MacArthur James Stevens, the conservative Senatorial candidate for California was in fine form:

"...America, the land of the free-- the home of the brave. How brave is it to have a child out of wedlock, how free are America's workers when they're forced to compete with illegal immigrants for a job? How free are we when we're forced to accept the idea that gay fathers and lesbian mothers do as good a job at raising a family as normal people? No! Today, I urge you to join me in the fight to return America to what it once was and to what it will be again. Join my wife, Ariadne, and myself in the real contract with America. Clinton says, 'Don't Ask, Don't Tell' -- well, damnit I say, 'DON'T DO.'"

Rebecca leaned in real close and said, "Well, it's good to know he hates almost everybody."

I was sick to my stomach for coming to this stupid event. I should have found a way out, though I knew I was stuck.

"What do you say we get the hell out of here?" Rebecca asked.

"I want to keep my job, sweetie," I reminded her.

*****

The cocktail party was in full swing. We were swimming in Republicans, emeralds, and fashions by Lane Bryant. Nancy Regan Red was the color du Jour. You could have punched a hole in the wall with most of the hair-do's... or "Hair-Don'ts" as Rebecca called them.

I saw more comb-overs on the middle-aged Humpty Dumpties than I could believe, and I knew they all sported pencil-dicks in their Brooks Brothers trousers. The food was nauseating! Red meat, potatos, and more red meat. Everything smothered in cream sauces, salt, and garnishes of little American flags. BLECH!

Standing five feet away was the diva herself, Ariadne Stevens. She reeked of "Black Pearls" perfume and resembled Cruella DeVille in black taffeta. Surrounded by squeaky clean Dan Quayle wanna-be's. Who knew anyone would wanna be that damn stupid?

Just to really bug me, Rebecca dragged me over to meet Ariadne.

"Mrs. Steven, this is my father's favorite new surgeon at the Clinic, Eric Lewis. He's an enormous fan."

Rebecca quickly sashayed off to get us drinks and I was stuck with...HER!!!!

"It must be so dangerous for you to operate in this day and age, Dr. Lewis."

I was lost. "I'm sorry?"

"I mean, what with Magic Johnson and Arthur Ashe and people...like that...you take your life in your hands every time you perform surgeries. My heart goes out to you."

I smiled-- wanly. And excused myself before I reeled back and punched her.

Re-uniting with Rebecca, I whispered, "We gotta get out of here, I mean it." She knew I was serious. We downed our vodkas and split.

A while later, speeding across Mullholland in her Benz convertible, things took perspective in the night air. What a compromise one had to make sometimes, just to keep their job.