Sting of the Wasp
Jason Devlin
active NPCs built-in hints I6 source available IF Competition 2004 IFComp Game sexual content strong profanity walkthrough wasps Xyzzy Awards 2004 XYZZY Best Individual PC XYZZY Best NPCs
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"Oh, Julia! Where did you learn that?" Keith whispers breathlessly.

All tongue and fingers, he kisses the milky skin above your breasts, while your hands slide their way up and down his sculpted chest, so eager with lust that your watch occasionally snags on a stray chest hair. Your lips, glistening like two fresh strawberries laced with dew, hungrily roam across his neck. And your hips! Well, that's better left to the imagination.

Normally, you wouldn't even consider seeing Keith at Pine Meadows, but Frank's in Boston and won't be back until tonight's banquet. And when the cat's away...

Just then, a low shelf wedges itself in to your back, jarring you from your reverie. That's when you hear it.

A click. A flash. The tell-tale tapping of heels on concrete.

The next few minutes are a blur. Keith juts his tongue down your throat, but, without you reciprocating, it feels like he's searching for cavities. The rhythms of your body no longer coincide with his. In fact, the only rhythm left in your body is the pounding of your heart, the warm throbbing of blood in your ears. He must notice your discomfort as soon he backs off and starts buttoning his shirt.

"Well, I gotta get back to the Pro Shop, babe," he says, grabbing his shades. "Stop by later." With that, he takes off down the hall, leaving you, still stunned, slumped against the wall.

This is the first time you've been in this closet, and hopefully it will be the last. Keith assured you that no one ever comes down here. And now you can see why. The concrete walls are oppressively close, made more so by the smell of bleach and chemicals coming from a filthy shelf against the far wall. Various brooms clutter the room, displaying none of the pleasant tidiness characteristic of the rest of Pine Meadows. All this can be escaped through a door to the south.

Tossed to the side in the throes of passion, your bag, a fabulous Louis Vuitton original, lays on the ground.
You examine bag
A Louis Vuitton original, your purse can practically carry anything, which comes in handy but is absolute hell when you have to find your keys.
About yourself
Your lipstick is smeared, your cheeks are flushed, and your mascara is running. At least the fact that your blouse is open should draw attention away from your face.
You check what you're carrying
You are carrying:
your watch (being worn)
your ensemble (being worn)
You fix the makeup
Using your compact, you carefully apply your makeup, adding a little more powder than usual to your cheeks to hide the flush.
You examine the ensemble
Nothing but the best for you. Pumps from Prada, skirt by Yves Saint Laurent, a gorgeous silk blouse from the much-coveted Vera Wang collection. Too bad it'll all have to be replaced in two weeks.
You take the bag
Taken.
You open the bag
That's already open.
You examine bag
A Louis Vuitton original, your purse can practically carry anything, which comes in handy but is absolute hell when you have to find your keys.
You look in the bag
In the Louis Vuitton bag are your make-up and a pair of banquet tickets.
Examine watch
Frank felt so guilty after spending a month in Tokyo that he bought you this. Honestly, you enjoyed the time apart, but that didn't stop you from playing up the guilt. So far, that little ploy has gotten you a mink stole, a diamond necklace, and a Bentley, but this watch takes the cake. Whoever said that flagrant displays of wealth were tacky must not have seen this. Exquisitely crafted from platinum and diamonds, the only downfall this watch has is that the gems tend to obstruct your view of its face, making it somewhat difficult to read the actual time. Still, it's a small price to pay to be seen sporting such a piece.
You examine the time
Looking closely at your watch, you see that it is sometime before five.
You examine the makeup
Survival gear for the modern woman; you never leave home without it.
You examine the brooms
Do people even still use these things? They're so dirty and utilitarian. Like those who use them, you suppose.
You examine the walls
There's nothing special about the walls. Except that they're unadorned concrete, a rarity in Pine Meadows.
You look at the pumps
Nothing but the best for you. Pumps from Prada, skirt by Yves Saint Laurent, a gorgeous silk blouse from the much-coveted Vera Wang collection. Too bad it'll all have to be replaced in two weeks.
About yourself
Pure dynamite! Not bad for twenty thousand. Your ass is high, your tummy is tight, and your skin hasn't a line or blemish. It's a shame you'll have to do it all over again in a year. Oh well, no one said beauty was easy.
You go to the south
A short, dimly lit hallway between the utility closet to the north and the stairs to the rest of the club leading south and up. While the dominant smell here is, as in the closet, chlorine, some other fragrance, a sweeter one, is mingled with it.
Smell
Turning up your nose ever so slightly, you sniff the air. Although it is almost entirely wiped out by the smell of chlorine, you definitely detect the hint of something. Chanel #5? Dior Addict Eau Fraiche? Something. Whoever it was now has you in quite an awkward position, and likely a picture of the same. If only you had something to put you back on top.
Xyzzy
Nothing happens. Guess if you want to travel someplace exotic, you'll have to do it the old-fashioned way and sleep with Frank.
You go south
The stairs turn sharply north as you ascend.

