t forgiven me to this day for insisting that everyone must come in costume and role play — was paralyzed with dread. She was so uncomfortable and angry that she had to perform that it actually helped her rendition of Bette Midler’s “Sold My Soul to Rock ’n’ Roll.”

Other acts included our ever-debonair couple, dressed in black with top hats and canes, soft-shoeing to “Me and My Shadow.” Covered in purple balloons, friends involved with programs at the Westhampton Beach Performing Arts entertained us with “Heard It Through the Grapevine.”

The Supremes, with matching bouffant hairdos, evening gowns and elbow-length gloves, raised their right hands and vocalized “Stop in the Name of Love.” A power couple from Quogue who were dating at the time performed “Don’t Go Breaking My Heart.”

I spent my 45-minute work commute memorizing my theme song, “Girls Just Want To Have Fun.” In order to be Cyndi Lauper, I needed an outrageous outfit. I settled on a black tank top, green tutu, fish net stockings and high-tops. I spiked and sprayed my short hair pink, applied cherry lipstick and blue eye shadow.

But the girls who had the most fun were the ones who played dual roles in the skit of “Leader of the Pack.” They entered the makeshift stage dressed as nuns, singing “How Do You Solve a Problem Like Maria?” Mid-song, the suburban moms slipped out of their black habits and morphed into gum-smacking Harlettes. Despite the mini-bike “Jimmy” rode, he maintained authority in his leather jacket.

The girls took artistic license with their wardrobes, since the Shangri-Las dressed conservatively. My slim friends found the shortest black latex dresses, which they enhanced with padding. Heavy eye makeup and big hair completed the look. You know — girls just want to have fun.

Costumes can be so liberating.

The Harlettes’ routine was complicated. So while I was at work, they set up in my second-floor living room to practice. Or was it to perform for the men who were working on my neighbor’s roof?

At the end of the night, we formed a circle, arms linked around each other and swayed to “We are the World.”

My party gave rise to a different side of us that disappeared the next day. But we know our alternate personalities lie just below the surface.