Part XXXVI - Party So Hardy

The dulcet tones of theoretically the greatest song ever written ghosted through the high hedges of the Jalone estate and slipped inside the half-closed bedroom window of the abode’s patriarch like a phantom lover penetrating the unsuspecting target of his affections.

All the old pain-tings on the tombs, they do the sand dance, dontcha know. If they move too quick--oh whey oh!--they’re fallin down like a domino...

“Daddy! This is so wrong! I--I can’t!” begged the soul progeny produced by Steve Jalone and his late mate Marion, “God! Ugh! N-No! Please no!”

He gripped her shoulders and wouldn’t let her go, “Beg for mercy all you like, girl, this is going to happen.”

“No, Daddy!” Tia panted in terror as she felt the warmth of his hands through the thin material of her exercise jersey, “You--You can’t do this to me!”

“I can.” he rasped into her ear, “ ... And I will.”

“But ... to your own daughter?! You--You’re a horrid beast!”

“Quit your bitching little girl and take off your clothes.”

“I--I won’t!”

“Then I’ll strip you myself and spank the crap out of you while doing it.”

The little brunette sighed, “You sooo suck, Daddy. Whatever! Fine then, I’ll put it on. But I’m gonna hate you the whole time I’m wearing it!”

And shaking out of his cozy grip Tia stalked across the bedroom and scowled down at the brand new party dress her father had picked up for her on the way home. The bulky not-so little number sneered back up at her from the puffy depths of it’s crinkled purple taffeta. With a hiss of annoyance she snatched it up, whirled on her heel like a scorned princess, then stomped out of the room.

“You’ll look dynamite in it, girl.” smiled her father as she marched past him like.

“Humph!” she snorted, nose high, then vanished into her bedroom and kick-slammed the door shut behind her.

What a drama queen, chuckled Steve under his breath as he turned away and headed to his closet to pick out a power suit. Just like her mother. But she’ll have fun, just wait and see. Heh, and so will her daddy. I wonder how many drunken housewives I can bag? At the last neighborhood shindig I managed three by night’s end, but surely I can beat that or I’d better turn in my scrotum.

“If you wanna find all the cops, they’re hangin out in the donut shop,” he chimed in along with the song reverberating from the sill as he selected just the right tie to part some thigh.

“They sing’n dance---oh whey oh!--the spin their clubs, cruise down da block...”

Steve finished tying it rakishly and then pivoted toward the mirror to admire his handiwork.

Oh yeah, this wild’n crazy guy is gonna tear up some half-drunk bitches tonight!

He pulled on his sport jacket and jammed a handful of Cuban cigars in the left side pocket, stuck a gold-plated Zippo in the other, then slapped hands to his hips and grinned like a maniac at his reflection.

Sonofabitch! I so love block parties!

Sonofastitch! I so hate block parties!

Tia glared down at the party dress she’d tossed onto her bed. She stood in panties and strapless bra before it, trying not to scream her rage to the darkening heavens.

Stupid dress! Stupid ugly dress! Stupid FUGLY dress! Yeah! You heard me! I said it! I used the f-word variant! Whatcha gonna do about, God? Huh! That’s right, keep your flippin mouth shut, ‘cause there’s nothing worse you could do to me then what I’m going to have to do tonight!

Stupid Heather Heterson and her stupid husband and his stupid MOTHER FLIPPIN birthday! Oh, crapola, I sooo don’t want to spend the next three or four hours at ... at ... at HIS place!

Tia spun on her heel and kicked her Care Bears trash can across the room, sending balled-up failed attempts at poetry spinning away in a pink-paper plume across the carpet.

You just KNOW he’s gonna try something. And not just something, THE thing! It’s the perfect opportunity for him and if I was a horny, pervo blackmailing scumwad of a boy like him I’d try and do me too! Arrrghh! All my maneuvering will come out to nothing! Nothing! He’ll know I can’t get away from him, ‘cause Daddy’ll find out if I try and leave and then he’ll just cross back to the house and drag me back kicking and screaming, then I’ll get my cherry popped AND be grounded!

This sucks...

Plus what if-if he succeeds?! Ohmigod! What if he finally gets me in the right position (no pun intended) and does me and I’ll have to remember for the rest of my pitiful frigged-up life that my first time was when I was wearing ... wearing...

“ ... that!” she flung out an exasperated hand at the dress waiting for her atop her My Little Pony bedspread like a hideous troll awaiting the gay clippity-clop of a scrumptious billy goat gruff.

No way am I losing it in that bus crash of an outfit. But if I don’t wear it Daddy will be crushed, he actually went to the trouble of stopping at a girlie boutique on the way home and buying it. He put thought into picking it out, he actually proved he DOES care about me, and lately I’d been starting to wonder, what with him skipping out on my final soccer game of the summer just so that he could put another notch on his bedpost.

