Backstage at the Vinyl Cafe - Let’s celebrate! – The Birthday Cake & Morley’s 40th Birthday Bash

Episode Date: April 7, 2023

“Surely Mary wouldn’t miss one of those little buttercream shrubs…”Today’s Backstage at the Vinyl Cafe is all about birthdays. Jess shares some behind the scenes stories of ways she and Stuart celebrated birthdays on the road; and we have two hilarious Dave and Morley stories about birthdays that have gone awry. In The Birthday Cake, Dave is left in charge of delivering Mary Turlington’s carefully decorated cake to a party; while in Morley’s 40th Birthday Bash, Dave throws Morley a party. Unfortunately the caterer he has hired to put the event together sets up the party at the wrong house. Hosted on Acast. See acast.com/privacy for more information.

From the Apostrophe Podcast Network. Hello, I'm Jess Milton, and this is Backstage at the Vinyl Café. Welcome to the show. Today's a bit of a special one. It's April, and as many of you know, Stuart's birthday was in April. In fact, some of you, it's so sweet, some of you still write little notes on his birthday, which, anyway, it's impressive. Stuart and I used to spend about 150 days a year on the road,

which meant we were away often on our birthdays, and we always tried to make it special in some way. There was the time where I surprised him at the ship pub in St. John's, Newfoundland. I wasn't there. I wasn't out on the road yet. He was there on his own researching. And I knew that he and Ron Hines, the musical guest, I knew that they were going to the ship that night. So I can't remember the details. I think I called someone at the ship and told them the situation, or maybe I talked to Ron. Anyway, somebody got down to the grocery store and picked up a birthday cake, and Ron put some candles on it. He was such a sweet guy. And he walked into the pub singing happy birthday at the top of his lungs. And if you don't know Ron Hines, go right now. Do not stop. Do not pass go. Just go to YouTube and look up Ron Hines because he's an incredible, or was, sadly he's gone now, an incredible songwriter and also just a pretty amazing guy. So watch that video and then imagine that man walking into a tiny pub in St. John's, Newfoundland, singing happy birthday to Stuart.

Apparently the entire place joined in and only Ron could get a crowd together like that. There was also the time, it was my birthday, we were in Sterling, Ontario, and Cuff the Duke was the musical guest. We were staying at this house connected to the theater. I think the theater owned it. And it was this quite a cool old house. But the heat was not very good. It was freezing, actually. Well, I'll just say it.

There was no heat. The house was old and there was no heat, which wouldn't have been a huge problem except for it was January. So it was a massive problem. We were freezing. The bandit steward got me this cake and we all sat around and ate it. But we were wrapped in several blankets each. I have this picture of me sitting on this couch for my, I guess it would have been my 26th birthday maybe. And I'm wearing like a toque and winter boots and my coat and several blankets

eating a birthday cake. What's really bizarre is the day we checked out of the house, the woman who ran the theater came in and she said, oh my God, it's cold in here. And we're like, yeah, it's freezing. And she said, well, did you turn the heat off? And we said, no, no, it just has been this cold for the last seven days. And she's like, well, you don't have the furnace on. Yeah. Anyway, it was completely our fault. But it did make for a memorable 26th birthday for me. And after that, no matter where we were on my birthday, Stuart would toast me by saying, at least we're warm.

At least we're warm. Of all the birthdays we celebrated on the road, though, for sure, hands down, the most memorable one was the one where we celebrated Stuart's birthday on a train. We were doing this show. Stuart and I both love the train. I still take the train all the time. I took the train to get here today to the studio. We had this idea to record a Vinyl Cafe show on the train. So we took the train from Toronto to Vancouver. And then, you know, we were supposed to have a day or something in Vancouver. And then I said we were supposed to have a day in Vancouver because it didn't work out that way. Our train was late. And I think we had 17 minutes in Vancouver. So we took the train all the way to Vancouver. Barely, I think we got off to like say hi to Stuart's sister or something. And then we got right back on the train again. It was very bizarre. But anyway, so we got back on the train and we hit Northern Ontario on April 19th.

I don't remember exactly where, but somewhere in Northern Ontario, we're having dinner in the dining car. exactly where, but somewhere in Northern Ontario, we're having dinner in the dining car. And unbeknownst to Stuart and unbeknownst to me, the crew knew it was his birthday and they walked in with this huge cake and they were singing happy birthday and the whole dining car joined in and I cut up the squares of cake and handed them out. And I think of that moment every year on Stuart's birthday. So today, in honor of happy memories of birthdays past, we have two stories about birthdays. We're going to start with this one. This is The Birthday Cake. They say that love is blind. We all know they're right. There is no end to the mischief a myopic heart can hatch. No end at all.

