The 90th Birthday Party

Evelyn was already a stresscase. She was caught up in party-planning, even though it wasn’t really her job. A veritable Mrs. Dalloway, she seemed concerned about being concerned with details of such frivolity—except, this party was not an insignificant event. It was perhaps the most momentous celebration of her boss’s life—and she had forgotten to order a birthday cake.

Harold Burson was turning 90 years old, and Evelyn, his very devoted and competent assistant, had been put in charge of organizing the first of two celebrations for her boss, the founder of the largest public relations company in the world. This first party, closer to his actual birthday, was to be a “small” lunch (for 60 guests) in the private room at the uptown New York restaurant Park Avenue Winter. To attend was his immediate family, longtime colleagues from Burson-Marsteller, and closest friends (The “big” party, with which Evelyn was not burdened, was to take place one month later, and that would be a cocktail soiree for 500).

At 5:30 the night before the lunch, Mr. Burson’s grandson sent an email to Evelyn that may have made her skin crawl. “There better be a birthday cake tomorrow…” it read, and she panicked. Well, there was not, as Evelyn had been gathering up the impromptu guest list the days before the party trying to extract RSVPs from the octogenarian and nonagenarian invitees, confirming the private room at the restaurant, and orchestrating car rides for the Burson family to be transported from Mr. Burson’s Scarsdale residence to the restaurant, then to his Lincoln Center apartment, and then to JFK.

Mr. Burson’s grandson remained calm. He figured that Grandpa really didn’t care about birthday candles and those sorts of things, and that it would most likely be a great lunch. The restaurant probably had a fancy dessert lined up.

As the grandson walked in to Park Avenue Winter on the morning of February 13, he froze. Not as in temperature (he kept warm in a fabulous Prada mohair vest), but he realized that while he remembered to bring the birthday card for Grandpa and the Parker fountain pen he brought for a gift, he forgot his camera, and there was no photographer planned for the first party. It turned out, so did every family member who walked in the door—no camera, just BlackBerries.

The grandson felt horrible for about 20 minutes. He was relieved when Evelyn walked in (late, naturally) with her husband behind her, carrying a huge digital camera, fancy lens, and big smile.