The Banity Fair Party
Fish had not planned to stop on the carpet. Technically speaking, Fish had berry important work to do inside. Word had already reached him—fru a highly reliable source (a waiter carrying a tray past the lobby)—that the after-party contained multiple cheese stations.
Multiple. Stations. This informashun had nearly short-circuited his brain.
Still, as he hurried toward the entrance of the Banity Fair after-party, he suddenly found himself surrounded by flashing cameras.
“Wait! Wait! The other rat!” “Ober here! Look this way!”
Fish froze.
He slowly placed one paw on the small silver posing stand, trying his best to look like a professional celebrity who absolutely belonged there.
Flash. Flash. Flash.
Behind him, a giant glowing BANITY FAIR sign lit up the night while photographers crouched and leaned forward to capture the moment.
Fish tilted his head slightly. He gabe a very serious expression.
Inside his head, howeber, a completely different conversation was happening.
Focus, Fish. You must remain calm. Soon you will reach the cheese.
He could practically smell it drifting fru the open doors.
Soft cheeses.
Sharp cheeses.
Cheeses from countries that probably required passports.
A photographer shouted, “Can you gibe us another pose?”
Fish lifted his chin bravely.
Click click click click.
But his whiskers twitched impatiently.
His tiny paws shifted on the stand.
Finally he leaned toward one nearby reporter and whispered urgently:
“Excuse me… do you happen to know if the cheese trays are already out?”
The reporter burst out laughing.
Fish did not laugh. This was not a joke.
At last the photographers finished their flurry ob pictures.
Fish hopped down from the posing stand, gave one final polite nod to the cameras…
…and ran for the door.
_____________________
Inside, somewhere beyond the music, the lights, and the sea of celebrities…The Banity Fair after-party was not, technically speaking, designed for rats.
This became clear to Reuben almost immediately.
The room was enormous. Music floated through the air. Celebrities drifted past like elegant, sparkly clouds. Waiters carried trays piled wiff delicate food that cost more than an entire Brooklyn bakery window.
Reuben stood just inside the doorway holding Baxter’s Oscar.
He had never held an Oscar before. It was very shiny and slightly heaby for someone wiff such polite little paws.
“Well,” Reuben murmured to himself, “I suppose I should find the others.”
That is when he heard a very familiar voice.
“REUBEN.”
Reuben turned.
There, crouched beside an enormous table, was Fish.
Fish’s eyes were wide. His whiskers were vibrating with excitement. And spread before him like the map of a sacred kingdom was the largest cheese display Reuben had ever seen.
Wheels. Wedges. Crumbles. Soft clouds of brie. Sharp towers of cheddar. Little signs wiff names Fish was already whispering reberently.
“Reuben,” Fish said, barely able to breathe, “this… is… a historic cheese moment.”
Reuben looked down at the table. “Oh my,” he said softly.
Fish had already begun.
He was racing back and forff along the table like a tiny food critic possessed by destiny.
“Triple crème brie from Normandy!”
“Saffron gouda!”
“Truffle pecorino!!”
He paused dramatically.
“REUBEN… THEY HAB TWELBE DIFFERENT GOAT CHEESES.”
Reuben set Baxter’s Oscar carefully on the table so he could examine a slice ob somefing delicate and fragrant.
Across the room, a cluster ob celebrities had gathered.
“Is that… the rat from the acceptance speech?”
“Is that another rat?”
“And… is that one… cataloging cheese?”
Fish had now pulled out a tiny notebook.
“The Oscar Cheese Map,” he explained proudly.
Barry burst fru the curtain a moment later, slightly out of breaff.
“I MISSED THE SPEECH??”
“You did,” Reuben said gently.
Barry noticed the Oscar. His eyes widened. “Oh.”
He picked it up and struck a pose.
“Fank you. Fank you all. I dedicate dis award to my brabery.”
“You were not nominated,” Reuben reminded him.
“Technicality,” Barry said.
At that exact moment a waiter passed wiff a tray ob miniature pastries.
Reuben froze. Tiny fruit tarts. Microscopic croissants. Little custard things that looked like dreams.
He politely selected one.
Fish gasped.
“REUBEN THERE IS ALSO A SECOND CHEESE ROOM.”
“A second—?”
Fish was already gone. Barry was gibbing an acceptance speech to a decoratibe plant.
Reuben sighed happily and took a delicate bite ob pastry.
Across the glamorous, glittering chaos ob the after-party, the tiny rat who preferred qwiet bakeries leaned against Baxter’s Oscar statue and smiled.
“All things considered,” Reuben said softly, “this is a berry nice ebening.”
And somewhere in the building…
Fish was discobering the parmesan tower.