But you don't have to be love-struck to stir up trouble. Those lesser emotions can be just as dangerous. No one would ever say that Burt Turlington loves Dave. But Burt wouldn't deny that he feels a certain fondness. He might even say affection for his neighbor. It's not love. More maybe the accumulation of feelings that bind people together when they live side by side for many years. The small kindnesses and courtesies of what amounts to an arranged marriage.

So you could forgive Bert Turlington his neighborly heart when he blurted out his invitation to Dave that night in the park. You might, but Bert's wife Mary didn't. You what? said Mary. Bert invited Dave and Morley to drive with them to Montreal for Harold Buskirk's 65th birthday. And to stay with us, added Mary, in Renee's house. It just came out, said Bert, unexpectedly. David said something about how he and Morley weren't sure they were going to make it to the party. They hadn't made hotel reservations, and you know. And Bert thought, no, said Mary, don't use that word. You didn't think. There wasn't any thought involved. Harold Buskirk, who used to live up by the park, was turning 65, and pretty much

the whole neighborhood was going to Montreal for the party. People had been working on sketches and speeches and songs, and Mary had been working on the cake. But not just any cake. A masterpiece. A frangelico-soaked chocolate fudge cake with white chocolate icing and an orange buttercream and truffle ganache filling. chocolate icing and an orange buttercream and truffle ganache filling. It was Harold's retirement as well as his birthday, and Mary was going to decorate her cake so it looked like a golf course, complete with little buttercream golf balls and a marzipan foursome standing triumphantly on the ninth tee. Bert and Mary were driving to Montreal. They were staying at Rene Gallivan's house. Rene is Mary's boss. Rene was in Florida or Palm Springs, one of those places. You said it was a mansion, said Bert. I thought there'd be plenty of room.

There was that word again. Bert was talking to himself again. Mary had stormed off. They left on Saturday morning, just after lunch. Not that anyone actually ate lunch. They were supposed to leave before lunch and eat on the road, but Mary had a moment with the icing, and there was a last-minute cake flurry and lunch was lost. But there they were, on the road, two in the afternoon and nearly in Kingston,

a mere two hours behind schedule. The four of them in Bert's Volvo, the luggage in the trunk, the cake in the cooler, Dave and Morley in the back seat, and Mary in estate. Dave and Morley in the back seat and Mary in a state. The cooler with the cake was wedged onto the armrest between Dave and Morley. They could barely see each other over the cooler. As they roared past Kingston, Dave said, There's a great burger joint up ahead.

If anyone felt like a no stopping, said Mary, there's no time for stopping. At Cornwall, Dave, who was completely famished, made a lame joke that if he could eat his cake now. And Mary whirled around and said, if Dave as much as breathed on her cake, he could start walking. There's no doubt that Mary was wound up. She was wound up tighter than a seven day clock. The cake was iced with the green icing but she still had to add the decorations and it had to chill after that and Mary had promised Harold they'd be at the club early to help with the setup. They were two and a half hours behind schedule when they pulled up in front of Renee's house, the limestone house on Upper Walnut Crescent,

a little-known cul-de-sac near the top of Westmount Mountain. Holy crow, said Dave, as he unfolded himself from the back seat. He was standing on the sidewalk and staring at the huge red oak doors, at the mahogany fluting and the maple rosettes, at the lead-paned windows, at the thick stone walls. Oh my, said Mary. They were all standing on the sidewalk now. Wow, said Bert. Remember, everyone, said Mary. We have to leave everything exactly the way we found it.

She was staring at Dave. exactly the way we found it. She was staring at Dave. As Dave stepped through the threshold and into the marble foyer, Morley put her arm on his elbow and whispered, just don't touch anything. The kitchen turned out to be in the basement, the kind of kitchen where help rather than family worked.

