Mirror, Mirror...
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Joe stood in front of the mirror and surveyed himself critically, before finally
breaking into a smile: gosh, he looked good! Behind him, reflected in the
mirror, Paw bear tilted his head from one side to the other, carefully surveying
Joe, before finally giving him a toothy grin and a gesture that looked
remarkably like a “thumbs up”. Indeed, Joe looked particularly gorgeous: tight
pants showing off a rear that had been voted winner in the “Nevada State Butt
Championships” three years running, a smooth golden chest and an unfeasibly
handsome face, surrounded by curls the Giggly Sisters just loved to run their
hands through.
At this last thought, a frown crept across his face and he shot a venomous glare
towards the hairdresser. Why on earth did the man insist on trying to brush his
hair down flat? Didn’t he realise that his curls were glorious? Especially the
one that would tumble down artfully over his forehead. Joe had developed a
cunning strategy of running his hands through his hair in the middle of scenes,
just to foil the hairdresser. Another favourite ploy was to push his hat back,
ruffling his curls in the process, thus destroying hours of firm brushing and
industrial-strength hair lotion.
Stepping back to survey the finished result, Joe buckled his belt. He’d often
wondered why none of his pants had belt loops, but Pa had just given one of his
“don’t go there, Joseph” looks. By contrast, Paw gave him an adoring look and
Joe reached into his dresser drawer and pulled out two string ties. Joe secretly
longed for a proper tie, or even a cravat, but the costume designer had claimed
these would be anachronistic and insisted that the Cartwrights wear these
blessed string ties, which were frankly rather girly and were just really satin
ribbons. After tying the second ribbon in an extravagant bow around Paw’s furry
neck, the pair went to see how the rest of the family were getting on.
Just along the hall, Adam was also putting the finishing touches to his
preparations. As ever, he was wearing black. Unrelieved black. Even his socks
and underpants were black, which was handy, as they didn’t show the dirt.
Unfortunately, the Mercantile did not stock black handkerchiefs, saying there
wasn’t much call for them, so Adam had to content himself with black-bordered
hankies instead. The entire effect was rather funereal and was not really helped
by the habitually dour expression Adam favoured.
Looking at himself in the mirror, Adam essayed a small smile, but cringed as his
dimples burst forward. Yes, the girls all thought his dimples were rather nice,
but they weren’t quite in fitting with his Man In Black image. He would far
prefer that people thought of him as serious minded, and dimples just shrieked
of light-heartedness. In fact, he couldn’t figure out why Joe got the cleft
painted onto his chin, and he was stuck with real dimples. It just wasn’t fair!
In the room across the hall, Hoss had barely glanced in his mirror as he got
ready. He figured that he was handsome enough as it was, and didn’t need to tart
himself up the way some folks did. Besides, the wardrobe department kept
insisting that he wear that dreadful brown suit, and it didn’t do anything to
show off his figure! He tied the string tie four times, but it still ended up
looking untidy, so he decided to leave it be.
Ben was most formally dressed of the Cartwrights. He had a real weakness for his
silver brocade waistcoat, and insisted on wearing it at every occasion,
appropriate or not. He carefully knotted his tie, and wondered if he had
remembered to tie his neckerchief around the brim of his hat downstairs. It was
such a good way to keep track of it. Then he didn’t need to worry about the ends
of it dripping in his food. (He hoped Hop Sing wasn’t serving that noxious
jelly-soup. Or soupy-jelly, take your pick!) It really was strange the way that
neckerchief had lengthened over the years. However, Ben liked to see it tied
round his hat brim, even if the Giggly Sisters had implied that it looked like a
ladies’ hat hanging there.
The four Cartwrights met at the top of the stairs and admired one another in
their finery. Needless to say, each thought that he took the biscuit for
sartorial elegance. There was a rather unseemly scrum as Adam, Hoss and Joe all
tried to get down the stairs at the same time and, not for the first time, Ben
cursed the inconvenience of the staircase. It was far too narrow, and that
confounded bend in the middle meant it was a nightmare getting Joe upstairs when
he’d indulged in another unfortunate accident. Not that the back stairs were
much better. In fact, they were worse, being so elusive that they were never
seen and only ever referred to obliquely.
For once, the Giggly Sisters had been able to commandeer the red leather chairs,
which sat in what interior designers liked to call “a conversational group” at
the bottom of the stairs. They were heartily relieved not to be sitting on the
sofa, which had all the comfort and style of an upholstered breezeblock. Even
better, this arrangement afforded them a prime view of the Cartwrights as they
thundered downstairs with all the grace and elegance of a platoon of squaddies
doing The Reel of the 51st Highland Division.
As ever, Hoss was bounding with enthusiasm and his hair was all fluffy. Combined
with his round, blue eyes and guileless gaze, he looked like a very excited
chicken. Except for the unfortunate brown, homespun suit. The girls looked at
one another quizzically, remembering how Hoss had planned to borrow one of Ben’s
suits for his violin recital in Maestro Hoss. Wasn’t that stretching the bounds
of credulity just a little far? And would the suit ever have been the same
afterwards?
