Little doubt exists that the cocktail party is a phenomenon well entrenched in American life. Once a rather formal gathering demanding tie, coat, low-cut gown, and satin and lace, in the past decade or so the precise term "cocktail party" has been discarded for a simple invitation "to come over for a drink," which usually can be translated plural. Even Hallmark greeting cards, both purveyor and guardian of middle-class mores, now markets a W. C. Fields number reading "Please join a select group for an evening of warm friendship, stimulating conversation, and ...let's see ...ah, yes ... BOOZE!"

If such get-togethers have lost some of their glamour and style amid shorts, Le Coste shirts, and similar gear, from Washington to San Francisco the end result is much the same. Whether this means a group of Capitol Hill employees inhaling mixed potables after a frustrating day spent trying to ma ke inept bosses look good in constituent eyes, a swinging singles set boozing it up in some high-rise tower, or well-to-do business tycoons and their women folk chatting lustily and swilling rare potions in much the same manner, it all adds up to a cocktail party.

In its purest sense, this is a gathering of at least two sexes swallowing intoxicants of some sort diluted with water, ice, soda, fruit juice, or certain wines and liqueurs. At the same time, those present make polite small talk and nibble on bits of this or that such as crackers, cheese, olives, oysters, shrimp, meat scraps, and pickled vegetables. This convivality may or may not precede dinner, at least not in the same environs. The time of such activity usually is about sunset, although this