A Mural in Manasquan Mother Nature sent a dusting of white glitter just in time for my annual Christmas party on December 3. The night sky is a lush navy blue and loaded with silver stars, giving the Villa di Crespi a Currier & Ives glow. I hear the creak of my kitchen door as I put the last bit of parsley garnish on a tray of mushroom puffs.

"This is the first time I've dared to wear strapless since 1951," Toot announces, "and what better place to reveal my decolletage than your living room." She steps inside, drops a mink shrug to the floor, and reveals a tasteful black strapless chemise.

"You look gorgeous, sis."

"I know. Have I got a story for you. Wait until you hear the latest about my sex life. Are you listening?"

"No," I say flatly, giving her a platter of mozzarella balls to take to the buffet.

"Well, I'll tell you anyway. I feel like I'm one of those pups-in-skirts acts in the circus. You know how the clown opens a box and one by one these toy poodles jump out in pink tutus and jump through gold rings? That's what it's like with Sal. We get through one hoop, and then there's another."

"He's a challenge?"

"Like you wouldn't believe. It's tough when they're sixty-plus. Stamina is definitely an issue." Toot picks up an iced snowman cookie, thinks better of it, and puts it back near the reindeer with the cinnamon-drop nose. "We were going along just fine, and then we had a little problem. The plumbing took a hiatus, you know what I mean?"

"Uh-huh."

"So now Sal gets very nervous when we get close to the deed. He gets himself so rattled we have to stop. He's afraid of another infraction-"

"Malfunction."

She ignores me and continues. "And I don't know how to soothe him. I've tried rum and Coke, rum and coffee, rum cake, massage, Cuban cigars, and oysters. We get near the goal posts and he peters out. Maybe I'm too much for him. Maybe that's it."

"Toot, as devoted to you as I am, I'm begging you: Please don't tell me another thing about your sex life." I pick up a platter of potato wedges with sour cream and caviar. "Come on." Toot follows me to the dining room. "This is a very important night. It's not just my annual holiday party. It's the first visit from the artisans who are hopefully going to work with me on the church. Rufus and Pedro are finally coming to Jersey. I'm half sick to my stomach, because I've finished the design and now I have to show them. What if they hate what I've done?"

"Since when have you ever been nervous about a job?"

"The minute Father gave me the go-ahead."

"But you wanted it."

"That doesn't mean I'm not terrified."

Toot puts the platter of cheese on the table and turns to me. "Now, listen to me. Buck up. You're the best. You're a di Crespi, for godsakes. You're a damn good decorator. Look at your Christmas tree. Who has the guts to decorate a tree in red only? It's like the flames of holiday hell over here! Who thinks red lights, red ribbons, and red popcorn? I'll tell you who-a man with balls. It takes courage to march to the beat of your own drummer. So march!"

Toot's pep talk only makes me feel worse. The doorbell rings. Toot and I look at each other. "Aunt Edith," we say in unison. Toot follows me to the door.

I throw it open. "Merry Christmas, Aunt Edith!" I lean down and kiss her on both cheeks. She tastes like lilac and mothballs.

"I almost broke a hip on the ice. Where are the crabbies?" I point to the dining room and a large tray of Auntie's favorite English muffins baked with crab salad and cheddar cheese. I give cousin Marlene, Edith's daughter, a quick kiss as she helps Aunt Edith to the buffet. Marlene is a long, lean woman with wide hips. From the rear she resembles a bass fiddle. The cummerbund on her palazzo pants only emphasizes the shape. Aunt Edith throws the crabbies back like a handful of pain pills. Pia, who gave me the crabbie recipe, is cousin Carmine's sister. She has a way with all dishes made with mayo.

PIA'S CRABBIES Yield: 48 Crabbies 12 cup butter, softened 1 cup shredded mozzarella 1 cup soft pimento cheese spread 2 tablespoons mayonnaise 1 clove garlic, minced 8 oz. crabmeat 8 English muffins, split Paprika Salt 1 cup shredded cheddar cheese

In a large bowl, blend the butter, the mozzarella, and the cheese spread. Add the mayonnaise, garlic, and crabmeat. Mix well. Spread on the muffin halves, and sprinkle with paprika. Salt to taste. Sprinkle the cheddar cheese on top. Place the muffins on a cookie sheet and broil until tops are golden. Cut each muffin half into 6 wedges, and serve.

