Halloween arrived but the costumes hadn’t. That was a definite
problem.
“We could always cut some holes in sheets and go as ghosts,”
Ethan joked.
I gave him a
withering look. “Not funny,” I said. I wasn’t about to tell him I’d been there,
done that, and still had the scars to show for it. One year, when Mom couldn’t afford anything
else, she took one of our old sheets and told me I’d be the Spirit of Halloween
Past, sort of a twist on the ghosts in A
Christmas Carol. I proudly wore my costume
to school, so I could participate in the annual Halloween parade around the
school grounds. The other kids quickly let me know just how ridiculous I really
looked. Never going there again.
He gave me a discerning look that cut straight to my soul
and I quickly looked away, lest he read the secrets written there. We’d been
together for almost four years then, but there were things I’d never gotten
around to telling him. Someday, I promised myself, I would tell him everything,
but someday wasn’t now.
The invitation sat on our bed. It was
obviously custom printed. Hell, for all I knew, Spider owned an interest in
some printing company. Why not, he had a
finger in a lot of other pies. Gilt lettering on stiff parchment paper in the
shades of Halloween. Wolfgang Meier and Guest. I assumed I
was the guest. A name like Wolfgang could only belong to Ethan. I didn’t
exactly look Germanic, but Ethan was both blond-haired and blue-eyed. I didn’t
care. Whatever it took to get us in the door.
To get this bust, I’d be Guest, I’d be the Butler. Hell, I’d
even be the Maid, if that’s what did it. Not that I thought it would come to
that, but I’d been required to wear a dress before, on more than one occasion.
Funny how Ethan always managed to dodge that particular bullet.
“Vinnie…” he said, and I knew without looking he was drawing
closer, and if he touched me the right way, or just looked into my eyes, I’d be
lost. I felt my heart skip a beat and I tensed for his question…
But a knock at the door ended that. And when I dared to look
up at him, he’d gone to get it, and I was able to release the breath I’d been
holding.
He thanked the driver and carried a good-sized package into
our motel room and set it on the bed. Last minute, maybe, but the costumes had
arrived. We were saved.
Now to see what we were going as.
I assumed our costumes would be matched in some way. Cowboys
would be practical. Who would suspect our weapons were real?
We stared at the box for a long minute. I was suddenly
apprehensive, for no reason I could think of.
“You know it won’t open itself, right? Want me to get it?” I
offered.
“No, thanks, I have it.”
Ethan pulled out his pocket knife
and slid it along the seams of the package. The sides popped up, blocking my
view of what was inside. I refrained from tapping my foot—seeing as the motel
room was carpeted, the effect would have been diluted anyway— and waited
impatiently for him to pull something out.
He lifted out the first costume
and held it up against him. It seemed like a military type uniform, and was obviously
meant to resemble a breastplate except it was made from cloth. Looked Roman, judging by the skirt, which came
down to Ethan’s knees. As I watched, he dug out a laurel leaf and matching
sandals. Not a soldier, then, someone with status. Apparently this was Ethan’s
costume. If it came down to his knees, it would be too long on me.
That wasn’t too bad. I could live
with that. I’d had to wear a lot worse.
“You got one of those in my size
too?” I asked.
“No, I got you something
different.”
Apprehension was knotting my
stomach. “Who exactly are you supposed to be?” I asked, feeling sure that held
the key to everything.
“ Marc Anthony. You know, the guy
who said friends, Romans, countrymen, blah blah blah—”
“I know who he was,” I
interrupted. “Is it too much to hope I’m dressing as dead Caesar?” I didn’t
think so, but I had to ask.
“No, we’ll be a much more
compatible couple.”
No more questions. Now was the
moment of truth, no matter what is was. I pulled the box closer and peered
inside, then lifted out what I saw. It was gauzy and filmy, and even kind of
pretty, but it was definitely a gown. As in women’s wear. As in…
“Cleopatra?” I gave him my best
are-you-kidding look? “You want me to go dressed as Cleopatra?”
“The queen of the Nile herself.”
He nodded. “It has a wig and sandals, and a little jewelry.”
Oh, lucky me. Matching
accessories.
“What’s wrong with you?” I
blurted out.
“Nothing. I just figured we’d be
less conspicuous if we posed as a man and a woman. No one would suspect us of
being feds.”
“You mean as opposed to us
showing up as a gay couple?” I asked sarcastically.
“Exactly! I’m glad you
understand—”
“I don’t understand your incessant need to put me in a dress!”
“Vinnie,” he began in a voice
calculated to soothe. It wasn’t working.
I reached into the box and pulled
out a long black wig that would surely reach down to my ass, and would be
fucking heavy. There was also a crown,
fronted by a cobra, bracelets, a necklace, and sandals that would tie up my leg.
“Where the hell am I supposed to
pack in this getup?” I demanded. “I’m not going in there without my gun, and
this leaves nothing to the imagination.”
“You can use a thigh holster.”
Seems like he had an answer for
everything.
to be continued
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