It had a fireplace. Holy crow, said Dave, you could roast an ox in there. And a walk-in fridge. Look at this, said Dave. Mary was decorating her cake, sticking little marzipan flags carefully into the center of the little greens. Morley was standing beside her holding a bowl of brown icing for the sand traps. Bert was wiping the counters. Everyone was tiptoeing around trying not to disturb a thing, trying not to make a mess. And no one was trying harder than Dave. I'll take the luggage to the bedrooms, said Dave. Soon enough, the cake was decorated and in the fridge, and everyone was ready to go, though not the cake. The cake had to chill for at least an hour, or better, two, as long as possible, said Mary. But Mary was already supposed

to be at the party. Dave said, you guys should go. Dave said, I'll stay and bring the cake when it's ready. Now, what's so funny about that? Morley wrote down the address of the banquet hall for Dave so he could take a taxi. And then Morley and Bert and Mary left in Bert's car. Once they were gone, Dave set off to see if he could find something to eat. It was while he was looking for anything even remotely edible that Dave found the most amazing feature of the mansion, a wood-paneled elevator, the kind you might see in an old British hotel

about the size of a phone booth. He opened what he thought was a cupboard door, and there it was. It had brass fittings and a brass needle over the door to show you where you were. He would have taken a ride, but he didn't have time to waste. They were waiting for him at the hall. He went downstairs and fetched the cake from the cooler. It was touching. The greens and the flags and the buttercream shrubs all around the circumference. He carried it carefully over to the counter. He wasn't going to mess this up.

Okay, he had everything. Wait a minute. No, he didn't. The address for the party was upstairs in the bedroom. He started up the stairs, and then he stopped dead. He shouldn't leave the cake unattended. The house was so vast, there might be dogs or cats or any number of things roaming around that could get into it. He went back down the stairs and fetched the cake and started up again.

Four floors. Wait a minute. The elevator. He should take the elevator. The elevator would be safer. He went in backwards. The brass door accordioned behind him. It was like stepping back in time to a dimmer time, a time before electricity. He stood there in the dimness, the cake safely beside him on the floor. He grabbed the elevator handle and plunged it to the right. There was a bang and a shudder and a sudden lurch

and the elevator started to move. He could almost feel the chains hauling him up, as if there were two or three men at the top of this elevator and not strong men either, huffing and puffing as they turned some rusty crank. Come on, said Dave. The elevator was moving, but it was moving in small, jerky increments. The shaft seemed to be too loose for the car.

There was a lot of wobble. And then, there was no wobble at all. There was nothing. Absolutely nothing. Are we moving? said Dave. They weren't moving. They being Dave and the cave. Not up, that is.

But that didn't mean there was no movement. There was still plenty of movement. The little car felt like it was swinging back and forth, like a bucket on the end of a rope. Hello? Anybody? hello anybody i'm trapped in the elevator he took a deep breath he reached out and put his hand on the door handle he opened the elevator door he was staring at a wall of plaster. There was a big number three written on the plaster in red chalk. He sat in the corner of the elevator, his head in his arms.

He realized he could die in there. But really, what did that matter? If he didn't get the cake to the hall on time, Mary would kill him anyway. An hour went by. Shouldn't he be here by now, said Mary to Bert. He'll be here, said Bert, with more hope than conviction. He's probably sitting in a taxi right now with the cake in his lap. Bert was half right. Dave had the cake in his lap, but he wasn't sitting in a taxi. He was sitting in the elevator, and he'd eaten every second shrub. Half an hour later, the little golf course had shrunk from nine to seven holes.

And the marzipan foursome was a twosome. And Dave was sitting there eyeing the little golf cart. And that's when he spotted the emergency phone. It didn't fill him with hope. There was no dial. It was covered in dust. He picked it up and brought it to his ear. The other end of that phone, and therefore Dave's only salvation that night, was in the hands of a university student. The student, a weekend employee, was beginning his second overnight shift, and he was stretched across three office chairs

in front of the surveillance panel so deeply asleep that he wasn't only snoring, he was drooling. The student had been trained the night before by the woman who had had the shift before him. She had been in a hurry to leave. His training had lasted less than 15 minutes. She showed him the computer and the surveillance panel, but she didn't say anything about any phones. So when a phone began to ring, it took him by complete surprise. He sat up with a jerk

and looked around. He was so dopey with sleep, he couldn't figure where the ringing was coming from. round. He was so dopey with sleep he couldn't figure where the ringing was coming from. When he finally opened the cupboard on the other side of the room, you could have knocked him over with a feather. There wasn't a phone in there. There were 50 phones in there, all of them attached to the wall, all of them red, all of them missing their dials. They looked like the kind of phones you might use to launch a missile strike. There were so many phones that it was impossible to tell which one was ringing. The student started picking the phones up at random. Before he found the right one, the ringing stopped. It took him a while to get back to sleep after that. The ringing stopped.

