She turns around to reveal a pregnant belly under a princess costume most little girls would be too shy to wear. “You moved too slow.”
“Wait, is this real or for the party?” She spread the rumor she was pregnant back when I was still throwing parties out of my childhood home.
“This party is for life!” She points to her belly with purple-painted index fingers. “This is for real, for real.”
A nice-looking guy in a Superman costume strolls up and hands her a yellow punch, which I know is the not-spiked variety since I’m the one who created the menu. So, it’s not a prank after all. And the way Denise smiles at him instantly informs anyone interested, that he’s the father of that child. Some bling catches my eye, winking on her wedding finger.
Denise’s smile returns to me, and her eyes flicker at the look on my face. She’s staring at me with kindness as she introduces, “Mark, this is Billy Cooper, the host with the most.”
“Billy! Amazing party. Love what you did. How’d you get the horn on that white horse? It really looks like a unicorn.”
I shake his hand. “It is a unicorn. That’s how good I am.”
Denise laughs, “And so modest! Should’ve called it A Cocky Halloween!”
With a sideways smile I lean in to say in her ear, “Glad you’re happy, Denise, you deserve it.” Rocking back on my heels I add, “Guess I haven’t hung out with Nicholas and Maddie in a while. I would have heard about your condition.”
“My condition?!! Oh honey, come on. What year is it? This is my gift! Gift gift gift!”
Throwing up my hands I walk away, calling over my shoulder, “Good luck not sleeping for three years!”
“What did he say?” Mark-the-Superman asks.
“Don’t listen to him, honey. Billy, you suck!”
I call back, laughing, “You never found out, did you?”
“I love you!”
“I love you, too, Denise, especially if you ever try my meatballs!”
Her laughter fades with my disappearance into the dancing crowd of masks.
CHAPTER 6
HAVEN
Bryn and Harlow abandoned me for a healthy dance beat as soon as I began interviewing anyone who’d allow me.
“You’re on the clock, I know!” Harlow cried out in frustration as they disappeared to boogie their hearts out.
It’s been many epochs since we’ve all gone dancing together. I can’t blame them for wanting my company, but they’re well aware that journalism is my obsession.
Sure, I don’t write about politics or finance or anything highly intellectual like those lofty and perhaps more respected topics. Instead I prefer lifestyle, people, the Arts, and as of right now, parties as amazing as this one.
Life is a short ride, isn’t it?
I’m afraid to say that maybe my father infected my brain more than I admitted to myself. There are so many judgments in my head that I was not born with. They were learned.
I remember not too long ago he called me up and asked, “Have you been reading the more intelligent sections of your newspaper? Some of those people really know what they’re talking about.”
“I know what I’m talking about, too, Dad.”
“Yes, but who cares about—”
I hung up on him.
We can do that, turns out.
It’s one of the wonders of being self-sufficient.
I adored paying my way through college because it equaled a lack of an albatross hung around my neck by the man whose DNA I have, and who raised me. My mother gave up my custody to him in court because she loved her freedom more than parenting. She happily surrendered me over to a man she’d married for his prestige.
It was the only thing she cared about in him.
Problem is, it’s all he cares about, too.
How he looks to the rest of the world, and those at his country club, is all that matters. Certainly not the happiness of his one and only child, if said happiness is gained by something he feels beneath him. There is no being my own person. I must be a reflection of him.
When I was a child, he paraded me around because I resembled him more than my mother. He saw me as an extension of his good looks. But a girl gets tired of dancing for the love of the man who created her, only to be ignored whenever no one was looking.
Love isn’t for show and tell.
That’s not love.
To me, love is joy and that often has nothing to do with what anyone else thinks. And right now, I’m pretty freakin’ joyful. Fall is my favorite time of year—the changing leaves, cinnamon in my morning coffee, pumpkin flavored everything, Halloween and…
Well, I’m not really a fan of Thanksgiving. It’s a family holiday meant for families more thankful for each other than mine.
Why am I thinking about Dad?
It doesn’t matter to me what my father says, as I look around the spooky spectacle we are all encased in for one wonderful evening. I’d much rather be here dressed as a 1700’s witch while interviewing steam-punk twins, rather than some suit over a salad about the stock market’s never-ending rollercoaster of yawn.
And I suddenly have a ridiculously strong need to create a truly fantastic article about Billy cute-as-a-button Cooper’s tantalizing terror-town.
I ask one of the Powerpuff Girls, “Has Billy outdone himself prior to this, or would you consider this his best party yet?”
“Are you kidding?! I was at the Labor Day Party, President’s Day, and Groundhog Day’s. They were off the charts. But this?” She motions to the rooms, each featuring magical frights. “It’s so good it’s like he knows he’s about to die and this is his last chance to make an impact!”
My eyebrows twitch up. “That’s pretty morbid.”
“It’s Halloween, hello!!!” She stops a half-naked, gorgeous man with a fake-slit across his neck who’s offering a tray of glowing shots. “How much?” He tells her a hefty price tag, and she grins, “I meant for you.
