“So, she’s high-maintenance, is what you’re saying,” Lily said, clearly unimpressed.
“I’m saying that, like any high-functioning machine or beautiful piece of art, she needs taking care of, but she’s worth the trouble in the end.”
“Uh huh,” said Lily, still skeptical.
“Plus, if you don’t take care of her, she’ll make your life miserable.”
“Now that I do believe,” Lily chuckled. “But you two are good friends, right?”
“Yep, she’s the closest thing this lonely, only child has to a sibling. So you fuck with her, and you’re fucking with both of us.”
“Duly noted,” Lily said. Flicking her cigarette butt into the tin can by the door, she changed the subject. “What are you going as next week?”
“For the party? Professor Dumbledore.”
“Who?”
“Professor Dumble…Christ, you’re worse than Miranda. The youth of today, I swear to God.”
“Oh, he’s from that wizard book, isn’t he?”
Jenny clutched her heart. “Please, just stop. You’re killing me. What are you going as?”
“Mrs. Fox.”
“Mrs. Who?”
“Yeah, from The Fantastic Mr. Fox. It was one of my favorite books as a kid – first book I ever read in English. And I absolutely loved the movie.”
“Did you read books not in English before that?” Jenny asked.
Lily laughed, nodding. “Yeah, my mom’s Colombian, so she taught me Spanish first. What about you? Did your parents teach you Spanish too?”
“My parents are from Mississauga, and my grandparents were from Eastern Europe.”
“Really?” Lily looked surprised. “I always thought you were half Hispanic like me. Must be the hair.”
Jenny laughed, tugging at one of her thick, dark curls. “Nope, just Jewish.”
“My bad,” Lily smiled. “Well, I’d better get going. We’ve still got to do a sound check.”
“Break a leg,” Jenny smiled.
“Thanks. Good luck with Kezia.”
Jenny laughed. “Thanks, I’m gonna need it. God, I wish I were Hispanic. Ladies love the Latin charm.”
Lily swatted Jenny’s arm. “You’re charming enough as it is, in a goofy kind of way.”
“Goofy? You are not helping, Lily,” Jenny shook her head, laughing as she went back inside.
Kezia had kept Jenny’s beer behind the bar for her, and she smiled as Jenny came back in. “I thought you’d run off without me,” she said, sliding the pint across the bar.
“Never,” said Jenny grinning back at her. Then a new customer came in, and Kezia left to take their order. Looking down at her beer, Jenny noticed that Kezia had put in on a beer mat. Bored, Jenny pulled out the coaster to take a look at the logo – only to realize that Kezia had scrawled her name and number on it.
Jenny’s eyes lit up and, as subtly as possible, she waved the beer mat at Lily, pointing at it excitedly. Lily caught her eye and mimed a telephone call with her free hand. Jenny nodded, and her co-worker grinned, giving her a thumbs up. Feeling very proud of herself, Jenny turned back to her beer.
Chapter Three
“I’m going as Mr. Fox,” said Miranda on Monday morning.
“Mr. Who?” Jenny asked, not really paying attention to the conversation as she stripped off her wet outerwear and hung it up to dry on the hook in their cubicle. It was raining, as per always.
“Mr. Fox from The Fantastic Mr. Fox.”
“Oh really?” Jenny asked, her eyebrows shooting up. She opened her mouth to tell Miranda about Lily and then thought better of it.
“Yeah, actually. Why? Why are you looking at me like that?” Miranda asked, frowning. “What were you going to say?”
“Looking at you like what? I’m not looking at you, and I wasn’t going to say anything,” Jenny replied, busying herself with her computer. “I think that’s a great costume.”
“Thanks. I’ve already got the fox mask made. It took me all weekend.”
Knowing Miranda’s detail-oriented approach to costuming, this did not surprise Jenny. “What’s left to do?”
“The tail and the feet. And his suit, of course, but that’s relatively straightforward.”
“Do you need help? Ooooh, we could have a costuming party. I’ll bring the wine.”