It took him a while to get back to sleep after that. About an hour passed before the phone rang again. This time the student ran to the cupboard right away. This time he got the right phone on the fifth ring. Hello, he said. Dave was as surprised as he was to find someone on the other end of the line. Dave said, I'm stuck in the elevator. Then just to be sure, the kid understood the severity of his situation, he added, with Mary's cake.

What, said the student? I'm in the elevator, said Dave. Which elevator, said the student. I'm in the elevator, said Dave. Which elevator? said the student. How many elevators are there? said Dave. I don't know, said the student. I'm new. Dave explained about the house on the mountain and the cake and the party. I know where I'm going, said Dave but I don't know where I am the student said

is this like a test or something? Dave said this is real you've got to send somebody to help me and the student said I can't send help if I don't know where you are I'll get fined call me back when you know where you are. I'll get fined. Call me back when you know where you are. And he hung up. Dave stood in his elevator staring at the handset in disbelief. He was so hungry he could barely think straight. Desperate times require desperate measures.

Desperate times require desperate measures. He slid the cake so it was half off the plate and stood up and held it very carefully over his head. He began to nibble at the bottom of the cake. Then he stuck his right hand right into the cake and pulled out a fistful of the chocolate ganache. Mary would never know. He sat on the floor looking the icing off his fingers. He picked up the phone again. It rang ten times.

Hello? It's me, said Dave. Me too, said the kid. Listen, I'm sorry I hung up, said the kid. I'm a little scared. Me too, said Dave. What are you scared of? I'm scared I might get fired if you die. Do you think I'd have to put it on my resume? It took them half an hour to figure it out. There was a number on the phone, number 52. They were talking on phone number 52. All the other phones had different numbers. The kid found a binder with a legend, an address that corresponded to each phone number. You're on Upper Walnut Crescent, said the kid. Back at the hotel, Mary was beside herself. The main course had been served and there was still no sign of Dave. Bert said, I'll go.

I'm sure everything's fine. I'll go and check. He wasn't really sure. Mary stared at him. Mary said, I'll go. I'm sure everything's fine. I'll go and check. He wasn't really sure. Mary stared at him. Mary said, you, stay here. Mary's taxi pulled up in front of the Gallivant's house 15 minutes after the fire trucks. So Mary missed the part where they drove the axe through the red oak front doors but she was there when the elevator doors opened to see Dave huddled over her cake like a raccoon huddled over a garbage can his hands and face were covered in icing he'd been trying to smooth out the cake service with his fingers His hands and face were covered in icing.

He'd been trying to smooth out the cake service with his fingers. When Dave saw Mary, he stood up and held the cake out at her and smiled like a child handing in a class project. Safe and sound, he said. They both stared at the cake without saying a word, and as they did, the lone marzipan golfer standing by what was now the sixth and final hole started to sink slowly. First to his knees, and then to his waist as the entire cake began to collapse into itself as if it was built on a giant sinkhole. Neither of them said anything on the long drive back to the party,

although at Dave's suggestion they stopped at an all-night grocery store and bought a replacement cake, the only cake left in the store, a My Little Pony birthday cake. The drive home the next day was even quieter, as was the rest of the autumn, the first time there was ever a noticeable strain between the neighbors. Not actual unpleasantness, just a determined quiet, which was unpleasant enough in itself. And then one night, seemingly out of the blue, Bert called and invited Dave and Morley for dinner. They couldn't have picked a worse night. It was Dave's birthday. Dave and

Morley had reservations at a little Italian place they favor. Cancel them, said Morley. And so they went next door. And dinner was not unpleasant, though it was awkward. Mary seemed to be trying hard to let bygones be bygones, but you could tell it was a strain. And then it was time for dessert. And Mary went into the kitchen and came back with a birthday cake. A My Little Pony birthday cake. She carried it to the table and she set it down in front of her and then she blew out the candles herself. And then she picked it up and very carefully turned it over

and scooped out a handful from the bottom of the cake and plopped it on Dave's plate. Mary said, that's the way you like it, right? Dave sat there staring at his plate, not knowing what he should do, looking back and forth between Mary and his wife. It was Morley who started to giggle. Morley giggled, Mary smiled, and Bert started laughing so hard he was pounding the table. They all laughed.

They all laughed and laughed. Call them friends. Call them neighbors. Call it fondness or call it affection. Call it love if you want to. It's really the only choice. You fight or you swallow your pride and you laugh. And that's what they did. They laughed. It's what good neighbors always do.

