by Vi Grim
I make myself comfy in my favourite sofa, sitting between a couple of girls I met here at Christmas a couple of years ago.
'Ladies and gentlemen, anodes, zinodes and others, welcome to the first ever intergalactic fashion show,' announces Azziz.
I haven't seen him in human form for a long time. He looks ever so handsome wearing a smart black suit and bright green tie that matches his eyes.
'Please put your hands together for tonight's host, Coco Chanel.'
There's a long round of applause and the woman with dark hair and pearls takes the microphone. 'Bonjour aliens, ladies and gentlemen. It's my pleasure to be here this evening and I must say that I'm delighted to see that some of you are starting to wear clothes-'
She pauses while the laugher and cheering dies down.
'I must say,' she continues, 'that it is a great honour to have Jesus in the crowd.'
Jesus, who is in human form and wearing faded jeans and a designer surf shirt, shrugs his shoulders and looks slightly embarrassed.
'If I had known, I would have designed a new range of robes.
'With the help of Ossie Clark and Vidal Sassoon, we’ve put together this show, a mixture of our latest designs and current UK high street fashion. I hope you enjoy the evening. If you would like to buy any of the outfits or have us design something especially for you, please see me after the show or visit our new store on Zwingly, the coolest asteroid in the universe.
'Let the show commence!'
The lights are dimmed and music blares out over the loud speakers. A spotlight picks out the first model as she emerges from behind the ferns.
She's one of the teroid models, and wears a dress made of little daisies, like the ones that grow on my front lawn. While she could do with eating fish and chips twice a day for a month to get a bit of flesh on her bones, she does look magnificent, in a brainless zombie sort of a way. It's a skimpy little number and I can see daisies on her knickers.
She struts up to the end of the catwalk and back, walking all sort of stiff and funny, like she's got a carrot up her bum. I almost burst out laughing, but figure Coco might not appreciate it. She looks so deadly serious.
Next out are beautiful, lithe anode girls. They're modelling florals: black jumpsuits with little yellow and blue forget-me-nots; summer dresses in bright yellow with white daisies; a beautiful dress shaped like an upside-down lily, starting just above the model's boobs and opening out to flow down to the ground; an evening gown with many layers in subtle shades of deep red, like rose petals, with a hat to match; and a girl wearing a plain white bathrobe and flip-flops with fake lotus flowers on them.
I like the flip-flops, they're so wonderfully tacky, but the next outfit is more me: a pair of bootleg faded jeans with a few strategic slits cut in them and a green T-shirt that has piffle spray painted on it. The only thing floral about it is that the model has a daisy chain hovering over her head like a halo. She could really do with some devil horns instead.
Coco comes back on stage and taking the microphone says, 'Tonight's singer needs no introduction. Ladies and Gentlemen, please give her a big hand.'
After the applause dies down the singer says, 'Good evening. It's funny how you change with time. I used to be big onto flower power and daisy chains, now days I wouldn't be seen dead wearing them, but I'd be quite at home in this next outfit. Here's a song I usually sing with my good friends, The Rolling Stones.
The lights all go off, leaving just the stage bathed in flickering torchlight.
'She comes on like a rose and everybody knows....'
The spotlight picks out the next model emerging through the ferns.
She's all leaves. They start around her boobs, or what little ones she has, and flow down to the ground, trailing out behind her. When she gets down to my end of the catwalk, I can see that it's actually the other way around, the dress grows up from the ground with the ivy vines entwining their way up around her body with the leaves getting smaller as they go, with just the tiniest little shoots at the very top reaching up to encircle her arms. She has dark ebony skin, short spiky black hair, black nail polish, black eyes and black lipstick.
'Poison ivy,' sings the lady, and we all clap until our hands hurt. It's just so well done.
The model glides smoothly around the catwalk until the song stops then disappears back into the foliage.
I've never heard anyone sing like this before. The lady's voice is rough and raw with a cutting emotion just under the surface, like she's just holding it together but could collapse into tears and melt down into a puddle at an instant. I wonder if she eats gravel for breakfast and washes it down with whiskey.