Miranda grinned. “And by ‘we could have a costuming party’ you mean you haven’t started yours yet, and you want me to make it for you.”
Jenny pouted. “But you just make them so much better than I do!” she pleaded. They had this conversation every time she and Miranda had to go out in costume, which was surprisingly often considering they grown adults. It was one of the perks of theater life.
Miranda rolled her eyes. “Make that two bottles of wine, and you’ve got yourself a deal.”
“You’re a star, Miranda.”
The other woman shook her head fondly. “But you’ll have to write up a description for me. Otherwise, I’ll just watch one of the movies and make him look like that.”
Jenny shuddered. “Don’t say things like that in my presence. Those movies were abominations. All copies should all be burned. And then their ashes should be burned again just in case.”
“Yes, so I’ve heard you say,” Miranda snickered. She quickly grew silent as Lily had chosen that moment to walk by, her arms full of folders. Miranda narrowed her eyes at the other woman’s retreating back. “Though I have to say I’m pretty unimpressed by the fact that she’s chosen to have the party here. I mean, come on. We spend our whole lives in this place. Why would we want to party here too?”
Jenny rolled her eyes. “Oh, yes, you just had to say, did you? Darling, you’re unimpressed by everything that woman does.”
“Well, seriously. You can’t deny that it seems a bit cheap. Like, is our labor not worth splurging on a better venue for?”
Jenny shrugged. “I dunno. I think it’ll be kind of fun to run around backstage with everything all decorated. It’s a total Warren back there, and we almost never get an excuse to explore it. Plus there’ll be lots of dark corners for doing dark deeds,” Jenny smiled, waggling her eyebrows suggestively.
Miranda was unimpressed. “You would take her side.”
“Aw, don’t be like that, Miranda. I’m just saying you should give her the benefit of the doubt. If the party’s terrible, I’ll happily spend all of November bitching about it with you. Maybe even the first week of December too. But can we reserve judgment until afterward?”
“Ugh, fine,” Miranda replied, crossing her arms.
“Besides,” Jenny continued, “I really don’t think she drank your tea on purpose just piss you off. It isn’t labeled, after all.”
“Oh, so now it’s my fault?” Miranda replied archly. But her lips twitched and, after a moment, she smiled. “Okay, maybe I should put my name on it. That doesn’t change the fact that I think she’s a know-it-all and show off. She never shut up during last week’s meeting.”
“I don’t suppose it could have had anything to do with the fact that she was shy and feeling intimidated by a room full of over-opinionated older women?” Jenny pointed out. Most of the senior members of the Galapagos administration had joined the workforce in the 80s when the arts had few jobs and even fewer for women. They had all had demanding careers, and often complicated lives, all of which had combined to make them tough, blunt, and, frankly, terrifying – especially when assembled in the same small room.
They were a force to be reckoned with and, no matter how much they tried to mentor and encourage the next generation, their reputations preceded them in the tight-knit Vancouver theater scene; the show’s latest hires had a habit of trying to overachieve to impress their new bosses.
Miranda waved that suggestion away with one hand. “Young people these days don’t know how to feel intimidated. They’re self-promotion machines. Have you been on Twitter lately?”
“She’s only a year younger than you, Miranda.”<
br />
“And yet you’d never catch me advertising my latest creations on Twitter.”
“You would be doing exactly that if you hadn’t landed this gig,” Jenny pointed out. “There’s no harm in trying to eke out a living. It’s a tough economy for artists these days.”
“It’s always a tough economy for artists, Jenny.”
The other woman smiled. “True,” she agreed.
“Anyway, enough about Lily. Tell me about your bartender. Have you called her yet?”
“Pff, no. I’m playing it cool, obviously.”
“Sweetie, you’ve been going to that bar every Saturday for a month just to see her.”
“Yeah, but for all, she knows I’m there for the band.”
Miranda looked skeptical but didn’t argue. “So what’s the plan?”
“Well, I was thinking about inviting her for a drink this week.”
“You should bring her to the party!” Miranda suggested, her eyes lighting up. She loved a good romance.