That was the story we call The Birthday Cake. That was the story we call the birthday cake. We're going to take a short break now, but we'll be back in a couple of minutes with another story. This one is the one where Morley turns 40 and Dave throws her a party. You're going to want to hear this. Welcome back. I told you we had two stories about birthdays today. Time for the second one. This is Morley's 40th Birthday Bash.

The day Morley turned 40, a Tuesday afternoon that seems so long ago and far away now, the day Morley turned 40, her friend and neighbor Mary Turlington came over after lunch with a little box wrapped in gold foil. It was just a token, the sort of trinket that women give to each other to mark special occasions. Ceramic creamer in the shape of a cat. The creamer's handled, fashioned from the cat's tail. The cream designed to purr out of the cat's

mouth. It's the sort of thing you'd pass with a shake of your head at a garage sale. But if you happen to get one on your 40th birthday, the sort of thing you might grow fond of, the way you can go frond of certain Christmas decorations. Women understand these things. In fact, only women possess the grace to pull something like this off. A man is not likely to drop in on a friend unannounced on his friend's 40th birthday and give him a ceramic creamer in the shape of a cat.

Not in a thousand years. And if he did, if, say, Burt Turlington was seized by some inexplicable spasm and in some altered state bought him a ceramic creamer in the shape of a cat, no matter how cool it was, because a cat creamer could possess a certain retro coolness, no matter how cool it was, the transition would leave a trail of awkwardness and confusion that would hover between Dave and Bert for, well, quite possibly for the rest of their lives. For months, they would avoid each other, in case the subject of the creamer arose. But Mary isn't Bert, and Morley isn't Dave,

But Mary isn't Bert and Morley isn't Dave. So on Morley's 40th birthday, which was several years ago, Mary Turlington knocked on Morley's front door after lunch. When Morley opened the door, her eyes were watery and red. She was holding a wad of Kleenex. She looked as if she had been weeping, had in fact been weeping on and off all morning. Morley said, Mary, right away, what is the matter?

Now that's another thing a man wouldn't do. If Bert had knocked on Dave's door to give him a ceramic creamer in the shape of a cat, well, first of all, it wouldn't have been in the shape of a cat. It would have been in the shape of a cat. It would have been in the shape of a dog. But if he had knocked on the door, and Dave had answered the door with tears in his eyes, Bert would not have asked what was wrong. Not if he was thinking clearly. If he was thinking clearly, Bert would have done one of two things.

He would have remembered something he needed to check at home. I'll be back in a minute, he might say. Or if he wasn't overwhelmed with a need to escape, if Bert wanted to stick around, Bert wouldn't have risked an emotional encounter. He would have helped by handing his friend a plausible excuse. He wouldn't have asked, what's the matter? He would have said, you cutting onions? But because she's a woman and therefore possessed

of an emotional fearlessness, Mary looked at Morley's red and watery eyes and she drove right to the heart of the matter. Mary said, Morley, what is the matter? Morley's shoulders began to shudder she opened her mouth but no words came out she shook her head turned and walked into the kitchen Mary followed her and they sat at the kitchen table finally Morley said how could he live with me so long

and not know I would hate it you mean tonight, said Mary. I don't want a birthday party, said Morley. I hate birthday parties. She had, in fact, hated birthday parties since she was a little girl, hated them ever since she could remember. Morley hated birthdays so much she had burst into tears at her own fifth birthday party

the moment everyone began to sing happy birthday. Morley didn't like being the center of attention. She hated everything about birthday parties. She hated greeting people at the door, and she hated games like pin the tail on the donkey. She hated bursting balloons. She even hated presents. The year she turned seven, Morley sat in front of her pile of unwrapped presents and started to weep. I don't want to open them, she said. She was certain she wouldn't like one of the presents. And she was sure everyone would know she was afraid she would hurt someone's feelings, afraid she wouldn't be a good enough actor.

one's feelings, afraid she wouldn't be a good enough actor. And now, 33 years later, Morley felt much the same about the neighborhood party Dave had planned for her 40th birthday. She didn't want to be the center of attention on her 40th birthday. She was afraid she wouldn't be a good enough actor. She had hoped the day would just slip by. It is just so insensitive, said Morley to Mary Turlington. She was fiddling with a little cat creamer as she talked. What do you guys normally do, asked Mary. What have you done on his birthday? Well, I never threw a party, said Morley defensively. Never, ever.

