Evil Editor can be a little intimidating at first glance. Well, at second glance also. However, his blog is a pure joy and oddly enough, people get genuine help there, but he will deny that. There is an image to uphold and all.
Even so, I would love to pinch his little mutton-chopped cheeks and wish him a happy anniversary.
“We have been hired by a catering firm to help with an anniversary party for a rather well known editor. The party will include many famous, authors, editors and lit agents, so I expect you all to act professional.” The director of the Senior Center’s Old Grey Meres stopped and glared at Martha and Tilley.
Tilley lowered her magnifying glass and her Duds For Studs catalogue. Martha stopped filing her fingernail. They both looked around at the room full of old hens, who joined in the glaring.
“What! We’re not going to screw up your party,” Martha said with more than a little hostility. “You people are so suspicious.”
Tilly tapped her hearing aid. “Who did you say would be attending?’
Betty drummed her fingers on the lopsided podium her cross-eyed husband built and sniffed. “If you would pay attention to what I am saying instead of looking at naked men, I wouldn’t have to repeat myself.”
Tilly held up the catalogue, “He is not naked, he has those cute little Pinocchio bikinis on. The man furnishes the nose,” she said as if it needed explaining. She looked at the page again. “Too bad he isn’t demonstrating it.”
There was a rather loud “thunk” as Gretta passed out.
“Someone get the nurse, please,” Betty shouted, fanning the fallen member. “I was saying, there will be many important people there. Authors, editors, lit agents, etc. etc.” She continued waving the paper over Gretta and patting her plump jowls, but Gretta was out cold as last week’s lasagna.
Tilly looked down at her chest and then looked over at Martha, who had resumed filing her fingernails. “They have agents for those now?”
Martha stopped in mid-file. “Lit agents, Tilly. Literary. Get your damned hearing aid fixed.”
Betty hovered over Gretta, while the nurse tried to revive her. “This is a creative group so we will be wearing costumes from famous children’s stories. I trust not even you two can ruin that.”
Martha leaned back in her chair as the rest of the ladies left. She was fairly certain some of them hissed at her, when they passed. “I have half a mind to wear my French maid outfit,” she muttered.
Tilly resumed examining the catalogue with her magnifying glass. “I would wear my mermaid outfit, but I can’t walk in it very good. I could be the Little Mermaid.”
Martha stuffed her fingernail file in her purse as the last of the ladies filed out. “Yeah, I forgot. We have to be characters out of a children’s story.” She waved at Betty, who was helping the nurse get Gretta to her feet. “See ya, Wednesday, Betty.”
“Childrens’ characters, Martha. Children’s characters.”
She waved her hand in dismissal. “Yeah, I know.”
The selection at Risque Rentals was woefully picked over by the time Martha and Tilly got there. “There’s a romance writer’s conference in town,” the apologetic clerk said. “I’m not sure what we have that’s appropriate for ladies of your….” He floundered for the right word.
“Beauty?” Tilly said.
“No, that wasn’t quite the word I was looking for,” he replied.
“Charisma?” Martha offered.
He shook his head vehemently. Watching Martha and Tilly trying on outfits for the last thirty minutes gave him a distinct deer in the headlights look.
“Stature?” It was Tilly’s turn again.
He ducked behind the counter and backed into a rack of petticoats. Two very wide and frightened eyes peered out of the tulle. The rest of his face remained hidden, which muffled his response. “Maturity?” he peeped.
Martha and Tilly looked at each other in surprise. “No, that isn’t it,” they said in unison.
Martha settled on a fairy costume and said she would go as Cinderella’s fairy godmother. Tilly couldn’t find anything so they decided to do a little sewing on her mermaid costume so she could walk.
The girls arrived at the hotel and strolled through the swank lobby. A drunk was just coming out of the lounge, when they passed by.
“Whoa! A mermaid!” He staggered after them, trying to step on Tilly’s tail to stop her. “Hey, honey. I’ll give you fifty bucks to see your boobs.” He grinned and waved the bill in the air.
Tilly turned around and lifted the hem of her jacket a little. She smiled and snatched the money from his hand. “Just a look, no touching.”
He shook his head. “Nope, no touching, Nope, not in thish lifetime, shweetie.”
The banquet room was decorated with a variety of fictional characters. Pirates, ogres, dwarves, knights, everything a person could imagine paraded across the walls. A harried hotel worker shoved trays of appetizers at them. “Just wander around and offer the guests their choice.”
Martha tucked her magic wand in the mini-skirt of her fairy godmother costume and grabbed the tray. She walked across the room handing out canapés to the guests. “There are children starving in Africa,” she told one portly woman, who couldn’t make up her mind. “Take one and be glad you have anything to eat.”
Tilly wandered over to a group of guests and held the tray up.
“Ah, oysters on the half shell,” one of the men said as he reached out.
Tilly slapped his hand. “Oysters, hell. That’s my costume. You wanna feel, we’ll meet up later. Last guy gave me fifty just to look, but you’re kind of cute. I’ll let you feel for free.”
There was a throne at the back of the room with silk floor cushions scattered around it. Four women were in a minor brawl over who was going to sit at Evil Editor’s feet. Feathers drifted through the air, when one of the cushions ripped, spilling its avian guts.
Martha walked over and leaned against a column. She didn’t notice the man with the mutton chops peering out around from behind it until he sneezed at one of the feathers.
“God bless you,” she said.
“Thank you,” he replied with a sniffle. “What are you supposed to be?”
“A fairy godmother. Some publishing people are doing this shindig so we had to dress up like book characters.” She straightened her wings as if to emphasize it.
“I see,” he said, still staring in horror at the pillow fight. “Aren’t fairies supposed to have magic wands?”
She looked at the man and winked at him, then adjusted her sequined bra. “I’ll show you mine if you’ll show me yours.”