We're Havin' a Party

Having confirmation from Vogue that she is *in* on this assignment, Lace flips her cell phone closed and begins packing at the speed of light. As if in 78 rpm motion she tosses a suitcase onto the bed. Opening a dresser drawer she begins tossing clothing back over her head into it. As the drawer empties, she moves to the closet and begins tossing blouses, jeans, pants and skirts. Moving to the bathroom she throws things from the medicine cabinet across the room scoring every shot. The girls BB team didn't call her *Bullseye* fer nuthin. A flying hairdryer lands on top of the mound covering the suitcase in a grand finale.

Coming to the bathroom door, Lace appears, one hand on it's doorway, the other wiping her forehead with the back of her hand. Huffing, she moves slowly to the bed. Flipping the suitcase closed she sits atop it, clothing bulging out from it's 1/2 closed lid. Lace buries her face in her hands wondering how she will ever manage to fasten the suitcase locks.

Within the hour she tumbles out of a yellow car. The cab driver beeps his horn and curses her for leaving no tip among the handfull of bills she threw like confetti into his front seat. Tripping in 4" black velvet wedgies, she flies through glass doors and spots Vogue standing in the middle of the ariport. She grab's Vogues arm as she flies by, heading for the line, jabbering something about missing parties and the Queen. As she is swept up, Vogue notices Lace is wearing a floor length velvet coat and carrying only a scrunched black velvet sachel.

Once seated in the plane, Lace drops her head onto the back of the seat. Seeing it coming, she swipes a drink from the tray of a passing flight attendant and drains it in one long swallow. Expecting at least wine, she frowns as it was non-alcoholic. Rolling the glass under her seat, she dabs at the corner of her lipstick with a gloved finger, smoothes her hair and, finally inhaling and exhaling one long breath, turns to look at Vogue sitting in the seat beside her. At the back of the cabin an American zookeeper smoothes his own skirt and leans out into the aisle a bit, looking for the flight attendant with his juice.

Vogue lowers her Hepburn shades and looking Lace up and down, blinks. "Why are you wearing evening wear? Now?"

Across an ocean a cast of characters begins ready to assemble. Little Jon, sporting a new hairdo, a shiny plastered number with a middle part, how Shemp, walks at a clip through the hallway of Ballard's fabulous abode. Slavco and Ricardo, having knocked off early from gyrating in cages and chasing Seth and Austen, sit aboard a flight heading to the same London location.

"Ith thith thupposed to be thome kind of reunion? Or do you think that Jerry hath changed her mind and we're going to be kept?" Ricardo just rolls his eyes towards the small cabin window. Slavco is beginning to get on even his nerves.

Rachel and Jerry step back to admire Seth in a monkey suit, resplendent with George Bush mask. Jerry glances back to Suzanne sitting on the couch, her head tilted, looking at their finished product.

"Do you think the Queen will recognize him?"

"Not if he doesn't open his mouth."

"Shaddup ya old broads, me and Bushie always say what's on our minds. My biggest problems are how do I eat and how do I go to the can?"

"It's loo", admonishes Rachel. "And for heavens sake do not comment if you find yourself again sexually attracted to the main course. Now I must be going to my own room. I have to prepare. Pete is accompanying me and Jerry as musical guest. I've also got to check to see that my band has arrived and my drummer has not lost an arm, been killed in a freak accident or vomited in his sleep."

Across town in a private suite of London's most prestigious psychiatric hospital a white haired woman sits quietly in bed. Newly dressed in a grand gown (and matching purse) her diamond earrings dangle, catching a sparkle from the overhead fluorescent lights. Oddly, all of the clocks, VCRs and DVDs on the entire floor are unplugged. Dr Freudrogerserikson sits in his office, a huge burgundy leather executive chair enveloping him. Drumming his fingertips on a shiny mahogany desk, rather like Laces, he checks his watch. He speaks to a young blond woman seated across the desk in a smaller version of his throne.

"Dr Lace should arrive by 4 pm. The reverse hypnotic suggestion should take no more than one hour. At the most. The Queen and her entourage shall then proceed to the fabulous party at Mr Ballard's. Will you be accompanying her?"

X replies, "Yes, as will Lace and her expert assistant, Vogue, hypnotherapist extrodinaire. We are taking no chances this time."