David James Parr
Mata Hari (from VIOLET PEAKS)
At the Halloween party itself, a large congregation in a huge, empty rehearsal space normally used for dance classes, Violet's Mata Hari did not stand out despite the glittery silver sparkle of her beaded top. It did not have the instant comic effect of the two men dressed as nuns, nor the dramatic flair of the Marie Antoinette with her meticulously powdered face and mile high wig. In addition to the nuns and Marie, there were the usual assorted sexy cowboys, sexy witches and sexy lycra-fitted superheroes.
Angel turned his head briefly, following Violet's gaze, then focused his attention back on her. His eyes, which had been initially sleepy and seductive, now seemed wider and more intense. He licked the bottom rim of his upper lip before he spoke again. “I love your costume, by the way. Cleopatra?”
“Mata Hari,” Violet answered, a bit snappishly. That was the second Cleopatra she had gotten. Maybe she had overdone it on the eye shadow.
“So if I kiss you,” he said, leaning toward her just a little, “I might die.”
Violet looked over at Tobey again. The apple of her eye, the sword in her side. He was putting the chest piece of the borrowed stethoscope onto a Little Bo Peep’s ample cleavage.
“I doubt it,” she said.