'Thank you Janice,' says Coco, and the singer heads to the bar where Azziz pours her a glass of Southern Comfort, no ice, no mixers, no gravel!
Next out is an anode wearing a dress made of one banana leaf, with the spine of the leaf running down parallel to the model's backbone and trailing back behind like a dragon’s tail. The greenery wraps forward to cover her body, like a giant pea pod. I wonder how she sits down or goes to the toilet. Maybe she just holds on and jiggles. From here on, the clothes get more wearable but are all green. A beautiful evening dress that echoes the luminous green shades of the banana leaf, a range of short flowing dresses in shades of green, a green trouser suit that would be perfect for a leprechaun to wear to a St Patrick's Day parade, and lastly a model wearing a battered olive green jacket with sensual green lacy knickers. That's me; I like the jacket and love the knickers. I don't normally wear knickers but they would be just right for special occasions, better than the ones with the daisies.
Janice comes back on stage and sings Ball and Chain. Out struts a model wearing words and dragging a ball and chain. The words are all joined together but, with all the gaps, it's see-though. I try to read it but, with the model moving, I can't make out what it says. If I made it, the words would be a poem or a story or something. She ushers in the work wear; smart suits and ties, trouser suits, little black numbers for seducing the boss, overalls and lastly some yellow cut-off jeans and a dark blue T-shirt with little white flowers stuck on it. It hardly looks like work wear but is just perfect for me to do my housework in. It'll take the boring edge off cleaning the toilet and scrubbing the floors.
There's a break and waiters come around with drinks and trays laden with delicious canapés, then Janice takes the stage again and sings Summertime. A Chinese model comes out wearing seaweed. It's very light and floats around her as if in the ocean currents. She has seashells dangling from her ears and a pearl necklace. She's followed by models in swimsuits. There's a bikini in the same polka dot as my old one, way back in Spain, with a matching bathrobe. It's very tempting but I decide on a simple one-piece black swimsuit. You just can't beat it.
There's so many clothes that are just me that I smell a rat. Jesus and Azziz are up to something; it’s one of their special surprises. I get all excited, wondering what'll happen.
Next up is casual wear. I pick out some comfy, relaxed looking outfits, mostly jeans and tops, and a couple of bright dresses for the summer.
After the main course, Janice staggers up onto stage. She's having some difficulty standing, but when she speaks doesn't put a word out of place, 'I know we're a couple of months late, but better late than never. Ladies and Gentlemen, please join me in wishing Emily a very happy birthday!'
Wow! With so much going on, like almost getting eaten, I'd forgotten all about it. It had slipped by unnoticed.
Following Janice's gravelly voice, the crowd sings Happy Birthday. I'm wiping tears from my eyes when the birthday cake arrives with sparklers and candles. Fourteen candles! Once the sparklers burn out, I make a wish and blow out the candles. Everyone cheers. I don't like having such a fuss made over me but it is neat. I cut the cake up. It's a chocolate cake. It's so crusty on the outside that I have trouble getting the knife through and inside there's white bits like the flour wasn't mixed in properly. It's served up with vanilla ice cream and
lashings of chocolate sauce and in the flickering light from the torches looks just perfect.
Once it's all eaten and coffee has been served, Janice takes the stage again. She takes a little ball of paper out of her pocket and once she's unscrumpled it and got it the right way up, reads it and says, 'Yes, Happy Birthday Emily. Apparently Zeus himself baked the cake. He apologises for not being here in person tonight but sends his birthday wishes. Emily, the clothes you liked have been delivered to your cottage, I hear that you're due for a new wardrobe.'
I want to get up and say something to thank everyone but just sit there, smiling stupidly. It's all so neat.
'I have a little present for you myself. If you would like, I’ll give you singing lessons.'
Double cool. I smile at her and nod.
'Come and visit my house on Zwingly, you're welcome anytime.'
Reading her scrap of paper, she looks a little surprised and takes time to read it again before continuing. 'Emily it seems that you have reached a very special time in your life, you are no longer a girl, welcome to womanhood!'
The guests cheer and clap.
'As is the custom in these parts when you reach maturity, that means you can make babies, you receive a special present.'
