Dinner With Al and George

The woman had a look on her face that belied her standing as an active church member and kindergarten teacher. It was a look of malice as dark and as cold as a winter in Milwaukee.

“I will never,” she said, staring across the dinner table at a squirming Republican, “vote for those squinty Texas eyes!” Her saliva sprayed the air.

The Republican sank lower in his seat. The room bristled with animosity. The woman glared.

Welcome to the Sunday before Election 2000. It’s a time for good friends to get together, have a few drinks, hug, kissy-kiss, discuss politics and end up hating each other.

The battleground on this occasion was at the home of my good friend Shortcut Eddie Bernstein, whose aim in life is to disrupt relationships that are otherwise comfortable and often quite warm. He brings together couples of various persuasions and goads them to the brink of violence with question like, “What do you think of the election?”

The response on a recent night among a dozen dinner guests began slowly enough as the wine was passed around: Gore is more knowledgeable. Bush is more passionate. Gore is less involved with people. Bush is less forthright.

Then it built: Gore can’t communicate! Bush is stupid! Gore is a robot! Bush is a liar! Gore is a Clinton stooge! Bush is a stooge for the NRA and THEY’LL KILL US ALL!

As emotions reached critical mass, the woman in question, who under normal circumstances rarely spoke above a whisper, roared in the guttural tone of a person possessed that she would never vote for anyone with SQUINTY TEXAS EYES! That would be “W.”

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For a moment, no one spoke. Then a man noted for his belligerence shot her a feral glance and said, “What . . . [do] his eyes have to do with anything?”

“The eyes are the windows to the soul,” she replied, her voice lower but still in the growling mode of possession, “and they clearly indicate that Bush has no soul!”

We were in a home in the Santa Monica Mountains, looking out at a twilight chilled by autumn. Bush was in Wisconsin dancing to the tune of truth, honesty and the importance of sober driving. Gore was in Chicago giving a stirring speech on the effects of cow flatulence on the ozone layer.

In between, the gentlemanly nature of their differences had devolved into name-calling, which was clearly reflected at the dinner party hosted by Shortcut Bernstein.

One woman, a psychologist, dismissed an opponent by sputtering, “Body dirt!” I understood perfectly what she meant but wondered at its origin. Her 4-year-old son had heard the phrase in a commercial and applied it when angry. Before the night was over, it was incorporated into several monologues in surprisingly creative ways. More you don’t have to know.

“No one in this room knows squat about politics,” a teacher from UCLA said.

“I’m just against anything Barbra Streisand is for,” a software company executive declared.

“I’m against anything the U.S. Chamber of Commerce is for,” a television writer replied.

Then Shortcut turned to me and said pleasantly, “How about you?”

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I am more observer than participant. Sure, I watch “The West Wing.” I loved “The Contender” and “Dave” and “Mars Attacks!” I would vote for Martin Sheen, Jeff Bridges, Kevin Kline or even Jack Nicholson, smiling crazily, before I would vote for Bush. I am the liberal puke of your nightmares. But a columnist speaking aloud is like a dog barking at the wind. No one really cares.

So I said, “How about that Nader guy?”

Well, sir, it became like another Reform Party convention. The Possessed Woman went ballistic. Forget Bush’s squinty Texas eyes. “Ralph Nader,” she declared, is power-hungry and irresponsible.

“That sums up the average politician,” the writer said.

“Nader the Traitor!” she shouted, the growl returning.

I halfway expected someone to send for an exorcist.

But no one was listening. A woman in the crowd had just declared her support for Pat Buchanan. I thought her boyfriend would faint. He was a Maoist who was boycotting the election. He would vote for no one. That would show ‘em.

The debate went on until well past midnight. By the end of the evening it was huggy-hug and kissy-kiss again, but tension sizzled in the room. It will take months for the animosity to wear off, and then we’ll be one happy, howling, rumbling people again.

As Shortcut stood in the doorway, watching the others leave, I heard him say, “God, I love this country!”

Me too.

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Al Martinez’s column appears Sundays and Wednesdays. He can be reached online at al.martinez@latimes.com.