"Bunnies," Toddy said. "And I didn't torture them first."
By the time the big evening rolled around, a lot of things had changed in the beautiful Victorian home in Bracefield. Many of the Makepeaces' possessions had been sold or stored, Mrs. Powers had been bid farewell with a lovely large check, and Deena and Purcell had thrown their bags in the trunk of their car, since they'd be returning to their own place in Westchester immediately after the festivities. Mark had been at his town office ten hours a day for the past week, ensuring that when they arrived in Sweden they'd have a place to stay while they viewed homes, and a secure financial base.
Toddy and Mark were dressed to the nines, Toddy looking delicious and elegant in silver-spangled vintage Dior, Mark in a very conventional but tailor-made tux. They stood in the living room of the home they'd shared for two happy decades. Toddy had trouble holding back tears.
"Come on, darling, the future promises buckets of fun," Mark said. Toddy was so seldom melancholy that he wasn't used to having to raise her spirits.
"I know," she said. "What a great evening this will be. Mr. Gore will be so proud of us. I started to put in the notes, 'Come share an evening with Al Gore.' Though that wouldn't have been entirely honest, because we have the film, not the man himself. Purcell said none of them would come if they thought Mr. Gore would actually be there."
"When he gets the checks," Mark said, in a gentle reminder that the former vice president would probably never know how much they'd personally contributed to environmental fund-raising, "he'll be so pleased."
"Yes, of course," Toddy said. "I've got the mailing envelope ready." If she sighed very gently, Mark was not going to offer any rebuke. His wife was amazingly optimistic, so much so that she'd already put stamps on the envelope. He was afraid she was in for a disappointment.
Their trip into the city in their Prius was a silent one. Deena and Purcell, dressed to the teeth in up-to-the-minute designer finery, followed in their own Lincoln Town Car. Mark was mentally reviewing all the arrangements, and perhaps Toddy was saying a quiet good-bye to the country she loved so much.
When they reached the outskirts of Boston, they followed the route to the venue. It had been chosen with some difficulty, and Toddy and Purcell had debated fiercely about the selection. The location had to be quirky enough to engage the invited guests, but the party couldn't be held in any of the beautiful hotels or restaurants Boston had to offer. Toddy had designed the evening to be an expression of her own nature, and crowded areas just didn't fit in with that expression.
Toddy had handwritten each invitation, following Purcell's model. After the correct opening salutation, each one read:
Mark and I hope you'll come to Mark's offices at the Huntleigh Building at eight o'clock on October 10. We'll provide further transportation after that. We have an evening of surprises for our very select group of guests! In addition to enjoying your company and an excellent meal, we're touting our favorite charity, so please don't forget your checkbook. We hope to see you then.
Toddy Makepeace
The Huntleigh was a respectable downtown Boston office building. Though this was an odd invitation, Toddy and Purcell were hoping the Makepeace name and fortune and the Huntleigh's staid but lavish appearance would stoke the guests' curiosity while making them feel secure. Not all of the twenty-six invitees had accepted; there'd been eight refusals, fifteen acceptances, and three of the proposed guests hadn't let the Makepeaces know one way or the other. "So rude," Toddy had told Mark, her sweet face looking anything but sweet for a moment. "But of course, the ones who've accepted are all bringing escorts. So, thirty for sure. And the most important guests have said yes."
After they arrived in the city, the Collvilles and the Makepeaces parked their cars at the party venue and got a ride to the Huntleigh from one of the hired staff members. When they stepped into the marble lobby, the rest of the staff was waiting.
The results of Deena's labor looked good. The people she'd hired were dressed in white serving jackets and black pants. They were all attractive and smiling. They'd been extensively prepped. At this pre-party pep rally, Toddy gave them even more careful instructions and handed them their paychecks in advance. The three women and the six young men, all apparently in their early twenties or younger, looked very happy.
Toddy got more and more anxious as the party time grew near. "Oh, Mark," she said, "I hope this all goes well."
