Von Bricklebrow House Fancy Dress Party

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“It will be the biggest buffet you’ve ever seen,” the Captain waved his hand across the dining table in a sweeping motion. A little melted butter dripped from his mustache onto the serviette tucked into his collar. “We will all come dressed as our favourite foods, you see. And, Queenie,” he addressed his beloved cook, “I’ll hire a caterer so you won’t need to fret. You can just join in and enjoy the party.” He winked at her. “What does everyone think?” He looked around his round dining table. 
The others seated with him at the table were his three gardening assistants, the farmer, the botanist, and the horticulturist, Queenie the cook, and Theresa, a young woman who was the assistant to his Newfoundland dog, Radish. The latter currently residing under the table, awaiting any fallen scraps. 

“Sounds like fun,” Theresa said. 
“Yes,”
“Yes,”
“Yes,” said the farmer, botanist, and horticulturalist. 
“Sounds splendid,” Queenie added, sounding enthusiastic. 
“Splendid indeed!” The Captain clapped his hands. “Theresa, do you think Radish would mind if employed you to help with the planning of this party?”
Theresa paused a moment to think. No, of course she didn’t think the dog would mind. Who ever heard of a dog having an assistant, anyway? The Captain was extremely rich, and very eccentric, and Theresa knew this about her jovial employer. She bent down under the table to consult the dog. 
“Radish,” she spoke to him in the tone she would use for any other work superior, “would you mind if I helped the Captain plan the party?” She waited a moment. Radish rolled his eyes at her and lifted his head. She took this as a yes. 
“He says it’s fine with him, just as long as he still gets his walks, and treats, and daily brushing,” Theresa embellished. 
“Perfect, perfect,” the Captain clapped his hands. “This will be the perfect moment to unveil our newest vegetable hybrid. The nutritious, delicious, Brockstard!”

Broccoli and mustard greens… of course. 

Theresa took charge of the Captain’s copious lists. She ordered linens, candelabras, waiters, cooks, caterers, cleaners, florists, musicians, valets, and more. She interviewed seamstresses and tailors to find the best person to create fancy dress costumes for the household, including Radish. It was decided he would wear a crown of broccoli florets. 

Invitations were selected and printed. The guest list was finalized and the stamps licked. The party was really starting to take shape. 

Theresa and Queenie met with a costumier. Theresa decided she’d look good as a carrot. Her long limbs suit the general shape of the root vegetable well. Queenie, on the other hand, seemed unsure of her costume choice. 

“Everything alright,” Theresa watched Queenie’s reflection in the mirror as the woman fussed with the frill on her peplum. 

“I suppose so,” Queenie replied with a huff. Theresa turned to face her friend. 

“Is something wrong?” Theresa asked. 

“It’s just that, I wanted to look,” Queenie pouted a little as she searched for the word, “extra, good, at the party. I wanted to look, beautiful. I don’t know if a pile of profiteroles is beautiful, exactly.”

“You always look great, Queenie, you have nothing to worry about,” Theresa responded, trying to give Queenie a bit of cheer. 

“Thank you, but, I wanted to look noticeably different,” Queenie sighed and removed the hat of styrofoam corque en bouche from her curly head. 

“Okay,” Theresa proceeded with caution, sensing something more than just wanting to have a good costume for the party was a foot. “Do you mean you want to have someone in particular notice you?”

“Is it that obvious,” Queenie flopped down into a puffy hassak nearby. Her tanned skin was actually glowing when set in contrast to the pale pinks and yellows the costumier had used to create the bodice of her costume. It was rather striking, actually. Queenie sighed again, “I was hoping that the Captain might notice me.” Queenie looked up at Theresa, her face a little flushed. 

“Oh,” Theresa replied. “I hadn’t realized,” she trailed off. 

“I don’t suppose he has either,” Queenie responded, a bit dejected. 

Theresa sat next to Queenie, placing the croque-en-bouche crown back atop the older woman’s head. “If I could be totally frank with you, I’m not altogether sure the Captain notices much of anything.” Queenie laughed at this, realizing Theresa was correct. “You look lovely in this costume and, I bet if you just went up to the Captain at the party and told him you’d like to dance and dance, he would be mesmerized by your beauteous choux pastry outside, and even more dazzled by the wonderful woman inside.”

“I should just tell him how I feel? Do you think it’s that simple?” Queenie questioned, coming around to the notion. 

“I really do!” Theresa replied. 

“Alright, I’ll do it!”