He bought it with love, which should make it beautiful--aww, forget about that teen romcom garbage, this is the real world and that poor excuse for a hood shammie is scarier then Paris Hilton’s cell bill!

But the thought gave her pause. Hey, waaait! Romcom? That gives this soccer star a billion dollar idea!

And with a grin Tia dived for her closet, dug deep and then hoisted out the sewing kit she’d inherited from her gramma.

She turned on the suddenly terrified dress, grinning like a savage predator.

Clip-clack! sincker-snacked the silver scissors between her lithe fingers and she bent to her eleventh hour task...

Steve stood downstairs in the foyer fuming, frustrated hands balled in his pockets while his wingtipped toe tapped a staccato on the marble tiles.

“TIA! Get your stalling butt down here! We can’t be late, it’s a surprise party, remember?”

He stomped his big former star quarterback foot, making the whole house shake, “TIA! Do you HEAR m-”

But he clammed up as his darling daughter came striding down the passageway, open compact on her splayed palm while she patted her face daintily with the little pink puffpad.

“Calm yerself, Daddy. You’re gonna give yourself an aneurism.”

“Well we are running out of time and I don’t want to miss seeing Ryan Heterson’s face when half the damn Crescent springs out at him and--and what the friggin HELL?!”

Hair piled coyly upon her head like a Spanish princess, Tia halted before him and snapped the compact shut with a metallic snap. “ ... What?” she asked innocently.

Steve’s jaw was working up-and-down like he actually was about to have the arterial conniption she’d warned him about, he raked his gaze down her nymph-like length, eyes blazing in horror.

“Wha ... wha ... humina ... wha...”

“Spit it out, Dad’ums.”

“You ... your ... the dress...!”

“Oh? You like what I did?” she gave a triumphant smile and did a little pirouette, spinning completely around, giving him the whole show.

“What you ... what you ... did...?!”

She ended her perfect ballerina move with a trite curtsey, then rose up gracefully and with a finger to her father’s chin clopped! his mouth shut.

“Quit having a fit, I only made it more perfect.”

More perfect? Steve gaped down at what used to be a formal stately prom-type dress, which had now been somehow, impossibly!, transformed into a cocktail dress worthy of the hottest Hollywood shindig.

Guhhh...

Tia had removed the gown’s big puffy arms, leaving her dusky and dimpled shoulders bare, had excised the thick rose-festooned bust line leaving the upper domes of her high cleavage exposed, and God only knew what she had done to the hem line as what was supposed to be carefully below the knee now rose high above it instead, revealing his daughter’s well-toned bronzed legs displayed in all their soccer-MVP’d glory. Burgundy toeless shoes finished off the sinfully-reduced ensemble, and Tia revelled in the extra three inches they propped up her modest height. She hated dresses, but at least the shoes made her feel a little less like a Smurf compared to the other girls her own age.

My petiteness might give me an advantage on the astroturf, but on the dance floor nobody can see you when the top of your head doesn’t even reach most shoulders, jeez...

“But--but--but-” stammered Steve Jalone as he gaped at her. She--She looks like a cheap slut! One that I’d try and pick up in some high-class bar and talk back to my hotel room for a night of--ohhh, shit!

“Young lady--I--You are marching up those stairs to your bedroom and changing right this minute!” he waved a dangerous finger before her rouge-tinted cherub cheeks.

Her chocolate brown irises twinkled like a devious harlot, “But won’t we then be late, Daddy? Hmmm?” she inquired primly, ignoring the rage-quivered digit.

“Uh-”

“And won’t we miss Mr. Heterson getting his surprise?”

“Uh-”

She pushed his finger back down and putting her back into it propelled him toward the door, “Quit your fussing, Daddy, and get going.”

“But-”

“No buts, get your fat one in gear!”

He sighed deeply and gave in, she was right, the little tramp. Fighting not to scowl, he waved her hands off him and set off down the steps, determined to get to the party on time, but promising himself to punish Tia later. Oh yeah, she’s getting the spanking of her life for this. And bare cheeks too, no cushion this time for little miss wannabe-trollop!

“Oh!” squeaked Tia, “I almost forgot my iphone! I left it on your charge pad in the study!”

She tore back into the house as her father glared at her retreating back, “Tia! Forget it! It’s a party, you’re not going to be texting anybody, girl!”

But she ignored him and thirty seconds later she was back outside and locking the front door, then hooking her little arm around his massive one they set off down the sidewalk, bound for the house next door.

Tia gripped the little handbag she carried tightly, and it’s Swarovski Crystal-bedazzled pink surface glimmered beneath the lights of the street lamps. Her fingers felt the hard object sandwiched within, but it definitely wasn’t the silver clam of her Apple cell, nope, not even close.

Kev Heterson thinks he’s gonna get with this? If so, then have I got a surprise for THAT devil boy, oh yeah I do...