Last year, said Morley, I gave him ballet tickets. Oh, said Mary year before said Morley shutting her eyes I gave him a shaker blanket box year before that asked Mary cooking classes I enrolled him in a vegetarian Indian cooking class said Morley he must have liked that, said Mary. Actually, said Morley, I'm not sure. If truth be told, it wasn't only the notion of being the center of attention that was upsetting Morley. If truth be told, a part of her was charmed that her husband had planned to make a fuss over her 40th birthday. However, she was anxious about the kind of fuss her husband might organize. As far as Morley understood, Dave's notion of a party was something

that involved a keg of beer, a couple of bags of chips, and a crowd of people drinking the beer on empty stomachs. I hired a caterer, said Dave. You what, said Morley? I've hired a caterer, said Dave. You what, said Morley? I've hired a caterer, said Dave. You don't have to do a thing. The caterer will come in the afternoon and bring the food and set everything up, and they'll clean up before they start, and they'll clean up when they finished. What could she say? He wasn't begging her, but almost.

So the party was on, and that's why Mary found Morley crying on the day she turned 40. Caterers were supposed to arrive at 3. Morley had agreed that she'd go out for the afternoon, she'd get her hair done, she'd have a facial, she'd go shopping. They'd leave a key under the mat, and the caterer would let himself in. They'll do everything, said Dave. No cleaning, said Morley. No cleaning, said Dave. No cleaning, no cooking, no nothing. You go out. You come home. Everything will be ready.

I have to get ready to go, said Morley to Mary Turlington. And she stood up, and she started to clear off the table. Let the caterer do that, said Mary. Morley looked around the kitchen. There was a laundry clear off the table. Let the caterer do that, said Mary. Morley looked around the kitchen. There was a laundry basket on the counter. There were dirty breakfast dishes in the sink. There were footprints on the floor. I was going to wash the floor, said Morley.

No cleaning, said Mary. Can't leave a house like this, said Morley. Yes, you can, said Mary. That's the deal right? And so off she went and at 10 past five there she was walking up the street toward her house except she wasn't walking up the street she was swinging up the street. 40 years old, and Morley had just had her first facial, her first manicure, and she felt elegant. She felt sophisticated. Her hair felt light and bouncy,

felt as if it was swinging back and forth like on a television commercial. She glanced down at her hands. Her nails were sparkling. Her face was glowing. She was moving with grace. She felt as if her posture had improved. She felt as if she was standing tall.

She was utterly presentable. She held her nails up to her face, and she looked around the street, and she thought, please, Lord, let this be the moment I run into someone I haven't seen for years. And then she was thinking about what was waiting for her. She was thinking in a moment she would walk into her house and there would be a caterer to greet her. She thought, how good it is to be rich. My servant is waiting. My servant who has been with me all these years, I should give him the weekend off. And that made her smile and she thought, how could I cope without him?

I don't even know where he keeps the coffee. And she laughed out loud and she thought how wonderful it was to be so calm and elegant, how wonderful it was to have a faithful servant laying out plates of hot food on her dining room table while she sashayed along the street looking so good that birds were falling out of the very trees she was walking under. She could hardly wait to get home. She would breeze into the kitchen and check one of the dishes casually as if this was something she was used to doing. And then she would go upstairs and stand in front of the mirror and check herself. She looked so darn good.

It was ten past five when she walked in the side door. She had expected to be wrapped in the steamy aroma of a kitchen going full blast. She had expected her dining room table to be groaning with hot plates and platters. She had expected hors d'oeuvres and entrees and salads and desserts. She had expected an abundance. She had expected an overabundance. She had expected excess. She stopped dead in her tracks. There was a laundry basket on the counter. There were dirty dishes on the sink. There were footprints on the kitchen floor. Not only was there no food, there was no sign of a caterer anywhere.

There was a deficit of caterers. She phoned Dave at work. Dave wasn't at work. He left an hour ago, said Brian. He said to tell you he went to get a keg of beer. A keg of beer, choked Morley. And chips, said Brian. Morley's mouth fell open and she hung up. That was a joke, said Brian, but she didn't hear him. Brian phoned back. That was a joke, he said. Dave went to buy flowers. Is everything okay?

The caterer isn't here, said Morley. Don't worry, said Brian, he'll show up. But people will be here in less than an hour, said Morley. Those guys work fast, said Brian. Don't worry. Okay, thought Morley. She went upstairs and stood in front of her full-length bedroom mirror. Her elegance had evaporated. She looked distressingly familiar. Her hair,

which had been so flouncy on the street, had flounced into a tangled mess. She looked at the clock radio, 5.15. Guests would be arriving in less than an hour. She went downstairs to the kitchen. The laundry basket was still on the counter. The dishes were still in the sink. The footprints were still on the floor. Telephone rang. She looked at it with apprehension. Hello, she said.