"Darling, it's a win-win situation," Mark said. "If our guests see the error of their ways, we'll have a lot of checks to contribute to environmental issues. If they don't, well, we'll have the satisfaction of having done our best in our own way."
Toddy nodded, determination in every line of her rounded face. Then a car pulled up to the lobby door and Toddy prepared to greet the first guest.
To her delight, the first arrival was James Jeffrey Jamison, looking even more like a blond frog than he had in his picture. Jamison was accompanied by a ravishing young woman who was not Mrs. Jamison. Though Toddy realized this was an insult, she greeted Jamison with apparent delight and introduced him to Mark. Other guests arrived almost immediately on Jamison's heels. Unmarried EPA Inspector George Puffman arrived with a young man he introduced as Selim, who appeared to be Puffman's bodyguard. Puffman didn't seem to be relaxed. In fact, he looked around him with suspicion.
But Toddy greeted George Puffman, Selim, and all the subsequently arriving guests with an optimistic cordiality, and Mark, too, was at his best, asking all the right questions about their welfare, their business ventures, their sports opinions. Mark was quick to learn all the names and relationships of the guests' escorts, too. Toddy reflected, not for the first time, that she'd been incredibly lucky to find Mark. The Collvilles acted as backup hosts, stepping in when any guest looked abandoned. Deena and Purcell definitely had on their party faces; they were dazzling in their charm and animation. Deena herself made a point of collecting the invitation notes; to her pleasure each guest had remembered to bring it.
When all the guests had assembled and their cars had been parked in the building's garage, a gaudy bus pulled up to the doors. The guests exclaimed, in confusion or derision or good humor. "I don't think any of them have ridden in a party bus before," Mark murmured. He hadn't himself. He hadn't even known they existed until Toddy had shown him a brochure.
"Come on, friends, this is the easiest way to get you all to dinner," Toddy said gaily, and because they would have been embarrassed to do otherwise, the guests climbed on board the bus. The driver, a dark, almond-eyed young woman with dreadlocks whose name tag read marchesa, gave them a cordial nod as they boarded. Despite the presence of his mistress, James Jeffrey Jamison visibly appreciated Marchesa's appearance. He chucked her on the cheek as he passed. He said something to her that sounded to Toddy like, "Hey, dark meat." That puzzled Toddy, who'd never heard the expression. Marchesa didn't seem to take offense; in fact, she looked pleased.
The hired servers had left at least fifteen minutes before the huge vehicle began to roll through the dark streets, the guests gaping around at the bus's cheerful disco lights and the liquor cabinet. Another server whose name tag read paula began passing around glasses of wine. Conversation between the guests began to flow more easily, and finally the party began cohering. The Makepeaces and Collvilles circulated like mad. In fact, the guests were already in the dingy warehouse area close to the water before they knew it. A few of them exclaimed at the "neighborhood."
"I thought this had all been gentrified," said a real-estate developer.
"There are pockets here and there that haven't been touched," Deena said. She'd searched hard for one of those pockets.
"Don't worry, friends," Toddy called. "You'll love our surprise venue."
One or two still seemed uneasy as the bus pulled up to an old warehouse, but once they'd been ushered inside the large rolling door they saw that the old place had been beautifully decorated. There were carpets strewn everywhere on the old wooden floor, and the
walls had been camouflaged by swaths of hanging material in rich colors. The round tables were draped with white linen and the place settings were perfection. There was a centerpiece on each table, and a large movie screen was set up at a strategic point. The waitstaff was fully briefed. They began taking coats and carrying around yet more wine the minute the door had rolled shut behind the last guest.
Anna Clausen entered soon after. Clausen was a tall, angular woman with jet-black hair and a face like a hatchet. She was elegantly dressed in a severe gray-blue evening dress. All of the guests exchanged happy, anticipatory looks as she entered. Anna Clausen was well-known among the rich and nearly rich. None of them dreamed that Clausen had driven the catering truck herself. It was loaded with excellent food, though Clausen certainly wasn't used to delivering and serving it herself.
"Deena, Toddy! Beautiful as always!" Anna kissed their cheeks, shook the hands of Mark and Purcell.
