“My heart is a daffodil!” she sang again louder and farther from key, as if she didn’t know what else to do.
“Hi!” I said, standing, hoping to make her stop singing. “Hello!
“Okay!” she said, relieved. “I know I sang that already!” She
From the left shoulder a teeny puff of green smoke caught my eye. Could it be her clothes had caught fire? I was saved! Our date would have to be cancelled! I was about to mention it, but then, a smoky red dot came from her other shoulder. Then more rose into the air. Her jacket was making smoky polka dots! After all the other atrocities of her costume, I don’t know why that one—which actually struck me as half-clever—discouraged me most of all.
Two assistants of hers, with the same makeup, dressed in tight and shocking-pink jumpsuits, ran in, plucked the miniature hens and cock from her belt,
“You probably thought I was just a
“Yes,” I said. “I see. So, it’s… um… good to meet you.”
“Thank you!” she said, batting her eyelashes. “I don’t have to tell you, but you’re every girl’s dream. I mean,
As I gazed up at the mountain of hair, I pictured it tipping over and flattening me like something from a cartoon.
“Awe!” she cooed. “Your smile is so cute!” After a squeaky giggle, she said, “Let me tell you all about myself because I am so fascinating. Okay first, I had my big coming-out party yesterday. It was the biggest and
“Pig Squeak Believer Boys,” I confirmed. “Sorry, I’m not familiar with them.”
“No!” she laughed, as if I had made a joke, “The Pipsqueak Beaver-boys! They’re those adorable guys who dress like beavers, and… you know… have their little buns hanging out.” She giggled in falsetto. “They’re so hot and precious! I can’t wait for them to sing tonight. They’re music is
“I must have missed it.”
“Well,” she pouted, “I’m into whatever you’re into.” She leaned forward an inch, so that her jacket revealed more of her furry cleavage. “You like hair?”
Glancing down at my hands, I felt like I was the one exposed, and it reminded me of the feeling I had when I woke from my heart attack and found myself before thousands of fans screaming to know if I had a catheter, bed sores, or brain damage.
“Oh, I’m sorry! Please, don’t worry!” she said, seemingly distraught. “It comes off with a solution. I can be hairless if you like that. Or I could eat anything you want. I’ve eaten all sorts of weird things for boys who like that.”
The cooling fans in my jacket came on, as I felt embarrassed for both of us. “No,” I mumbled, “… um… no, thank you.”
As if panicked, her eyes darted toward her assistants off camera. When she focused on me, she said, “So, my family’s company—Ribo-Kool—is just the best ever! I know the critics are down on us, but the critics are stinky anus stupids! When we get together, we’re going to show those critics, aren’t we?”
The flirting was over, I presumed. Now we were supposed to suggest that our family companies merge. “Yes,” I said, following along because that seemed the easiest thing to do, “our families could work together.”
“That’s a pink petunia idea!” she gushed. “I’m so excited! And I think RiverGroup is just
Finally, the waiter saved me from hearing who breastfed her. She ordered Frix Corporation dried marine turtle parts stuffed in moon-dried raisins—a polka-dot dish. I requested the Frix Corporation satellite lamb roasted over butternut, redwood, and the seamed silk stockings of one hundred depressed housewives.
After the waiter left, the house voice said, “Stay tuned for the hot and naughty conclusion to this historic date between the two most powerful companies in the security system market, RiverGroup and Ribo-Kool.”
“And we’re clear,” said the director, the same one making Father’s documentary. He had long silvery hair and wide, feverish eyes. He must have known how fast he talked for he reiterated everything. “Guys,” he began, “you’re beautiful.
Elle’s two pink assistants, like a pit crew, ran to her side, fixed her hair, repositioned her ears, and repainted her nose. As they worked she complained to the director, “I thought I was totally petunia!”
“Oh, you’re beautiful,” he said. “Beautiful! Don’t forget the script. Stay on the script. That’s all I was saying. All right, honey?”
“I was speaking from my heart. My heart is a daffodil!” she tried to sing.
Joelene put her hand on my shoulder and whispered, “You look wounded.” She sounded more amused than upset.
“I feel like I punctured a lung.”
“Try to have fun,” was her only advice.
“Remember the script!” shouted the director. “Let’s clear. Clear everyone!” Joelene left, and after they applied another puff of the pink foundation to her forehead, Elle’s people ran off. “Aaaaand… we’re back!”
“I met that Nora at a fashion convention,” said Elle, without missing a beat. “She didn’t look at me, and she was just so full of herself. I’m not against her, but everyone on the channels was talking about how dull and ugly she is. What I don’t get is her natural hair!
That was definitely not on the itinerary, and until that point, I had tried to imagine that at some level, she was much like
Our meal was served, and at least the food was wonderful. My satellite lamb was perfectly
Once the dishes were cleared, the pa said, “And now, let’s watch these two love-dogs dance while the super fabulous Pipsqueak Beaver-boys sing their number one hit,
Six men in furry brown outfits, with huge buckteeth, quilted tails, and their aforementioned backsides exposed, took turns singing to us. Each had a shtick. One cried. Another beat his chest adamantly. The short one played with his hair. The last massaged his buttocks as a cook might knead dough. Their accompanying music was