“What? Don’t be ridiculous, Miranda. That’s way too much for a first date. I’m playing it cool, remember?”
Miranda made a face. “But I want to meet her,” she pouted.
“Well, you could have come with me any of the past four Saturdays,” Jenny pointed out.
“You know that’s when I have drinks with the HR girls,” Miranda replied.
“Ah yes, and how are the Twigs?”
“Don’t call them that. It’s not their fault that they’re both heterosexual and incredibly thin.”
“Sure it is. Well, the thin part at least. All Alison talks about is her workout routine. Honestly, I don’t know how you manage to stay awake. I’d fall asleep head first into my cocktail.”
“They’re nice,” Miranda insisted. “And taking care of yourself is something to be proud of. Living off of takeout and beer is nothing to brag about, Jenny.”
“Well, at least I get exercise,” Jenny replied, put out. “I burn it all off in kickboxing.” To prove her point, she flexed her biceps. Miranda had to admit that her friend kept herself extremely fit, even if the only vegetables she ate were the garnishes on her burgers. “But, seriously, Miranda, sometimes I think you only hang out with them because they make you feel superior.”
“What?” Miranda crossed her arms. “What do you mean?”
“They’ve done nothing risky their entire lives and hanging out with them makes you feel like you’ve accomplished something in yours. Whereas when you spend time with people like Lily, you feel like you haven’t done enough. Which is dumb, because you’re crazy talented and smart and do lots of cool things. I just wish you would realize that and stop feeling the need for other people’s validation. You’re so much better than that, honey.”
Miranda was silent. “If I were so talented I wouldn’t be working some dumb advertising job,” she murmured. “I’d be making costumes for Cirque de Soleil or something.”
“Bullshit. It’s not a lack of talent. It’s a lack of confidence. And luck. Like I said, it’s a tough economy for artists.” Scooting her chair over to Miranda’s, Jenny slung her arm over her friend’s shoulder and kissed her cheek.
“One day you’re going to learn to trust in your talents, sweetheart. And then you’ll be unstoppable. And I’ll be there in the background telling everyone your success is all down to me and my guidance, like that Hungarian swimmer’s husband in the last Olympics.”
“Oh my God, that made me so mad,” Miranda replied angrily. “I couldn’t believe how every frigging news station kept crediting her success to her husband. Like he had anything to do with her hard work. Un-fucking-believable.”
“There’s my favorite little-disgruntled renegade,” Jenny grinned, squeezing Miranda tight before sliding back to her own desk.
Miranda chuckled. “We’ve got to get these poster mock-ups to the printers before lunch, Jenny. No more soul searching.”
“Okay. But just remember what I’ve told you.”
“I will. I haven’t forgotten it from the last time you said to me either. Or the time before that.”
Jenny sighed. “Honestly, I’m hoping you’ll get so fed up with me repeating myself that you’ll make some drastic life changes just to shut me up.”
Miranda laughed. “It’s a definite possibility.”
Chapter Four
The day of the party rolled around, and Vancouver was as gray and rainy as always. To save her costume from the rain, Jenny picked Miranda up in her old VW Bug, even though Miranda only lived four blocks from the theater. As they drove, Jenny hunched over the steering wheel, peering out into the rain. The bug’s wipers were desperately swishing endless sheets of rain off the windshield, but it didn’t really seem to be making a difference.
“I feel like I’m driving through Niagara Falls,” Jenny complained, her long, white beard tossed over her shoulder to keep it out of her way.
“Well, it’s this, freezing your fingers off for six months of the year, or moving to the States. Your choice,” Miranda pointed out. Vancouverites like to moan about the rain – but not enough to go anywhere else in Canada.
“You make a good point,” Jenny replied as she circled the block, searching for a free parking space.
“Honey, why don’t you hop out and I’ll go find a parking spot. You don’t need to trudge around in all this rain. You’ll ruin your furry mask.” Looking across at her friend, Jenny shook her head. I can’t believe you dyed your hair just for this costume. You’re insane, Miranda.”
