A Fashionable Fiasco

by Robyn Peterman

  “I don’t,” I admitted, waving my hand and creating a settee covered in teal silk. I plopped down and admired the divan. A little color did this place some good.

  “You do,” Elle insisted. “It’s all there. Find it, Gaia.”

  Rolling my eyes and reclining on the luxurious divan, I sighed dramatically.

  “For the love of everything wearing leggings,” I griped and closed my eyes. “Fine. I think ‘the recipe’ has nothing to do with me learning how to cook. The recipe will have directions, but it’s not for making food.”

  I opened one eye and peeked over at Elle. She said nothing—as expected—but there was a glimmer of a smile on her lips. Sitting up, I continued.

  “I’ve got this,” I muttered to myself. The scenario felt somewhat like a therapy session with Darby Dick Demon, but he actually had opinions and a far more attractive office than Elle was occupying. Not that I agreed with the horribly named Demon very often since I was perfect, but occasionally he was right.

  “You do have this,” Elle encouraged me. “Talk it out.”

  “Mmmkay… I shall start by telling you I’ve discovered internet juice. Apparently, if you pour it into a hole in your computer, the piece of shit will be more accurate.”

  “Let me stop you,” Elle said, trying not to laugh. “As we are both aware, I’m not allowed to reveal the future. However, I’m going to go on record and tell you that’s a horrid idea.”

  “Bill said the same thing,” I told her. “And speaking of Bill…”

  “Yes?”

  “Something is wrong,” I said hesitantly. “The white streaks in his hair. It means something. Doesn’t it?”

  Again, with the silence.

  Again, I wanted to electrocute her.

  “Be that way,” I snapped and incinerated the settee I was sitting on. Hopping up so I didn’t set my frock on fire, I began to pace. “Everything that’s happening is connected. I brought Satan and God together, but that didn’t help.”

  “Didn’t it?” Elle pressed, making me pause.

  Well, crap. Maybe it did. The harmony in the air was far more pleasant since the boys were playing nice, or rather playing relatively nice. I was an excellent mother for letting them set each other ablaze. Slightly non-traditional, but I was good like that. Family was truly everything and as certifiably insane as my family was, I adored each and every one of them—even Satan.

  Keep talking. Just keep talking. Just keep talking…

  “Can we play hot and cold?” I asked.

  “Hot and cold?”

  “Yessssssss,” I said, getting excited. “If I say something right, then you say hot. If I say something wrong, you say cold. Studly loves this game. I hide his banana and then he walks around and tries to find it. If he gets close, I say ‘Studly you’re hot!’ If he walks in the wrong direction, I electrocute him.”

  “Umm… that sounds awful,” Elle pointed out.

  “It’s fine,” I assured her. “When I have to find the banana and I walk in the wrong direction, he flings his poo.”

  “Interesting,” Elle said with a wince and a gag. “As long as there’s no poo flinging or electrocution, I think this might be a way to work around the rules.”

  “Outstanding,” I said, delighted that we figured out an equitable form of cheating. “I’m not sure it’s my own children that I’m supposed to bring together.”

  “Hot,” Elle nodded as her eyes lit with encouragement.

  “Jim Bob Bob-Bob broke another plastic horse—a red one this time,” I went on. “I told the shit that the first one didn’t take. According to God—who doesn’t lie—there is no fatal epidemic running rampant in the human realm. However, Jim Bob Jackhole implied that I was wrong.”

  Elle grew more uncomfortable with each word I spoke.

  Dammit.

  “Cold then hot,” she replied.

  Not good. Not good at all.

  “Soooo, if the plastic toys are indeed the Horsemen of the Apocalypse,” I continued. “Something is stopping it.”

  “Or someone,” Elle blurted out and then slapped her hand over her mouth. “Shit. I wasn’t supposed to say that.”

  “I won’t tell anyone that you did,” I promised. “Well, as long as you answer another question.”

  “Are you blackmailing me, Mother Nature?” Elle asked as her eyes narrowed.

  “Yes. Yes, I am,” I replied with a grin, feeling like I finally had the upper hand.

  “You’re a terrible woman,” Elle said with a raised brow.

