Mirror,
Mirror …
Joe stood
in front of the mirror and surveyed himself critically, before finally breaking
into a smile: gosh, he looked good! Behind him, reflected in the mirror, Paw
bear tilted his head from one side to the other, carefully surveying Joe, before
finally giving him a toothy grin and a gesture that looked remarkably like a
“thumbs up”. Indeed, Joe looked particularly gorgeous: tight pants showing off
a rear that had been voted winner in the “Nevada State Butt Championships”
three years running, a smooth golden chest and an unfeasibly handsome face,
surrounded by curls the Giggly Sisters just loved to run their hands through.
At this
last thought, a frown crept across his face and he shot a venomous glare
towards the hairdresser. Why on earth did the man insist on trying to brush his
hair down flat? Didn’t he realise that his curls were glorious? Especially the one that would tumble down artfully over his
forehead. Joe had developed a cunning strategy of running his hands
through his hair in the middle of scenes, just to foil the hairdresser. Another
favourite ploy was to push his hat back, ruffling his curls in the process,
thus destroying hours of firm brushing and industrial-strength hair lotion.
Stepping
back to survey the finished result, Joe buckled his belt. He’d often wondered
why none of his pants had belt loops, but Pa had just given one of his “don’t
go there, Joseph” looks. By contrast, Paw gave him an adoring look and Joe
reached into his dresser drawer and pulled out two string ties. Joe secretly
longed for a proper tie, or even a cravat, but the costume designer had claimed
these would be anachronistic and insisted that the Cartwrights wear these
blessed string ties, which were frankly rather girly and were just really satin
ribbons. After tying the second ribbon in an extravagant bow around Paw’s furry
neck, the pair went to see how the rest of the family were getting on.
Just along
the hall, Adam was also putting the finishing touches to his preparations. As
ever, he was wearing black. Unrelieved black. Even his
socks and underpants were black, which was handy, as they didn’t show the dirt.
Unfortunately, the Mercantile did not stock black handkerchiefs, saying there
wasn’t much call for them, so Adam had to content himself with black-bordered
hankies instead. The entire effect was rather funereal and was not really
helped by the habitually dour expression Adam favoured.
Looking at
himself in the mirror, Adam essayed a small smile, but cringed as his dimples
burst forward. Yes, the girls all thought his dimples were rather nice, but
they weren’t quite in fitting with his Man In Black
image. He would far prefer that people thought of him as serious minded, and
dimples just shrieked of light-heartedness. In fact, he couldn’t figure out why
Joe got the cleft painted onto his chin, and he was stuck with real dimples. It
just wasn’t fair!
In the room
across the hall, Hoss had barely glanced in his mirror as he got ready. He
figured that he was handsome enough as it was, and didn’t need to tart himself
up the way some folks did. Besides, the wardrobe department kept insisting that
he wear that dreadful brown suit, and it didn’t do anything to show off his
figure! He tied the string tie four times, but it still ended up looking
untidy, so he decided to leave it be.
Ben was
most formally dressed of the Cartwrights. He had a real weakness for his silver
brocade waistcoat, and insisted on wearing it at every occasion, appropriate or
not. He carefully knotted his tie, and wondered if he had remembered to tie his
neckerchief around the brim of his hat downstairs. It was such a good way to
keep track of it. Then he didn’t need to worry about the ends of it dripping in
his food. (He hoped Hop Sing wasn’t serving that noxious jelly-soup. Or soupy-jelly,
take your pick!) It really was strange the way that neckerchief had lengthened
over the years. However, Ben liked to see it tied round his hat brim, even if
the Giggly Sisters had implied that it looked like a ladies’ hat hanging there.
The four Cartwrights
met at the top of the stairs and admired one another in their finery. Needless
to say, each thought that he took the biscuit for sartorial elegance. There was
a rather unseemly scrum as Adam, Hoss and Joe all tried to get down the stairs
at the same time and, not for the first time, Ben cursed the inconvenience of
the staircase. It was far too narrow, and that confounded bend in the middle
meant it was a nightmare getting Joe upstairs when he’d indulged in another
unfortunate accident. Not that the back stairs were much better. In fact, they
were worse, being so elusive that they were never seen and only ever referred
to obliquely.
For once,
the Giggly Sisters had been able to commandeer the red leather chairs, which
sat in what interior designers liked to call “a conversational group” at the
bottom of the stairs. They were heartily relieved not to be sitting on the
sofa, which had all the comfort and style of an upholstered breezeblock. Even
better, this arrangement afforded them a prime view of the Cartwrights as they
thundered downstairs with all the grace and elegance of a platoon of squaddies
doing The Reel of the 51st
As ever,
Hoss was bounding with enthusiasm and his hair was all fluffy. Combined with
his round, blue eyes and guileless gaze, he looked like a very excited chicken.