Adam and Joe were both rather ruffled about the head too, which in Joe’s case
only added to his overall gorgeousness. His hair curled wildly over his head,
which increased his boyish charms. The hairdresser felt incredibly put upon and
altogether unloved. All his hard work ruined! Did anyone even care that all that
heavy-duty brushing had given him carpal tunnel syndrome?
His gaze fell upon Adam and the poor, hard-done by coiffeurer nearly wept. That
scuffle had spelt disaster for Adam’s bonce. Instead of its customary neatness,
there was now a clear division showing between illusion and reality. Obviously,
Adam had skimped on the Toupee Toffee that morning. In the past, Adam had
overcome such diversities by tying a bandana around his head, cunningly
disguising the gap and the fans had gone wild at the effect. However, the macho
look wasn’t really appropriate for a glamorous night out.
Seeing all chances of winning an award for his skill and prowess with a
hairbrush and scissors fly out of the window, the poor, hard done by hairdresser
shuffled off to the edge of the sound stage and had a sharp word with
Continuity, who were currently engaged in an engrossing game of Canasta. The
director wondered if he could introduce pocket mirrors into the story line.
After all, they’d not only be useful for ensuring tonsorial elegance, but they
could come in handy for signalling across long distances.
Finally, Ben walked down the stairs, with appropriate gravitas, as befitting the
Patriarch of the Ponderosa. His silvery hair was only slightly dishevelled,
which gave him the appearance of a wise and kindly snowy owl. He looked at the
girls and wondered how it was that they had managed to get dressed and ready
before all the men, given the accepted wisdom that women took twice as long to
dress as men.
There again, he thought, as he looked at them with horror, they didn’t have much
in the way of clothes on! Could they really be ready? And if not, why were they
sitting in his great room wearing only their underwear, and no dressing gowns,
scary maroon silk or otherwise? He opened his mouth to make a comment, but Joe
had beaten him to it.
“You look gorgeous!” he exclaimed. Paw bear nodded vigorously. The girls, as
always were stunningly beautiful, their make-up perfect, and their floor length,
strapless satin evening gowns the epitome of chic.
“You look lovely yourself,” they said, and mussed his hair ever so slightly.
They did so love that curl that fell over his forehead. “What’s the occasion?”
the redhead asked Ben.
“It’s the Annual General Meeting of the Cattleman’s Association,” he replied.
The sisters exchanged knowing looks: obviously a euphemism for cheap whisky and
scantily clad females. In fact, not unlike a Burns Supper, but lighter on the
sheep’s entrails.
Adam noticed that each girl wore a tartan silk sash across a comely shoulder.
He’d always hankered after a kilt, but skilled weavers were sadly lacking in the
environs of Virginia City. Besides which, he really didn’t have the calves to
carry off a pair of ghillie begs. Strangely enough, although they encountered
many people of different nationalities on the Ponderosa, the Scots had been
noticeable only by their absence, until that never to be forgotten day when the
Giggly Sisters had arrived. The girls now appeared to have made themselves
completely at home. Adam glared at the sisters in a forbidding way, but they
remained impervious, as was their wont. Despite himself, Adam was rather
impressed by their sheer powers of endurance. Joe smiled happily: this was just
one of the many characteristics he adored in his girls.
Ben looked at the grandfather clock, before realising that it had stopped once
again. He wondered why it was given houseroom, for it was a hideously ugly
monstrosity, which was almost always told the wrong time. It was precisely
because of this horological defect that he had stuck the deuced thing beside the
front door, where he didn’t have to look at it too often. Nevertheless, it was
disturbing to notice how many fanfic writers included it in their stories.
The blonde and the redhead wriggled slightly in eager anticipation. This would
be the ideal opportunity to put their little business-plan into operation. How
clever of Nicki to suggest an international import/export business! Several
muscly Scots in kilts were wrapped ready for shipping to America and waiting at
Leith docks. This evening would allow them to select some appropriately handsome
cowboys to complete the exchange. No doubt they would soon be lauded by women
the world over for their philanthropic endeavours.
Hoss eyed up Paw suspiciously, the bear had successfully fought him for the last
roast potato at dinnertime and he was still smarting at the defeat.
“Why is that bear wearing a bow?” he asked finally.
Joe smiled enigmatically, his wonderful eyes still somewhere between green,
hazel and emerald. How he wished those fanfic writers would make their minds up!
It had got to the stage where he was seriously considering putting “elusive” in
the bit on the passport application form that requested details of eye colour.
However, the blonde had explained that most government officials were not known
for their sense of humour. He looked at the small bear, bedecked in his ribbon
and smiled happily. “Because we couldn’t find his sporran!” he laughed, and led
the girls out of the house and into the waiting buggy.
Hoss and Adam exchanged perplexed looks, but Ben merely smiled.
“Boys, we live in a house where the bedrooms are constantly moving around and
where long-lost relatives appear one day and then are never heard of again. Why
should these girls be any different? They won’t be around for ever – just mark
my words! And there is one other thing – remember that no matter how bad things
seem, there’s always a satisfactory conclusion at the end of the hour!”
The blonde and the redhead exchanged knowing looks: they planned to be the
exception that proved the rule
The End
Giggly Sisters Productions
March 2003