by S. E. Babin
“Who is going to be there? Anyone else who was crappy to you in high school?”
My eyes narrowed as a shadow passed over me. “Tobey Thomas. He was the ring leader.”
She waggled the Santa moulds at me. “Feel like exacting some revenge on him too?”
An image of Tobey Thomas clutching at his belly in pain as he sat on a toilet popped into my head. A smile teased the edges of my mouth. “Oh, yes.”
Lana nodded. “See? It’s a win-win.”
I looked over the battle gear. “Wow, this really is a poop-themed revenge plan.”
“Isn’t it great? And that’s all there is to it. It’s clean and simple. Well, clean for you anyway. I think Brady will find it all pretty messy.”
I scrunched my nose.
She brandished her wooden spoon once more, banging it against the whiteboard with a whack. “Okay. To recap: Point One is Look Devastatingly Hot so you can seduce him and dump him.” Whack. “Point Two is Dog Turd Gift.” Whack. “Point Three is Attack of the Digestive System. Got it?”
I nodded. “Got it.”
“And remember, we’re going for utter and total humiliation here.”
“Utter and total humiliation,” I echoed. I pushed down a feeling I couldn’t quite identify. “You’ve got it.”
* * *
Why have I agreed to this?
I’d been following a middle-aged, balding man with a double chin and his pug dog as they went for an early evening stroll for three blocks and still the damned pooch hadn’t found it necessary to provide me with anything even vaguely resembling a poop.
Not for the first time this evening the dog owner turned around nervously to look at me. I’d had to use a variety of diversion tactics, such as pretending to find a tree suddenly very interesting, bending down to tie my shoelace, and once even ducking into an apartment building entrance. This time though there was no tree, my shoelaces were perfectly tied, and there wasn’t an apartment entrance within spitting distance.
He looked me up and down. “May I help you?” he asked, narrowing his small, pug dog eyes at me. If this guy was anything to go by, it was true what they say about people looking like their pets.
I put my hand on my chest, glancing about me. “Who, me?”
“Yes, you. You’ve been following me.” His chins wobbled to and fro.
I plastered on my best I’m-innocent-honestly-sir look. “No I haven’t.”
“You have,” Two Chins insisted, taking a step towards me as he brandished his finger. “I saw you about two blocks back. You haven’t overtaken me, no matter how often I stop for Chester to sniff.”
I glanced down at Chester, my eyes pleading with him to make a lovely, steamy turd so I can get this over with and get out of here.
“I... umm...” I tried desperately to think of a plausible excuse but came up with nothing. “You have a cute dog.” I watched with mild disgust as Chester’s drool dribbled down onto the sidewalk in a stringy line. Against my better judgment I inched closer towards them.
Two Chins pulled Chester’s lead closer in to his body. The poor dog was wrenched backwards, his eyes bulging out in surprise. “Stay where you are,” he warned loudly.
I smiled at him. “I’m nothing to worry about, honestly. I just like your... your cute doggie.” My attention was diverted as I noticed Chester turning round and round in a circle before squatting down and beginning to poop. I watched, marvelling at the size of the thing. Good job, Chester!
“Err, thank you,” Two Chins replied as he gripped onto Chester’s lead.
The dog’s business completed, Two Chins pulled a bag out of his pocket to begin the clean up.
“Oh, my gosh! What’s that over there?” I asked, pointing down the street.
“What?” Two Chins turned and looked.
Faster than The Flash himself I pulled my own bag out of my pocket. Taking a large gulp of fresh air I bent down, placed the bag over my hand, and picked up the hot, steaming poop. Without a backwards glance I tied the bag up, turned, and dashed down the street, leaving a perplexed and confused Two Chins gaping after me in disbelief.
* * *
That evening I stood next to Lana outside Tobey Thomas’s parents’ apartment block as nervous as a cat at the dog pound. I was holding Chester’s offering in the form of the puppy poop present, wrapped in layer upon layer of scented paper and drenched with almost a full bottle of cheap perfume. Despite the extreme chemical cocktail I could still catch a whiff of eau de turd when the breeze blew in a certain direction. I hoped against all hope Brady wouldn’t notice it.