Toddy said, "Anna, I can smell the wonderful aroma from here. You've become so famous you don't just feed the celebrities, you are a celebrity."
Clausen looked pleased. "When you called me to explain," she said in her heavily accented English, "I could hardly take in the audacity of the idea. The Makepeaces always think big. That Deena, she agreed with my menu completely." Anna was impressed with Deena's intelligence. The truth was, Deena had never cared a thing about food. Prime rib, salmon, it was all one to her. But Anna was happy, that was the important thing.
"Thanks for agreeing to be one of the big draws for the evening," Mark said. "Thanks to our money and the reputation of your cooking, we're hoping this party will be a big success."
"I'm ready to start the evening," Toddy said. She looked around to make sure everything and everyone was in place. The waitstaff was circulating with a so-so choice of wines ("No reason to waste money," Mark had decided) and hors d'oeuvres. A CD of chamber music provided a soothing background. A lone man was stationed in front of the rolling door. There was another door at the back of the warehouse, but it was concealed by a swath of material.
Deena murmured to Toddy, "I notice that ass Jamison brought his mistress, not his wife."
Toddy shrugged. "Then he'd better be in a generous mood," she said, and Deena laughed.
Bella Bordelon had dressed for the evening in full warpaint, glistening and gleaming with every beauty product she could slather on her skin or in her hair. Bella was an aging beauty, and she had arrived on the arm of her latest husband, a man just old enough to keep her from being a figure of fun. She greeted Anna Clausen as if they were very old friends. She didn't notice the gleam in Anna's eyes as she threw her arms around Anna's neck.
When the guests had had a few glasses of wine and a bacon-wrapped fig or two, Toddy took the microphone and tapped on it. The courteous silence was relaxed; a result of the alcohol, Toddy thought.
"I'm so glad you're all here tonight," she said sincerely. "Each of you is our very special guest, and we hope you'll join with us in our effort to save this wonderful planet. We chose this warehouse to meet to emphasize our commitment to reclaim buildings that are still usable, buildings that for tax reasons are allowed to fall down and become blights on the landscape. Throwing this dinner here cost a sixth of what it would have cost at a hotel. That's money we can use to scrub our planet clean!"
There was a murmur of comment. Mark, standing at the side of the crowd and keeping a sharp eye, could tell that the tone was contemptuous.
Toddy's smile never wavered as she met Bella Bordelon's scornful face. If anything, it brightened.
"She's thinking of the bunnies," Mark whispered to Deena. "Do you think there's any way they'll be talked around?"
"No," said Deena. And she smiled a little herself.
"Before we serve your excellent meal, supplied by the great Anna Clausen," Toddy said, "we'd like to show you a film that's made a huge impact on our lives. We hope it'll do the same for yours. I have a feeling it will." And the young man in charge of the movie equipment began to show An Inconvenient Truth.
At least the audience was quiet during the showing. But by the time the showing came to an end, the guests were hungry and restless, and the applause was lukewarm.
James Jeffrey Jamison was not being subtle about pawing his mistress, and she was struggling to keep a pleasant expression on her face. She wasn't drunk; she'd been quite careful in her wine intake. Bella Bordelon and her husband were more decorous. Bella was whispering to George Puffman, who'd been seated next to her, and Bella's young man fell deep in conversation with Selim, the bodyguard. As a whole, the audience of environmental offenders didn't seem to be showing the contrite attitude that Toddy had yearned for.
But she smiled and persevered. "My husband, Mark, the host of this wonderful event, will be passing among you with the proverbial hat, hoping you'll contribute generously to our cause."
"We're hungry," said George Puffman. "I'll write a damn check if it means you bring the food."
"Of course, Mr. Puffman," Toddy said.
There was not a wave of check writing. In fact, as Mark passed through with a battered porkpie hat (which Deena had pronounced highly symbolic), the contributions came lightly, and when Toddy riffled through the collected checks, looking at the amounts, her sweet face fell. Mark was angry on her behalf, though he hadn't expected great things. The guests had been selected for their poor track record on environmental issues, and they were running true to form.
