Recipe for a Friday Night Party

This is what you need for a Friday night party in one of the wealthy eastern suburbs of the city:

A young, handsome bartender whose native tongue is English. Three bra-less waitresses carrying platters of food from the kitchen to the patio, which overlooks a football field-sized lawn.

One disc jockey with a combination of coloured flashing lights and a range of music from Brazilian tropical to Elvis Presley, and who knows that slow music comes only at the end of the night.

No particular reason that can be made public to any of the guests, invited or not, about why you are having the party. At least one ambassador, one hotelier -- preferrably one who is in financial distress and because of his political affliations likely to get government help after rotation -- and two bohemian artists who drink too much vodka.

Be dressed all in white, whether you are a man or a woman, and whatever you choose, make sure your spouse chooses something that contrasts.

A dozen teenagers, all of whom are wearing Rolex watches and talk about skiing in St. Moritz.

One teenager who lugs a video camera around taking home movies of the affair.

A good quarrel between a husband and wife, sufficiently embarrassing for good gossip afterwards. But nothing volent before midnight.

A driveway big enough for the caterer's two trucks -- one for the chairs and tables and the other for the food.

An empty lot across the street, for the cars.

Lots of dramatic spotlights on the transplanted palm trees, the metre and a half high Greco-Syrian pot surrounded by gardenias, and the hostess' sculptures of sexually indeterminate shape.

An MK from the Finance Committee, who, until he gets into his cups, avoids the financially distressed hotelier and then huddles with the hotelier for two hours.

Several widows, divorcees and single men. At least one half of an adulterous couple.

A table of smoked salmon scultped into the size of a small sandshark. Another table of cheeses imported from France, Holland, Belgium and Switzerland.

Two tables of quiches, replaced by sweet cakes after the quiches are devoured by hordes.

Lots of overweight women in dresses designed for underweight women. Lots of men in imitation garbadine made of polyester, who don't know the difference between the real and the fake. Pot bellies.

An appearance by an ex-minister from a past government.

A promise for an appearance by a current minister, whose aide calls during the party to convey best wishes from the minister, whose plans to attend were unfortunately disrupted by pressing national business.

A contract with the caterers that includes cleaning up in the morning.

One doctor for every businessman and one lawyer for every former businessman now retired and enjoying life. At least one mysterious figure who may or may not work for an agency best left unnamed in public.

One person ready to try to lead the crowd in a round of Palmah songs. One person -- usually a teenager -- ready to start the dancing after hectoring by the disc jockey.

Another person who tries leading the crowd in the Betar anthem.

Two momentary power failures, a kidney shaped swimming pool and two late model American cars in the garage.

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