Miranda shrugged. “You know I’ve meant to change my look for a while. And I think the color suits me.”
“Oh, it does,” Jenny smiled. “You look like a fox. Pun very much intended.”
Miranda rolled her eyes. “Dork,” she said, as Jenny pulled up in front of the theater. “Thanks,” she told Jenny. “I hope you find a spot quickly. See you inside!”
The front hall was packed with arriving guests, all of them dripping wet and lining up to give their coats, hats, umbrellas, and, in one case, rubber boots to the overwhelmed coat check employees. Miranda took costumes too seriously to wear jackets over them – no matter the weather – and bypassed the queue, heading downstairs to the lower lobby and the main stage.
As she wove her way through the masked and costumed crowd of actors, stagehands, wardrobe staff, ushers, admin, sponsors, and various public dignitaries, Miranda had to admit that Lily had done a great job. Masked and tuxedoed waiters circulated with trays of murky drinks and themed finger foods while, above them, the ceiling had been covered with fake cobwebs that twinkled with hidden fairy lights. Lily had managed to strike a perfect balance between spooky, whimsical, and elegant.
Like the lower lobby, the main stage had been completely transformed. A masked orchestra was playing a waltz in the pit while costumed couples danced on the stage. In the wings, people queued for drinks under the ropes and weights that the stage hands used to change backdrops and lower in actors. Curious to see what Lily had done with the labyrinth of following passages, Miranda squeezed her way through one of the bar lineups and slipped backstage.
The narrow back hallways were full of furniture borrowed from the set design crew. Chaise lounges, overstuffed armchairs, wrought iron patio furniture, and mismatched tables had all been scattered throughout the hallways, arranged so that people could gather in twos or threes and chat over their drinks. LED candles had been stuck in jars, wine bottles, and elegant sconces - even affixed to a hat stand in one case - to give the hallways an intimate, flickering light. Miranda was impressed.
She kept walking, looking for a place to sit down for a minute. The hallways got less and less crowded the further she got from the stage and, finally, she turned a corner into one that was just about empty. Miranda couldn’t believe her eyes when she saw the costume of the person sitting alone on a green velvet pouf in front of a collapsible card table: a woman in a yellow dress with red polka dots and a fox mask that ended just below her nose was checking her phon
e. It was unmistakably Mrs. Fox, the wife of the character Miranda was dressed as.
The other fox looked up, and Miranda could see her eyes widen behind her mask. “Seriously?” she asked, her mouth falling open. “That’s amazing!”
Miranda joined the other woman at her table, sitting down on a matching green pouf. “Great minds think alike,” she said.
Mrs. Fox chuckled. “I loved the book as a kid.”
“Me too!” Miranda grinned. “But whenever I talk about people just assume I mean the movie.”
“Right? I mean, come on. Roald Dahl! It’s a classic!”
“Though I have to admit that I did like the film,” Miranda confessed. “And I don’t usually say that about adaptations.”
Mrs. Fox nodded. “Me too! It was so cute. But I have a huge soft spot for Wed Anderson movies. I know it’s a bit clichéd, but I can’t help myself.”
“No judgment here,” said Miranda. “I love him too. When I was a teenager, I wanted to be Margot from The Royal Tenenbaums.”
Mrs. Fox laughed. “Maybe not the healthiest idol to have.”
Miranda chuckled. “No, you’re probably right.”
“Your costume is really amazing, by the way. How did you make the furry mask and tail?”
“Thanks! I felted some old brown, and red wool then shredded it and attached it to a cardboard form,” Miranda explained. “And the tail is more of the same but around a wire instead of cardboard. That way I can bend it. However, I like.”
“It’s so cool,” Mrs. Fox told her, shaking her head. “I’m feeling kind of underdressed now.”
“No way!” Miranda replied. “Your mask is beautiful. Did you make it yourself?”
Mrs. Fox nodded, one hand coming up to touch her delicately painted mask. “With paper maché, paint and a pen. I used to love to draw back in university. I’ll take any excuse I can get these days. But I was never any good with 3D art like textiles or sculpture.”
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