A Passing Party

“Hello, and what can I get for you tonight?” I asked. My formal black and white uniform was tight and uncomfortable but I made an effort to make my smile look sincere. The woman I was asked was part of a party who had rented the banquette hall and I had been assigned to serve their needs. I knew why I had been told to wear my nice clothing, it was a very fancy dress party, and all of the guests were dressed in their best.

“Bring us, oh, let’s say twenty bottles of the most expensive wine you have in the house,” the old lady told me, her frail voice trembled slightly with age but she was grinning.

“And to eat?” I asked. I couldn’t help but think it would be nice to be rich.

“One of everything I think dear. We’re having a party after all and I’m only spending my children’s inheritance,” the old woman laughed to herself quietly. A couple of people who looked like her children laughed as well but they didn’t look like they found it as funny at all. In fact they looked more like they were angry about the comment. “I’m turning eighty tomorrow you know,” the old woman continued and suddenly everything became clear to me.

“I congratulate you,” I said, giving the formal response, though I was shuddering on the inside to be talking to someone who would die the next day. The old lady was sharp though, because she looked at me and laughed, and I knew that she could read the fear in my eyes.

“My husband has been undead for the last twenty years and he always looks so peaceful. I figure it can’t be so bad if he looks so happy lying there,” the woman said, putting a hand on my shoulder. I shuddered, this time obviously.

I had always hated the word undead to refer to people who were dead but couldn’t die. People who had been killed, people who had been terminally sick for some reason or another but weren’t yet eighty. “Dying” before you were eighty amounted to losing the use of everything but your eyes and mind, leading to the term undead. My grandmother is undead and I dread visiting her. It was the years of chain smoking that did it to her, lung cancer, when I was two, did her in. My parents used to say it was wonderful that she could meet her granddaughter even though she was “dead”, I thought it was creepy. I still do, sometimes I think it would have been a mercy if she was able to die, I mean really die, before she turned eighty. I can’t imagine an enjoyable continued existence being unable to consume food, or speak, or hear, or move. On the other side of the coin however I could see, if our bodies didn’t simply turn off at eighty and stop working, how someone could live longer then that while in great pain. I shook off my morbid thoughts when I saw the boss looking my way.

“I will come back shortly with your drinks,” I told the old woman and she took her hand off of my arm. As soon as I had walked away I could hear her and her son arguing about something, but I couldn’t hear what it was. Her daughter then chimed in, her voice was shrill enough that it carried.

“Mother, you shouldn’t spend so much you know. We are going to have to pay the bills after you pass on you know.”

“Don’t worry about that Henrietta Parker; your mother hasn’t become a total fool in her own age. I’ve already paid for everything; you won’t be getting any debt. Though you will get your greedy little hands on less money” said the old woman loud enough so that the whole restaurant could hear and the daughter turned bright red with embarrassment.

“Who’s the old spite fire in the corner?” my boss asked me as I gathered wine glasses at the bar.

“She’s celebrating her eightieth birthday,” I explained.

“Another one,” groaned my boss.

“Sir?” I asked, confused.

“We had a guy in here last night who didn’t leave before midnight, died sitting right here at the bar. Of course it was a big fuss, makes us look bad that sort of thing. Would you ask her to please leave before midnight?” I nodded but I was dreading the task

When I returned to the table in the banquette hall the woman, her son, and her daughter were all arguing, with various grandchildren watching. The son seemed to be trying to act as mediator and they were both verbally attacking him while they continued to spar with each other as well. I expected them to shut up when I approached the table but they didn’t.

“This is going to be the last time we’re together like this, could we please act like a happy family this once?” the son was saying when I walked up.

“Acting all self righteous isn’t an endearing trait Edward,” his mother told him. “Especially when you are as much after my money as she is. I suppose it runs in the family, after all I married your father for money.”

“Mother,” exclaimed her daughter.

“It’s true Henrietta and squealing at it won’t change that. I wouldn’t have married him at all except that he lied about his age and told me he was older. How was I to know that he was younger then me? I would have divorced him if it wasn’t for the fact that he would give me all of the money I wanted for whatever, no questions asked. I saved a lot of that money, as you two know all too well, invested it, watched it grow. Good thing I did, since he crashed into that tree and “died” his trustees wouldn’t let me touch a penny. All money and account frozen until he actually dies, I have hated that law for the last twenty years.”

I had poured everyone at the table the wine they wanted while this speech went on. The children preferring the sweet fruity stuff I watered it down like my boss told me to, and the adult went for dry red mostly. Everyone at the table had now fallen silent; I thought to myself maybe it wasn’t so bad knowing when you were going to die. You could be as open as you wanted to be, about anything, and there wouldn’t be any repercussions on you. It was a good way to get one final hit in, one final blow to people you hated, before you passed, and it was obvious the woman hated her children. It was kind of obvious that she hated everyone. I had heard of people who, the day before their eightieth birthday went on murdering sprees, after all, there was no way for the law to touch them. At least the old woman in front of me seemed willing to only strike verbal blows rather then physical ones.

“Excuse me ma’am,” I said once I had poured all of the drinks. “The management would like to request that you leave before midnight, no offense.”

“Oh, none taken dear. The night is young yet even if I’m not and I intend to spend a lot more money then I can just in this place. You can’t take it with you after all.”