***

The night of the fancy dress party arrived. The house was bedecked with more sparkling fruit and vegetable ornaments than one would think is possible. The guests gathered in the ballroom , where the band played and table upon table of delectable platters of every cruciferous creation a group of caterers could concoct. 

When all the guests were in attendance,  the Captain made his grand entrance. He marched into the centre of the room, clinking a spoon on a crystal champagne glass as he went. Radish trotted beside him, resplendent in his broccoli crown. The Captain wore a toga made of cabbage leaves, his head festooned with a traditional Grecian Laurel headpiece. The room fell into a hush, the Captain began his speech. 

“Wonderful friends and guests, I’m so pleased to have you here to celebrate my latest vegetable creation, Brockstard!” The crowd applauded. The Captain continued, “with the help of my team,” he gestured to the farmer, the horticulturist, and the botanist, standing together, dressed as stalks of celery, “we have developed a new delicacy for vegetable lovers, everywhere.” As his owner spoke, Radish spotted a couple doggy friends of his. He trotted over to greet Imogene, a springer spaniel, and Hammer, a black Sheppard. Together they went off. Theresa saw them go, but didn’t follow, as not to disrupt the Captain’s speech. She was sure there wasn’t anything they could get into, anyway. 

The Captain ended his speech with rousing, “let’s party!”  The band kicked in and the party began in earnest. The dance floor looked like a produce section gone wild. 

Theresa found herself snacking and drinking and tapping her toes to the rhythm of the music. The farmer, the botanist, and the horticulturist, each asked her to dance, in turn. None of them laughed at her joke about her - a carrot, and them - celery, needing some blue cheese and chicken wings, to complete the scene. While dancing with one of the celeries, Theresa spotted Queenie talking with the Captain. Then, she led him to the dance floor. It would come to pass that they’d dance together most of the evening and, when Queenie had heard enough of methods of hybridizing the descendants of the mustard, she planted a passionate kiss on the Captain, nearly knocking off her pastry hat. The Captain’s eyes would widen in surprise, and then, he’d wrap his arms around his beloved cook and kiss her right back. It was truly a magical night. 

Everyone had fun, the band couldn’t be topped, and the food was delicious. Drinks were flowing and the room just buzzed with the electricity that is generated by a room full of people having a good time. 

Radish, Imogene, and Hammer chose this moment to return to the ballroom. As he’d done, many times before, (and how Theresa would assume he wouldn’t try to do today is really baffling) Radish placed a drool soaked rabbit, stolen from the “top secret vegetable scrap destruction hutch” onto the buffet table. Imogene and Hammer copied their friend, placing two more rabbits among the dishes. At first, no one noticed, but, when one of the rabbits made a leap onto a woman-dressed-as-a-tomato’s plate, causing her to release a shrill of surprise, and drop her plate, which shattered at an alarming volume on the parquet floor, chaos was untethered into the room. The rabbit took off, and was chased by Imogene, who didn’t want to hurt it, but loved a good hunt. She barked and scrambled around the guests, who squealed, not understanding what type of rodent was scurrying at top speed around their feet. The other two rabbits also did a runner, going in two more directions. Imogene was spun in circles trying to choose which one to chase. 

In the hullabaloo, Radish and Hammer took down the remaining meats on the carving station. This included half a roasted turkey, a thinly sliced duck, and the rump end of a prime rib. The chef attending the station began to yell. Theresa, who was enjoying a quiet moment with a plate of crab puffs, out on the balcony, came back in to see the frackkus unfolding. “Not again,” she sighed to herself. Radish really was the sneakiest dog, when he wanted something. And, now he’d recruited two helpers. Theresa marched over to one of the rabbits, scooping it up. Then, she grabbed another. She held both in one arm, while she rang out in a Champagne flute. The crowd settled and she said, “would Imogene’s owner please restrain her. And, Hammer’s family, you’ll find him with the mastermind of this chaos, Radish, over by the carving station. If someone would grab the final rabbit, we can all go back to the party.” 

A chef dove beneath one of the white linen covered buffet tables, snatching up the rabbit. He placed it into Theresa’s free hand. “Thank you,” she said to him. “You’re most welcome, rabbit master, Ms. Carrot,” he smirked while tipping his tall white hat. She rolled her eyes in response. 

She deposited the rabbit into the other arm, with the two already there, she grabbed Radish by his collar, admonishing him for his behaviour. Radish did not care to acknowledge any of the heinous accusations. 

The band started up again, and the crowd quickly returned to the revelry. 

The Captain and Queenie broke their kiss with the sound of the band returning, being none the wiser of any bunny business that had just gone down.