It was a man, an unfamiliar voice. Is that you, Mrs. Dave? an unfamiliar voice. Is that you, Mrs. Dave? Yes, said Morley. Who's this? I am Frank, your server, said the voice on the phone. Frank, said Morley. Where are you? The voice said, I'm right here. Where are you? Morley said, I'm in the kitchen. There was an uncomfortable pause. The voice on the phone said, I don't see you. Morley said, well, where are you? The voice on the phone, Frank said said, I'm in the kitchen, too. There was a longer pause.

Then Frank said, I don't think you're in the kitchen. When are you coming home? Morley said, Frank, where are you exactly? Frank said, I'm by the stove. Morley couldn't help herself. She glanced across the kitchen towards the stove. She almost said, you are not. But she suppressed the impulse and she said instead, Frank, she said, what house are you at?

I'm at your house, said Frank. Fifteen chestnut. Frank said, Morley, we don't live at 15 chestnut. Morley could hear the gears grinding in Frank's brain. But, said Frank triumphantly, if you do not live here, why am I set up for your party at 15 Chestnut? Frank said morally, we live at 50 Chestnut. There was a longer pause. Frank said morally, why did the people at 15 Chestnut let you set up for a party they're not having?

You're not home yet, said Frank. Frank said, Morley, how did you get in? There were men working on the deck, said Frank. They let me in. Frank said, Morley, I don't want to upset you, but I think you're at the wrong house. Morley had the portable phone in the crook of her shoulder. She had already picked the laundry basket off the kitchen counter, and she was running upstairs. She stopped on the landing. Frank, she said, don't cry. I just lit the sterno, he said, Don't cry. I just lit the sterno, he said. All the food's in the warming dishes.

His voice had raised an octave. He said the house wasn't ready for a party. It took me an hour to tidy everything. And then he said, Mrs. Dave, what happens if you come home? Frank said, Morley, stay calm. I have a plan. This is not a good situation, said Frank. I'm not trained for this. Frank said, Morley, listen to me.

I want you to turn the warming plates off. I want you to walk up the street. No, Frank, listen to me. I want you to run up the street. I want you to run up the street to my house. I want you to run to 50 Chestnut Street. There's a station wagon in the driveway. I'm going to put the key in the ignition. Bring everything down here.

There was a sob on the other end of the line. Frank said, What about the Millers, Mrs. Dave? Who are the Millers, Frank said morally. There's a paper here on the counter by the fridge. It's addressed to Mr. Don Miller. If you don't live here, is it possible that Mr. Don Miller does? Morley took a deep breath. She said, the Millers aren't expecting you, Frank, I am.

She felt like she was in the thick of a hostage taking. She felt like she was trying to talk a hostage taker out of his hideout Mrs. Dave said, Frank, what happens if the Millers come home and find their house tidy and clean And smelling of chicken pot pie and vegetable cannelloni Frank said morally, watching herself in the mirror That is a risk we're just going to have to take. It took Frank five minutes to get down the street, and when he knocked on the front door, his face was white. Frank said, Morley, the key's in the car.

Mrs. Dave, he said, Frank was wringing his hands. You don't understand, he said, you don't understand how much I cleaned up there. The house doesn't look like the same house anymore. Just go, said Morley. We won't say anything to anyone. Just go and get the food. Frank was nodding his head, but he was staring into the middle distance and he wasn't moving. Frank, said Morley. The tires squealed as he backed onto the street. Halfway up the block, he honked his horn and jammed on his brakes and swerved around a man on a bicycle. Dave. Dave watched in disbelief as his own car screamed to a halt halfway up the street.

He watched as a man he had never seen before, a man in black pants and a white shirt leapt out of his car and ran into Dr. Codwell's house. Dr. Codwell's old house. Dr. Codwell's house. Dr. Codwell's old house. Dr. Codwell had sold his house just before Christmas. Before Dave could work out what to do, the man ran out of Dr. Codwell's house carrying a large silver dish. He threw it in the back of Dave's station wagon. And then he ran back in the house again. Dave couldn't believe his eyes.

