| "Batchelor(ette)
Party(ing)"
by M. Mitchell Marmel & E.O. Costello © 2010 by M. Mitchell Marmel and E.O. Costello Willow Fawnsworthy, Reggie Buckhorn, Franklin Stagg, Orrin Brush, and Leslie duCleds, © Eric Costello Rosie Baumgartner, Inocenta duCleds (nee de Ciervos) Marryin’ Sam and Lulubelle Mae Brunswick © M. Mitchell Marmel Ranua Milikonu, Lisa Fallingwater, and Brenda and Covina Johnson © Walter D. Reimer Katie MacArran and Heloise the Huntress © J. T. Urie Chapter Four
Me, I purred. “I think it’s a great idea, Franneleh. You and Sergeant Brush can keep a lid on Reggie and Les.” I smiled at him. “And look at it this way – you’ll be able to impart some wisdom to him. Lord knows his father won’t bother to.” Franklin gave me a wry look. “I’ll try to think of some advice that won’t go in one ear and out the other.” I giggled, fairly purring at the thought of a party on a yacht – probably with a liquor cabinet the size of some small homes. It’d be like the old days at Jay Goatsby’s place. ***
“Mister du Cleds, Chief Sapper has agreed to your request, with one amendment.” “Yes, Inspector?” “It would be rather impolite for the fur who operates the Jail to be denied an invitation.” “Oh. Well, of course Chief Sapper’s invited as well. The party’s scheduled for Thursday night, at eight o’clock.” “I will relay your kind invitation to the Chief.” ***
I had originally planned on holding the party at the Double Lotus. After all, you don’t need bachelors at a bachelorette party, now do you? Holding it aboard a yacht, though – that was a lot better. No need for pesky neighbors calling in to the Constabulary for public nuisance complaints. And we can keep the party from going mobile. So I headed over to the Lotus to break the news. “Rosie!” Brenda called out as soon as I walked in. Brenda and her wife Covina had taken over the bartending after I left. “Everything still on for the party?” “Change in plans,” I said, and I explained while a crowd gathered. Everyone thought that it was a great idea – of course, everyone thought having a night out ‘Girlz Only’ was very appealing. I knew word would get around, and we’d all head out to the boat by water taxis that Thursday night. ***
I finished the last of my paperwork for Thursday (thankfully there isn’t a lot of it) and took the daily dispatches upstairs to the radio room to send them on to Seathl. After getting back to the office (the Chancery of the Embassy of the Rain Island Anarchracy, if you want to be pedantic or picky about it) I had some time to reflect. I’ve been at this job for five years now, which is a pretty good record if you think about it. The Foreign Syndics are happy with my work, and the Embassy staff has no complaints either. I try to keep my job here a closely-guarded secret, because if word got out how much fun I have after work there’d be a line of furs clamoring for my post. Think about it – Spontoon’s a beautiful place, and even on its worst days the weather’s a damn sight nicer than Seathl. And fewer furs here wear plaid. So I breezed on into the Lotus for an after-work drink to unwind, and noticed that the place was largely deserted. “Hey, Covina! Where is everyone?” Covina was packing away the strongbox behind the bar and she grinned at me. “Hi, Lisa. Everyone’s headed for the water taxis.” “Why?” She explained to me that there was an all-woman party on a yacht out in the harbor, with drinks and music until the wee hours. I looked hurt. “And you didn’t invite me?” Covina put her paws on her hips. “Well, you haven’t been in lately,” she said. “Been seeing a bit too much of that young badger lately, huh?” I swished my brush. Bobby’s a close friend. Very close. “Never mind about that,” I said, “tell me about this party, and am I invited?” “Of course you’re invited!” Covina said. “We need you and your clarinet.” “Let me get it,” I said, “and I’ll meet you at the taxi rank.” Inocenta apparently got into the booze a bit early, as she seemed, um, excessively cheerful as the water taxi headed out to the yacht. Leslie had apparently done a great job, as she was showing quite a bit by now and her light dress wasn’t hiding much. Not, I think, that Inocenta was interested in hiding anything. Willow sat next to her, I guess to keep her from pitching over backwards into the harbor. I just sat and looked out at the boat. “Tu no - *hic* - yo no sabo,” Inocenta suddenly said, “how big the breastseses they get when the femmefur carry the deer-puppy. Here, mira – take a look,” and she started to undo her blouse. The boat heeled a bit as the driver overheard her and almost lost control. Willow clutched at her and yelled over the sound of the engine and the laughter of some of the Lotus crowd, “Dammit, Inocenta! Wait till we’re on the boat, at least!” ***
