A bombastic writer/Irisher/lawyer/politico friend who drank way way too much but had a heart made of sweet marshmallow and burnished gold decided he would spend New Year’s Eves drunk in different world-class cities. The last time we touched base (before he died much later in a car accident not wearing a seat belt) he said he had been to 18 different New Year’s celebrations in 18 different countries. But, you know the blarney an Irisher can spiel.
He and I shared one of these New Year’s Eve, a long time ago in Mexico City – his idea of a world class city. I had three rules if we were going to go on this adventure – he could not drink, there would be separate accommodations, and no hanky panky. He kept to his potty mouth word but he was nearly unbearable in his dry drunk state. Luckily, I know how to detach with concern.
We were dear dear friends and nothing romantic on my end. I cannot think of New Year’s Eve without thinking of Clancy and me sitting in the elegant Hotel Geneve Ciudad De Mexico eating huge shrimp cocktails and drinking virgin Bloody Mary’s at 4 AM, spike heel deep in confetti. Clancy in a tuxedo and me in a slinky ocean blue cocktail dress wearing pearls in the after glow of the festivities. No one knew we had sneaked away for those days, it was our lifelong secret.
The Anthropological Museum is some miles from this marvelous traditional hotel but Clancy and I walked to and fro the museum – and spent hours in this fantastic museum. How we accomplished this feat is beyond me. I do know the two of us together never could stop discussing life in general and politics in particular. There was only one other person in my life who I shared this non-stop repartee, and I married him.
Photo: Hotel Geneve, Mexico City.