I was on my way to the kitchen to see if any of the food for the party was done when I bit of stillness caught my eye. When someone isn’t moving and bustling on a Friday night then you know something is wrong. It was our hostess at the cash register and a man was standing next to her. I thought about screaming but fought it down. It would only cause panic. The man standing beside her had a gun, and it was pressed into her side. If something went wrong she would join the undead I disliked so much. I caught the boss’s eye and I could tell that he had also noticed the situation, which was good; it took the weight off of my shoulders. The whole thing wasn’t my responsibility if they boss had seen it. I went over to him to see if he wanted me to do anything.

“He says he won’t hurt any of us on the condition that we take him to the banquette hall. We can’t do that, if it gets out that I handed my customers to a gun wielding mad man I’ll be ruined,” my boss whispered to me.

“She’s going to die in a few hours anyway,” I whispered back, horrified by the words that were coming out of my mouth but somehow unable to stop them. “She won’t suffer from being undead for those few hours.”

“Do you have any proof that he’s after the old lady and not the whole party?” My boss asked. I had to admit that I didn’t. “I bet that whole party is loaded, the perfect mark for any thief, and good hostages.”

“Well so is Lena,” I pointed out with a slight head jerk at the hostess. “She has the till and is just as good as a hostage. Sooner or later he’s going to get tired of holding that gun to her without making any process and do something about it.”

“That’s the strange thing, he hasn’t asked us for any money at all, he seems only interested in the banquette hall,” my boss told me. I was getting more nervous by the second; this sounded a lot like someone with a person vendetta against the old lady or her family members. That meant that it would end in blood probably. If it was a hired killing or revenge then the killer couldn’t be bought off with the contents of our safe in the back.

“So what are we going to do? We can’t tell him where the banquette hall is, and we can’t let him just stand there or he might feel like shooting someone to get his idea across,” my voice must have shown my panic.

“Take a couple of deep breaths and go over and talk with him. He isn’t interested in us so you won’t be in any danger. I am going to the back while you distract him and call the police.”

I wished that I had just pretended that I hadn’t seen the gun in Lena’s side. The thought of putting myself next to a man with a gun wasn’t a pleasant one for me. I knew I couldn’t die yet, but I didn’t like the idea of being a human vegetable either. Sometimes I had nightmares about it, sitting there, watching the world go by without being able to participate. I never have wanted to be a hero. Still someone had to be a distraction. I took a deep breath and approached Lena and the man cautiously. I wanted to hold my hands up, on reflex, but I had to resist. That would have only drawn the customers’ attention to the situation, causing mass panic.

“Excuse me sir, but we were wondering if we gave up the money in the safe to you, you would kindly leave?” I asked. The boss and I hadn’t talked about it but I doubt he would object to it. He would spend a lot of money to protect the reputation of the restaurant.

“Not interested,” said the man. I looked at him closely, trying to memorize his features in case I had to identify him. There wasn’t much I could say about him however, except that he was tall and Caucasian. He was wearing a hat that was pulled down far enough that I couldn’t really see his face. The rest of him was covered with a large trench coat, the collar pulled up. He obviously meant to make it so that if he got away the police wouldn’t be able to find him.

“What are you interested in then?” I asked. I had to keep him talking until my boss could finish his phone call.

“Where’s the banquette room?” the man answered with a question of his own.

“I’m sorry but we can’t endanger our customers,” I told him. Lena whimpered as he pressed the gun harder into her stomach.

“Then no deal,” said the man. Lena finally cracked; I was surprised she had lasted as long as she had.

“I’ll show you where it is, just please don’t shoot me,” she begged.

“Lena, you can’t,” I said for show though I didn’t blame her at all. In her situation as soon as the gun had been pointed at me I would have caved in.

“Watch me Joanne; I don’t have to give up all my active years for some old woman who is going to die in a few hours anyway. If you take the gun away I’ll show you where the banquette room is,” Lena said, turning to the man with the gun.

“The gun stays. Show me,” the man said. I wondered if he was trying to make it so we couldn’t identify his voice either, talking in such a short, clipped manner. I still was pretty sure I could recognize it again if I had to. I was paying very close attention to every detail; the police would want them I was sure.

“How do you know he is after the old woman Lena,” I argued, desperately. The boss wasn’t back from the phone yet and I was starting to wonder if he had no intention of coming out again even after the phone call was made. Were Lena and I meant to be the sacrifices? It wasn’t a pleasant thought, I found myself imagining living in one of the many undead homes for the rest of my life. “Who are you after sir?” I asked, rushing after him and Lena. I knew that a couple of the customers had noticed what was going on and were wisely deciding to stay out of it.

“None of your business,” the man snapped and I fell back a little ways, worried that the gun was going to be pointed at me. When that didn’t happen I caught back up. I could disappear, I had done what I could now, but I doubted I could live with the guilt. He was already through the banquette room doors by the time I caught up. He stopped just inside the room and I slipped through the doors after him right before he slammed them shut. He reached behind himself and locked the door; we were now all alone with a man with a gun. The fact that I couldn’t truly die yet was only a very small comfort.

“Hello mother,” the man with the gun said and the old woman stood up slowly from the table.

“I take it you got my message son,” she said, no fear in her voice. Of course I wouldn’t be scared either if I knew that I would die soon no matter what happened. Well I would be scared in general, but not any more scared then I was already if a man burst into the room with a gun. I was far more shocked by the fact that she called the man son.

“I got it,” the man said shortly and pushed his hat back so we could see his face. He looked nothing like his mother, brother or sisters. If he really was her son then I could only guess that he took after his father whoever that was.

“If you got my letter then why are you here? And in such a conspicuous manner as well, this ruins everything,” the old woman sounded angry.

“Surely it is a son’s duty to visit his dying mother,” said the man with the gun, his voice was mocking.

To be continued...