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