"The house looks gorge," cousin Marlene says, drinking in my winter wonderland. "It's a lot of red, but I don't feel engulfed."

"Good." Oh, shut it, Marlene, I think. You have the worst taste in the family. You did your living room in black and white. It's like sitting on the inside of a sock.

The doorbell rings again. Toot answers it. The party started at 8:00 P.M., which means every cousin I have (fifty-seven confirmed) will arrive within three seconds of one another for the next ten minutes, making the house look like the last round-up in a Joel McCrea western. The di Crespis are nothing if not prompt.

"B! City people!" Toot calls from the door. I excuse myself from a conversation with cousin Marlene about eczema and head for the door.

"Eydie, darling!" I shout.

Eydie is swathed head to toe in ruby-red velvet. "Pa rum pum pum pum!" I say approvingly as I kiss her on both cheeks.

Eydie is accompanied by four handsome men in tuxedoes. "Thank goodness you have the originality to throw your bash on a Monday night. These are the lead dancers from Hello, Dolly!, and this is their dark night. This is Mark, Averell, and Sam. And this is the dance captain, Ronnie."

"We also sing," Sam says with a grin.

"Well, you'd better. My aunt Edith didn't schlep three blocks to watch you eat ring baloney on rye toast," I tell them.

The quartet bursts into "Jolly Old Saint Nicholas" in perfect four-part harmony.

"Oh, sing another, please!" Toot begs.

"After some vodka," Averell (I think) agrees.

"Get these chan-toozies some drinks!" Toot yells helpfully.

I mix four vodka collinses at the self-serve bar. On cue, my cousins pour into the house, chattering like wind-up Halloween teeth. I load the Hello Dollies' drinks on a tray. As I worm my way through the crowd, I hear my cousin Frannie give Marlene a quick holiday recipe. "All you do is get a block of Philadelphia cream cheese."

"Okay," Marlene says, concentrating.

"Take it out of the foil and put it on a plate. Then you bathe it in cocktail sauce, you know, ketchup, horseradish, and a shot of fresh lemon juice."

"You put that over the cream cheese?"

"Uh-huh. Bathe it. Make sure you use a big enough plate-you don't want the cocktail sauce runnin' all over the table. You know what? Use a platter and fan a box of Triscuits around it. Dip them in the cream cheese and cocktail sauce, and honest to God, you don't even miss the shrimp."

I shoot them a look. To bring up a cut-rate hors d'oeuvre recipe at my top-shelf party is not cricket.

Eydie has commandeered a drink from Uncle Petey, who had a few before the party (who are we kidding, he had a few before lunch), so he's genuflecting on the ottoman, whispering something into her ear. She smiles politely, and then I see him unfurl his purplish tongue into her ear canal. "Uncle Petey, really!" I thunder. "Go into the kitchen and have a cup of coffee immediately!" He scoots out quickly. "Sorry about that, Eydie."

"It's okay. It was just a little tongue."

"It starts with a little tongue, and then you know what happens."

"What?"

"Pretty soon he's playing horsie." She looks at me. "You weren't here last year. After a couple of highballs, he almost rode Aunt Georgie into the sunset."

"B! The door!" Toot hollers from corner of the dining room where she is holding court about how to jog over the age of fifty without giving yourself a heart attack.

I tear myself away from Eydie and go to the front door. "Rufus. Pedro." I shake their hands. "Welcome to the Villa di Crespi, where the wine is flowing and the women . . . well, you pick."

Rufus gives me a bottle of wine in a chic silver sack. Pedro hands me a carved wooden box. "It's from Mexico," he says.

"Thank you," I say. "Rufus, the haircut is a winner." From the neck up he looks like a Roman soldier, with his thick hair brushed back. From the neck down he is Princeton (on work study), natty in charcoal-gray wool trousers, a blue shirt, and a navy blue blazer. Pedro wears black slacks, a white shirt, and a black jacket.

"I didn't know you hired a valet," cousin Marlene says from behind me.

I spin around and whisper, "It's not a uniform. He's a guest."

Marlene shrugs. "I couldn't tell. Sorry."

I make a mental note to scratch her off my guest list permanently. Marlene is positively backward.

"Hi, cousin." Christina, looking like a goddess, gives me a kiss on the cheek.