  “Possibly,” I said with a giggle and a shrug. “But I’m ridiculously attractive.”

  Fate simply rolled her eyes and shook her head.

  “Speak,” I demanded as my hair began to blow around my head and sparks of peach glitter began to pop and dance around me. “Give me a hint. I’m very aware that everything happening and each person surrounding me is playing a part. However, we’re at intermission of the performance. There are only two ways for this shit show to end. It could be a tragedy or a comedy. Or at least a dramady with a happy ending. Or maybe a reality show. I just love The Bachelor. Don’t you?”

  Elle’s chin fell to her chest and I realized I’d gone a little off topic.

  “Bring them together. Children need their mother. They will help you find the perfect recipe. They will have the ingredients. Good versus evil must be served by one with a little pinch of nature,” Elle said.

  “I’ve heard that one before,” I snapped.

  “Have you?” Elle asked. “Hearing and understanding are two different things. To avoid the end, you must create a new beginning.”

  A small smile began to pull at my lips. More puzzle pieces began to fit together. Could it be this easy? No. Probably not. It wasn’t Satan and God I was supposed to bring together at all. It was Boopsy Cocksucker and her asshole of a son. “Did you or did you not say a mother’s love was more powerful than anything in the Universe?”

  As if my smile was contagious, Elle’s lips curled upward. “I do believe I did.”

  “I’ve got it,” I announced.

  “You’ve got part of it,” Elle warned. “Work fast and work with your eyes wide open. The ramifications of failure will affect you in ways you’re not prepared to handle.”

  “Your attitude is screwing with my chi,” I snapped, all of a sudden feeling lost again.

  Elle stood and began to float away. “That is not my intention, Gaia,” she said with a sad smile. “Keep on the same track. Do what you would normally do. Pay close attention to your surroundings and what is happening around you. The clues are not just in the words I speak. They can be hidden in the clouds and in your dreams,” Elle reminded me. “Fate has a way of finding everyone whether they want to be found or not. And remember a mother’s love is more powerful than any magic in the Universe. And a little glue never hurts anything.”

  With that, Fate disappeared in a musical blast of lavender sparkles.

  Glancing around one more time, I realized the entity I’d felt had left with Elle.

  Odd…

  However, a prior warning from Fate was stuck in my mind.

  “The end draws near and you may not be strong enough to withstand the storm. What you could lose might be priceless.”

  There were only several things in my life that were priceless. None of them were material.

  And I refused to lose anything that was irreplaceable.

  Chapter Twelve

  The best way to bring a dysfunctional family together and stop the end times was with a home-cooked meal where no one died, at least I hoped it was. It was a long shot and the odds were iffy. However, desperate times called for unusual measures. I had a goal and I was going to accomplish it.

  “What the Hell is going on here?” I gasped out as I entered my state-of-the-art kitchen.

  Everyone was talking at the same time. Fingers were being pointed and my posse appeared positively gobsmacked. It took a mass electrocution to calm everyone down. The kitchen i
n the Garden Palace looked like it had been hit by a cyclone. Joan, Fran, Velma, Cathy and Hortense sat at the table in a state of shock. Fran and Velma were each the size of a coffee cup. Cathy was sweating like a lady of the evening at confession. Hortense had gone so pale I could almost see right through her. And Joan? Joan was one massive green wart. It was horrifying. Apparently, Busty Cornhole had regaled them with profane and unrepeatable Grim Reaper stories involving lube and donuts while I’d been sleeping.

  “Nope, not gonna do it,” Becky informed me with her middle finger raised high.

  “Listen to me, you little snot-nosed, foul-mouthed idiot,” I shouted as I grabbed a boxed meal and shook it in her face. “We are going to cook up a feast of scalloped potatoes, brownies, strawberry cupcakes with lemon icing, chocolate chip cookies without nuts because God has a peanut allergy, blueberry muffins, banana bread—again without nuts—and double chocolate deluxe fudgy cake with pink icing, rainbow sprinkles and purple candles. We are then going to have a dinner party with your jackass son.”

  “That meal is a little heavy on the carbs,” Fran pointed out.

