weather,” Mavis was saying, “our own Duff Stevens will be along later in the broadcast. But,” she added, now all smiles, “despite the rain, the stars were out tonight downtown. Here’s KINETV’s entertainment editor, Byron Myron, with more on that big event.”
Byron Myron was a jolly-looking black man whose appearance belied a rapierlike tongue. He was shown outside the movie theater holding an umbrella.
“ The Gasman arrived here this evening,” Byron said, “and blew out the main line.” The camera traveled to the glittering marquee, followed by clips of the celebrity arrivals. “Bruno Zepf’s four-hour, hundred-million-dollar extravaganza proved that money can’t buy you love—or a good movie.”
“There’s Angela in her Gone With the Wind costume,” Renie whispered as the female lead was shown entering the theater.
“How can you tell?” Arlene whispered back. “She’s wearing a mask.”
“I saw the costume here,” Renie said. “In fact, somebody ripped—”
Judith waved a hand to shush the other women.
“…story which was based on an obscure novel of the same name,” Byron Myron was saying, “doesn’t merit four minutes, let alone four hours. As for the acting, the performers are in the unenviable position of creating several different characters during the various historical periods Zepf has chosen to make his statement about humanity’s progress over four millennia. Or was it five? I’m not sure. The movie seemed to take almost that long. This is Byron Myron, reporting from—”
Judith switched off the set. “Goodness. That doesn’t sound so good for Bruno.”
“Maybe,” Renie suggested, “Byron Myron feels he ought to trash the movie because it was filmed on location around here and the city hosted the premiere. He may feel that if he praised it, he’d sound like a homer.”
“Maybe,” Judith allowed, then started turning on ovens and putting dishes on to heat. “The Zepf gang will be back here in a little over half an hour. We should get into our costumes. So should the husbands.”
As the three women changed in the third-floor bedroom, they could hear the wind begin to pick up in the trees outside. The rain was coming down harder, too, spattering the windows and running out of the down-spouts.
Judith stared at herself in the mirror. She looked more like a noble Roman lady than a humble slave. The off-white gown was held on one shoulder by a brooch that had belonged to Grandma Grover. An old drapery cord served for the belt, and the scarf that hung from her head was anchored by an ivory comb that was a castoff from Auntie Vance.
“Gee, coz,” Renie said, “you look pretty hot.”
Judith had to admit that the long, graceful gown suited her statuesque figure. “Thanks,” she said. “I wish I could say the same for you.”
Renie tucked the head of her Daisy Duck costume under her arm. “I thought my tail feathers were kind of sexy.”
“Not as sexy as your big webbed feet,” Judith said, then turned to Arlene, who looked somewhat more enchanting as Gretel, complete with long golden braids anda gingerbread cookie embroidered on her apron. “How does Carl feel about wearing Hansel’s lederhosen?”
“He loves it,” Arlene declared as a knock could be heard on the door.
“We’re decent,” Judith called out.
Carl stuck his head in. “I hate lederhosen. Why couldn’t I wear pants?”
“There’s nothing wrong with your legs, Carl,” Arlene retorted. “Just don’t walk like you’re knock-kneed. And don’t forget your hat with the feather.”
The women joined the men, who had been changing in Joe’s den. Judith thought Carl looked cute in his Hansel outfit. With his round face and ruddy cheeks, Joe made a presentable, if aging, choirboy. And Bill certainly looked like Donald Duck. He couldn’t appear otherwise, since he had his head in place along with the rest of his costume.
“Quack, quack,” said Bill.
“Yes, you look
Byron Myron was a jolly-looking black man whose appearance belied a rapierlike tongue. He was shown outside the movie theater holding an umbrella.
“ The Gasman arrived here this evening,” Byron said, “and blew out the main line.” The camera traveled to the glittering marquee, followed by clips of the celebrity arrivals. “Bruno Zepf’s four-hour, hundred-million-dollar extravaganza proved that money can’t buy you love—or a good movie.”
“There’s Angela in her Gone With the Wind costume,” Renie whispered as the female lead was shown entering the theater.
“How can you tell?” Arlene whispered back. “She’s wearing a mask.”
“I saw the costume here,” Renie said. “In fact, somebody ripped—”
Judith waved a hand to shush the other women.
“…story which was based on an obscure novel of the same name,” Byron Myron was saying, “doesn’t merit four minutes, let alone four hours. As for the acting, the performers are in the unenviable position of creating several different characters during the various historical periods Zepf has chosen to make his statement about humanity’s progress over four millennia. Or was it five? I’m not sure. The movie seemed to take almost that long. This is Byron Myron, reporting from—”
Judith switched off the set. “Goodness. That doesn’t sound so good for Bruno.”
“Maybe,” Renie suggested, “Byron Myron feels he ought to trash the movie because it was filmed on location around here and the city hosted the premiere. He may feel that if he praised it, he’d sound like a homer.”
“Maybe,” Judith allowed, then started turning on ovens and putting dishes on to heat. “The Zepf gang will be back here in a little over half an hour. We should get into our costumes. So should the husbands.”
As the three women changed in the third-floor bedroom, they could hear the wind begin to pick up in the trees outside. The rain was coming down harder, too, spattering the windows and running out of the down-spouts.
Judith stared at herself in the mirror. She looked more like a noble Roman lady than a humble slave. The off-white gown was held on one shoulder by a brooch that had belonged to Grandma Grover. An old drapery cord served for the belt, and the scarf that hung from her head was anchored by an ivory comb that was a castoff from Auntie Vance.
“Gee, coz,” Renie said, “you look pretty hot.”
Judith had to admit that the long, graceful gown suited her statuesque figure. “Thanks,” she said. “I wish I could say the same for you.”
Renie tucked the head of her Daisy Duck costume under her arm. “I thought my tail feathers were kind of sexy.”
“Not as sexy as your big webbed feet,” Judith said, then turned to Arlene, who looked somewhat more enchanting as Gretel, complete with long golden braids anda gingerbread cookie embroidered on her apron. “How does Carl feel about wearing Hansel’s lederhosen?”
“He loves it,” Arlene declared as a knock could be heard on the door.
“We’re decent,” Judith called out.
Carl stuck his head in. “I hate lederhosen. Why couldn’t I wear pants?”
“There’s nothing wrong with your legs, Carl,” Arlene retorted. “Just don’t walk like you’re knock-kneed. And don’t forget your hat with the feather.”
The women joined the men, who had been changing in Joe’s den. Judith thought Carl looked cute in his Hansel outfit. With his round face and ruddy cheeks, Joe made a presentable, if aging, choirboy. And Bill certainly looked like Donald Duck. He couldn’t appear otherwise, since he had his head in place along with the rest of his costume.
“Quack, quack,” said Bill.
“Yes, you look
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