The Party Scene Fundraiser

Slipping off her high heels, Karen stared at the lifeless guy's body, knocked out, not even registering a pulse. Bedtime rituals commencing, the curly blonde, reflected upon the long social obligation she staged. Using the bureau mirror, the rising modern woman, wondered where the script was headed.

“How dare Madame Manhegotme manipulate my event message around,” the middle aged photogenic collegiate resemblance complained, “I hired the icon legend to host, provide catering and look what happened, stereotypical corporate frustration, obsessed with the bottom line.”

Quietly, finding peace under the covers, Karen acknowledged her committed partner one more time, “you didn’t hear one thing I said.” Realizing a peep, did not squeak; the entrepreneur philanthropist closed her eyes.

Falling into the nightly sedative experience, Karen watched; her jewelry occupied fingers receive a friendly handshake.

“Wendy,” Karen paused, “Samantha, how could I ever thank you.”

“More than happy to assist you in raising funds for disadvantaged children,” Samantha, a gypsy daughter, positively responded.

“We will have the Crystal Mansion, ready for the occasion,” Wendy, another wandering character ensured, monitoring the new customer’s departure, “it will be an enchanting experience.”

“This is going to be great,” Karen, flipped her keys, stepping into the prestigious sports coupe, daddy purchased.

When the coast cleared, Wendy paged Samantha, “did you call Kid Casting?”

“On it,” Samantha confirmed.

After experiencing an unconscious restful darkness moment, distorting actual time, a scene appeared featuring her perfectly designed dresses highlighting Karen’s enthusiastic attitude. Approaching the door, Karen followed directions, knocking three times revealing the proprietor Madame Manhegotme.

“Karen, welcome,” Madame Manhegotme greeted, "we have carton boxes filled with pizzas, ice cream, fresh whip cream, and the children are starving.”

“Children?”

“Disadvantaged youth, you are raising money for,” Madame Manhegotme acknowledged opening the door wider, “enter.”

Occupying the hallway, kitchen and studio style rooms youngsters with many different characteristics, strategically idled, “they will make your friends open up their checkbook, I am sure,” Madame Manhegotme mentioned, as Karen casually expressed hello sentiments, throughout the growing audience.

As her personalized rolodex list arrived and paraded through the function’s corridors, quipping her lip, Karen hoped the engagement would be favorably accepted, earning numerous donations.

Suddenly, Karen heard, Wendy’s voice over a bullhorn, “People Are Kids Two, Scene three take one, action,”

As the command rendered, youthful exuberance exploded, turning professional credible considered performers into juvenile delinquents, instigating an improvised food fight. As the breaded crusts flew, the welcome guests distanced themselves from the evening activity by subtly disappearing, “we will be in touch,” some stated exiting.

“Cut and print,” Wendy declared, “great job. Now it's time for dessert.”

Hearing screams and yelling, Karen’s knees wobbled as she stumbled towards the couch. Lying down, her shocked presence made Samantha laugh, comfortably chair sitting, “tell me Karen, have you ever seen the movie, ‘The Children’,”

“People Are Kids Two, Scene three, take one, action,” sounded, off in the distance, and the hired minor contingent accepted creamy marching orders as a duty call.

“What is this?”

“Why, its fluffy stuff,” Samantha answered, “and when the cosmetic make up is applied, well,”

Next few minutes featured young sculptures molding festive toppings, all over Karen’s face and arms.

“Well, you know what happens after birthing scene?” Samantha asked.

“Cut and print,” Wendy’s command repeated, encouraging the grammer school extras, ‘disperse’.

“What does it do?”

You look, the parent part,” smiled Samantha, hearing Karen shriek.

“Where am I!”

A nose door wedge answered, “At the sorority house, silly, Karen your paper on Juvenile Delinquents getting uplifting experiences can turn them around, is complete.”

“What,”

“Albert Eye Stein wrote it after you pressed the computer’s buttons and printed it downstairs,”

“Who is Albert Eye Stein?”

“AI,” Her sister clarified, “your fantasy main squeeze.”

“What about last night’s fundraiser at the Crystal Mansion?”

“We spent the evening writing papers until dawn, Karen,” the sister laughed, “not actually doing the charity appearances.”

Flaunting jeans and fashionable sweater attire, the upperclassman hustled towards the house’s business office, where two girls holding textbooks guarded the printer.

“Wendy? Samantha?”

“Interesting topic,” Wendy commentated, “how much library research?”

“None,” Karen stopped, “it's based on a dream I had.”