My name is Alexander.
I am a magnificent black, silky black cat with emerald eyes. I live in a Maison de Maître in Burgundy
with a charming garden. I own a rather
pretty lady called Isabelle, she hates when I kill birds. Nonsense!
I do kill them but never bring them to her anymore. The screams and being called a “bad cat” is
not very nice. But I really don’t
care. To do my evil deeds I go to the neighbours,
the Macrons, a very nice couple who dote on me.
I get tidbits of salmon, turkey etc.
They would love to have me but I can’t do that to Isabelle, she adores me.
I am always welcome at the Macrons except when they have
guest for a meal. Because I do beg for
a morsel, climb on laps, I can be quite a pest in their eyes not in mine. I just do what I like when I like, that’s
it. So I am banished outside when people
come. The other day, I heard Isabelle
mention the Macrons were having a garden party, garden means outside, there is
no way they’ll keep me out and it sounds like fun. I just can’t wait.
Today is garden party day and I am ready, hiding in the lovely
hydrangeas, looking at the guests, I spot a lovely little girl. I will zero in on her when they are all
seated and eating. Everybody sits,
chatting happily, no one looking around except the Macron’s who are looking for
me but I bide my time and start to slink toward the girl who has seen me and
tries to get my attention. She is
holding a piece of salmon in her chubby hand.
Everybody was too busy eating, talking to notice me so I took the
salmon, ate it very daintily and here comes another one, great. But, all of a sudden I heard Isabelle’s
voice ; I didn’t know she was here,
asking the little girl what she was doing.
The stupid child told her in a loud voice that she was giving salmon to
a black cat. Bedlam … Isabelle and the
Macrons got up looking for me, but I was quicker and went under the
tables. It was tally Ho for me, I had so
much fun, running around, some tried to grab me but I was too fast. I could hear “Alexander, Alexander come to
Mama, come here. Like I ever come when
called! Finally I got tired of the game,
ran through the hydrangeas very proud of myself.
I had the best garden party ever even if I wasn’t invited.
Paula's story:
Bobby was wracking his brain. His wife’s birthday was coming
up, and he wanted to make it special. But how was he going to top last year,
his wife’s 50th, when he sent her and her sister to her beloved
Paris for a week? Bobby prided himself on being the master of the grand
gesture, but he was stumped. Then, an idea began to take shape. A great idea, a
sly idea. He picked up his phone and dialed a number in North Carolina, and set
his plan in motion.
*****
Julia murmured, “OK, bye for now,” into her phone, set it on
her desk and stared at her calendar. She just might be able to make this work,
she thought. She would have to move a few meetings, cancel a few plans, but it
would be so worth it. It was a wonderful idea, and so like Bobby: generous, and
sweet. And oh, so sly.
*****
Ingrid was snuggled into a corner of the sofa, one cat on
her lap and one nestled beside her. It was her birthday, she had taken the day
off work, and it had been a great day so far. It started with a long walk in
the park, then she had met her sister for a lazy, champagne-fueled lunch at
their favorite French bistro, followed by an afternoon of shopping. And now,
she was watching an old movie, waiting for her husband to get home with her
favorite Chinese takeout. He had an afternoon meeting, he had told her, but he
should be able to get home, dinner in hand, by 7.
*****
She heard his key turn in the lock, and she paused the
movie. “I’m watching ‘It’s A Wonderful Life’!” she called, as she heard his
footsteps in the hallway. “Come on, it’s getting to the good part!” Bobby
walked into the living room, laughing. “You would say every part of that movie
is the good part,” he told her, as he set a shallow box filled with the
familiar red and white takeout boxes on the cocktail table in front of her.
“Bobby!” she cried. “That’s enough food for an army! What’s gotten into you?”
At that, he turned toward the hall, and she followed his gaze. There, standing
in the doorway, looking uncharacteristically shy, was her best friend, Julia.
Ingrid screamed, jumped off the sofa, and rushed to hug her friend, laughing,
and crying, asking Bobby what the hell, how did he manage this without her
knowing, what a great birthday surprise. Then, everyone was talking at once:
Bobby, telling Ingrid how he had tried to figure out how to make her birthday really
special; Julia, saying how she was amazed that Bobby was so determined to fly
her down to New Orleans to surprise Ingrid; Ingrid, trying to work out how she
had been so clueless, and already on the phone to her boss, asking for another
day or two off work so she could spend as much time as possible with Julia.
*****
The next few days were a blur of lunches, shopping, talking,
walking, dinners, playing their favorite board games, drinking champagne,
watching their favorite movies, Bobby on the fringes in the evenings, filling
their glasses, doing the washing up, tucking them into bed when they drank a
bit too much. Ingrid and Julia called Julia’s house, to talk to Ingrid's dear
goddaughter and her sister, and Julia’s husband: yes, they had all known about
it, yes, what a fantastic surprise, yes, they wish they could all be there. At
night, alone in their bed, Ingrid would wrap her arms around Bobby, nestle into
his shoulder, and murmur, “You always give me the best gifts.”
