Dine & Whine
The Spectrum cast is invited to a fancy dinner.
Wray Nerely stares blankly at his glass. Bartender John Boutell called it a Zombie on the rocks: a mixture of several fruit juices, three different rums, and apricot brandy with three cubes of ice. It was his fifth shot and it was obvious he was drunk as a skunk, but he did not care one bit. Jack was paying for the whole meal and he was not going to let it go to waste. He downs the whole shot in one gulp then shakes his glass for another round.
Bartender John quickly refills him as Wray motions to go faster. “Keep it coming. I’m a big boy.”
“Wray?” Wray drunkenly smiles as he takes all his energy to rotate his chair to face Faith standing over him. Her face is in utter disbelief at the site of the once proud actor. Wray tries to speak only for drool to leak out and collect on his pants. Faith helps him out of his seat while motioning to the bartender to cut off Wray from any more. “Come on. Everybody’ll be here soon.”
* * * * *
The appetizers rolled out as Dawn Jones strolls over to greet Faith and Wray. Despite Faith’s best efforts to keep Wray sitting up he ends face first in the salad.
“Dawn, good to see you.” Faith said as she glanced over Dawn’s dress. It was dark red and black with aquamarine streaks that she wore on the Spectrum episode “Jamboree” where she father/daughter danced with Bruise Camp Bell. “Wow, you look great. Did you buy that in auction?”
“This? It’s a memento of Vegas,” Dawn said while staring at Wray. “Where’s Jack? My husband wants to pick his brain a bit.”
“He’s at a clothing premier with Robert Downey and Jennifer Lawrence, but he’ll be here soon.” Faith again sits Wray up, brushing egg off his face.
“Allow me,” said Dawn. She eagerly sits next to Wray and rests his head on her shoulders, petting his forehead and rubbing his cheek against hers.
Faith stares bewildered. “Are you sure that --”
“Yes.” Dawn snarls staring into Faith’s soul, “It is.”
“In the mood for Bourbon Balls,” Wray slurs. “My good friend Gingers makes the best.”
* * * * *
At around 8:30 everyone finally arrived. First was Brenda White, in her resized Doctor Chu-Hua costume, alongside her boyfriend, a suave regal European man by the name of Hannibal Spalding. Next came Stutter Dawes dressed in a shark-tooth suit alongside his mother Martha, the female doppelganger of Donald Trump. Lastly came Tiffany Gisela, in a dress and fur, being supported by Dawn’s husband Steve, whose long hair and pirate attire made him stand out more than anything.
“Argh, Honey. Ye know when the dread Captain Jack Raaker be appearing? Steve has a few questions about his workout regimen.”
“I don’t know,” Dawn tells Steve with barely restrained rage. He touches her hand, which she smacks aside, causing Wray to land face first in Dawn’s linguine and oysters. “What did I say about touching when I’m around Wray?”
“Argh, physical contact depresses the lad.”
Martha glares at Dawn as she cleans Wray’s face. “Just export his liberal ass out of the country with the rest of the Democrats. Leave America to us moral folk.”
Stutter nods in approval. “God, guns, and guts are all we need, Maw.”
“Stuff it, hippy,” Martha barks while smacking her son over the head. “I can’t believe this is the guy that blackballed you, Stutter.”
“He was sneaky. Went to the press behind my back,” muttered Stutter.
Tiffany studies both Wray and Steve. “You two brothers? You kind a look like brothers.”
Steve examines Wray, now being spoon fed potatoes from his dish by Dawn. “Argh, Steve sees no resemblance. I be chiseled from stone, and can hold me liquor. Not to brag, but I also teach quantum physics to them college kids upstate.”
Wray giggles like a schoolgirl. Dawn smiles as she wipes his mouth.
Faith takes a sip from her drink. “So Brenda, how did you and Hannibal meet?”
“At a midnight screening of Lucio Fulci’s Zombie,” Hannibal relates. “We made passionate love as the zombie horde tore through the survivors, spewing blood, rending flesh from bone.” He stares into Brenda’s soul. “It was magical.”
Brenda laughs hesitantly. “He’s joking.” Hannibal strokes her cheek with his reptilian fingers. She closes her eyes, ecstatic by the sensation. “Candyman was so much better.” She and Hannibal kiss like their plane was going down.
Hannibal pulls away from Brenda to gaze at Faith. “Brenda’s told me much about your boss, Jack. I’d love to have him over for a barbeque sometime. Chew the fat as they call it.”
“I agree with Lurch,” Wray bellows with a mouth full of food. “I had me five Zombies at the bar, and it was good and tasty.” He whistles out to all the waiters. “Jack’s paying, so lets get this party started.” He jumps onto the table and begins dancing the Macarena, much to everyone’s surprise. “You know how the way I walk, I’m a woman’s man. Don’t turn me down,” he tries to sing, but comes out more nails on a chalkboard. Wray whisks Dawn up onto the table close to him. “Forget Vegas, lets you and me experience Thailand,” he whispers into her ear before kissing her.
Suddenly, a brass knuckled fist slams into Wray’s face, catapulting him into another party’s table. He looks up in a daze to see Steve ripping his puffy shirt off, exposing his overly developed twelve-pack on the poor actor.
“Argh, Nobody plunders me wife’s booty but Steve,” the pirate yells as he lands blow after blow on Wray.
Dawn and Brenda rush in to stop the brawl, with Dawn going for Wray. “What have you done to my little Wray,” Dawn sobs holding Wray’s head close to her heart. Brenda tries to console Steve only for Dawn to lose it. She grabs a plate of spaghetti and slams it into Brenda’s face. “Hands off my husband,” she scowls.
Brenda wipes the sauce out of her eyes. Beneath the marinara and years of loathing the last shred of her decency finally snapped. Before she even knew it Brenda had grapples onto Dawn’s back and bites her in the neck. Dawn screams as she grabs hold of Brenda’s head and slam tackles her.
Meanwhile Steve goes back to punching Wray. “Argh, taste me Dodge Ball Fist of Death, ye scurvy White Goodman wannabe.”
Stutter whips out his phone and records Wray’s beating. “God bless social media.” Martha smacks him over the head again. “Ow, Maw.”
“I knew this city made you soft, hippy” Martha barks before gargling a vodka tonic.
Hannibal lights an e-cig, taking in the joyous splendor of the moment. He imagines Al Bowlly’s Midnight, the Stars, and You playing in sequence to both fights.
Faith hides under the table, tapping her earphone. “911. I need 911.”
“Party on,” Tiffany yells as she stumbles out of her chair.
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