It Was A James Blonde Moment

The string orchestra plays softly in the background as I stand listening to the diplomat in front of me.

I’ve already embarrassed myself twice tonight by stating that North Korea “doesn’t have the guts to bomb us” and telling the prime minister of Canada that “poverty is a conspiracy”. I’m what my cousin Luke calls an “embarrassment of Biblical proportions” and what normal people call uncivilized. I’m not even supposed to be here tonight, but Luke couldn’t get anyone else to go with him. You’d think as the Attorney General of the United States that he could find someone more competent to dress up and sip lukewarm fizzy water with him than me. But, I guess not. Not even his barber. Seriously, Floyd’s son had a baseball game and he couldn’t make it.

So, here I am, listening to speeches I don’t understand, eating food I don’t like, and looking for my cousin, who seems to have disappeared.

“…don’t you agree?” the woman in front of me, an ambassador, I think, asks. “Of course,” I say, then mumble something about getting another hors d’oeuvre. 

As I walk away, I spot one of my cousin’s friends, the secretary of defense and hurry his way to ask if he’s seen Luke. 

“…and we must dispose of him.” The words from a well-dressed man to my left take a moment to register. 

I duck behind a large marble pillar and listen. 

The woman opposite him nods. “This mission cannot fail. Do you have everything ready?” 

“All is as it should be.” The man says. 

“Good, good, once we take care of him, we’ll…” 

That’s all I hear because I lean back on what looks like a solid wall. It is, in fact, not solid and definitely not a wall. The (admittedly very tall) sandwich-style poster announcing an antique themed gala and auction next weekend falls over from my weight and smashes into a metal cart stacked with caviar, crackers, and even more of that fizzy water, which then rolls into a waiter carrying dirty dishes to the kitchen. The waiter falls, dishes crash to the floor, and a plate hits President Chavez of Brazil’s leg. 

The room suddenly grows very quiet as everyone turns to see the source of the commotion. Luckily the marble pillar is huge and I hide behind it. 

The poor waiter takes all the blame for the mess and I mentally apologize. 

By the time I turn back to where the strange conversation was taking place, the mysterious pair is gone. 

I quickly glance around and spot them just disappearing down a hall. 

As fast as I can, which isn’t very fast in my floor-length gown and high heels, I make my way across the room. I really should find someone professional, like a PI, a detective, or maybe even security to take care of this, but I don’t have time. And, I’ve kind of always wanted to be a spy. 

I make it into the hallway just in time to see the two people go out a door that I’m pretty sure leads to an outdoor garden. Either that or a restroom. I’ve been looking for one all night, but there are no signs showing where one could be. I think it’s supposed to make things look clean and uniform, but it’s just confusing. 

I go out the door which leads to the former, a flower garden. And, I see the pair straight ahead. 

The man has what looks like a small shovel in his hand and the woman is carrying a little black bag. What are they burying? One of the twelve dwarves?

I’m so interested in what they’re doing that I don’t notice the mud puddle right in front of me. More like a mud pond. I fall face-first into it, soaking my very expensive dress and getting mud all over me. The splash must have been pretty loud, that or me yelling “Really?”, because the man and woman turn to look at me. 

“Hi.” I wave awkwardly. 

“Hello.” The man nods. 

The woman comes towards me. “Let’s finish this and then we’ll take care of her.” 

I’m pretty much a wimp when it comes to things like pain, torture or death, so I stand up quickly and offer, “It’s okay, I’ll just leave. I won’t tell anyone what I saw or, well, heard, I promise.” 

I start to do just that, but the woman grabs my arm. “No, you don’t leave until we’re done with you.” She looks at the man, “Here, take the bag and dispose of him.”

The man gets out his small shovel and takes the bag from her. He kneels beside a shallow hole and starts to pour the contents of the bag out. 

“Wait!” I say, “Who or what is that and why did you kill him?” 

The woman laughs and the man grunts. 

“We didn’t kill him, he was already dead.”

“Already dead? Who killed him and why is he so small?” I ask. 

“Why, the water contamination of course…”

My mind races. These people are domestic terrorists! They have access to the water supply. I don’t know how to stop them. I don’t know anything about water, biohazards, or chemicals. I try to think of anyone I know who knows something more sciency about water than me. I had a professor once that liked water, but I failed his class. I have to get out of here and find my cousin. Maybe he knows someone…

“…a fish.” The woman finishes. 

“What?” I say, “I missed that last part.”

“I said he’s so small because he’s a fish.” The woman says, “The president’s beta fish. His water was contaminated and he succumbed. The president thinks it is somewhat due to the long flight. He asked us to dispose of the body.”

“A fish?” This isn’t what I thought it was at all. “But, wait, what are you going to do to me?”

The woman smiles, “Well, take care of you, of course. You’re a mess. We need to get you cleaned up.”

Cynthia and Frank, as they introduce themselves, are very nice, contrary to their nefarious-seeming conversation. 

I help them bury the fish and Cynthia finally shows me to a restroom. 

I get as cleaned up as I can and head back into the ballroom to find my cousin. At last, I see him and hurry over.

“Hello, Gloria,” he says, “I’ve been looking all over for you. Where have you been?” 

“Oh, just outside getting some fresh air.” I reply. “You know, this place is bigger and a lot more interesting than it looks.”

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