Words. Thoughts in flight, fledged from the lips or caged on the page.
Sunday, 6 July 2014
The Perfect Hosts
“I tell you, they’re not our kind of people!”
Candace gave me ‘that’ look. The one that trumped all my arguments. “Hush, dear. It’s just one night. Besides, I think he’s a Freemason. You’d do well to be well in with him.”
I grumbled right up to when Karl opened the door to us, clinging to the wall and looking oddly flushed.
“Jack, Candy. It’s just you two we’re feeding tonight, so go right on through and help yourselves. Jeannette’s been busy all day making up sausages and steaks, so I can guarantee it’s all good meat.” He waved us along, leered sickly at Candace as we passed and then lurched after us.
I waited for a few moments after Karl had gone off, doing hostly things. “I told you. Drunk already. And I bet Janey’s bombed too.”
“Shush. Look, she’s coming!”
Jeanette looked pale, unusually forgoing her usual summer two-piece for an unseasonably full maxi dress. She reeled awkwardly, falling heavily into her chair to face us.
“Hi, you guys. Excuse me, I’m just a little hot. And not stoned like you said,” she slurred, fanning herself and kicking off her sandals. “Honestly. I heard you both. As if we ever would!”
But whatever I thought of them, they knew how to entertain. The steaks were exceptional. Veal or venison or something. And then I noticed something.
“Candy,” I mumbled, hurriedly dropping my sausage. “Don’t say anything but… have you seen her feet?”