This is the newest addition to Pine Meadows, built to house the new spa to the west. In stark contrast to the well-lit, tan stucco walls, a dingy concrete stairwell descends to south. To the north, a rather uninspired doorway leads to the office of the club manager. The hall itself extends to the east.
Go east
Putting the club's best foot forward is clearly the purpose of the foyer. A stately crystal chandelier scatters daylight into kaleidoscopic patterns. Two verdant plants stand next to a set of double doors to the north, their leaves extended as if to usher people in to the banquet hall. To the south, next to the exit to the gardens, is a bulletin board. The hall continues to the west and east.
You go west
This is the newest addition to Pine Meadows, built to house the new spa to the west. In stark contrast to the well-lit, tan stucco walls, a dingy concrete stairwell descends to south. To the north, a rather uninspired doorway leads to the office of the club manager. The hall itself extends to the east.
You open the door
It seems to be locked.
You knock on the door
There's no reply. Charles must be out.
Smell
Whatever smell is there is overpowered by your characteristic fragrance: Self-Obsession, by Calvin Klone.
You go west
Pine Meadows's most recent addition, the spa was built during the natural beauty craze of the late nineties, when holistic was in and plastic surgery was out. Frankly, you never could understand why it was so popular. The smell of damp seaweed and aromatherapy float in from the south, where the actual spa lies. To the north and west, with a functionalism that seems out of place next to the distinctively modern architecture of the spa, are the women's and men's change facilities, respectively.

The crowning achievement of some hack designer, a desk, dominates the room, trying to give some sense of purpose to the poor soul whose job it is to man it.

Desperately trying to look important, a receptionist peers down a hawkish nose at a log book, scribbling in corrections at a furious speed.
You go to the west
Pine Meadows's most recent addition, the spa was built during the natural beauty craze of the late nineties, when holistic was in and plastic surgery was out. Frankly, you never could understand why it was so popular. The smell of damp seaweed and aromatherapy float in from the south, where the actual spa lies. To the north and west, with a functionalism that seems out of place next to the distinctively modern architecture of the spa, are the women's and men's change facilities, respectively.

The crowning achievement of some hack designer, a desk, dominates the room, trying to give some sense of purpose to the poor soul whose job it is to man it.

Desperately trying to look important, the receptionist peers down a hawkish nose at a log book, scribbling in corrections at a furious speed.
You examine the desk
A stainless steel and mahogany monstrosity, the desk reflects the gentle light coming in through the skylight. Surprisingly, or maybe not seeing as the spa's popularity has fallen with plastic surgery's resurgence, there is no computer on the desk; its job instead being done by a simple log book.
You look at the log book
The client list for Pine Meadows Spa, it contains the names and locker information, as well as "beauty profiles," of practically every full member, part member, and former member of the club. If you want to find anyone in particular, you'll have to look them up individually.
You look up yourself in the log book
"I'm sorry Mrs. Hawthorne, but that is confidential," she says, "If you've forgotten your combination you can ask me."
You examine the receptionist
Tall, thin, and oh so Madison Avenue, the spa receptionist serves as a living advertisement for her business's services. And like most advertisements, she grossly misrepresents the truth. Her looks come from the tried and true: surgery, make-up, and anorexia. Not the herbal wraps and mud baths she pushes on her customers.
You ask the receptionist about the combination
"Could you please tell me my locker combination?" you ask, trying to be as pleasant as possible.