I have to make a note to thank Catherine MacArran at the first opportunity. Hmmmm . . . Willow Buckhorn stationery? Not quite yet . . . The yacht ‘Happy Trails’ was a hundred feet long, a trim and shapely example of what happens when a fur has more money than they know what to do with and still has a sense of taste. The decks were teak and the entire aft stateroom was glassed in. Mahogany paneling, velvet cushions on the seats and sofas. Very nice indeed. We all went exploring (there must have been about forty women, as our taxi led a small flotilla out to the yacht) and discovered that the ship’s ‘liquor cabinet’ was almost the same size of the after stateroom. Clearly, having Reggie steered clear of this place was the right course of action. The water taxis dropped us all off at the yacht, while taking off the small crew. The captain, a spare-looking feline, just grinned and told me that the Duchess had arranged things for him and his crew, and we were to enjoy ourselves. Which started immediately. We all gathered in the stateroom and Rosie hopped up on a table. To calls of “Take it off!” she grinned and said, “Maybe later. Right now I want to introduce you to the guest of honor, Willow Fawnsworthy.” Everyone applauded and cheered, and I fought the urge to blush. “We’re here tonight on a solemn occasion,” Rosie said, giving a wave to a tall vixen who was putting together a clarinet. “Willow’s getting married on Saturday, you see.” There were groans of disappointment, and a few not-so-veiled hints that anything Reggie could offer could be improved upon. I demurred, and Rosie said, “We’re here to see her off in style, so let’s party! Lisa?” And as the crowd cheered, the vixen started playing. Now, usually I can’t stand the clarinet. Hardly anyone can play it, breathing life into the adage that the instrument’s ‘an ill woodwind that nobody blows good,’ but this woman knew how to play it. Brother, did she ever; a hot, smooth jazz number that had a lot of the girls dancing while bottles were brought out of storage and drinks were quickly passed around. Wasted effort, as quite a few of the girls were already several sheets to the wind, and some didn’t bother with anything so louche as glasses. The vixen then set her clarinet aside and started to sing in a surprisingly strong alto: “Long ago in New Amsterdam, There lived a cousin of the Duke of Buckingham, His friends knew Buckingham to be a sport So they cut the ‘ham’ and called him ‘Buck’ for short. One day Buck met a little cluck, and he whispered ‘Duckie, Dear,’ In accents loud and clear, ‘Please marry me, my dear.’ She replied ‘I will be your bride, but there must be no delay.’ So they were buckled up that day.” I had to laugh, and accepted a nice cold gin and tonic and found a seat. Lisa (who, it turned out, was none other than Rain Island’s ambassador to Spontoon) gave me a wink and kept singing, while other women started playing other instruments: “Soon they had a lot of little Bucks, And you know how fast they grow. There was one Buck, two Bucks, three Bucks, four Bucks, No one knows how many more Bucks. Mrs. Buck would play the ukulele every morn till two, And while Old Man Buck was singing All the little Bucks were buck-and-winging. When they had eggs for breakfast, Buck was out of luck; Each Buck would eat a dozen eggs, and a dozen cost a buck.” Hmm. I’m not sure, but I think I’m blushing. And it’s not the G&T. “The landlord came to raise Buck’s rent, But he couldn’t raise a sou. So he backed up the motor truck, And he said goodbye, he said goodnight, he said goodbye, And off he slouched – to Timbuctoo!” Yep, definitely blushing. ***
“Heinrich?” “Ja, meine liebe Sophia?” My darling sweet wife, she look at me both sour and bitter. “You must leave our rooms. I am tired of seeing you here, underfoot.” “Meine liebe, you have forgotten what the judge said?” The judge in March did sentence me to six months of house arrest for my crashing a small aeroplane onto a beach during the duCleds wedding. Hah. I did far worse in the War. “Take this with you.” She give me a sealed envelope, bearing our crest in wax. I look at her, and nod my head. Perhaps my enforced stay in our rooms is wearing on meine liebe Sophia. I look at the envelope, and it reads “Detective Inspector Franklin Stagg, Meeting Island Jail.” “Sophia?” “Senor Buckhorn is having his bachelor party there, Heinrich.” Meine liebe lays her paw most tenderly against my face. “Have fun, but do not drink so much.” Have I said lately how much I love this wondrous woman? ***
Leave it to Lisa to find the one song that could simultaneously tease a girl and give her second thoughts. Still, it went over well and Lisa accepted our applause (along with a very brown whiskey and soda). While she started pickling herself I clambered up on the bar along with Brenda and Covina, and we started dancing. Made me wish Toni was here. I miss her, sometimes. next |
