Hour 12, Prompt 12
In the Rooms, Women Come and Go
Betty’s machine-gun laugh rat-a-tat-tats from the far corner where the hostess positioned her
Attempting to soften the gunfire with the plethora of ornament-themed throw pillows and expensive red rugs between the shrapnel and the refined guests
Someone I’ve never seen at one of these soirees offers to take Betty out to the patio
But a professor of minerology points to the ceramic tiles and drones about acoustics, reverberation, something about echo off the snow
Waiters in their tuxedoes with matching red facemasks and cummerbunds clink wine glasses against silver trays more loudly,
As if this will cover the lack of cultivation coming from the corner
Fancy women come and go, don’t you know
From my perch near the white grand piano, where a hired musician currently tickles a much-too-slow version of “Merry Christmas, Darling,” I accept from one penguin’s tray a waffle-cone cracker with a dollop of cream cheese and peach slice
Do I dare to eat this?
At least my trousers aren’t rolled
I know my hair is thinner than it used to be and my days among this society are numbered
My amusement heightened, I click across the marble floor, avoiding the pricy rugs of dubious material and introduce myself to Betty
“Chahhmed, I’m sure,” she says
“You know why Monique’s tree reminds me of a priest?”
Betty blinks her lush lashes at me, swishing her martini with its peppermint stick
“What? Why?”
“Its balls are just for decoration.”
With her head thrown back dramatically, Betty’s machine-gun fire erupts again
Fancy women come and go, don’t you know