The Misses Foo & Cockerill

Costumes and Disguises

Miss Foo had gone to the ball early. She had backed the mail truck up to the house and filled it with enormous bags. "What's in those?" Miss Cockerill asked.

"None of your business," Miss Foo replied and hit her with her walking stick.

Though it hurt, Miss Cockerill didn't want to cry and ruin her makeup. "Why did you do that, Foo?" she asked, with big, wet eyes.

"Oh just shut up already," Miss Foo responded.

Miss Cockerill didn't say anything after that, but simply watched Miss Foo load the bags into the truck. The last bag squirmed a little, but Miss Cockerill kept her mouth shut.

Instead she thought about the ball. Soon she forgot all about the mail truck and the squirmy bag and Miss Foo. Excitement grew in Miss Cockerill until she could barely contain herself. She took off her tiara and shined it on her dress, then put it back on her head. A few moments later she took it off and shined it again. She didn't know what Miss Foo was up to, and she didn't care anymore: it was almost time for the ball.

Miss Cockerill didn't want to arrive at the ball in the mail truck but when Miss Foo told her she could walk, she quietly hopped up into the passenger seat and they puttered across town. When they arrived at town hall, where the ball would be held, the guests were just beginning to arrive.

"Perfect," said Miss Foo to herself as she pulled the truck into a service entrance. A waiter hurried by with a serving platter and Miss Foo grabbed him by the arm.

"You!" she said, "Didn't you get the message?"

The waiter looked around nervously.

"The boss wants all this junk on the rooftop," Miss Foo lied.

The waiter looked confused but didn't say anything.

"Said to stop whatever else we were doing until this was done, got it?" The waiter still hadn't moved. "You don't want to lose your job do you? Go get the rest of the waiters. NOW!" Miss Foo shouted and waved her walking stick over head.

The waiter dropped the serving platter and sprang away like he had been stung by a bee.

"You go ahead and wait inside," Miss Foo told Miss Cockerill, who was hopping back and forth on her feet like a little girl who had to go to the bathroom.

"Do you think Phil's already here?" she asked.

Miss Foo snorted but Miss Cockerill was already hurrying up the stairs into the ball and she didn't hear.

Bag by bag the waiters carried Miss Foo's scheme in the entrance of town hall, through the ball, up a flight of stairs, and out onto a rooftop terrace. Under Miss Foo's direction and the occasional motivational knock with her walking stick, they had moved every last bag before the sun had set.

"What is all this?" a blond waiter asked to another as they struggled under the squirmy bag.

"Beats me," the other one said. "But we're not here to ask questions."

Miss Foo grinned. Then she sent them all away and told them not to go up there again that night. She waved her walking stick menacingly and they all scurried quickly away. 

Night came and went before Miss Foo let Eli rest. They had spent the long, dark hours scavenging through the house, ripping old, useless things from walls and heaping them into a great pile in the hallway.