"One moment, Mrs. Hawthorne," she says, flipping through the log book. "Yes, it's right here. Locker #11, combination 38-25-34."
You ask the receptionist about the beauty profile
"I'm really very sorry Mrs. Hawthorne, but I am incredibly busy," she says in a questionably trendy accent.
You show the watch to the receptionist
You better watch out: people knowing about you and Keith is enough for them to think you're a Democrat. If you start giving things to the working class, it'll only look worse.
You take the log
That belongs on the desk.
You go to the west
"Umm, Mrs. Hawthorne?" the receptionist says, giving you an odd look. "That's the men's change room."

You mumble something about allergies and come back to the lobby.
Smell
Oh that's a nice blend: kelp and sandalwood. Really now, if you wanted to vomit you would just make love to Frank.
You examine the time
Looking closely at your watch, you see that it is sometime before five.
Go north
Your heels click loudly on the tiles, echoing down the banks of lockers that line the sides of the room. With the pool closed until summer and tennis verging on the passé, the only use the women of Pine Meadows have for this room is the lockers. The showers lie, unused, to the north.

Your locker, #11, sits against the left wall.
You open the locker
(your locker)
38 left, 24 right, 34 left, just like your measurements. Inside is a change of clothes.
You take the clothes
Besides from a little sweat, your ensemble is in good condition. There's no need to change right now.
You search the locker
(your locker)
In your locker is a change of clothes.
You close locker
(your locker)
You close your locker.
Go south
Pine Meadows's most recent addition, the spa was built during the natural beauty craze of the late nineties, when holistic was in and plastic surgery was out. Frankly, you never could understand why it was so popular. The smell of damp seaweed and aromatherapy float in from the south, where the actual spa lies. To the north and west, with a functionalism that seems out of place next to the distinctively modern architecture of the spa, are the women's and men's change facilities, respectively.

The crowning achievement of some hack designer, a desk, dominates the room, trying to give some sense of purpose to the poor soul whose job it is to man it.

Looking east and not seeing a flock of members coming to use the spa, the receptionist sighs and drops her shoulders a little.
You go to the south
"I'm sorry, Mrs. Hawthorne, but there is a pilates class until five, you'll have to wait until then," the receptionist says.
You go east
You make your way through the east wing to the garden path.

Serving as little more than a junction, the path here leads from the garden in the southwest to the outside dining area in the north and northeast. The club itself lies to the west and the tennis court to the east. To the southeast is the pool, but it is closed for the season.
You go to the south-east
The pool is closed for the season.
Smell
Ugh, that's what roses smell like? Where's the benzaldehyde? the phenetol?
You go east
Since tennis became passé, this court is mainly used by those few members who actually enjoy the game. In fact, due to the reduced use, the club has even begun letting non-members play on it. You've never been that fond of tennis and with the rabble about, you're loath to even stay on the court. Hardly a big loss. The net droops, the benches are peeling, and the rubber floor sticks to your pumps. Although you are fenced in on most sides, thankfully, you can still leave to the more agreeable outside dining areas to the northwest and north, or the garden path to the west.

Beverly Winters, a long time member of the club, hops from foot to foot, waiting for a ball to come out of a serving machine at the other end of the court.

Barely turning, Beverly starts talking. "Well, hello, Julia," she says, still not facing you. "Tonight's banquet should be interesting. No?"

In a strangely crude move, Beverly shifts her bra uncomfortably.
You examine the machine
Once top of the line, the serving machine has seen better days. Its turning mechanism has broken, so now it just shoots out balls at the same speed and same course every time. Good for Beverly's score, bad for everyone else.
Smell beverly
The smells of antiperspirant and sweat battle it out over Beverly. Unfortunately the antiperspirant is winning.
You look at Beverly
Just a couple of years your senior, Beverly joined the club a few months before you. This was back in the prime of Pine Meadows, before the computer boom, before the stock market became a playground for anyone with a couple thousand, before peasant blouses and the anti-fur movement; those were the days. Back then, the only thing to do was engage in dramatic rivalries. And what a rivalry you formed. Playful at first, it soon degenerated in to a spat worthy of the Hatfields and McCoys, that is if the two of you were troglodytic mountain folk. After dying down for a couple of years, the rivalry flared up again when you caught her flirting with Frank at one of last year's charity auctions. Normally you would have been happy to have his hands occupied for a few hours, but the insult was too great to ignore.
You examine net
The net droops, and your spirits with it. It's fashioned from cheap rayon, not the delicate silk it was made of back when you used to play. You feel trapped just looking at it.

