Shaddyr's Eclectic Collection > Challenges > Trick or Treat
Trick or Treat
by Liz ShelbourneOk, so it took me longer than I thought, but I did get it done, and *checking the clock* barely under the deadline. Happy Halloween, or what's left of it, everyone.
Disclaimer - you know the drill
"Once Upon A Time." As the theme for a masquerade ball, it wasn't all that
bad - anything to do with a fairy tale, legend or book. The New York
socialite who threw the Halloween party every year flitted past Jarod in her
Cinderella costume and he had to snicker. From what he had recently
learned, she was more Wicked Stepmother than the beautiful heroine. Enjoy
it now, he thought, because if he had anything to do with it, in a day or
two the clock was going to strike twelve.
He wandered around the masses of people, feeling just a little bit daring
in his black Zorro mask and costume. Appropriate, he had decided, and of
course one of his favorite colors. He had even gone as far as to carry a
real foil, and was almost itching to find a suitable place to carve a
sweeping "J."
Well, almost everyone had gotten he concept of a "theme." He saw a new
"'Net Millionaire" in baseball cap and vest, with his rather corpulent wife
enshrouded in a brilliant yellow "Pikachu" costume. She insisted on yelling
a high pitched "Pika, Pika," to everyone who passed by, and Jarod found
himself thinking that the area right above the lighting bolt shaped tail
might just make a good target for his blade.
Jarod estimated that there were nearly five hundred "by invitation only"
guests and he looked about to survey what at least this hostess considered
the cream of the American Society crop. A laugh escaped him, and he tried
to hide his smile behind a glass of champagne so that no one would notice.
Cream of the crop - there was Peter Pan and Wendy, two Robin Hoods, three
King Arthurs, a Snow White, a Luke Skywalker and at least half a dozen Henry
the Eighths. He wondered just what a costume said about someone's opinion
of themselves.
Off in the corner, he was surprised to see a lithe woman draped with a
profusion of scarves and bangles. Even at a distance, he could see that her
face was more covered than her firm abdomen, where a red gem sparkled
seductively. Sheherazade, he thought to himself, a fairy tale about fairy
tales. Very appropriate. He grabbed two flutes as he made his way across
the floor toward her. This was a woman that he wanted to meet.
Her back to him as he approached, he could see her auburn hair move as
she spoke to an elderly gentleman dressed as Colonel Sanders. From the tilt
of her head and the look of dejection on the chicken-seller's face, he could
tell that she was gently but firmly explaining that she was "not
interested." Jarod wondered how many times she would be doing that tonight.
She turned without warning, and a brilliant pair of blue eyes set upon
him. Recognition dawned within him immediately, and he turned suddenly
away, shielding his face from her line of sight. Miss Parker, here, in New
York? How could she be? And wearing that outfit? He shook his head and
gulped down one of the glasses of champagne, trying to accept what seemed
impossible. Halloween, and the Fates were giving him the cruelest trick.
Or perhaps not. Steeling his resolve, he looked toward her again. She
was busy trying to elude yet another geriatric hopeful, and as her eyes
swept around the room and momentarily caught his eye, he could see only a
humorous desperation within them. No recognition, no spark of fierce
intent, only the tiniest of pleas for rescue by someone of her own
generation. Could it be that she did not recognize him behind the mask?
Little Bo Peep, obviously doing something other than watching her sheep,
tipsily bumped into him and then fell off balance into his arms. She
giggled as he awkwardly tried to rescue her while still holding the two
flutes, one now empty. Her hands stayed overly long on the silk of his
black shirt, and when he looked down into her face, there was a mischievous
twinkle behind the pancake and rouge. He smiled, righted her and gave her
the remaining full glass. With murmurs about a refill, he moved quickly
away. It seemed that Miss Parker was not the only one who needed rescuing
tonight.
The thought wandered around his head as he went to sample some of the
finger food set on long tables. Once again his eyes found his nemesis, and
once again she was under the scrutiny of a Merlin older than her father.
Perhaps it was the Zorro mask and blade, perhaps it was the champagne, but
he was feeling a little reckless, and more than a little chivalrous. There
was a lady in distress, and damned if he wasn't the one to save her.
And where could she hide a gun in that costume anyway?
He walked over to her, once again snagging a pair of flutes on the way.
Coming up behind her, he passed one over her bare shoulder. She glanced
back, took in the new arrival and the way that he was staring down the old
man in front of her, and gladly accepted. The wizard looked between the two
of them, smiled weakly and slinked away.
"I can't thank you enough." Miss Parker turned away from him, unhooked
the veil in front of her face, downed the glass and replaced her disguise.
She turned back, grasped at his hand and pulled him toward the dance floor.
"Please," she begged. "Give them something to think about."
They danced for the rest of the evening, neither of them saying a word.
Minutes slipped into hours, and when the band finished, they walked silently
together toward the door.
"This is where one of us usually invites the other home," she explained.
"But I don't think that that is an option, is it?" She leaned up and untied
his mask, draping it seductively over her shoulder as she walked away.
"Maybe next time, Jarod."