Part XXXVII - Greed So Selfish

In the rapidly filling Heterson backyard...

Though the beginnings of a summer storm was just beginning to build far to the south, none of the recently arrived party goers seemed to care.

The heatwave that had been assailing their town had been mercilessly cooking them for near on to four weeks now and not even a single drop of liquid had fallen from the tepid bowl of a sky in all those twenty-eight days, so the odds against it suddenly breaking out with rain was a thousand to one in their minds. It would just be a welcome breeze and maybe some lightly gusting wind, heat lightning would broil, harbingered by weak rolls of thunder, nothing more then that, this was the general consensus. And even if against all sanity the sky filled with grey clouds and it did actually rain how long could it possibly last? Only minutes, if that. Plus, there were the tents. Monica Robbins had planned this shindig, and rigid Martha Stewart disciple that she was meant she was a firm believer in that infamous Boy Scout motto: be prepared.

There were three of the poled awnings, each twelve feet long and lined up parallel to each other, their red and white striped canvas tops shielding wooden folding tables that were bespread with a titanic feast. Finger sandwiches packed with every filler imaginable: savoury puff flat bread spread with tuna, globby egg-salad between sleeves of honey oat, rolled smoked meats of every description trapped between wheat, enriched white, rye and sourdough. There were even sandwiches laced with minced lobster fresh from the salty depths of Halifax, Nova Scotia.

And the treats! Cookies and pastries and chocolates filled with roasted nuts, praline creams, squirty liquors. And on the center table was the pièce de résistance, a huge sheet cake two feet wide and five feet long, caramel fudge squeezed between the double layers and the whole thing encapsulated with a thick swath of red velvet frosting. In ivory curving script it read: HAPPY BIRTHDAY AND WELCOME HOME RYAN!

The waiting party guests fought not to eye the terrific spread. None dared touch anything due to two excellent reasons. Firstly, transparent plastic sheets had been carefully draped across each table, protecting the rich feed like gently undulating sci-fi forcefields. And secondly, and much more importantly, every person knew that the fool who dared to interfere with Monica Robbins stupendous creation before it was officially unveiled would without a doubt be on the direct receiving end of her legendary wrath. Whispered rumours permeated Danover of a party she had catered three years previous where a half-drunk accountant had been caught by her boldly sneaking a plate of honey garlic chicken wings. Supposedly after slapping the dish to the ground she had chased him twice around the yard then buried her impressive right knee cap in a place no man ever wants to be touched in anger.

So nobody even dared to even linger a long stare upon the covered food, no matter how hungry they were.

Well, except for one person. But after all, he was pretty much a full-blown mother fucking idiot.

His name? Don’t kid yourself, you know exactly what it is. Yep, it was

“Randal Levi Blavin!” hissed Esther Blavin and the reed-thin matron threw out a hand and caught her boy by the ear, twisted the lobe painfully.

Randy grunted in agony and the arm he had been snaking under the transparent sheet halted and quickly drew back an inch short of snagging a peanut butter cookie.

“Awww, Ma!” he moaned and twisted his head out of her enraged grip, “Shit, I haven’t eaten since supper!”

“Language! Don’t make me take you over my knee, Randal!”

He rolled his eyes and rubbed at his throbbing ear, “Yeah, like you’d do it in front of everybody.”

“Don’t tempt me.” and the senior librarian jabbed him in the chest with a mean index finger, “Now tuck in that dress shirt and straighten your tie, you look a mess!”

“At least my face doesn’t look like a horse’s butthole.” he muttered under his breath.

“What was that?”

“Nuthin, Ma.” he snorted, then did as she commanded and turned away, tucking in his shirt and smoothing down his tie. He halted in surprise before he could travel three steps though, as a pretty young golden-haired waitress dressed in a white peasant blouse and short black skirt barred his way.

“Well now, lookee here, don’t I know you?” he grinned devilishly.

“Shut-up, Randy.” she rolled her eyes and shifted her stance so as to keep the wide tray she bore steady. Crystal flutes of bubbly champagne chimed softly upon it’s sterling silver plateau.

He raised a silencing hand, “Wait, don’t spoil it for me, the name will come to me. But I don’t understand why I can’t seem to recall it. Hmmm, maybe it’s because you’re wearing a different outfit from the one you wore the last time I saw you?”

“Hush, boy.”

He slapped the hand to the side of his face in mock realization, “Wait! That’s not it! It’s not that you’ve changed your clothes, it’s that you’re actually wearing some now!”

“Randy-”

“Because when last I saw you--you weren’t, right? You were buck naked and getting fucked in the pussy with a vodka bottle. But wait, I have misrepresented your appearance, as you actually weren’t completely starkers as the British like to say.”

“Randy!”

“That’s right, you were covered in my best pal’s thick, sticky, glistening, oozing-”

“I’m gonna kill you!”

“-cum!” he finished, and waggled his eyebrows at her.

Lacey Robbins, eldest daughter of the caterer, gave off an exasperated sigh and flicked her eyes carefully from side-to-side, then glared back at the grinning devil boy. “Enough, okay? I could tell stories about you too.”

“Please do! To all your fellow cheerleaders! Make me a legend and don’t be afraid to describe my dick exactly as it is.”