Except for the unfortunate brown, homespun suit. The
girls looked at one another quizzically, remembering how Hoss had planned to
borrow one of Ben’s suits for his violin recital in Maestro Hoss. Wasn’t that
stretching the bounds of credulity just a little far? And would the suit ever
have been the same afterwards?
Adam and
Joe were both rather ruffled about the head too, which in Joe’s case only added
to his overall gorgeousness. His hair curled wildly over his head, which
increased his boyish charms. The hairdresser felt incredibly put upon and
altogether unloved. All his hard work ruined! Did anyone even care that all
that heavy-duty brushing had given him carpal tunnel syndrome?
His gaze
fell upon Adam and the poor, hard-done by coiffeurer nearly wept. That scuffle
had spelt disaster for Adam’s bonce. Instead of its customary neatness, there
was now a clear division showing between illusion and reality. Obviously, Adam
had skimped on the Toupee Toffee that morning. In the past, Adam had overcome
such diversities by tying a bandana around his head, cunningly disguising the
gap and the fans had gone wild at the effect. However, the macho look wasn’t
really appropriate for a glamorous night out.
Seeing all
chances of winning an award for his skill and prowess with a hairbrush and
scissors fly out of the window, the poor, hard done by hairdresser shuffled off
to the edge of the sound stage and had a sharp word with Continuity, who were
currently engaged in an engrossing game of Canasta. The director wondered if he
could introduce pocket mirrors into the story line. After all, they’d not only
be useful for ensuring tonsorial elegance, but they could come in handy for
signalling across long distances.
Finally,
Ben walked down the stairs, with appropriate gravitas, as befitting the
Patriarch of the Ponderosa. His silvery hair was only slightly dishevelled,
which gave him the appearance of a wise and kindly snowy owl. He looked at the girls
and wondered how it was that they had managed to get dressed and ready before
all the men, given the accepted wisdom that women took twice as long to dress
as men.
There
again, he thought, as he looked at them with horror, they didn’t have much in the
way of clothes on! Could they really be ready? And if not, why were they
sitting in his great room wearing only their underwear, and no dressing gowns,
scary maroon silk or otherwise? He opened his mouth to make a comment, but Joe
had beaten him to it.
“You look
gorgeous!” he exclaimed. Paw bear nodded vigorously. The girls, as always were
stunningly beautiful, their make-up perfect, and their floor length, strapless
satin evening gowns the epitome of chic.
“You look
lovely yourself,” they said, and mussed his hair ever so slightly. They did so
love that curl that fell over his forehead. “What’s the occasion?” the redhead
asked Ben.
“It’s the
Annual General Meeting of the Cattleman’s Association,” he replied. The sisters
exchanged knowing looks: obviously a euphemism for cheap whisky and scantily
clad females. In fact, not unlike a Burns Supper, but lighter
on the sheep’s entrails.
Adam
noticed that each girl wore a tartan silk sash across a comely shoulder. He’d
always hankered after a kilt, but skilled weavers were sadly lacking in the
environs of
Ben looked
at the grandfather clock, before realising that it had stopped once again. He
wondered why it was given houseroom, for it was a hideously ugly monstrosity,
which was almost always told the wrong time. It was precisely because of this
horological defect that he had stuck the deuced thing beside the front door,
where he didn’t have to look at it too often. Nevertheless, it was disturbing
to notice how many fanfic writers included it in their stories.
The blonde
and the redhead wriggled slightly in eager anticipation. This would be the
ideal opportunity to put their little business-plan into operation. How clever
of Nicki to suggest an international import/export business! Several muscly
Scots in kilts were wrapped ready for shipping to
Hoss eyed
up Paw suspiciously, the bear had successfully fought him for the last roast
potato at dinnertime and he was still smarting at the defeat.
“Why is
that bear wearing a bow?” he asked finally.
Joe smiled
enigmatically, his wonderful eyes still somewhere between green, hazel and
emerald. How he wished those fanfic writers would make their minds up! It had
got to the stage where he was seriously considering putting “elusive” in the
bit on the passport application form that requested details of eye colour.
However, the blonde had explained that most government officials were not known
for their sense of humour. He looked at the small bear, bedecked in his ribbon
and smiled happily. “Because we couldn’t find his sporran!” he laughed, and led
the girls out of the house and into the waiting buggy.
Hoss and
Adam exchanged perplexed looks, but Ben merely smiled.
“Boys, we
live in a house where the bedrooms are constantly moving around and where
long-lost relatives appear one day and then are never heard of again. Why
should these girls be any different? They won’t be around for ever – just mark my words! And there is one other thing – remember that
no matter how bad things seem, there’s always a satisfactory conclusion at the
end of the hour!”
The blonde
and the redhead exchanged knowing looks: they planned to be the exception that
proved the rule
The End
Giggly
Sisters Productions
March
2003