#fictional town

(2)

a party

My best friend is an old lady named Waverly Adler, and her best friend is a middle-aged man named Heath Merrick. Waverly's been divorced twice and made it out, luckily, without any children to waste her life raising. Her second husband did have three children of his own, and she was happy to never see any of them ever again. She moved to Hollowfaye when she was 68, ready to start her life over and go to college, determined to make something of herself.

Heath was an ex-con, ex-drug dealer who'd lost everything including his husband and their five adopted children when they moved to a place only reachable by goblin tolls and portal-circles made of mushrooms and flora.

I figured he was still micro-dosing whatever drugs he used to do when he explained his sad life story. It wasn't far off. Plenty of people in Hollowfaye had issues dealing with reality.

On the third day that I was too exhausted and anxiety-ridden to endure any of our lectures, Waverly stopped by my apartment with a carton of cigarettes and a bottle of rum.

"Get dressed," she demanded, and gasped when she saw the ghastly circles under my eyes, "And clean your face up, girl. You're gonna scare everyone away." She pushed past me and inspected my disatrous humble abode with a scoff. "Goodness me, what have you been doing in here?"

I tried to shut the door, but Heath stopped it with his beer belly. He shoved his way through with a smile which quickly fell when he saw me and my surroundings.

"What happened here?"

"Homework," I muttered, and moved stray fabrics from one side of the floor to the other side with the tip of my toe.

They both tsk'ed me. "Well... We're going to a party." Heath looked at Waverly, "You did tell her that we're going to a party, right?"

Waverly gestured at me before sitting down on the velvet sea-blue sofabed. She set the rum in the cup holder and pulled out a cigarette and placed it saltily between her lips.

"I did, but she won't listen to me."

It was only then that I registered their outfits. Heath was in a powder blue tux from the seventies with a ruffled black button-up and a fuschia bow tie, Waverly was in a neon chartreuse-sequin formal gown that looked like it belonged in 'Gentlemen Prefer Blondes' or  'The Divorcee'. I couldn't even form a comment before Heath was ushering me into the bathroom. He sat me down on the toilet and got to work beating color into my face and beating the color out of my bags.

He didn't touch my hair. Well, he did. Just curled some of the tresses around his fingers with a smile before he said, "We'll leave this be. It really frames your face."

"Thanks... But I cannot go to a party tonight. I'm distressed. And overwhelmed. And I'll just ruin the night for both of you."

He scoffed, "Please," he lined my lips with a jewel-tone plum liner, "you don't possess the skills to ruin my night." As he was glossing on a blood-red lipstick over the plum color, he shouted to Waverly, "Doll, find her an outfit and some shoes!"

There was rustling in my bedroom and then the sound of shoes being thrown across the floor and drawers being pulled open and slammed shut. I was scared of what I'd find when the door opened. But then there was Waverly with a wide smile and the chiffon sage green and slate gray dress I only just finished the night before.

"This is just gorgeous. You have to wear it tonight."

I blushed, "Thanks. You should've seen how long I struggled with the boning of the corset."

She looked down at it and held it up to her chest, staring at herself in the mirror and adjusting the red in her otherwise white hair. "This will just work wonders on your bust, won't it?"

I blushed harder. This time out of embarrassment. I hadn't done that intentionally in the design, but the corset did create a look that was nothing short of a miracle on my flat chest. It gave the illusion that there was something there worth grabbing. The asymmetrical waterfall skirt, however, was intentional, and it made my buns look like the finest in the bakery.

It wasn't my proudest creation, but it was up there.

I was almost excited to wear it, and then Waverly pulled out the vibrant red thong she'd paired it with. My smile fell at once.

"What? Just in case,"

I shook my head, but Heath held me still as he finished sculpting my eyebrows, "I never wear that."

"Never say never. Besides you might find yourself a handsome beau tonight, and you'll be quite disappointed in yourself if you decide to wear your granny-panties instead."

"Listen to that one, Sweetheart," he gestured at her with the tip of the makeup brush, "she knows allllll about granny-panties, don't you, hun?"

Waverly let out a hmph and dropped the red-violet wrap-up chunky heels on the ground, "A lady never reveals her age."

She had. Literally the first day we met. She was 69 next spring.

It took only a few more minutes for Heath to add the finishing touches to my face. A touch of highlight on the tip of my nose, some sparkly setting spray, and a spritz of Chanel No. 5 on either side of my neck and behind my ears.

"Gorgeous! Now let's get you dressed."

I stopped them as they both reached for me, "I'm quite capable of doing it myself, thanks." I put it all on in a flash, forboding the thong, and opting to just let my cheeks hang free. It would at least rid me of a burdensome panty-line around my hips.

"Where is this party anyway?" I asked as we were leaving.

Heath explained it was some celebratory thing to cheer on the one of our sports teams. He forgot which one, and we all figured it was unimportant anyway. We all thought sports were for people who WEREN'T us. Waverly grabbed the rum and the cigarettes on her way out, and we pre-gamed on our way to the New England, eggshell yellow colonial-house where there was nowhere to park and barely anywhere to stand.

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