She claps her hands as Jesus and Azziz roll in a large round present about a metre across.
Womanhood, maturity, babies!
I wonder what could be in it. I'm a little hesitant to start opening it. It might be something weird that I'm not quite ready for.
As I fumble with the knots trying to untie the ribbon, waiters move the tables to one side and arrange some river boulders in a circle to make a little fireplace, then set flaming torches around me. The knot is too tight and too tricky, I just can't untie it. I pull the fang from my belt and cut the ribbon then tear the paper off. There's another layer underneath.
'The custom,' continues Janice, who seems to be greatly enjoying the mystery of it all, 'is that you burn each layer as it comes off. Scrumple it up, set fire to it and drop it in the fireplace.'
I scrumple up the paper, set fire to it and drop it into the circle of stones. It flames brightly, sending sparks chasing skywards.
Layer after layer of brightly coloured wrapping paper comes off. I use my fang to cut through the string, ribbons, and scotch tape then scrumple each layer up and drop it on the brightly burning fire.
What could be inside? It doesn't weigh much whatever it is. After about a hundred layers I have a ball the size of a football. Another twenty and I have a grapefruit. Ten more and I reach the last one. There's a small silver box inside, almost like the one I used to put my teeth in for the tooth fairy. I open it expectantly. Diamonds maybe?
Inside are some seeds, a bit of a disappointment at first, but then start wondering what they will grow into; they might be pumpkin trees or spaghetti bushes. It's been such a neat evening that I must thank everyone. I look around to get everyone's attention and putting on my biggest voice say, 'Thank you everyone, it's been such a wonderful evening. Tomorrow I'm going to burn my old clothes and plant these seeds; who knows what might come up. Thank you for coming. It's been the best birthday ever.'
'Make sure you give them plenty of space,' says Jesus. 'If you like, I can help.'
'Yes please,' I say. If anyone knows their seeds, it's Jesus. 'Don't tell me what they are though. I like a surprise.'
'I won't. I hope that one day your babies will climb in their branches.'
Everyone claps.
All this talk about babies makes me feel a little embarrassed. My body might be ready for babies but I'm not. 'I'm not having any babies just yet,' I say quietly. Everyone seems to hear.
It's almost morning by the time the party finishes. I watch the last slither of Venus disappear behind the hills as I splash my way back along the beach, firmly clasping the little box of seeds in my pocket.
5
I wake up to a crash of thunder and the sound of rain drumming on the windows. Negrita, who's curled up by my feet, snarls at me, blowing little sparks in my direction, then stretches and makes herself comfortable again. I'm bursting to pee but don't want to get up so turn over and snuggle deeper under my covers.
Knock, knock, knock!
Frapping on the door gets me up. Who could possibly be out in weather like this?
'Hang on a moment,' I yell, and go to bathroom before pushing boxes out the way so I can answer the door.
It's Jesus. He gives me a big hug and a kiss. It's always so nice to see him.
'We've got things to do,' he says.
'We do,' I say, looking out at the sheets of rain. 'Come on in. Let's have a cup of tea first.'
He comes in and trips over the boxes.
I laugh and help him to his feet. It's funny, but I'm the same height as him now. When he's a human he's way taller than me, like he's about six foot tall. Azziz is a bit shorter and stockier. I throw a bit of wood on the stove and give the grate a rattle to get things going then put the kettle on. I fill it right up so it takes longer to boil.
'It's perfect weather for it,' says Jesus.
'What, making babies?' I joke.
'No!' says Jesus looking deadly serious. 'Planting trees.'
'You must be joking,' I chortle, as the wind rattles the windows.
'No. They like a good wet day. Gets then germinating. It's new Venus too, the most fertile time of the month.'
We have a cup of tea and some of Zeus's crunchy scones. It's still raining outside. 'Let's open the parcels,' I say. 'I'll try everything on.'
First out is the black swimsuit. I put it on and model it in front of Jesus. He laughs because I'm all goosey with the cold and it's a bit baggy.
'It'll be perfect by the time summer arrives,' says Jesus. 'Next.'
