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a frieze, miniatures of the creatures in white guarding the Library’s steps.

    What terrific drape sachets these would make , he thought, allowing a shiver of ex-theatre queen delight to fill him. Now all we need are some drapes .

    Having slipped his cheap bounty for the night neatly away in his pocket, Brian then decided to grab a few extras as gift-wrappings for Ed. His birthday was coming up soon, wasn’t it?

    Oscar Wilde often said that revenge is best served cold. Brian took his revenge at any temperature and by any means available.

8 Cut in pastel construction paper and stapled to the bulletin board of a tiny classroom, the ancient Hebrew letters took on an endearing nature. Although charmed by their beauty, Lee still couldn’t read them.

    Shrunk to child-accessible levels, the room amused the waiters as they poured in and claimed areas for changing. After bumping his leg twice on a shin-high desk, Marcos convinced Lee and the other eight guys to shove the baby furniture to the side. The wide glass windows opened out to the back yard of the Oyster Bay Jewish Center where the night’s Bar-Mitzvah’s outdoor tent stood flapping in the breeze.

    “Aren’t there any drapes?” Jack, one of the waiters, complained as he pulled off a sweatshirt.

    “We’ve suddenly become Miss Modesty,” Marcos said. “You weren’t at all modest at Boy Bar on Sunday when you were dancing in your jock strap and combat boots.”

    “That was different,” Jack shrugged as he squeezed himself into the seat of a tiny desk to unlace his shoes. “I was getting tips.”

    “Oh, of course,” Marcos snipped. “Demure except for the dollar.” Since there were few people on the back lawn anyway, they all undressed, until the door opened in a whirl.

    “Well, I see you’ve all made yourselves at home.” A woman in a red dress, large gold earrings, and a matching Coty necklace peered in with a satisfactory grin. Her hair glinted like chrome. She glanced at Rick, a tall Italian waiter with hairy legs who stood in the center of the room with his pants off. Refusing to cover himself, he stood defiantly, waiting for the woman to retreat. A flock of teenagers giggled by the door, peeking in.

    “Do you need something?” Rick asked. The woman, possibly the mother of the kid getting Bar-Mitzvahed, backed away, her grin faltering. Rick deliberately pulled off his T-shirt, exposing even more of his frame.

    “No, no. You all just go ahead and get ready.”

    The moment Marcos closed the door, he waved his hand to ward off the cloud of perfume. Rick yanked his jockey shorts down and shook his penis a few times toward the closed door. The men burst into laughter. Rick pulled his shorts up, immediately blushing from his prank. He glanced at Lee, who had nearly gaped at Rick’s little flesh flash.

    “Wag that again,” Marcos hooted. “Jack, you’ve got competition.”

    “Don’t take out yer weapons if you’re not gonna use ’em,” Jack countered.

    Rick, whose wavy hair had a habit of curling at an angle opposite the way he combed it, buttoned his shirt. “Don’t you hate it?” he said to his co-workers. “They always do that. Come barging in like we’re not even human.”

    “At least we have solid ground to change on.” A chubby redhead wrapped his cummerbund around his waist. “I been to outdoor weddings where the bride’s father wouldn’t let us in his house, not even the servant’s quarters. ’Fraid we’d piss on the rug. Hadda change in the kitchen tent. Plus, it rained that morning. Got mud all over my pants. Looked like a barnyard cow.”

    “Well, at least we’re indoors,” Lee said.

    “At least it’s not Orthodox,” Rick said as he zipped his pants. “I worked a holiday, what was it? Zooka, Sooka, I forget.”

    “Sukkot,” Marcos corrected.

    “What-evah,” Rick continued. “Part of the thing was, they hadda eat outdoors under a thatched roof. Now, this party was at this millionaire