I also had the liquid laxative, lighter fluid, and matches in my purse ready to be used to deploy our Three Point Revenge Plan. Lana held the laxative-laced Santa chocolates, wrapped up in a cellophane bag, tied up with a red ribbon and a sprig of mistletoe. Coming from New Zealand where Christmas is in summer, I had never actually seen mistletoe in the flesh before and, I must admit, I was a little disappointed—it wasn’t going to win any beauty prizes any time soon.
“Are you ready?” Lana asked.
I glanced at her, biting my lower lip. “But, Lana, what if he’s changed? What if he’s really nice now? Isn’t this all a bit... mean?”
She arched her eyebrows. “Wasn’t it mean how he humiliated you in high school? You, the poor pudgy, spotty, nerdy girl with no friends?”
“Hey, I never said I didn’t have any friends. And I wasn’t that overweight. Puberty was rough on me, that’s all,” I interjected, pouting.
Lana waved my protestations away with a gloved hand. “He deserves this, Tilly. You know it. I know it. He probably knows it. His mother probably even knows it. His—”
“I get the picture,” I interrupted, my hand in the ‘stop’ sign. I took a deep, steadying breath, getting a lung-full of perfume-laced poop in the process. It was beyond disgusting. I coughed, my eyes watering. I wiped them dry, holding the present as far away from me as possible. I could do with some Inspector Gadget arms about now. “Let’s get this over with before I lose my nerve.”
Lana nodded at me as she took my free hand in hers. “Prepare for battle. This is going to be epic.”
We walked through the doors into the lobby, where a doorman directed us to the roof garden. Lana and I exchanged glances. This place was fancy with a capital ‘F’. The Tobester’s parents must have some serious wedge—another reason to despise him. An elevator ride and a flight of stairs later, we walked out onto the most beautiful roof terrace I’d ever seen. Fairy lights adorned the shrubs and bushes dotted around the terrace edges—with fake snow, because it still hadn’t snowed, but don’t start me on that again—sprinkled all around. There was even a strip of lawn at the far end of the terrace. Who knew how that worked up here on the twenty-third floor?
Cheesy Christmas music blasted out of speakers. The terrace was full of people, wrapped up in their winter warmers against the chill night air, most with reindeer antlers and Santa hats adorning their heads. They were laughing and talking, looking happy and festive.
I let out a sigh. It was a simply enchanting Christmas scene.
I turned to see Brady approaching us. As part of Point One (Look Devastatingly Hot) with a sigh of regret, I shrugged my warm winter coat off, shivered, and tried to look Super Model bored—as though the scene before me wasn’t my idea of Christmas perfection.
I flicked my hair the way Lana suggested, trying to look confident and sexy. Thanks to almost the entire contents of a bottle of hairspray, it barely budged.
Brady had a big grin on his impossibly handsome face and he was dressed in a pair of jeans and a bomber jacket, bundled up against the cold.
“Hi, Tilly! I’m so glad you could make it.”
“Hi, Brady. Nice...” my eyes drifted down to his flashing bowtie. “... tie.”
He fingered it self-consciously. “Got to get into the swing of things, right?” His eyes swept over me. “You look... wow.”
I glanced down at my short, red sequined dre
ss with the plunging neckline. It showcased my usually meagre cleavage, which was hoisted up so high by Lana’s industrial strength padded bra that my chin could almost rest on it. I adjusted my Santa hat atop my lacquered hair.
There was an outside chance I may have been a little over dressed right now.
Brady reached across and, to my utter surprise, pulled me in for a hug. “Thanks so much for coming. Have you done something different tonight?”
I battered my false eyelashes at him, the way Lana taught me. No matter how good she said they made me look it felt like I had a couple of dead, fat caterpillars stuck to my upper eyelids. I don’t know how those Kardashians did it: it was not a good feeling.
“Why, thank you for noticing, Brady,” I responded, my voice low and husky as I channelled my inner sex goddess—who, incidentally, I’d never met before.
He gave me a sideways look. “Are you coming down with something? Maybe you should put your coat on. It’s cold out tonight.”