Three days later, Ingrid had to get back to work, even
though Julia would be there for two more days. Because Ingrid worked at night,
she and Julia had most of the day together, and at 3 o’clock, as Ingrid headed
off to the office, she said plaintively, “What will you and Bobby do while I’m
gone?” Julia smiled and said, “Don’t worry. We’ll think of something. But
mainly, we will wait for you to get home.” “Well, you better stay up,” Ingrid
told her. “I know you, Julia. You’re a lightweight. I get off work at 11, so
pace yourself.” Julia grinned, and said, “Text or call when you’re about to
leave work. I’ll be up and ready.”
Ingrid called home a few times during the evening, aching to
be there with her husband and her best friend, and every time, Bobby would
remind her, “Text or call when you’re leaving. Julia wants to make sure she’s
awake for you.”
*****
It was 9 p.m. and Julia was wide awake, stretched out naked
on top of Bobby, their sweat mingling on the sheets of Bobby and Ingrid’s bed.
“What a brilliant idea,” Julia whispered, still out of breath. They were
feeling pretty proud of themselves, pulling this off. Living in different states,
it had been a challenge, over the last decade, to find time to be together.
This “birthday surprise” was perhaps Bobby’s finest idea, because not only was Ingrid
happy; she thought it was all for her.
*****
Ingrid wanted to surprise her best friend. She got off work early,
and softly mounted the steps to the apartment. She slipped her key into the
door. The living room and bedroom were across the hall from each other, at the
back. When she stepped silently inside, she heard muffled voices, but something
wasn’t right. The living room was on the right. These sounds were coming from
the left, the master bedroom. She walked down the hall and reached for the bedroom
door . . .
*****
There are moments in life that forever are defined by Before
and After. What do you do when you realize in a shocking flash of discovery
that two of the most important relationships in your life are over, at the same
time? What do you do when the full breadth and depth of betrayal comes into
immediate, shocking focus, when you learn just how deceitful people you thought
you knew could be? For a long time after that night, Ingrid would deal with
what her therapist helped her understand were three betrayals: his, hers, and
theirs, together.
*****
As the years passed, Ingrid came to realize that her
birthday surprise, the uninvited guest, was the best thing that ever happened to
her. The Book of John was right: The truth shall set you free. There is life,
and truth, on the other side of betrayal, she learned. And most important, there
is love.
A story by Annemarie:
The Uninvited
Guest
I remember when I was invited to a fancy
dress party (among people I knew or 'sort of' knew) when I was newly
engaged; though I say it myself, I did look good - my shiny black hair in a
swinging bob and fringe, surmounted with gold hairband, decorated with a
brilliant blue lapis lazuli snake; the
artfully draped sheet around me was
clinched with golden belt and bejewelled buckle, and a plethora of
gold and 'jewels from the orient' around my neck, all made, painted and
decorated by my little niece – I was Cleopatra embodied and I felt so good!
This time however I was a little older and
I had been invited to a 'vicars and tarts' party ( I know, it is a curiously
English way of entertainment). I plucked courage in both hands and accepted the
invitation as it was from one of the teachers (the only one who had been
welcoming during the 3 months I had worked my 2-day week supply teaching at
that school). The staff room can be a very isolating place and this could be a
means of really getting to know the other stand-offish(?) teachers.
I would certainly not dress up as a vicar;
no, a full-on outrageous tart and they would realise what a fun person I really
was and then life in the staff room would be a whole lot better.
This is when charity shops and TK Max are
so useful. I spent a day trawling the
shops and came home with my glittering bounty. A good uplift bra (a tart needs
a cleavage after all), some black lacy patterned tights and very fancy black
suspender belt, a figure-hugging purple
dress which just covered my derrière. I
was beginning to look forward to discover this other me. After a lazy scented bubble bath it was on with the black underwear, a bit of a
struggle to slither into the shiny purple dress, just covering my derriere and
a glimpse of suspender; plenty of chunky
gold necklaces, (my Cleopatra moment), bangles and gold hoop earrings); then my
makeup: this was beginning to be fun - a smear of lilac eyeshadow topped with a
swish of silver glitter, a pair of thick fake eyelashes and a generous lashing
of deep crimson lipstick. Last of all deep crimson nails. My long dark hair I scrunched
and teased into a spiky mess and added a
quick spray of purple to cap it all. I didn't look half bad - in fact I looked
completely bad! I picked up a little glitzy bag and a pair of high-heeled shoes
and, running late, drove off to my friend's house.
Arriving at her road I suddenly realised I
had forgotten to bring the invite with the address and I couldn't remember the
house number only having been there once; then I saw all the parked cars. Yes, this was the right house. I parked the car,
put my shoes on, pushed my boobs up, niceand pert and tottered to the door. A
little nervous I rang the bell and after a few minutes the door was opened by a
somewhat older man than I had imagined Mary's husband to be. It was also eerily
quiet for a raucous fancy dress party. He looked me up and down …and up again; “Can I help you?”