"B, I made an ornament," Amalia says, handing me a glittering red construction-paper bird. "Don't worry. It's red."

"Go put it on the tree." Before she turns to go, I pull her aside. "You look very pretty," I tell her.

"I do not." She blushes.

"Your father would be very proud of you." She smiles at me. "Now, go hang that bird."

Rufus and Pedro are at the buffet table, where Christina joins them. In a simple black sleeveless shift and white pearls, her hair in an elegant upsweep, she is a real lady. I look over at Toot, who walks toward me hiking up the heart-shaped bodice of her strapless with both hands.

"B, say hello to Sal," she says gaily.

"Merry Christmas, Sal." I find myself looking away quickly, because now I don't see the face of my sister's boyfriend but a walking plumbing problem.

"Isn't he a peach?" Toot drapes herself across Sal like a car tarp. Sal has a round face and a square body, reminding me of the first clown I ever drew. He is bald with long sideburns and not very tall (it doesn't matter, Toot is five feet four). He wears a dark blue suit with a red tie. Toot points to my face and makes a circle around it. "B looks like Mama." She points to herself. "And I look like Daddy. Go figure." Sal laughs. He seems genuinely entertained by my sister.

"Who are you?" Toot takes one look at Rufus McSherry and sashays over to him, extending her gloved hand.

"Rufus McSherry."

"May I call you Sir Scrumptious? B, you didn't tell me Mr. McSherry was so ruggedly handsome," Toot says, practically purring. The strapless has really brought out her wild side. I'm mortified.

"I wanted you to see for yourself." I make my way around the sofa and yank open the windows, now that Toot is throwing more heat than a coal stove. "The buffet is in the dining room. The bar is in the den. If you go home hungry or sober, it's your own damn fault," I tell Sal. "Try the punch. It's Aunt Vi's recipe. She lived to be ninety-nine and swore it was the punch."

SANTA'S HELPERS Aunt Vi's K.O. Christmas Punch Two 6-ounce cans frozen pink lemonade concentrate 1 cup fresh blueberries 16 maraschino cherries 1 quart raspberry ice or sherbet 2 bottles rose (or any pink table wine) Sugar 1 bottle sparkling rose wine, chilled

Make one can pink lemonade from directions on the can. Fill 4 ice-cube trays with the lemonade. Drop one blueberry or maraschino cherry in each square. Freeze. In a punch bowl combine the sherbet, rose wine, and the other can of lemonade concentrate, and stir until blended. Add sugar to taste. Right before serving, pour in the sparkling rose, drop in Santa's presents-the lemonade ice cubes-and serve at once.

"Hello, Tootsie." Lonnie and Doris kiss Toot.

"Oh, I had no idea you were coming," Toot says, looking at me.

"I saw Doris at the A&P and we were fighting over the last tube of fig paste," I explain. "What can I say? They're family."

"Thanks, B." Lonnie says, smiling. Doris squeezes my hand.

"Well, since we're having a love-in, Lonnie, Doris, I'd like you to meet my . . . boyfriend, Sal Concarni."

"Of Belmar?" Doris asks.

"That's me."

"I think you fixed the pipes at my townhouse once."

"Oh yeah, yeah," Sal remembers. "You had that bilevel number in the Sea Girt Estates."

"Oh, I love a man who can roll up his sleeves and fix a clog," Toot says. "Sal is very talented." There is a long silence.

"Where would we be without sewage?" Lonnie makes an attempt at party chitchat. "Really, think about it. What kind of a stinkin' world would this be without pipes and drains and septic tanks and what have you?"

No one knows what to say. After what seems like an hour, I manage, "Why don't you have something from the buffet? I made veal parm, Doris. I know you like it."

Happy to be released, Doris leads Lonnie to the food.

"Look," Toot whispers.

At first I don't recognize the woman, then I realize it's my niece, Ondine. She is so puffy her face looks like a pancake with two chocolate chips for eyes. "What happened?" I ask Toot.

"Water weight. It's gotta be a girl."

"How do you know?"

"It's stealing her beauty."

I go to Ondine and give her a Christmas hug. "I'm enormous, B," she whines. "Look at my hands. They look like catcher's mitts." She holds them up. They do. "I can't wear my rings anymore, and Nicky has to shave my legs."

"Oh, dear." What is it about the women in my family? Have they no discernment?

Ondine continues, "It's horrible. Nobody told me."