| "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 Six
Of all the furs to crash our party . . . There was no mistaking the voice. “Now, son, Ah say, Ah said Ah say Ah kin SMELL a bach’lor party two counties off!” And with that the one and only (two would be too many) Marryin’ Sam Brunswick swept into the room. The armadillo was in his best black suit and carrying what looked like a gallon bottle of Old Overcoat bourbon. To my surprise, the looming form of Baron von Kojote was right behind the armadillo. Surprising, since the Baron had been sentenced to six months of house arrest after his little flying stunt at my wedding back in March. Of course, the Baronin might have simply got tired of him and sent him back, postage prepaid. In fact, he was carrying a letter, which he passed to Inspector Stagg. The Baron took a seat and cocked an attentive ear at Marryin’ Sam. Sam stopped to survey our little gathering and boomed, “Gentlemen, as the, Ah say as the AM-bassa-dore of the YEW-nited States, I accuse ya’ll o’ startin’ a dipple-ma’ic incident!” Stagg frowned. Brush looked confused at Sam’s accent. Reggie asked, “Excuse me?” Chief Sapper jerked a thumb at Reggie. “What he said. What’s this about an incident?” “Who’re you, Suh?” “I’m Chief Constable Sapper.” The armadillo’s scaly muzzle split in a grin. “Well, Suh, Ah say that there’s an incident, if’n an American bride’s getting hitched an’ th’ AM-bassa-dore ain’t invited to her beau’s party!” “Oh, well, in that case,” Chief Sapper said with a grin, “can I offer you a sandwich and a bottle of lemonade?” The Ambassador looked even more offended. “A bach’lor smoker with no booze, Son? What is this, a Temp’rance meetin’?” He demonstrated by taking a healthy swig from his bottle and plunking it down in front of the Chief. Stagg cleared his throat. “There was an agreement made before this gathering, Mister Ambassador, that there would be no alcohol – “ “No? That’s too bad, Son. Ya’ll look like ya could use a nip’r two yasself. Mebbe make ya loosen up. Ya look like, Ah say ya look like a watch spring wound too tight.” Inspector Stagg looked stony-faced. Sergeant Brush looked about two seconds away from teaching Marryin’ Sam the virtues of blackjack-imposed silence. Chief Sapper reached out and took the bottle, then sniffed the contents and, to my surprise, took a deep drink of the bourbon. He smacked his lips as he said, “Ambassador, have a seat and let’s talk. We were just giving a little advice to Mister Buckhorn here – “ And that’s how we picked up two more party guests and one more source of heartfelt advice. ***
While Ambassador Brunswick was starting to give some ‘advice’ to Mister Buckhorn, I studied the envelope given me by the Baron von Kojote. I broke the seal and studied the contents. "Please keep the bearer of this letter under lock and key for one night. Do not feed him schnapps, and don't get him started on war stories, you'll be up all night. Thank you for any consideration you may show...Sofia, Baronin von Kojote." I decided to keep this information to myself. It would be, I reflected, the right thing to do. ***
By the time Rosie and her compatriots were finished dancing, there were couples dancing. If dancing’s the right word for it. Several were tangoing, while others were performing what could best be described as nautch dances. I hadn’t seen anything like it. And that went double for Grace, who just shuddered (I felt it, way back in my mind) and contented herself with watching. She knew that it was only a party, despite the – um, energy on display. The strip poker game got interesting fast. I strongly suspected some of the players were not in it to win. All of a sudden there was a bit of a disturbance and a crowd of women gathered around a familiar slim young equine. They started chanting “Go, Jackie, go!” Well, I had to go look. I wished I hadn’t as soon as I got through the crowd. Nice to see that Miss O’Lanterne hasn’t been neglecting her flexibility exercises. Several women drew me aside at that point and started to give me advice on how to handle a man. I thought my ears would burn off, and Grace retreated to the back corners of my mind, flagging, her paws over her ears. No sense of humor, that one. The two current bartenders at the Lotus, Brenda and Covina, suddenly whistled for attention. They were standing on the bar again, this time completely naked. To the accompaniment of hoots and catcalls from the crowd, they started to sing: ”Oh, I'm on the Drinking Man's Diet, It came from a book I was loaned. It's really terrific and quite scientific And I'm half stoned. For breakfast some cornflakes and vodka, But cornflakes have carbohydrate; So I don't eat those fattening cornflakes, I eat the vodka straight. “Drink, drink, everyone drink; It's not as bad as we used to think. With every Manhattan your stomach will flatten, So drink, drink, drink.” ***
Nice to see that Brenda and Covina haven’t lost their touch. Or their figures. Yum! ***
“The Air Corps invented this diet, A fact which they hotly deny. Of course they deny it, 'cause this is the diet That got the Air Corps high. For lunch you can have three martinis, What better lunch is there than that? But caution: do not eat the olives, 'Cause olives make you fat. “Drink, drink, everyone drink; It's not as bad as we used to think. If pounds you would burn off, then turn on your Smirnoff, And drink, drink, drink.” ***
The two girls really put their hearts into the song, and a couple of the onlookers aimed bottles of champagne at them, letting the corks fly after shaking the bottles vigorously. The foaming champagne soaked them both to the skin, accentuating their figures as they danced a bit closer to each other. ***
“For dinner, a nice Scotch and soda Now that oughtta help you to lose. No whipped cream, no butter, just lay in the gutter And booze, booze, booze. Suppose you should meet a policeman, Who says you've been quenching your thirst; You just tell him it's physical fitness And health comes first! “Drink (hic!), drink (hic!), booze everywhere (hic!); Pass that decanter of bourbon there. I'm fatter than ever, but here's what's so clever: I don't care!” ***
They finished the song with their trademark whoop and fell into each other’s arms as the crowd cheered. They climbed down off the bar, excused themselves and disappeared into another part of the yacht. There were some empty (and some not-so-empty, and a few quite crowded, by this time) staterooms there. No prize for guessing what they were going to do. I had another drink (I was carefully pacing myself and trying not to mix my drinks – a sure way to Slumberland for this little cheetah) and decided to nurse it more slowly. The scenery outside the windows appeared to be moving. I think. After all, the ceiling was starting to move, too. next |