“Funny, heh, but I never actually saw the thing.” Lacey’s eyes sparkled, “So I guess it’s actually quite tiny.”

“Nope, it’s quite big.” he replied, “But I can understand how you missed seeing it, seeing how I had it buried scrotum-deep inside your best friend at the time.” he glanced around eagerly, “By the way, is she here? Please, Dude! Tell me she is.”

And Lacey’s scowl morphed into a sly grin of her own, “Oh, Krista? You’re in lucky, you moron, because actually Wittes and her big rack is here. And ever since our little game of Truth and Dare you’re all she can talk about.”

“What?! Really?” he gaped at her in disbelief.

“Uh-huh.” she nodded firmly. Though what Kris has actually been saying, it’s all along the lines of ‘what the fuck was I thinking?! I actually let that retarded dickhead touch me?! I’m so ashamed and knowing my damn luck stupidity is a sexually transmitted disease...

Randy was studying her expression intently, but Lacey was a skilled poker player, her Daddy the Vegas junkie had taught her well, and her eyes betrayed nothing. Ohhh, this is gonna be killer!

“Holy creeping crap! Krista! You aren’t messing with me, she IS here!” Randy thrilled and nearly clapped his hands like an eight year old who has just cold-pulled a holo foil Charizard from a booster pack.

I’d bet all the time and a half wages I’m getting for this gig that this moron still has a Pokémon deck secreted away inside a Justin Timberlake lunch box under his bed. I don’t think I can associate with Krista anymore, even if I was part of the reason she got goat-poked by this inbred dipshit. She’s been tainted, plain and simple-

“Where!” demanded Randy in a loud whisper that made a few heads twist in their direction, “Where is Krista? You gotta tell me!”

“Simmer down, Cleetus. You’re attracting attention.” her eyes flicked for a moment to a nearby portly older man who might be listening in on their conversation. He turned slowly away though, so Lacey decided he hadn’t been.

I’m getting paranoid in my young age, yeesh...

Randy was going out of his mind in suspense, he actually appeared to be panting. “Oh, come on, Lacey! Krista--she’s all I’ve thought about lately too! I just gotta ride that pony again!”

Jeez, he really is trailer trash, the head cheerleader fought not to roll her eyes in disgust. How the hell did this brain-damaged douche bag spring from the snatch of that brainy bitch Ester Blavin? Surely this is empirical proof that intelligence skips a generation...

“Okay, okay, I’ll tell you.” she at last gave in, “But you have to swear on your dead granny’s doublewide that you will never ever speak again of what you saw me do that day in the pool house? You got me, Blavin?”

“I do! I won’t! Hey, wait, how did you know my granny lives in a trailer?”

“Call it an educated guess.” and Lacey raised a warning finger and waved it in his face, making the flutes of liquor jangle on her tray, “You have to say it! You’ll keep to yourself about what happened in that pool house to your dying day! Or else!”

“What about what happened in the pool?” he snickered at the memory of her naked body tackling him into it. I managed to squeeze both her tits too when we were fighting under the water, heh!

“Don’t screw with me, Blavin! I’m at the top of the school’s social circle and with a single word I can keep you from wetting that chopstick of yours until college. Well, barber college in your case.”

“Uh-huh, gotcha. The memory has been Men In Black’d outa my mind for all time, these lips are sealed. So ... where is the big-titted bookworm?”

Lacey pointed to the rear of the property, “I saw her disappear into the woods out behind the pool house less then ten minutes ago. And I know she has a bottle of Jack Daniels in her purse.”

“Hot fuckin diggity doggie style!” Randy beamed like a mental patient, “That’s half the work already done for me! Thanks, Lacey!” and he charged away, eager to find his heart’s desire. Well, not his heart’s.

The cheerleader watched him go and the moment he was out of earshot her face split into a laughing grin. Heh! Good luck, you fucking dog-fucker! ‘Cause, sorry, but you’re about to get a big surprise, because Krista? Hah! She’s not-

“-alone? Are you sure we are?” asked the bespectacled girl as she ducked under a low hanging branch.

Her companion stepped over a fallen log and leading her by the hand shouldered his way through a thick copse. The bushes parted a moment later and with hands covering their faces they emerged into a small clearing. It was eight feet across and concave, sloping downwards a foot, a perfect nest.

“Hey, cool!” he plopped down in the center of it.

Krista brushed twigs from her shoulder-length mane of chestnut hair and frowned at him, then looked down at her puffy saffron party dress, “No, Harry, I can’t sit here. I’ll get all muddy.”

“There’s no mud, Wittes. Just sun-fried grass, dry as my parched throat. So get down here and break out the good stuff!”

Wittes pursed her lips for a moment, studying the ground as best she could in the rapidly fading light, then gave in and knelt, turned and clumsily dropped onto her butt, sticking a hand under her just in time to pull up the back of her flouncy get-up so that her pantied behind was what made contact with the grass instead of the easily stained gown.

“I can’t believe I let you talk me into coming out here.” she snorted as she settled beside the college-grade quarterback and pressed her shoulder into his much larger one, “It’s getting dark awfully fast, what if we get lost trying to get back to the party?”