30 - I Don't Want to Spoil the Party

Saturday morning, Petey plopped down on her newly delivered sofa and stroked the funky, hot pink microsuede with an affectionate hand.  It had taken a little longer than she would have liked to get the living room of her new apartment finished, but the custom ordered beauty parked under her backside had been worth the wait.

The asymmetrical camel back went from high on the left side to low on the right, reminiscent of a chaise lounge, and Petey flipped around to lounge on it as such.  Resting her head against the rolled, overstuffed arm, her crossed feet didn’t quite reach the other end.  It wouldn’t be good for an overnight guest, but for her, toss on a couple of black cushions, and it was perfect.

This sofa, along with the chunky black cocktail table, geometric pink and black area rug, torch floor lamps and sheer black window treatments made her smile.  It was a happy place to be.

Particularly happy since – she chuckled – Mr. Belvedere hadn’t come calling again.  She had walked down the block – yes, she hadn’t moved any further than a block away because she loved the neighborhood – and spoken with Gavin yesterday.  He assured her no bad tweed had been spotted since she left, and as far as she knew, he hadn’t found the new place yet.

With any luck at all, she would be anonymously mingled in with Bon Jovi’s road crew by the time he figured it out.

Her phone pealed through the apartment, drawing her attention from the pink and black bliss surrounding her.

Richie.

“Hello Mr. Fairy Godmother,” she greeted him cheekily, causing him to snicker.

“Hello yourself Miss Petey.  How’s it going?”

“They just delivered my new couch, which I completely love, so it’s going well.”  Seeing the clock on the wall, her brow furrowed.  “Shouldn’t you be someplace over the Midwest about now?”

“Yeah,” he acknowledged slowly and cautiously.  “That’s what I was calling to tell you.  My daughter was supposed to stay with a friend this weekend, but she’s come down with the flu.  I have to stay in LA and be Mr. Mom, so I must regretfully cancel our date.”

She was immediately sympathetic.  “Oh Richie, I’m so sorry she’s sick.  And, of course, I’m sorry not to see you, but your daughter is more important than dressing Cinderella for a ball she doesn’t want to be at in the first place."

“You believe in keepin’ it real don’t ya Darlin’?”

“Why not?”  She quoted with a smirk, “’Reality leaves a lot to the imagination’.”

“John Lennon?  You’re quoting John Lennon?” he asked with astonishment.  “You have depths I haven’t yet begun to understand, Petey Diehl.”

“My depths aren’t all that interesting.”

“Why don’t you let me be the judge of that?”  Richie had barely finished the thought before his voice became muffled.  “I’ll be right there, Baby Girl.”  He then returned to Petey, his voice loud and clear again when saying, “I have to run Darlin’, but if you don’t have anything else going on, save me a date after Christmas?  I should be in town sometime between then and New Year’s.”

“I’ll pencil you in,” was her quick promise.  “Now go take care of your daughter.”

Well, she thought, disconnecting the call.  That means I could make myself inconspicuously absent from this thing if I really wanted to.  Candace doesn’t need me there.

Both were true statements.  So was the fact that being in the same proximity as Jon wouldn’t be good for her resolve to steer clear of him.  And the fact that she had nothing to wear, since Richie was to have provided her outfit.

She had just convinced herself it would be perfectly appropriate for her to ditch the party when the phone chimed in her hand, with a text message.

JON[11:24 AM]JON: Hope to see you tonight Sugar.  JBJ

Dammit.

That was an unwanted temptation that shouldn’t even rate on her temptation meter.  If he’d really wanted to see her, he would have called for social sex sometime in the last two weeks.

[11:25 AM]JON: ALL of you at my place after. ;-)

My God, are they all psychic?  Or has this Goth thing gone too far, and I’ve become a witch without knowing it?

[11:26 AM]PT: Not sure I’m going to the party. P

She winced as soon as she tapped the send button.  Leaving a sliver of uncertainty was equivalent to showing a weak spot, and it also suggested that she may be open to coercion.  Which she was not.

[11:27 AM]JON: You have to.  I bought you a gift.

Let the coercion begin...  But why would he get her a gift?  And give it to her at a crew party?

Well let’s just ask him…

[11:29 AM]PT: Why?

[11:30 AM]JON: Quid pro quo?  *smirk*

Damn the man and his you-tell-me-I’ll-tell-you games.  It was infuriating.  He was infuriating, and he likely did it on purpose.

[11:32 AM]PT: Fine. . .

She waited.  And waited.  And waited. 

What in the world?  Was he writing a dissertation on it?  Fingers poised over the electronic touch pad, she was prepared to resend her last text when his response finally appeared.

[11:40 AM]JON: Because it made me think of you.  They need me now.  I’ll take my turn tonight.  K?

Petey had just been effectively backed into a corner, trapped like a rat in a maze.  Grumbling, she knew that going to the party would be the right thing to do.  Dammit.

[11:42 AM]PT: This is entrapment but ok

[11:42 AM]JON: ;-)

Now.  What in God’s name did one wear to a rock office Christmas party?

