"Va-va-va-voom!", says the Prince.

"I object!", cries Lady MacBeth.

"Eat your heart out," says Cindy, a wicked little smile tugging at her mouth.

"But, but ... but it's not fair!", the Lady cries.

"What's not fair?"

"Well, look at you! You have the shoulders and back of a 20-year old!", Lady MacBeth says. "My shoulders don't look that good and I'm half your age!"

"Would you like me to loan you one to cry on?"

"Let's take those shoulders out on the dance floor," the Prince says.

With that he sweeps Cindy away. The band is playing a Brook Benton song from the '50s, "It's Just A Matter of Time." They move together easily, seamlessly, as if they have been dancing to this song all their lives. The singer wails. Cindy wails. The Prince wails right along with her. They sing to each other, a couple of alley cats on a fence. Cindy discovers the elastic in her slip is shot.

Several tunes later the announcement is made that dinner is served. Cindy and the Prince take a quick smoke break and move to their places at table. Heaping, steaming platters of culinary delight appear before them. The aroma of marinara sauce wafts through their noses. Salads, pastas, marinated chicken breasts, some kind of fancy green beans, lasagna, garlic bread, you name it.

The white zinfandel is flowing. The Prince makes it his mission in life to keep Cindy's glass full. He is good at it.

The King and Queen appear before the now-stuffed throng who are busily burping, tugging at their cummerbunds and loosening their belts. The royal personages bestow blessings upon their subjects in the form of door prizes. Sir Mahvy of the Two-Turkey Throwdown is the big winner of the evening, walking away with three treasures, one of which is a Nikon camera. Not bad.

Meantime, Lady MacBeth is still not able to come to grips with the revelation of Cindy's gorgeous shoulders. She looks at Cindy again and again, as if to reassure herself that it is really she, Cindy the Rella, who stands before her in that dynamite black dress. Aphrodite would be thrilled to have those shoulders. Her daddy would fall in love with those shoulders. And here Cindy had been hidin' 'em all this time!

Well! The things you learn about your best friends.

The King and Queen finish bestowing gifts and the music resumes. Cindy and the Prince dazzle the crowd with their fancy footwork. They drink gallons of white zinfandel. Smoke packs of cigarettes. Lady MacBeth, quintessential secret agent and one of the organizers of the ball, has arranged for Cindy and the Prince to sit at the Knights' Table, which is strategically placed within footsteps of the side door where all the smokers hang like a bunch of blues musicians on break. A path slowly wears in the tile floor on a direct line between the Knights' Table and the outdoors.

The band is butchering Patsy Cline and Willie Nelson. The Prince appears at Cindy's side. He offers her a glass of white wine.

"They're out of zinfandel," he says.

Cindy takes a sip of the white. So does the Prince. They look at one another.

"Whaddayasay we take those gorgeous shoulders of yours to the Outpost? I hear there's a blues band playing down there tonight."

The Outpost? How fortuitous.

Cindy smiles. "Let's blast."

They slip out the back as if to smoke a cigarette.

.... continued here