Toddy raised her hand in the air in the prearranged signal. She picked up the microphone for the last time.
"I'm sorry you didn't come through for the cause," she said sadly. "I had hoped this evening with Mr. Gore would persuade you. We planned our party so carefully, to give you all a chance to redeem yourselves."
Bella Bordelon called, "I don't need your redemption. I've done nothing for which I need to apologize."
"Give 'em hell, Bella," said Puffman. Jamison echoed the sentiment. His mistress, who was a canny young woman, looked around at the white-clad waitstaff. They'd moved to form a loose circle around the cluster of tables. She rose and excused herself quietly to go to the powder room. Instead, she walked as swiftly as her feet would carry her over to the big rolling door. The sharp-eyed waiter guarding it glanced at Toddy, a question on his face. Toddy gave a tiny nod of assent, and he rolled the door open just wide enough to permit the young woman to exit. She stepped outside with an unmistakable air of relief, and began walking quickly through the deserted warehouses on her high-heeled sandals as the door rolled closed behind her. She may have sensed someone following her for a few blocks, and she took care not to run.
But no one else in the warehouse seemed to pick up on whatever had spooked Jamison's mistress. In fact, the guests were beginning to look more and more restless and angry.
"Since you don't seem to feel the need to help the Earth, we've decided to give the United States a present before we leave these shores," Toddy said, her voice sad. "I'd hoped we'd have a huge sum to hand to the former vice president, and I'd hoped we'd all serve you a great meal and you'd get to go home replete with food and virtue. But now, I'm afraid, that won't be happening."
"NO FOOD?" bellowed Puffman.
"We'll eat," Toddy said gently. "See my teeth?" At that unexpected question, all the guests stared. Toddy Makepeace shucked her vintage Dior and parted her lips to show her white teeth, and the assembled crowd watched as they grew longer and sharper. Then Toddy bent over and jerked and spasmed, and when it was over, she was a huge wolf.
There was an appalled and unbelieving hush.
Then Toddy leapt on Bella Bordelon and ate her up.
It was a very noisy process.
Mark became an even larger wolf. Deena and Pur-cell stayed in human form, but their incisors extended and became needlelike. Deena yanked Puffman from his table, drew him into a loverlike embrace with superhuman strength, and sank her fangs into his neck. Purcell enjoyed the same pleasure with Puffman's bodyguard, Selim, whose gun never left its holst
er.
Most of the guests were still frozen in their seats for a few important seconds, unable to believe the sights in front of their eyes. But that didn't last long.
The guests that tried to run provided the most entertainment for the serving staff, some of whom had changed into animal form, and some who'd turned out to have fangs like the Collvilles. Marchesa took particular pleasure in hunting down Jamison. She said something before she bit him, something that might have been, "White meat."
The sounds in the old warehouse reached a crescendo of screams and growls and moans, broken by the occasional howl and crack of bone: this quite drowned out the chamber music.
A good time was had by all—at least by all the survivors.
After it was over, and the replete staff had heaped what remained of the guests in the middle of the warehouse (and had hosed themselves down outside and donned clean clothes), Anna Clausen left with the truck of excellent meals. She would take them to the homeless shelter downtown, so the food wouldn't be wasted. Two of the staff went with Anna to help distribute the meals. Three others returned to the parking garage to begin ferrying the cars left there to an automobile graveyard Purcell owned, where they'd be crushed and recycled.
Marchesa and her friend Paula searched the bodies for metal objects that fire might not consume. They assembled a bagful of disabled cell phones, belt buckles, jewelry, and the like. These identifiable objects would be tossed into one of the cars before it made its final trip through the crusher.
The cash from the bodies was tucked thriftily into Marchesa's pocket.
Paula, whose mouth was still bloodstained, had the job of stomping skulls. She was of the fanged persuasion, and terrifically strong. It would be better if the bodies were never identified, or at least not for a long time, and Paula went about her job with the enthusiasm of the young. Marchesa laughed when Jamison crunched under Paula's heel. Paula took extra care to pulverize him.
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