Predator, Prey

The remote control anaconda and mouse set arrived right on time: the morning of my friend Lora Grey’s kid’s birthday party.

We’d known each other a long time. In fact, we met at fashion design school and had remained friends ever since. Back then, we tried to design everything. As the years went on, our interests narrowed. I did stilettos, whereas Lora focused on feathered neckwear. A real boa constructor, you might say.

En route to the party, I stopped because I had an appointment to get my oil changed. Andrei, my Transylvanian mechanic, told me, “Suzhen, your car is in fine shape, but I vant to tell you I noticed some minor issues. For example, you vill vant to replace your left vindshield viper very soon.”

I should mention: Lora’s boas were getting to be a big deal. She’d recently signed on with a major retailer, and now she lived in a huge house and had multiple people on staff to do yard work: a gardener for flowers, a dedicated lawn care specialist for the grass, and a bushmaster for shaping shrubs.

Two people from fashion school were among the other guests. There was Coral, who designed upscale garter belts. And then there was Collett, though I avoided her. She could be so cynical. It had to do with the commercial failure of what had been her senior thesis: an attachment for brassieres that provided additional support called the co-bra. A silly design, but Collett refused to acknowledge it, choosing instead to blame the fashion industry as a whole for her lack of success.

I settled into a seat next to Coral. “What’d you bring for the birthday boy?” I asked.

“Well, we thought of getting him a calculator,” Coral said, “but he’s only five, so we wanted to keep it simple enough for him to understand. Luckily, they make a super pared-down version that doesn’t do subtraction, multiplication, or division.”

“So it’s just an adder?” I said.

“Exactly,” Coral said. “Maybe it’s too boring, but at least it’s vaguely age-appropriate.” She leaned in and whispered, “I’m pretty sure Collett got him a rattle.”

“Any plans for the rest of the weekend?” I said.

Coral’s husband, Jack, who led tours of the Arkansas River–we all called him River Jack–said, “I keep telling Cora we should take a day trip down south of the border. After all, Mexico’s less than three hours away!”

I cleared my throat to challenge this notion, given that we lived in Tulsa, but Coral took my arm and led me across the room. “I need to tell you something. Jack’s developed a condition. He’s become Texas-blind. He just can’t see it on a map anymore, refuses to acknowledge it even exists. We’re working with a team of doctors, but we’ve seen no progress.”

Before I could express my concern, Lora’s husband, Borneo, tapped me on the shoulder and asked to borrow me a minute. “You’re so good with creative things,” he said, “so I was wondering if you could asp for your help?” He paused then to massage his jaw. “Sorry, I had some minor dental surgery this morning, and the sedative has mostly lifted, but still affects certain pronunciations if I’m not careful. Ask. I wanted to ask for your help.”

“What do you need?”

“Some naming assistance,” he explained. “You see, at my non-profit, we’re doing a charity thing. Raising money. Like a telethon. But people won’t call in. They’ll send their messages baked into crusted desserts. What would I call something like that?”

“How about,” I said, “a pie-thon?”

Borneo was satisfied with this. I went to go talk to Coral again, but it was time for opening presents so I didn’t get to ask her anymore about Jack’s condition. The anaconda and mouse toy was a big hit, especially coming as it did after the adder, the rattle, a strange black-banded trinket, and an Asian pipe.

“I love it!” said Perrotet-Shield-Tail. That was Lora’s son. I could see why Borneo needed my help naming things!