Chapter Nine: “Let the Holidays Begin!” by Tina Semanas “Join me for Five Fabulous Days of feminine indulgence and frivolous excess leading up to everyone's Favorite Night! That's right ladies and eunuchs, Dowagers and drags, beauties and beasts, Vanity Night 2185 is here! A holiday, festival, national tradition all rolled into one giant ball of glamour and fun!” As Athan watched the live stream on his home theater, flashing across a sleek silver 15 foot projection wall, Beck’s image was dazzling per usual, she was born to perform! Wearing a new ethereal gown designed by Madam Sterling herself, Beck primped and preened like a medieval Queen as she reported on her nationwide vlog. “Wow,” thought Athan , “Beck Paris, she is hot and she is mine!” A wide angled camera panned out from Beck’s face capturing for the viewer her whole brilliant ensemble - - she dazzled in her golden imperial crown. Carrying herself effortlessly, Beck was draped in a flowing gown decorated with a tapestry of different fabrics, embroidered with metallic patterns and exploding colors. Athan thought her whole presentation, from the top of her crown down to the golden-plated shoes, was designed exquisitely so every viewer would be pulled deep into her crystal blue eyes. Outlined by a mask of thick black eyeliner contrasted by a powdered white face, and with her neck hidden under a fluffy lace neckline, Beck’s eyes popped. “Fabulous!” Athan was nodding with an approving smile, “Simply fabulous, my lady knows how to shine. Her vlog will be the talk of every tabloid.” Beck was also accompanied by an entourage of identically appareled, pencil-thin attendants -- all of these non-descript ladies were sporting slick black hair pulled to a tight ponytail while squeezing into sheer black minis accentuating their perfect posture by long stemmed black heels. Beck liked having her help projecting that lifeless mannequin look so all attention was centered on her. “Dear ones, I will be here in Midtown Manhattan vlogging live everyday, all day, keeping you current on all the up-to-the-second juicy news and gossip until Vanity Night’s grand finale. Which five faces will be the envy of the every household? Who will get to finally hold the coveted De Beauvoir Medallion, symbol of the reigning goddess - society’s highest honor? Stay with me darlings…” Athan was always amazed at the grandeur of the Vanity Night spectacle. 50 million viewers celebrating together the magnificence of female beauty and power. Secretly Athan loathed every minute of it...except of course when Beck appeared. “This year I have been given complete access behind the scenes, and with my new contact-lens cameras equipped with reflex zoom capability which directly mirrors my own retinal responses, you the viewer will receive all the up-close and unedited information and award winning visuals. It will seem as if you personally have your own back stage pass to all the super exclusive goings on.” Beck was in rare form, “I have some hints on who the frontrunners may be -- and ladies, I can assure you that this year’s day one competition, “Fashion & Faces Parade” will blow your mind.” As Athan reclined back to settle in for hours of viewing, Beck’s live feed was abruptly interrupted by a scratchy and irritating emergency alert noise. The picture on the screen switched to the official NWP communications director, Samantha Rutledge, getting ready to read an urgent news bulletin. Athan couldn’t help but notice the hilarious contrast, going from beautiful and confident Beck Paris to this frumpy old, angry and nervous representative of the state. Fidgeting with her microphone and then looking directly into the camera with flushed face and wide bloodshot eyes, Samantha began robotically reading from her hidden teleprompter: “Breaking News...2 runaway plant workers from the Lawrenceburg glider factory have escaped three days ago and are still at large. The identities of these two men are Phen Dias age 47, and Drew Dias age 16. Both men are considered extremely dangerous and hostile. If you have seen them or know of their possible whereabouts contact your local NWP branch through the 3244 hotline. Last time they were identified they were known to be on the run in the southern Ohio and Indiana region. The Sisters have promised a large reward for their return.” Up on Athan’s wall screen was displayed two large mug shots of both men, blank faced and outfitted in their industrial uniforms. Athan gulped down half of his glass of scotch thinking to himself, “Poor saps!” -------------------------------------------- “Lacy, can I turn on your projection unit to watch the Vanity festivities? I have finished all my homework for Duenna Black and tonight the top ten ‘Fashion Selfie’ winners will be announced and taking to the runway?” Ara sheepishly looked to Lacy for confirmation. Sitting at the kitchen table hunched over a mound of financial papers, Lacy grunted a short reply back to Ara, “Go ahead, but tune into the regular stations. I do not want to see the face of that irritating vamp Beck Paris and her annoying vlog. And keep the sound down, I am trying to decipher all of this contractual legalese language.” “Do you need some help?” Ara kindly offered. Frustrated, Lacy shot back, “Don’t play that Miss Know-it-all, Vitup-in-the-making card on me. Just watch your silly show - - stupid Dowagers strutting their ugly outfits on starving skeletal bodies. If it wasn’t for the Termagant Force keeping these pitiful female parasites safe, how would such weak women, like that prima donna Beck Paris, ever make it in society? While they parade around in public we sacrifice and do all of the hard work without notice or recognition.” Lacy with a bulging neck vein turned to Ara, “You’ll see Ara. Vitups like you are left to do the dirty legal work for everyone, sitting behind big desks and making policy at large, boring board meetings while Dowagers get to play around and then primp before their cameras. Not all women are created equal!” Ara couldn’t miss the bitterness behind Lacy’s words. Did Beck hurt her