No one told me there was a blue handprint on my pleather bum.
Gerry Frey, former actor and dreamy film producer was wearing a kilt, armor, a real sword and makeup; he was acting a little too serious about it. I was going to this Hollywood costume party as Janet Jackson in the Scream video. Aren't we a pair?
“Gerry, we’re going to a party, you’re not performing Shakespeare in the park at exactly eight o’clock. And so far, from what I’ve seen, you’re no fun at a party.” Gerry ignored me while reapplying blue paint with his fingers and covered up the smudged spot where I kissed him. “Do you need a tissue?” I asked and Gerry looked at me like he was going to ride into my bedchamber on a horse.
“I'm sorry, Mare. You have blue on your mouth,” he said. Oh, that’s what he was looking at so seriously. I freaked out and pulled down my visor mirror, using the tissue to rub off the blue. It was not a bad blue scuff mark and came off easily. Kissing might be a problem tonight because everyone would know. I still looked good, though. I should dress like this every day, I thought, and people really would think I was a crazy old lady trying to be an anime character.
I looked over at Gerry as he opened the garage door with his remote and I said sourly, looking him up and down, “You know, I used rubber bands to make my costume and you used Paramount Pictures.”
He turned to me and in his best Scottish lilt – which I must say, was excellent – said, “You are still the fairest lass I’ve ever laid eyes on, Mare Loch.” That accent still gave me a tingle. I was helpless around it.
“That’s Mrs. Frey, if you nasty,” I said, shutting my mirror and pointing the way forward. He peeled out of the slick concrete of the garage onto the brick driveway, burning the rubber off his tires and then had to stop and wait for the gate to open.
“Gate-us Interruptus,” I said, and he flashed those neon teeth at me.
When we arrived at the party...a gentleman walked over and sat next to me on the sofa when Gerry wandered off. The man didn’t appear to be wearing a costume, just jeans and a crumpled black T-shirt.
“I like your costume. What are you?” I asked him.
“A stand-up comic,” he said, pulling at his T-shirt. He had a Cockney accent and I thought his idea of a costume was clever.
“Good one but it appears as if you’re a sit-down comic,” I answered. “I’m Mare.” I reached out my hand for him to shake it and he shook it weakly.
“Billy,” he said and then he pointed to my silver cross bracelet that was next to my watch. “You’re not going to try to cram that down my throat, are you?”
“What?” I asked as his words were sinking in. I looked down at the shiny cross, wondering what to say. “Um, only if you’re a vampire,” I said, trying to lighten the hate that was just thrown my way. Wow, a Christian hater who chose to come sit next to me.
“What if I were a vampire?” Billy asked.
“I’m pretty sure I can’t force anyone to be a Christian.”
“Would if you could, eh?” he asked, taking a swig from his red plastic cup.
“Jesus never did,” I answered kindly and smiled at him.
“That’s an interesting point,” Billy said. “So, you come to these parties to find converts?”
“Oh, you are a vampire,” I laughed but he didn’t laugh. I looked up and Grant was standing in front of us.
“That’s my seat, Mate,” Grant said, looking rather fearsome and tall as Frankenstein. Billy looked at Grant and then at me.
I smiled and said, “Have a good night and I hope you don’t accidentally get converted.” He stood and waited, glaring at both of us and then walked away as Grant sat down.
“That was rude,” Grant said, and I shrugged it off and assured him it was okay and thanked him for running the vampire off.
Later in the evening I ran into my husband Gerry coming out of the powder room and he pulled me back into it and locked the door. As he started feeling me up, I suggested, with wine on my breath, “Let’s chew up the scenery, Baby,” and he kissed me roughly and dramatically. I can never say no to snogging in the toilet with a man in a kilt and braids in his hair. He is so freaking hot.
“You have blue paint on your face,” he said, smiling with a big smudge across his own. A knock came at the door as I was reapplying Gerry’s makeup on the blue side of his face.
“Meh,” I exhaled as I looked in the mirror, made a weak swipe at the paint on my face but more than that, I was feeling the wine and shrugged. Once we left the bathroom, many of Gerry’s friends pointed out that I had blue paint on my face and then looked at Gerry. Alcohol can slow your cognitive processes and I made allowance for the latency in their mental stack by nodding and smiling when they got it. What no one told me was that I had a blue handprint on my pleather bum, but Gerry was nice enough to wipe it off before I sat on the party host's white sofa again.
Copyright Mare Loch 2021 Saltair: The Mid Life Celebrity Love Life of an Ex-Housewife © All rights reserved. Excerpt from Chapter 21 - "Double, Double, Toil and Trouble".
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