Page 124 of Faking the Pass
It was heavy. The address label featured both mine and Rosie’s names, but I didn’t recognize the sender’s name or address.
“Rosie,” I called out. “Someone’s apparently sent us a boulder as a wedding gift. Either that or… did you order a baby grand?”
She came in from the deck and eyed the huge box.
“That must be my costume,” she said. “I have to attend the Cosmo Gala at the Cosmopolitan Museum of Art. It’s required in my contract forOnce Upon a Charm.”
“In New York? When is it?”
“Monday.”
“This Monday? That’s only a few days from now. When were you planning to tell me about this?”
“I didn’t want to bother you with it,” she said. “Besides, you have work. I didn’t think you’d want to go.”
“We have Mondays off. And I don’t necessarily have to be there early on Tuesday. It’s a fundraising thing for the arts, right? Why would you think I wouldn’t want to go with you?”
Rosie blinked, looking like she was at a loss.
“Have you ever seen photos from the Cosmo Gala?Everyonewears costumes. Wild ones. The theme this year is fairytales and fantasy.”
“So? I like costume parties,” I told her.
“You’re not going to like this one,” she said dourly. “Since I’m attending it to promote the movie, I have to wear a Cinderella costume. Couples usually dress to match.”
“Are you telling me there’s a fairy godmother dress in there for me?” I joked.
Rosie didn’t laugh. Instead she winced.
“No, but there’s no Prince Charming costume for you either.”
She hesitated before continuing. “Randy’s planning to dress as the prince—because of the movie, you know.”
“Randy will be there?”
Now I wasdefinitelygoing.
“Yes. I won’t be sitting with him at the dinner, but we have to take some pictures together on the red carpet,” Rosie said. “Thereisa costume in there for you, but if it’s what Randy said he was sending in his email, you’re not going to want to wear it.”
“Open it up and let’s see.”
Rosie took a box cutter from the drawer and carefully cut the tape and opened the box flaps.
The sparkly blue ball gown was on top. She pulled it out, and then I saw what she was talking about.
“What. the. fuck. isthat?” I asked.
There was an enormous white mouse head in the box.
Not a mask—lots of people wore small masks to the outlandish high fashion event. This was an entire head-covering like people wore on that crazy masked singer show.
It was ugly as hell.
“It’s a footman costume,” she said, wrinkling her nose at the sight of the hideous head.
“You remember the fairy tale? The fairy godmother turns some white mice into a coach driver and footmen?”
“Yeah, I remember.” I picked up the head, which must have weighed forty pounds.
