The Exploding Fete - Excerpts

—34—

“What do we do now?” Jerome asked, a panicked look on his face.

Joyce was clutching her temples as if fending off a migraine.

Candace stuffed the phone in her cardigan pocket and looked around. “Okay, composure. Let’s reconnoiter in the kitchen.”

They wove in reverse, parting parties with a wedge-like hand proffered like the splitting head of a maul, like a travelling karate chop. Pardon, pardon. Thank you. The anticipatory eyes, so multi-hued, expectant, and some eyes obsequious even at this late moment. Too late to sway the decision, surely, but worth a grin. What isn’t worth a grin, when a grin costs so little?

Again, everyone tried to arrest her, bend her ear—and Joyce’s and Jerome’s ears as well. The ceremony, was it starting soon, they all wanted to know. “Mrs. Winslow,” they said. “Mrs. Winslow. Excuse me, Joyce, Joyce.” Each of them uttering placating vagaries—“Very shortly…Patience, patience….Finishing touches…Moments away…Thank you, thank you”—they all reached the kitchen door as if in a processional conga line, minus the hands on hips (except for Jerome’s hands imaginarily on Joyce’s hips).

Candace, leading the pack, knocked on the bolted kitchen door. “Candace here,” she sang into the crack. The door immediately opened. They charged in, Candace saying, “Jesus H. Christ on a popsicle stick, what kind of novelist—”

A scream from Joyce, cut short.

Candace and Jerome spun around to see Joyce detained in a half-nelson by Monti Taylor, one hand over her mouth, the other wielding a kitchen knife at her throat.

“Well, this day just keeps getting worse and worse!” Candace said.

“Don’t move,” Taylor said. “I will splay her pretty throat like a… like a…”

“Filet?” Jerome offered.

“Phones,” Taylor said. “Both of you. In that bin.”

“Fuck me, Monti, this is the new iPhone!” Candace said.

“I need mine for work,” Jerome pleaded.

“Motherfuckers, I’m not joking! In the bin!” Taylor gestured at the trash can.

Candace and Jerome pitched theirs. “Where’s yours?” Taylor said, groping up and down Joyce’s dress.

“Watch it there, handsy,” Candace said. “That’s my daughter.”

Taylor located a pocket, drew Joyce’s phone out and tossed it in the trash.

“How did you get out even?” Jerome asked.

“A couple of lovebirds came looking for a place to make out,” Taylor said. Candace and Jerome looked at each other, wondering who. “You’ll have plenty of time to catch up with them. Come on—in the pantry.” With the knife he, swish swish, motioned them across the room.

“Monti, what’s gotten into you?” Candace said, crossing the room. “What would your father-in-law say to this?”

“You must have missed a tennis match, Mrs. Winslow. Me and Gail are divorced. I don’t work for Hanwell anymore.”

“Lucky you. Opening your own shop? I’d be happy to give up Hanwell Merc for somewhere with better prices.”

“Can the sycophancy!”

He took his hand off Joyce’s mouth to fetch the pantry key from his pocket—Joyce screamed. He clamped it shut again.

“Nice try, babe,” Jerome said.

“Babe?” Candace snapped, glaring at Jerome.

“Did I say babe? I meant, uh, Gabe! I should text Gabe.”

“ur mop exxing ae!” Joyce yelled, thoroughly muted.

Taylor fumbled in the lock, kicked the door wide, wielding the knife.

“Mrs. Winslow, I can explain,” Evonne Sorenstam-Finch said. She and Juan Ramirez were in there.

“What are you two doing?” Candace said.

“I thought it was a restroom?” Evonne said, unconvincingly.

Taylor laughed. “Ha ha. They crashed in here, lips locked. She was groping in Juan’s trousers,” Taylor laughed sinisterly.

“Oh, brother,” Candace said.

“Lo siento,” Ramirez said, eyes lowered in shame.

Tara Voss and Michael Dulka got up off the floor at the back of the pantry.

“He forced us all in here,” Dulka said.

“We tried to stop him,” Voss said.

“All right, all of you, in there. Let’s go.” Taylor waved the knife in little flicky, flicky motions. Candace and Joyce stepped in.

“Are you okay?” Candace said to Tara and Michael.

Jerome lingered in the doorway.

“Move it, pretty boy,” Taylor said. “Do as the knife says.” He jabbed it in Jerome’s back.

“Watch the suit!” Jerome proceeded warily.

“Thaaat’s it.” Closing the door to just a crack, Taylor pressed his face in the crevice. “There’s plenty of rice to eat. But you know what happens to birds when their bellies fill up with rice?” He laughed maniacally, slammed the door shut, while making a world-class Hollywood explosion type sound, complete with puffed cheeks flapping.

“What happens?” Jerome said.

“Si, what happens?” Ramirez said.

“They explode,” Tara Voss said drearily, slumping back to the floor.