somehow in the past? Was Lacy’s facial skull tattoo just a mask to hide her pain? Sitting in casual sweats, Ara sat crossed legged on a large leather couch. Chomping on a red delicious apple, she pressed a button on the remote next to her turning on the video screen. Two familiar, yet pitiful faces were splashed across the screen. Ara sat horrified. Lacy shot up out of her chair sending it crashing to the floor, “Well kiss my. . . If it isn’t my dead sister’s husband and son?” Scrolling underneath their faces was all the information Samantha Rutledge just finished reading, “2 men from the Lawrenceburg plant at large…...Phen Dias…..age 47……..Drew Dias…..age 16…….could be hostile and extremely dangerous…….anyone who knows their whereabouts contact local NWP agents at 3244………” Ara was stunned, shocked, sitting there in utter disbelief. A single hot tear slid down her right cheek, “Drew’s alive? And is that my home mentor Phen? He’s alive!” Crumbling like a broken vase, Ara morphed into the vulnerable broken and lost little girl that she knew she was. She collapsed onto a thick throw pillow unable to stop a torrent of sobs and tears. Lacy didn’t know what to do nor did she utter a word. Leaving the room to allow Ara to swallow her grief alone, the scroll bar at the bottom of the screen kept running…. ------------------------------------------ Athan was feeling the familiar and welcome warm buzz taking quick effect after downing the last splash of his third scotch. He was in a melancholy mood because Beck was scheduled to be gone for 10 days in New York covering every last detail of the Vanity extravaganza. At least he could keep tabs on her via her vlog...always with a comforting drink in hand. On the screen, day one of the Vanity festivities were well under way. Beck was already wearing a new outfit, a midnight blue form fitting dress with her blond curls falling softly off her bare shoulders. Stationed backstage at the vacuous and richly ornamented Hammerstein Ballroom, Beck was interviewing the 10 top contestants who were scurrying around getting ready to take to the runway. Each model was garbed in the line of their personal designer’s signature clothes. Beck kept reminding the viewers, “Remember, the model who gets the highest votes from both our expert fashion judges and texted-in viewer votes will not just be the Medallion winner for day one, but her chosen designer will immediately sign a lucrative year long contract to be the single outfitter of the nation's fashion malls! Talk about instant popularity! “ Athan needed another drink. While he was stumbling over to the kitchen, the flat pad that was sitting on the counter started buzzing. Athan decided to ignore it as he opened the fridge trying to decide what he wanted to eat, “Leftover baked chicken? Crusty day old taco meat? Maybe just an old-fashioned peanut-butter and grape jelly sandwich? Heck, Beck isn’t here, who cares?” As he grabbed the jar of the purple spread, his flat pad started buzzing again. “Who is calling me on Vanity holiday week? Why can't I just be left alone?” Walking over to the counter, Athan saw a name appear on the face of the small screen, it didn’t make sense, “Liam O’Malley? I thought he was dead?” Instead of answering it, he went over to the wet bar, pulled down a clean small crystal tumbler, threw in two cubes of ice, filled it halfway with some amber hued scotch, he took another drink. “Buzz, buzz, buzz.” The flat pad wouldn’t give up so easy. “Buzz, buzz, buzz.” Athan slammed down his drink splashing half of the liquid on the floor, roaring, “O.k., O.k., I get it!” Touching the green answering icon, Athan was ticked, “Who is this? And what could be so damn important?” Athan trying to restrain his irritation, leaned over the pad with two outstretched arms waiting for a response. “I’m sorry...ahhh...I was instructed to contact this number. Maybe the code word ‘Milk’ will help?”, a scratchy, out of breath voice was whispering on the other end. Athan wondered if the alcohol from the scotch was playing tricks with his senses, “Did you say ‘Milk?’ That project is highly classified, who gave you clearance…” The voice on the other end was desperate, and quickly interrupted, “My name is Phen Dias, I am on the run. Can you help me?” “Wait a minute man! Hold on! You are wanted by every official of the state; a nationwide manhunt has been issued for you and your son. If my flat pad is being monitored, I too may be on The Sister’s radar?” Athan immediately sobered up as he took the flat pad into the shower room turning on the water to muffle the background sound. "Listen Dias, I am not sure I can help you, nor do I want to. How did you know to call me?” A nervous voice answered, “It had to be Liam O'Malley... before he was executed he made me directives to escape -- his instructions had your number listed. I have been drugged by Xenon drips to be an industrial drone for the last five years, that is until he handed me two capsules, milky capsules. After I swallowed them my world turned upside down, I can think again, and now I can't go back! I won't go back! Will you help me?” Athan stood in disbelief, “Liam was executed? He was my top chemist….a genius...murdered!” This news once again stoked the fire of Athan’s ire for The Sister’s. “Wait, did you say you took two white pills? So they work?” Athan knew it, the blockers actually worked! This is the answer! Responding back in urgent but hushed tones, Athan replied, “Phen, I will do all I can to help you. In fact, I need you alive. What is your location?” In the other room displayed on the large screen Beck was placing a large metallic medallion around the neck of a tall slender dark haired Argentinian model who was waving frantically, tears flowing, to the cheering crowd; glitter and confetti was cascading down from the Ballroom’s ceiling. Athan immediately shut the live feed off, smashed his glass against the stone fireplace, and mustered a personal call-to-arms with renewed vigor, “Now I have something to live for!”
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