I cleared my throat, did my best to suppress a fresh shiver. “No, I’m just... no. Thanks.” I shot him an ‘I’m-so-sexy-I-can-barely-function’ look, tossing my immobile big hair once more. Losing my balance I teetered on my heels, forced to steady myself with aeroplane arms.
Not quite the look I was going for.
Brady watched all this with a hesitant look on his face. “That’s... that’s just great.” He smiled at Lana beside me, who had been observing our exchange closely.
“Hi. I’m Brady.” He extended his hand.
She took it, shaking it with vigour. “Lana Schwartz. Nice place you’ve got here.”
“Oh, it’s not mine. It belongs to Tobey Thomas’s parents.” He turned to me, releasing Lana’s hand. “You remember Tobes, don’t you, Tilly?”
“Sure do!” I smiled as I imagined seeing Tobey Thomas thrown from the roof terrace to his certain death below. “It’ll be so great to see him again,” I lied through a fake smile. I was perkier than Polly Pert at a pep rally.
Brady sniffed the air, his nose wrinkling. “Do you smell that?”
I moved Chester’s output behind my back, hoping my body would somehow muffle the stench. “No. Nothing. What?”
“It smells a bit like... something died.”
“Really? Something died, you say?” I squeaked like a mouse. “Do you smell anything, Lana?”
“Just the scent of Christmas,” she responded smoothly.
“Okay.” Brady looked uncertain. “Why don’t you both come with me? I’ll get you a drink.”
“Here’s a present.” Lana thrust the bag of chocolate Santas at Brady.
He took the packet in his hands. “Thank you.”
Lana’s eyes were trained on him. “It’s chocolate. Homemade. Have one now.”
He let out a laugh. “I’m not sure chocolate will mix with beer, but I’ll keep them for later. Thanks.”
Lana nudged me. “Tell him why he has to eat one now, Tilly.”
I took the cue, searching my brain for a plausible reason. “Well, Brady... in New Zealand... we eat chocolate with our beer all the time.”
Yes. That’s good. Plausible. Reasonable. A total lie, of course.
He shot me a dubious look. “You do? Doesn’t that make the beer taste bad?”
“Not at all. In fact, we believe the sweetness of the chocolate enhances the hops in the beer.”
Where did that come from?
A smile spread across his face. “Is that so?”
“Yes, yes it is, Brady. And not only that, we New Zealanders take it as a personal affront if you don’t eat our chocolate at Christmas time.”
Wow, I was on a roll!
“Huh. I didn’t know that. I’ve never been to New—”
Brady stopped speaking abruptly as Lana snatched the bag of chocolates from his hand and unwrapped them with haste, dropping the mistletoe and ribbon carelessly to the floor. “Here.” She thrust the open packet at him. “Eat one, or you’ll offend Tilly.” She leant in closer to him. “And I know you don’t want to do that.”
He glanced at me. I smiled feebly back. Lana sure was a woman on a mission tonight.
“Sure.”
Lana and I watched intently as he reached into the bag and pulled a chocolate Santa out. Without putting it in his mouth, he said, “Now, let’s get that drink.”
“But...” Lana began.
I elbowed her in the ribs. “Leave it,” I muttered through teeth clasped into a smile. “We don’t want to be too obvious.”
We followed Brady through the throngs of people to the drinks table. As I walked, I noticed there was a range of people at the party, from teenagers through much older people. It was an interesting mix, not the rowdy high school reunion party I had expected.
Once Brady was out of earshot, Lana grabbed my frozen cold arm. Seriously, I was almost blue.
“We almost had him there, Tilly. We can keep working on him but now you need to find a place to put the present so you can be ready to light it when he’s standing near it. That way you can make sure no one else tries to stomp the fire out. Plus it’s really beginning to stink.”
I glanced around the roof terrace. The place was fairly full. Setting a pile of poop masquerading as a present alight would be no easy feat. “Where am I going to put it?”
“You’re resourceful, you’ll work it out. Now, give me the laxative. I’ll slip some into his drink.”
Surreptitiously I pulled the bottle out of my purse and handed it to her. I spied a Christmas tree that had been obscured by a group of people on our arrival. I did my best silent ops signalling to Lana, waving my hands around, pointing from the present to the tree.
