Washington parties have a certain cultural cachet. Everyone knows that if Josh hosts a party, they'll regret not being there. People talk about a Washington party for months after- years, in some memorable cases. Someone usually does something they regret. If it were up to him, each party would end in a dramatic, Baachanalian climax of sex, drugs, and violence. His siblings and friends reign him in when his creative control would offend philistine sensibilities, and so instead, everyone agrees that the parties are fun. It's a delicate balance.
Parties at the lodge are the gentler, more diffident cousin of parties at the house. It's a select few of the Washingtons' dearest friends, retreating to the mountain wilderness to experience something sacred, profound, ecstatic. He's looking to have a religious experience, just a less wine-soaked one.
In theory: this is the inaugural lodge party. Hopefully it's not a major bummer. For now, it's a quiet affair. Setting up a party takes time, even one as muted and palatable as this one, so he and his sisters have enlisted some help.
"Hey, squirt, pass me the duct tape. I might have done some damage to mom's pristine antique any-tieth century lamp here."