Next are the slashed jeans and graffiti T-shirt. As I spin a round he laughs again, 'I never knew you had a tattoo. What is it?'
'I'm not telling, it's private.'
'You might need to get your tummy button pierced and a stud in your nose to match that outfit.'
'Not just yet,' I say. 'Do you like it though?'
'Of course, you look good in anything.'
Next out are the short yellow jeans and the blue flowery T-shirt. 'Love it,' says Jesus. 'Perfect for gardening.'
The rain has eased.
I tear open another box and try the summer dresses on. 'We'll have to have a mid-summer rock and roll party so you can wear them,' says Jesus. 'Remind me when the weather has warmed up.'
I open the box with the green knickers. They are so silky to touch. I decide to try them on some other time.
I try on another pair of jeans and a surf shirt and hoody. Just right for today.
'You are looking splendiferous,' says Jesus. 'It's going to be a lucky man that gets you.'
'There's not many of them around here.' I say blushing. I wonder if he knows about the crush I had on Azziz. It's not so bad now, but I still think of him a lot.
The rain has stopped. There's still one thing I need to do before we go out. I pull out all my old clothes and pile them on the table.
Some I throw out right away. My torn belly-dancing outfit is first to go; I'd love to keep it, it's so much a part of me, but I throw it on the floor, it's from a past life. One has to move on. Now I'm tall and got curves my old jeans and T-shirts don't fit anymore, and the colours are yucky pastels. They go on the out pile.
The black Emma Peel catsuit; I hardly ever wear it, but it's an alien one that grows with you and what's more, it's laser proof. I keep it.
My bright red dress; it's lovely but it must go. I throw it out. Then I have second thoughts; I might have daughters one day. I put it on a hanger and it goes back in the wardrobe. My maroon shawl, I keep, and my big XXXL jersey will always fit, so I keep it too.
The sun breaks through the clouds throwing a ray of sunlight down onto the beach. I watch it chase across the waves until it reaches us, bathing the house in yellow warmth. 'Com'on,' I say to Jesus, stop faffi
ng about. Let's go plant some trees.'
'Let's put the seeds on the table,' says Jesus. 'They'll blow away outside.'
I push the clothes to one side and empty the little box of seeds onto my beat up wooden table. There's some like little helicopters, some like orange pips and others no bigger than an ant.
'Let's do this properly,' says Jesus. 'Get it wrong and you'll be shivering through the winters in the shade, or you'll wake up dead one day because a branch blew off in a storm and landed on you.'
It's hard to image that these tiny seeds can hold such power.
Jesus grabs my box of pencils and draws my cottage and the beach on the table in red. Then he draws where the sun is at midday and where it comes up and goes down in the summer and winter, drawing neat yellow curves across the table. He carefully looks at the seeds, then makes an espresso and walks around outside lining up imaginary trees. Back in at the table he places the seeds in various spots around the house and garden and along behind the beach and draws circles around them.
I say, 'Don't tell me what they are.' I think I know the ones he's putting along the top of the beach. The helicopter seeds look and smell like pine. I guess they're umbrella pines like in Spain. Pine nuts, yum, yum!
Jesus clicks his fingers and some round tree protectors appear. 'They'll protect the trees while they're young and keep the winkles out,' he says, picking one up. 'Grab a seed, any seed, and we'll get started.'
I pick up one of the pine seeds, carefully put it back in the little box and slip it into my pocket. With a click of my fingers the spade appears from the garden. How lazy! When we get to the right spot behind the beach, we clear the brush and weeds and dig a huge hole. I want to stop when it's an inch deep but Jesus is only happy when I've dug down a metre. We fill most of the hole with wheelbarrows full of compost from the garden then carefully plant the seed, crumbling the dirt up with our fingers so it's easy for it to grow. We bang in some posts and firmly attach a tree protector. When we have planted all the seeds, I send a message to Trigger that he’s not to eat them or knock them over. He agrees on condition that he gets first pick of this summer's crop of carrots. Sloshing water all over the place we carry heavy buckets down from the house and carefully water the seeds. Jesus says a few prayers. To who, I don't know, I never thought he was religious.