He was witnessing a robbery. And then, and then as he stood there trying to work out whether he should tackle a guy or call the police, a second car pulled into the driveway, and Don Miller stepped out. It took a while to sort things out. But mostly Don Miller couldn't believe what Frank had done to his house. It was full of contractors when Don had last seen it. Frank had rolled up the painter's drop cloths and swept up the sawdust and lugged a table up from the basement. Looks incredible, said Don Miller. I know, said Frank.

And that is when Don Miller said, we haven't moved in yet. My wife and kids fly in tonight, but we're staying at a hotel until Monday. He said, we're staying there until the movers come. Why don't you leave everything here? Why don't you have your party here? And that's when Dave said, only if you bring your family. There's something liberating about a house without furniture. Dave set up a sound system in the empty living room, and they cranked it up, and eventually people danced. And when Don Miller arrived with his wife and their two kids, people phoned home, and other kids drifted in.

It was a grand party. Frank recovered his equilibrium and glided around the house with his bow tie askew. Sleeves rolled up. People perched on countertops with plates in their laps. People sat all the way up the stairs sipping wine from glasses and beer out of the bottle. Someone sent out for pizza for the kids. At 11.30, while they were dancing in the living room with their shoes off, Morley leaned against Dave and said, I feel like a teenager. Which is exactly what Sam, 11 years old,

said not five minutes later to Molly Miller, age 12, as he smoked his first cigarette with her in the Miller's garage. Smoked it. He would have eaten it if Molly Miller had asked him to. Miller's come from Indian Bluff, Saskatchewan, town of 2,000 people, where Don taught high school, and Susan, his wife, worked in the bank. This is great, said Don Miller to Dave as they leaned against the kitchen counter just before midnight.

We were scared of coming. Not tonight, not to this, to the city. Susan was offered an opportunity and we had to try it, but we were scared we wouldn't meet anyone. We were scared Molly would fall in with the wrong kind of kids. By the time they bought out the cake, Morley had forgotten it was her birthday. Mary Turlington had got at the icing and had now read, Happy Birthday, Morley, across the top, and Welcome Home, Millers, on the bottom. Don Miller gave a speech, and he was funny, and everyone applauded,

and no one even noticed Morley when she sat down quietly in a corner and opened her presents. It was a perfect night. A night of spilled drinks and dancing and general youthfulness. A perfect night to turn 40. Sometime after midnight, Sam came to Morley and said he didn't feel good. I think I'll go home, he said. Too many Cokes, said Morley. I smoked, said Sam.

Oh, said Morley, that always makes me feel sick, too. Me, too, said Sam. Do you think I'll get cancer? Probably not, said Morley. Do you think you can quit? Probably not, said Morley. Do you think you can quit? I think so, said Sam. I'm going to quit tomorrow.

It was well past midnight, well past midnight, when Dave and Morley slipped quietly in the back door of their house. Dave poured himself a glass of water and leaned against the kitchen counter. Was that okay, he asked. Morley walked across the kitchen and put her arms around his neck and whispered in his ear, One more dance, she said. One more dance. And they danced slowly around the kitchen, dancing to music only they could hear.

There was a laundry basket on the counter. There were dirty breakfast dishes in the sink. There were footprints on the floor. It was perfect. Thank you. applause Thank you. That was the story we call Morley's 40th birthday bash. And actually, I think, is it on the CD or something? It's also called Morley's birthday bash. And actually, I think on what is it on the CD or something? It's also called Morley's birthday party. And I think in the book, in one of Stuart's books, it's called

the birthday present. So I don't know. I don't know what you want to call it. And my favorite title is Morley's 40th birthday bash. So we'll go with that. That was Morley's 40th birthday bash. Morley's 40th birthday bash. So we'll go with that. That was Morley's 40th birthday bash. All right. We got to take a short break now. Clearly, I need a break. We're going to be back in a minute with a sneak it for this week's episode. We will be back here next week with two more Dave and Morley stories, including this one. He was climbing into the laundry chute. You aren't allowed, said Annie. Dave looked at his sister earnestly.

Look, he said, Mom doesn't know everything. We do lots of things we aren't supposed to do. We aren't supposed to stand up on toboggans. We aren't supposed to play in the creek with our clothes on. We aren't supposed to ride cows. I don't do any of that stuff, said Annie. That's next week. You can hear the whole story next week on the podcast.

Backstage at the Vinyl Cafe is part of the Apostrophe Podcast Network. Theme music is by Danny Michelle. The show was recorded by Greg DeCloot and produced by Louise Curtis and me, Jess Milton. Let's meet again next week. Until then, so long for now.