She nodded at me and I slipped through the crowd and placed the present next to the tree, relieved I no longer had to carry a stinky pile of dog poop around with me.
A moment later I reached the drinks table.
Brady smiled at me. “Oh, there you are, Tilly. What would you like to drink, ladies? We’ve got beer, red wine, white wine, soda, and orange juice.”
“Juice for me,” I responded immediately. I needed to keep a clear head tonight.
“I’ll have a glass of white wine, please,” Lana replied.
I shot her a look.
“What? It’s free. Us elves don’t earn much, you know,” she protested under her breath.
Brady handed us our drinks and we both thanked him. He picked up his beer and we all clinked glasses.
“Merry Christmas.” He smiled at me, looking into my eyes.
For a moment, I forgot my revenge mission and smiled back, genuinely happy to be here at the perfect Christmas party with the one and only Brady McKinnon, the very centre of my teenage fantasies. My tummy did a flip-flop. I would have done anything to have had this in high school.
“It’s so great to see you again, Tilly,” he said, not taking his eyes from mine.
“Hey, Brady. Aren’t you going to introduce me to your very attractive friends here?”
I dragged my eyes away from Brady to look at the intruder. It was Tobey Thomas: football captain, ringleader, and all-round piece of work. Despite the fact he’d packed on the beef and started to thin on top, I’d recognise that smarmy, arrogant face anywhere.
“Sure. This is Lana, and you remember Tilly Grayson from high school?”
The Tobester turned to me, looking me up and down. It made me want to shrink inside my dress. Subtlety thy name is not Tobey Thomas.
“You’re Tilly Grayson?” His eyes almost popped out of his head. “But you’re hot!”
“Err, thanks. I think.” He’d managed to insult my teenage self and made me feel totally ick-ed out all with one breath. It must be a rare gift.
“Have you had a few too many of these, cousin?” Brady asked, brandishing his beer bottle in one hand and slapping Tobey on the back with the other.
Tobey and Brady were related? How did I never know this?
“Hey, it’s Christmas!” Tobey protested. “And we’re here with our
families.” He rolled his eyes.
Brady had invited me to his family’s Christmas party?
He rolled his eyes at Tobey in good humour. “Sure. Any excuse, huh, Tobes?”
“Anyway, it’s great to see you all grown up and all, Tilly Greyhound.” Tobey leered at me, talking directly to my pushed up breasts. Classy guy.
“It’s Tilly Grayson,” I corrected him, more than a little creep-ed out. “Greyhound is a bus.”
Tobey Thomas wouldn’t even look at me in high school. Now, he was hitting on me?
“Tobey, why don’t you have one of these chocolate Santas?” Lana asked sweetly, waving the packet of laxative-laced treats in front of his face. “Tilly made them and I know she’d love it if you had one.”
“Sure!” Tobey took one and immediately stuffed it into his mouth.
I suppressed a smile.
“They’re good, huh? Here, have another.” Lana winked at me, smiling at Tobey as though butter wouldn’t melt in her mouth on a hot summer’s day.
“Yeah! Hey, you’re hot too. What’s your name again?”
“It’s Lana. I’m Tilly’s friend.” She smiled seductively, sidling up next to him—although how she could do so without vomiting is beyond me.
I watched open-mouthed as Tobey took another Santa and then another, his lips covered in chocolate as he stuffed them in his mouth. I shook my head. He was going to pay for this in a big, big way.
“Atta boy. Chocolate’s good for you. Who knows, it might put hair on your...” Lana glanced at his head, “... chest.”
I did my best to stifle a laugh. I noticed Brady watching me with a quizzical expression on his face. A pang of guilt hit me firmly in the chest.
“So, Tilly...” Tobey leered at my cleavage again.
I took a quick step backwards. “Ah, can I please use the little girls’ room?” I asked Brady.
Brady shot me a sympathetic look. “Sure. I’ll take you.” He looked at Tobey. “You, stay here. Drink some water or something.”
I grabbed Lana’s hand. “She needs to come too.”
“I do? I mean, yes, I do.” She handed the rest of the chocolates to Tobey who took another one and stuffed it in his mouth. At this rate the guy would have exploded by the time we get back.