  Without even glancing over, I electrocuted her. I didn’t have time for backtalk right now.

  “What part of nope don’t you understand, elbow-fart?” Bonnie grunted.

  “That doesn’t even make sense. An elbow can’t fart,” I hissed.

  “Wrong,” Bahookey countered, sticking her elbow in her mouth and blowing a rude raspberry.

  Her contortionist skills were impressive, but she was so appalling I wasn’t about to give her a compliment. Although, with her moves she would probably be excellent on the pole.

  “Anyhoo,” Buttha went on as if shoving your elbow in your mouth was normal behavior. “I can’t cook. I burn water.”

  “But you’re Bossy Cocksucker,” I shouted. “You’re a world-famous chef. You have boxed meals with your picture on them and cookbooks. I have all of them. Granted, I’ve never used one, but I own them which counts.”

  “Hate to tell you this,” Bucky said with a rude snort. “But there is no Betsy Cocker. It’s a fake woman made up by marketing dorks to sell shit to idiots.”

  “But isn’t your name Benny Cornholer?” I asked, confused.

  “Betsy Cocker,” she corrected me. “And yes, that’s my name.”

  “That’s what I said,” I snapped. I didn’t like her tone of voice or the lies she spewed. I didn’t have the patience for a curveball at this point. “You have the pearls, the dated red blazer and the horrible hair-do. You are most certainly Booby Cooter.”

  “She’s telling the truth,” Velma squeaked. “I looked it up on the interwebs. Betsy Cocker isn’t a real person. She’s the brainchild of an advertising campaign.”

  This could not be happening. “Did you use enough internet juice?” I demanded.

  “Of course, I did,” Velma replied, wildly insulted.

  This gave me pause. I really wanted to know which hole she’d poured it in. Her laptop was in one solid piece and she was sporting all the hair on her head. Maybe Bill and Elle were mistaken about the ramifications of pouring liquid into electronics.

  “Shit,” I yelled and blew up the stove with a flick of my fingers. I figured we didn’t need the stove for baking boxed crap. “Nothing is going right. We have only days before… umm… I don’t even know what. Shit is not going my way. This is unacceptable.”

  Stomping my foot, a jungle exploded from the pitted cherry hardwood floors. Elvis, my ape with intimacy issues, ended up smack dab in the middle of the kitchen table. Seeing the women, he freaked out and began screaming. Beluga was hung up in a tree and the rest of the Psycho Six had crawled under the table just in case Elvis was a poo slinger like Studly.

  “Gaia,” Joan bellowed. “Stop that right now. You are not alone in this. We can help you if you let us.”

  “Unless the ape throws poo,” Hortense said. “If I get nailed by ape shit, I’m out of here.”

  “I second that,” Velma said.

  “Third,” Cathy added.

  “Fourth,” Joan agreed.

  “Fifth,” Fran joined in.

  All the players were here for a reason. I wasn’t exactly doing stellar on my own which I would never admit since I was perfect. But maybe… just maybe…

  “Fine,” I grumbled and sent Elvis away with a wiggle of my nose. He was definitely a poo slinger.

  The jungle disappeared and Becky fell from the sky with a loud crash. She was knocked out cold. Whatever. She couldn’t cook and she was disgusting. Checking her to make sure she was still breathing—which she was—I settled myself at the table and let my head fall to the wood with a thud.

  “It safe to come out now,” I told my friends. “No poo shall be flung.”

  Slowly the big-boned gals emerged from under the table and seated themselves. Thankfully, Velma and Fran were full-sized again. Cathy was still a bit moist, but she wasn’t dripping. Hortense was pale, but she was solid. It had been alarming to see her innards. Joan was only a partial wart now. If I stared just slightly to the left of her, it would look like I was making eye contact and I wouldn’t gag.

  “What we need is a plan,” Hortense announced.

  “You’re right,” I admitted. “Winging it isn’t working.”

  “Tell us what’s happening, Gaia,” Joan said. “We don’t know who to maim unless we know what’s going on.”

  “A shitty plan is far better than no plan at all,” Velma pointed out.

  Velma was correct. I came up with shitty plans on a regular basis and I was still alive.

