That was the invitation F-Cup Fitzgerald had gotten at noon today, delivered by an imp in full hotel livery. The imp cleared its throat nosily. "Oh, of course. There you are, my good imp," said Fitzgerald, fastidiously depositing two dead cockroaches into the imp's outstretched palm. The imp left Fitzgerald's door, chewing noisily.
"Formal attire" Fitzgerald read. It was time to conjure a dinner jacket. . . .
Fitzgerald showed up unfashionably on-time. He showed his invitation to the Cylon at the entrance to the pool area, then handed over his scarf, his top hat, and his walking stick.
*BY YOUR COMMAND* said the Cylon, as a coat check slid from the chestplate of its visor. The Cylon went to store Fitzgerald's accesories.
This was apparently a cocktail party for the 70+ Authors only. Most of course, were male, but there were a few female Authors, in evening wear: Monique, Mello, Sami, Selina, and Chrissy. Skunkgyrl was dressed, as usual, in nothing, but being a furry, this fact was hardly noticeable. The Cat of Justice was there in hir usual skintight black leather. Fitzgerald bowed to C-of-J, who bowed back formally and did not smile.
Adama wore his Lorne Greene face and Battlestar Galactica attire, which he only put on for special occasions. He walked forward and greeted Fitzgerald officially, shaking Fitzgerald's hand. Fitzgerald got a martini from a waiter. "I see Nameless didn't show up," he said.
"Did you really expect him too?" Adama asked, his eyes sparkling with amusement.
"He could've at least paid the guests of honor a little respect by showing up long enough to correct somebody's grammar or something," Fitzgerald said. Adama laughed and excused himself to attend to other matters. Like Emeril Lagasse, who had prepared the canapes. Emeril was complaining about his official Hotel attire: "I look like the parking lot attendant at Trader Vic's!" he fumed. Adama led him off, trying to pacify him.
Fitzgerald sipped his drink. Most of the "70+" Authors were here. Few would dare miss a chance at unrestricted access to two big breast model like TW's Girl and Subgirlie.
Of course, some Authors' idea of "formal attire" differed from Fitzgerald's. Dabbler wore a tuxedo but no shoes, as was his trademark. JigSaw wore a tuxedo--and sandals and his guns, and a cowboy hat. Tuzedo Hentai was there, in a tuxedo, but that was nothing special; he USUALLY wore a tuxedo everywhere. Raoul Duke and Conrad Volkov were no-shows. Could that man in the dark trenchcoat be Deja Voodoo? Fitzgerald sampled a couple of hors d'oervres. At a corner of the pool area a string quartet softly played.
He looked over at The TW Girl and Subgirlie. Both were dressed in long, formal gowns; The TW Girl in white with silver trim, Subgirlie in maroon. However, the formality of the occasion did not prevent each from showing about a foot of cleavage. Both looked in immanent danger of spilling out of their dresses at any minute. . . .
Tuxedo Hentai was talking to Subgirlie now. He was trying to speak English without subtitles, so his lips were synched with his words: "Would you marry me and grant me many childrens?????" he said to Subgirlie. Subgirlie blushed. For once, the dashing Tuxedo Hentai was out of his depth. Subgirlie let him down gently. To his credit, that didn't seem to phaze TH: he just stepped away and asked Monique to dance.
"He grabbed my breast! He grabbed my breast!" Uh-oh, that was the TW Girl's voice. She was talking to Adama and pointing over at TriCity Bendix. Bendix was drinking a beer and needed a shave. His freshly-pressed black t-shirt advertised "LAST CHANCE SALOON -- LIQUOR IN THE FRONT, POKER IN THE REAR."
"Well, what do you want ME to do about it, madam?" said Adama with infinite patience.
"Well, . . ." the TW Girl hedged, softening a bit, "DISCIPLINE him!"
"Madam, I have no control over them, I am merely the Archivist. As for your breast, if I were a hundred yarons younger, I would've grabbed it myself! Good evening!" Adama walked back to check on a Cylon coat check attendant. The TW Girl stood there fuming. TriCity Bendix leered at her and waved from across the pool. . . .
Now a dance band had replaced the string quartet. Fitzgerald danced with Selina, then with Mello, then sat out for a few moments. Subgirlie had suitor problems of her own. However, Subgirlie was not the type to run to Adama, or anyone, for help. . . .
"Hello there, Momma Juggs, how about hooking up with me?" shouted a burly Author named Bubba, who made the mistake of trying to grab Subgirlie's breasts without being invited. Subgirlie kicked him in the nards. Bubba stumbled off into the bushes, his face pale. . . .
"Show me ya tits and I will let you have dinner with me," Fast Frank said to her, running a hand through her hair. Subgirlie pushed him away with a hard punch in the solar plexus.
"Damn, what size are them bad boys?" said Breast Obsessed, his fingertip grazing Subgirlie's nipple for emphasis. Subgirlie pushed him, clothes and all, into the pool.
"YOU ARE ONE SEXY MOTHERFUCKER! DAMN!" bawled TriCity Bendix. SPLASH! Into the pool.
"Behave yourself, Bendix, or we won't get any more cocktail parties with well-endowed women!" said Zorlond, smiling down at T.C. Bendix, standing in the shallow end, wringing water out of his t-shirt. "Oh, well, I needed a bath," Bendix laughed, floating on his back with a beer resting on his belly. . . .
"Do you dance, Mr. Fitzgerald?" said a voice. It was Subgirlie, bending low over Fitzgerald's table, low enough to distract Fitzgerald from everything else, like breathing. She was wearing perfume.
"Um, no, miss. I do a full-body dry-heave to music, but that's about it," said Fitzgerald. Subgirlie laughed and pulled him out onto the dance floor. The band began to play "Someone to Watch Over Me," by George and Ira Gershwin, a number from 1924. Just up Fitzgerald's street. He danced with Subgirlie, his palm against her warm, broad back.
"You seem to be able to take care of yourself, Subgirlie," said Fitzgerald.
"I take kickboxing lessons once a week," she said. . . .
"I want to see four inches of daylight between you two," laughed Dabbler, who was dancing with an extremely indulgent Mello.
"Fuck you," laughed Fitzgerald. "Mind your own dancing." Dabbler and Mello danced away, with Dabbler stepping on Mello's foot. "Ow," said Mello.
Subgirlie and Fitzgerald sat at a table for a moment. "Cocktail?" Fitzgerald offered.
"Not right now," said Subgirlie pleasantly.
"Well, if you're not imbibing, then neither shall I," Fitzgerald said. "Two Cokes," he said to the waiter. The waiter went to the bar to get the soft drinks. He returned in a few seconds. Fitzgerald and Subgirlie made pleasant conversation, about Subgirlie's hobbies, her G-rated website, and her R-rated pay site (which had TOPLESS photos). Apparently Subgirlie was mostly here to drum up business for her websites. She danced with Fitzgerald again, then he sat out and ordered a martini and watched her dance with Zorlond, Dabbler ("OW!" she said), JigSaw, and Burke Rakers, in turn.
It was now about 11 PM. The reception was only supposed to be a pleasant get-together, not an all-night bacchanal. Fitzgerald had lost sight of the TW Girl, perhaps she had already left. But there was plenty of evening left. Subgirlie is leaving the reception with someone! But who is it?
Tue Jul 3 17:10:43 2001