Chapter 19: Messaging Glenda

Marcia reached for her ringing phone; she wasn’t busy, so she answered even though she didn’t recognize the calling number.

“Hello?”

“Marcia, this is Felicia Younger, from camp. Remember me?”

“Of course, Felicia, it’s nice to hear from you. What can I do for you?”

“I need you to be an intermediary. I’m going to transfer to you $20,000 for the Halloween party, and please convey my thanks to Glenda, the Good Witch. I need two things from you.”

“Um, OK, tell me what you need; I’m all ears.”

“First, I want a list of every expense you have put in for us and for this party beyond the twenty grand you have or will have spent. Hang on; don’t interrupt me. Second, I need the information for the officiant you hired, so I can send him or her our marriage license.”

Marcia sounded deflated.

“I guess you’ve exposed me. I hope you’re not offended.”

“Of course not. I will never forget the kindnesses you’ve shown us. But you need to know, Marcia: I’m kind of wealthy. Oscar didn’t know that when he accepted your gift. I didn’t immediately realize the details; all I could think about was having him in my bed every night, someplace in New Jersey. Everything else faded away in my sex fog.”

“You’re saying he makes you happy.”

“He has the key to my heart AND the key to my pussy. He’s sitting here with me. Hey, you remember Marcia from camp? He says hi, but he’s blushing because I mentioned sex, and I’m more straightforward than he is. After we’re married, you should come for a visit, and he can show you his skills.”

“Felicia!”

“Oh, I’m not ... Let’s just say I’m not a jealous bitch. You should come for a visit some cold winter night for a cuddle. Oh, he’s praying now. I think he’s thanking God for sending me to him. I just want you to know we’re in this for the long haul. He knows I’m not marrying him for tax reasons.”

“Marcia, I can hear the sound of your jaw dropping over the phone. Close it back up and fetch your checkbook. I need the numbers on the bottom of your check so I can send you the thirty thousand through a direct transfer.”

There was a short pause.

“I know I said twenty before, but I’ve rethought our deal.”

Felicia tried to imitate Darth Vader.

“Pray that I don’t alter it any further.” Then, in her regular voice, “Now get me those numbers, Marcia.”

Marcia gave up on her intended Beetlejuice theme when she couldn’t find a gravelly-voiced male under four feet tall who would consent to wearing a skull-shaped headpiece during the ceremony.

She did find a tall man willing to wear a cape and affect a Hungarian accent. Dracula, then, was their officiant. Marcia asked him, “Do you have a license?” He answered in full mock-Hungarian: “I am a Count; that will count.”

“No, it won’t.”

“I guess you’re right, but I am an ordained minister and have performed several legal marriages.”

“Some of the Halloween costumes are going to be risqué, Mr. Minister.”

“That’s not a problem. I did an all-nude ceremony last year. Yeah, I was up there in front of everyone while trying not to ogle the bride and her maid of honor, who were both spectacular. The groom acted like he’d won the million-dollar lottery prize, and I could certainly understand.”

“Did you charge them extra?”

“No, my policy is a 25% fee reduction for any nude weddings.”

“Not this time, sorry, and I can hear you smirking over the phone. Just be sure you’re ready on Halloween between 5 and 8 p.m. I’ll mail you 50% of your fee in advance.”

As the guests assembled, Marcia felt a little disappointed. Many of the female guests dressed as either the young green or pink witches from the big new movie. But one guest was very creative: she was wearing underneath a loose cotton camisole the black-and-white striped hose and ruby slippers from the 1939 original film. That is, she was the Wicked Witch of the East, crushed by Dorothy’s falling farmhouse.

The other guests represented the typical costumes found at Halloween parties. There was a mummy, a wolf man, a Martian invader woman wearing a tight silvered “space suit” and a ray gun, and an Indian woman leading her giant cowboy on a leash (it was Avani and Kyle, still together after camp).

Avani was enjoying the situation for a couple of reasons. First, her forehead reached no higher than the level of his nipples. Leading him around on a leather lead was already hilarious. Second, she enjoyed watching other guests short-circuit when they saw a South Asian Indian playacting as a Native American Indian.

“I told you!” she whispered to Kyle.

“They aren’t just looking at you. My ass is hanging out!”

Avani had found some “ass-less chaps” for his cowboy outfit. His pale skin showed every rosy shade of his embarrassment.

“Don’t worry, Kyle. I promise I will make it up to you.”

She whispered something else into his ear, and his eyes opened wide.

Marcia had conspired with Felicia’s parents to rent a large mansion (well over a hundred years old) for the party. Even though it was almost November, the weather was warm enough for many of the guests to hang out on the terrace or the lawn behind the house. Kyle wouldn’t go outside, claiming his delicate bottom would be cold, but Avani just laughed at him.

Roberta and Travis Madison caught up with Marcia.

“Our son told us your friend Glenda helped Felicia and Oscar find a place over in New Jersey. Is she here? Can we thank her for being so generous?”

“I’m sorry, but Glenda wasn’t able to come. She’s, uh, well, she has a sick relative. It’s not too bad, but she went to help her out, and the relative has a contagious disease. She decided the safer thing was to stay with her and not come to a party and risk causing infections. But I will tell Glenda for you. I’ve met the Youngers, so you’re Oscar’s parents?”

“That’s right; we are. Thank you for passing on the message, Marcia. You helped set this party up?”

“I sure did. Every year I try to have a Halloween party, and this year I have an extra opportunity for a big blowout. I saw those two this summer; they are totally in love. I’m a little jealous, only because I don’t have a date for tonight, and I want to have a man look at me the way your son looks at Felicia.