  “Okay,” I said, feeling better. “Fate told me to bring them together. They will help me find the perfect recipe. They will have the ingredients. And that good versus evil must be served by one with a little pinch of nature.”

  “Fate’s a cryptic bee-otch” Hortense muttered with her brow wrinkled in thought.

  “Go on, Gaia,” Joan said as she whacked Hortense in the back of the head.

  “Umm… well, I thought she meant bring God and Satan together, but now I believe she meant Bunky and her spawn. Fate said that a mother’s love is more powerful than any magic in the Universe. And that a little glue never hurts anything.”

  “Tequila is up there too,” Fran pointed out only to receive a right hook from Joan.

  “Call me nuts,” Joan started.

  “Nuts,” Cathy obliged her.

  “For the love of everything that shouldn’t have a mouth,” Joan grunted as she whipped out her wand and blasted Cathy bald. “I think we should be worried about the little shit at the grocery store snapping horses. I mean, Bill looks bad.”

  My stomach clenched and I almost blew the Palace to Kingdom Come. I knew God might get upset if chunks of my abode ended up in his territory, so I sucked it up. Although, the flames and sparks flying from my fingertips were uncontrollable.

  “What are you talking about?” I roared as Joan, ducked for cover.

  “The Enforcer is the final defense against the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse,” Joan shouted above the sound of the crackling flames.

  “Explain yourself,” I demanded. “NOW.”

  “The Enforcer shall absorb the Pestilence, War, Famine and Death so that armies of Heaven and Hell can fight the Antichrist,” Joan explained from under the table.

  “How do you know this?” I pressed, feeling ill.

  “Honestly, I’m so old I can’t remember,” Joan replied.

  There was a reason everyone was here I reminded myself. I was not perfect. I did not know everything. This pissed me off greatly, but if I didn’t admit it, no one would be the wiser.

  “It’s true,” Fran confirmed wearily. “I recall hearing it millions of years ago as well.”

  This was why Bill was stuck in his Enforcer form. He knew… and he didn’t tell me. The man that made me whole knew I would destroy the spawn of the Antichrist and end the world to save him. My lover had told me to do what I had to do and he would do what he had to do.
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br />   And God had seen it. It explained the shock on my son’s face before Bahookey Cockblock had made a run for it.

  Son. Of. A. Bitch.

  This was my issue to solve because I had the dream. The fate of the world might not be hanging in balance, but the fate of my world most definitely was.

  With a wave of my hand, the ceiling of the Garden Palace flew off. The ground rumbled and thorny vines exploded from the walls and floor. It was making sense. And the sense was terrifying. Fate’s words came back to me. “The end draws near and you may not be strong enough to withstand the storm. What you could lose might be priceless.”

  Losing Bill would end me. The Sword of Death would be welcome relief.

  “Find the spawn of the Antichrist before he snaps another horse,” I commanded. “He hangs out at the grocery store. Start there.”

  “On it,” Hortense grunted. “What do we do with him when we find him?”

  “Kill him. He’s an asshole,” Bonnie muttered as she came to. “He can’t cause the end times without his worthless small-peckered pappy. But the end times aren’t on the schedule for millions of years. I don’t know where in the Hell he got the horses.”

  “How does everyone know about this schedule but me?” I hissed.

  “I didn’t know there was a schedule,” Velma volunteered.

  That calmed me a bit. I hated being left out. However, I had no time to think about myself right now. Being unselfish was new to me and slightly disconcerting, but it felt right.

  “Who’s been to Hell?” I asked as I began to pace.

  “I’d love to go to Hell,” Cathy volunteered. “Never been, but I hear it’s quite nice this time of year.”

  Cathy was insane, but I considered that a plus. I nodded curtly and continued to hand out assignments. “Excellent. You will find Darby Dick Demon.”

  “I’m sorry,” Cathy said, wrinkling her nose. “Who?”

  Shaking my head, I groaned. “I know. The name is awful. However, he’s an excellent therapist. Get him and tell him I need him. If he requires payment, tell him he can have my silver Prada strapless gown he’s been admiring for the last decade. However, try to pawn off my lavender Diane von Furstenberg first. I don’t like that one as much.”