“ Yes,” I said “I’ve come for Mary's party.
I've got the right day I hope.”
“Well no Mary lives here... but you are welcome to come in.”
Muttering profuse apologies and trying not
to fall over in my stiletto heels whilst trying to shrink my chest back into
its uplift bra I hurried back to the car. Mortified, I sat there all dressed
up, not knowing where to go. I knew I
had the right road so I drove slowly along the houses and there it was; a road leading to a field with what looked
like a cricket club or some sort of hall and plenty of cars. Of course, Mary's
husband was cricket mad so they must have hired the pavilion for their party. I
parked the car and for a second time tottered along to the building. Lots of noise from within
which was a heartening sign - so I banged on the door. It opened and before me
stood a gentleman in immaculate dinner jacket (a bit strange I thought for a
vicar). His eyes stood on stalks as he surveyed me and over his shoulder were
many more immaculately dressed guests, men in dj's and women in evening dress, and
not a suspender belt to be glimpsed anywhere and amongst them the parents of
Daniel Palmer (year 4’s class swot) staring straight at me.
“I don't think I’ve got the right
address... is this Mary Conochie's party?”
I was already slinking away in total
humiliation as he said:
“I think you have the wrong address.”
I never did get to know those teachers
well.
Jackie's story:
Hannah parked her battered rusty 2CV Citroen and was surprised at the number of expensive gleaming cars lined up in the paved courtyard of this splendid 18th Century Chateau. she hesitated at the entrance … it was this evening the Count and Countess had asked her to come for a drink … ….. a sudden thought made her wonder if she had got the wrong date
Her host opened the door, a glass of bubbles in hand Ahhhh “My dear”, he looked her up and down, frowned then welcomed her … “you’ve arrived ! ” ….. and whisked her into a room full of formal dinner jackets and sparkly evening gowns.
Clad in cotton shirt and jeans the other guests received her as stiffly as white linen left out in the frost for the night. Not accustomed to the high life “My dear” as she mimicked to herself lived at the Chateau’s estate, looked after the many animals there, surrounded by dogs,cats and goats, dressed in overalls and rubber boots; mucking out, milking and hardly went out in the evenings. She certainly had nothing anywhere near sparkly chic in her wardrobe. She thought to herself thank goodness I didn’t come in my mucky farm boots….
Feeling awkward and distressed at being very underdressed at this very chic razzle dazzle party Hannah just wanted to disappear down a hole in the floor.
At this, she glanced down at the beautiful parquet Versailles and to her surprise down by the skirting board was a tiny mouse. His whiskers quivering - little brown eyes alert, ears as pink as rose petals, and nose twitching nervously. “ Oh miss” baby mouse cried and she bent down to listen … “I’ve lost my mummy could you help me find her”
Goodness Hannah thought, how in the world was she going to find a mummy mouse in this very elegant and refined soirée. Most of the guests present would run a mile just at the word ‘mouse’ . So putting the baby mouse in the pocket of her jeans she set off to mingle with the guests.
She sipped banalities and swallowed her discomfort of unfortunate dress sense until the butler announced « Ladies and Gentlemen, dinner is served…… »
There in the centre of the table was the most beautiful floral display. A magnificent woodland log planted with different shades of moss interspersed with leaves of silver birch and ash brown branches - Textures of pines, ferns and wild wispy delicate purple flowers poking through with the whitest of snowdrops - the different hues of botanical treasures were a delight to the eye.
But, in the middle of this fabulous display poking its little face through the bark was evidently a Mummy mouse. Round, brown and plainly distressed. “My baby, my baby” she squealed frantically, and became more and more hysterical - the shrieking was thankfully drowned by the chatter, laughter and clamour of knives and forks on china. But, it wouldn’t be long, Hannah thought, before someone spotted Mummy mouse as there she was, perched on the large green lily leaf that was draped artistically across the table and she could just imagine that if seen the ho hah that would cause.
Inside her pocket she could feel the agitation of baby mouse upon hearing her mothers cry. Squirming and trying to look dignified she reached in her pocket to reassure the tiny creature but by a twist of her hand the baby mouse escaped onto the table - running circles amongst the silver, slithered up and down the candelabras, knocking over wine glasses and finally found refuge in the central woodland display where mother mouse gathered her up in her paws.
The sight of those finely dressed sophisticated ladies attempting to escape a tiny helpless mouse by clambering on chairs - thus ripping their taffetas and silk gowns, twisting their ankles on their high heels; the men in a flap waving bow ties, flailing arms and hopping up and down had Hannah in fits of laughter -
After the guests had calmed down, (some of them had left without finishing their dinner) she thought what fun it was being an uninvited guest.