☠ ☢ ☠

Gotcha, Jon thought smugly, sliding the phone back in his pocket. 

He’d deliberately waited until the last minute to make sure she was coming.  Petey, being Petey, had been a sure bet to be as obstinate as humanly possible and refuse to attend.   He’d known it as well as he knew his name.  That’s why he’d thrown the gift bait out there.  She liked to understand things, his little imp.  The catch here was that she would actually have to get the gift in order to understand why he’d chosen it for her.  There was no other way to complete her little logic puzzle.   

Pretty smart Bongiovi.  I think you’re starting to get the hang of this woman.

☠ ☢ ☠

“In here.”  Candace shoved Petey in the door of Victoria’s Secret.

It had been a disastrous moment of desperation.   Not knowing, or likely having, the right thing to wear was stressing Petey out, and the clock was ticking down.  Knowing only one other female guest, Petey had been left with no choice but to call Candace and seek out her opinion.

Little did she realize that it would morph into a whirlwind shopping excursion.  Not even in her wildest dreams had she ever imagined shopping with Candace.  Ever.  It felt like the Twilight Zone.

“Why are we going in here?” Petey asked warily, digging in her heels.  She had lotion, bras and panties.  What she needed was something dressy and funky.

Undeterred, Candace latched onto Petey’s arm and practically dragged her through the entryway.

“You’re going to look like a damn girl for a change.”

“What do you mean ‘for a change’?  I just wore a skirt yesterday!”

Candace cut her to the quick with fierce green eyes.  “That hardly counts.  I was thinking more of something that doesn’t make you look like the Grim Reaper’s ‘ho.”

“Okay, now that was completely uncalled for!” 

“Sometimes the truth hurts.  Work with me here.  We’re on a tight schedule.  I have to get back to my place so that I can get ready for this thing.” 

Her long legs came to a screeching halt beside a rack with tiny bits of pink fluff and tulle protruding from its hangers.  “A-ha! This is exactly what I was looking for.  I love it, but at my height, my ass would hang out and I’d look like a Playboy bunny. “ 

Petey thought that was a peculiar statement.  If anyone had asked her, she would have expected that to be exactly the kind of look Candace would go for.

“But on your petite frame it will be perfect.”  She pulled one of the hangers out with a flourish.  “Ta-da!”

Separating the hanger from the rack hadn’t helped Petey any better decipher what the hell was dangling from it.  All she saw was bits of pink fluff.  Oh, and some rhinestones and bows. 

It’s a pretty shade of pink though, she mused.  “What is it?”

As to be expected, the blonde woman dramatically threw her hands in the air, as she did on a regular and recurring basis.  This time the gesture was so exaggerated, you would’ve thought  Petey had just asked what the American flag was.  Apparently the answer to that question should have been obvious.  

It wasn’t.

Candace flipped her long, platinum locks over her shoulder and methodically released the clips anchoring the fluff, pulling a piece free – the piece with the rhinestones.  “This is a Santa hat.” 

Now that she held it up by the furry pink pompom that topped it, Petey could clearly make out the recognizable conic shape.  The body of the hat was made of a deep pink satin, randomly dotted with mini rhinestones, while the wide brim was luxurious, pale pink fur that matched the pompom.  When worn, the pompom would hang down to her shoulder.

Hating herself, Petey fell just a little in love with it.  She loved  pink.  And sparkly things.  The two combined were her kryptonite.  However, she kept that tidbit to herself and dredged up a displeased pucker, asking, “What’s the other thing?”

Candace huffed, tossing the hat across her shoulder.  She then released the second piece from the hanger and held, what turned out to be, a short pink skirt up to her waist. 

In same color satin as the hat, it had a wide scalloped hemline edged with the fur.  Then, at the crest of each scallop, there was a satin bow that matched the skirt.  Underneath it all was a soft pink crinoline that made it stand out just a bit.

The pieces together were girliness personified.  If they’d been any color but pink or black, Petey would’ve flatly refused.  But they were pink.  And she wanted them.

“Okay,” she conceded ungenerously.  “I can do that.”

Candace beamed as though she’d created the flirty little concoction with her own two hands.  “I didn’t really believe you’d wear it, and can’t wait to see it on.  Now we just need a pair of shoes and a blouse to go with them.  Maybe a necklace too, depending on the blouse.”

Fingering the silky satin, Petey visualized the contents of her closet.  What went with pink better than black?  And she had a plethora of black shirts at home.  One, in particular, she hadn’t even worn yet.  She’d gotten it on Black Friday - the irony was not lost on her - and hadn’t found the right occasion for it.  This outfit was the right occasion.

A slow, Cheshire-like grin turned up the corners of her mouth.  “That won’t be necessary.   I already have the perfect thing at home.”

Lips pursed in disbelief, her shopping Nazi scoffed.  “Pardon me if I don’t believe that.”

“You’re pardoned,” Petey told her absently, trying to decide if she had time to stop at Gothic Renaissance and pick up the tights she’d passed over the last time.  “Because even if it’s not perfect, it’s perfect for me.  You’ll just have to wait until tonight for the proof.”