Mrs. Thompson died five hours before the party. It was inopportune to say the least, but Lena was not one to back down from a challenge. By the time Brian had the old woman on the slab, she was already offering sincere, if strained, condolences to the family. They were a young couple, both tripping anxiously on the doorstep of the Funeral Home as the sun turned towards afternoon and the paperwork only seemed to pile up. She'd likely to see them both at the party later, she knew, and so made a note of their faces so that she could smile sympathetically in their direction– should their eyes meet over the course of the evening.
Luckily Mrs. Thompson was old, and Lena finished the necessary work with enough time to spare. Brian, bless his heart, gave her a smile that didn't reach his eyes when he told her to head off, that he'd finish and lock up. She knew better than to wonder if he resented her leaving– Brian was far past the age of partying. One of these days she'd have him on the slab.
She left work and went home, where she spent some time getting ready. The positives of working in a funeral home was that she had wide range of nice-looking clothing to choose from. The negatives were that they were all black– and though they were professional, they weren't exactly party material. In the end she chose a modest outfit with a large necklace. She put on a small amount of makeup, took a long hard look in the mirror, and chugged a glass of wine for good measure.
Thus she arrived, half an hour later, at the museum. It was a tasteful venue, by which she meant that even if she couldn't find anyone worth talking to over the course of the evening, she would at the very least be able to enjoy some of the exhibits. And if that was off the table, then, she'd just have to get absolutely shitfaced. Having reached that conclusion, she took a deep breath and entered.
Luckily Mrs. Thompson was old, and Lena finished the necessary work with enough time to spare. Brian, bless his heart, gave her a smile that didn't reach his eyes when he told her to head off, that he'd finish and lock up. She knew better than to wonder if he resented her leaving– Brian was far past the age of partying. One of these days she'd have him on the slab.
She left work and went home, where she spent some time getting ready. The positives of working in a funeral home was that she had wide range of nice-looking clothing to choose from. The negatives were that they were all black– and though they were professional, they weren't exactly party material. In the end she chose a modest outfit with a large necklace. She put on a small amount of makeup, took a long hard look in the mirror, and chugged a glass of wine for good measure.
Thus she arrived, half an hour later, at the museum. It was a tasteful venue, by which she meant that even if she couldn't find anyone worth talking to over the course of the evening, she would at the very least be able to enjoy some of the exhibits. And if that was off the table, then, she'd just have to get absolutely shitfaced. Having reached that conclusion, she took a deep breath and entered.