talked about her favorite hangouts, the kind of movies she liked, silly observations that she used to make about even the most mundane things. He talked about the things that made her Sandi. One day, when he caught himself rambling on, he even joked that Sean probably knew her better than he knew any of his own girlfriends. Sean just nodded and laughed. He was a good sport.
___
Halloween was JT Anderson’s favorite holiday. He always said that no one can take themselves too seriously while they’re wearing a ridiculous costume; it was an occasion that he liked to use to see what his associates were really like – deep down inside. As was the custom, the party was held at JT’s estate.
A short drive from BNI, JT had chosen his fifteen-acre parcel of land carefully. The rolling hills created the perfect landscape for his stone mansion, with plenty of room left over for a tennis court, driving range and putting green. JT never liked to be idle. The grounds were fenced in and monitored by the latest in electronic surveillance to assure absolute privacy for JT and whichever fashion model was his live-in mate at the time. For the past year and a half, it had been Wanda Slate, or as most men knew her, Miss July, 2048. Wanda made the most magnificent witch in her low-cut black dress, slit up the side just enough to reveal her fishnet stockings when a breeze blew by. Somehow, she looked very natural with black lipstick, a white streak in her hair and a straw broom in her hand. JT had made sure to have her around at least until the Halloween party this year.
It was a crisp autumn night in the Maryland countryside, and the multi-colored leaves that dotted the hillsides of the estate only served to enhance the decorations. JT went all out for Halloween, and for a man of his means, that was considerable. From the moment the guests entered through the front gate, the mood was set. A range of realistic gravestones irregularly arranged along the side of the quarter-mile driveway became more numerous as one approached the mansion. They were engraved with quirky, clever inscriptions, though no one ever stopped to read them.
Floodlights splashed an orange glow against the outside walls of the mansion, and robotic bats flew around the front entry, squawking warnings in very unrealistic bat voices. A valet helped the guests unload, and then took the cars out to a back lot so the vehicles would not disturb the mood of the night. As each new victim would step up on the front patio from the driveway, a mummy popped up from the garden with a howl. It was mostly amusing, but the occasional shriek from an unsuspecting guest new to the Anderson Halloween tradition enthralled JT each time he heard it.
The butler who answered the front door was indistinguishable from the guests, although his costume was not a costume to him. He greeted each guest and took the coats from those who had them, mostly the women who had the physical assets to wear the fashionably scant garb of the holiday. Belly dancers, miniskirted roaring twenties gals, Elviras and genies were the most popular. The experienced partygoers knew better than to compete with the witch of the house; it was tough to top Miss July.
Paul Hingston was not much of a party animal. He reluctantly donned his rented Robin Hood costume and picked up his date for the evening, a secretary at BNI named Pauline Harris. Pauline was no Miss July, but that didn’t matter in the least to Paul. They were good friends and merely accompanied each other out of convenience. Neither had a steady “significant other,” and neither felt comfortable enough in their obligatory silly outfits to bring a date. Pauline had threatened to come dressed as a secretary. Paul said that if she dared do that, he’d do the same. She decided that she couldn’t stomach seeing Paul in a dress, so Maid Marion would have to do. They sauntered hesitantly through the front
___
Halloween was JT Anderson’s favorite holiday. He always said that no one can take themselves too seriously while they’re wearing a ridiculous costume; it was an occasion that he liked to use to see what his associates were really like – deep down inside. As was the custom, the party was held at JT’s estate.
A short drive from BNI, JT had chosen his fifteen-acre parcel of land carefully. The rolling hills created the perfect landscape for his stone mansion, with plenty of room left over for a tennis court, driving range and putting green. JT never liked to be idle. The grounds were fenced in and monitored by the latest in electronic surveillance to assure absolute privacy for JT and whichever fashion model was his live-in mate at the time. For the past year and a half, it had been Wanda Slate, or as most men knew her, Miss July, 2048. Wanda made the most magnificent witch in her low-cut black dress, slit up the side just enough to reveal her fishnet stockings when a breeze blew by. Somehow, she looked very natural with black lipstick, a white streak in her hair and a straw broom in her hand. JT had made sure to have her around at least until the Halloween party this year.
It was a crisp autumn night in the Maryland countryside, and the multi-colored leaves that dotted the hillsides of the estate only served to enhance the decorations. JT went all out for Halloween, and for a man of his means, that was considerable. From the moment the guests entered through the front gate, the mood was set. A range of realistic gravestones irregularly arranged along the side of the quarter-mile driveway became more numerous as one approached the mansion. They were engraved with quirky, clever inscriptions, though no one ever stopped to read them.
Floodlights splashed an orange glow against the outside walls of the mansion, and robotic bats flew around the front entry, squawking warnings in very unrealistic bat voices. A valet helped the guests unload, and then took the cars out to a back lot so the vehicles would not disturb the mood of the night. As each new victim would step up on the front patio from the driveway, a mummy popped up from the garden with a howl. It was mostly amusing, but the occasional shriek from an unsuspecting guest new to the Anderson Halloween tradition enthralled JT each time he heard it.
The butler who answered the front door was indistinguishable from the guests, although his costume was not a costume to him. He greeted each guest and took the coats from those who had them, mostly the women who had the physical assets to wear the fashionably scant garb of the holiday. Belly dancers, miniskirted roaring twenties gals, Elviras and genies were the most popular. The experienced partygoers knew better than to compete with the witch of the house; it was tough to top Miss July.
Paul Hingston was not much of a party animal. He reluctantly donned his rented Robin Hood costume and picked up his date for the evening, a secretary at BNI named Pauline Harris. Pauline was no Miss July, but that didn’t matter in the least to Paul. They were good friends and merely accompanied each other out of convenience. Neither had a steady “significant other,” and neither felt comfortable enough in their obligatory silly outfits to bring a date. Pauline had threatened to come dressed as a secretary. Paul said that if she dared do that, he’d do the same. She decided that she couldn’t stomach seeing Paul in a dress, so Maid Marion would have to do. They sauntered hesitantly through the front
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