Beverly pauses between serves, tucking her hair behind her ears.
You look at the bra
Beverly's chest looks lumpier than usually.
You ask beverly about the bra
"Oh dear, Beverly," you say, glancing at her chest, "you're not going to let your surgeon get away with that, are you?"

She says nothing but shifts her bra again.

Beverly smacks a ball across the court.
You fix the beverly's chest
Beverly wouldn't appreciate that.

Beverly smacks a ball across the court.
You examine the benches
The only thing sadder than playing a sport that's passed its prime is watching a sport that's passed its prime. Judging from the thick layer of grime on the benches, it seems that the people of Pine Meadows might not be as sad as you thought.

Beverly smacks a ball across the court.
You look at the floor
(the floor)
Soft with the heat, the rubber floor of the tennis court sticks to your heels, leaving little impressions after your steps.

Beverly pauses between serves, tucking her hair behind her ears.
You ask Beverly about Frank
"You haven't seen Frank in a while, have you?"

"No I haven't. How is your husband, anyway? We have so much catching up to do."

In a strangely crude move, Beverly shifts her bra uncomfortably.
You ask Beverly about Keith
"I guess you know about Keith and I,"

"Oh yes, I heard about that. Poor Frank. Of course, he'll never believe any of the gossip. Unless someone shows him proof..."

Beverly smacks a ball across the court.
Punch beverly
You two prefer more subtle ways of expressing your rivalry.

Beverly smacks a ball across the court.
You ask Beverly about the photo
"Someone took a photo of Keith and I in the basement."

"A photograph, you say? How very Enquirer of you."
You ask Beverly about the lump
"Really, Julia. Sometimes you are such a whore," Beverly mutters.

"What was that?"

"I said: 'Really, Julia. Sometimes you are such a bore.'"

Beverly pauses between serves, tucking her hair behind her ears.
Yell
(Beverly)
Beverly isn't afraid of you.

In a strangely crude move, Beverly shifts her bra uncomfortably.
Show watch to Beverly
"Really, Julia. Why would anyone be interested in that?"

Beverly pauses between serves, tucking her hair behind her ears.
You examine the time
Looking closely at your watch, you see that it is sometime before five.
You examine the machine
Once top of the line, the serving machine has seen better days. Its turning mechanism has broken, so now it just shoots out balls at the same speed and same course every time. Good for Beverly's score, bad for everyone else.
You go north
Outside dining (next to the Pro Shop)
This is what it's all about: stale food and staler gossip. However, despite all that, the outside dining offered by Pine Meadows is really the only thing that interests you at the club. The tables are full; the place is busy. The members don't seem to be eating all that much though, no doubt saving their appetites for the banquet tonight. To the west is the server's entrance to the kitchen where all manner of food is prepared. The dining area extends to the east, and to the south and southeast are the garden path and tennis court respectively.

A group of women sit here playing bridge and chatting.

"Beep beep" My God! Digital watches at Pine Meadows? Cartier must be rolling over in his grave.

Cynthia Fordham, a woman whose wrath makes even you cringe, sits in a high back chair.

Apparently someone lacked the willpower to stick to their diet, as a bowl of half-eaten salad sits on the table, forgotten.

"I told you, I ordered Coquille Saint Jacques half-an-hour ago. What are you, deaf?" Cynthia screams at a cowering waiter who then flees to the safety of the kitchen.

Just then, she glances over to you. "Oh, there you are, Julia," she says, her voice dripping with saccharine venom. "I hear you have a way with the help." --she winks, a little too obviously-- "Perhaps you could work your charm on that waiter for me."
You look at the salad
Little more than limp, wilted lettuce leaves and sour vinegar, the salad looks like it was picked at slightly, and then discarded. Nice way to spend twelve bucks.

Amongst the lettuce is a pair of cucumber slices.

"So I was up at the golf course and do you want to know what I heard Roger say?" one of the bridge players says dramatically.

"No," another replies, "but I'm sure you'll tell us anyway."
You take the cucumber
Taken.

"He said 'No grandson of mine is going to be a doper.' And then he disowned him," the first one says, waiting for a gasp. When she sees none is forthcoming, she continues, "I mean, it was just a little pot, nothing to freak out over."

The second rolls her eyes incredulously. "Really, now. Why don't you just stop shaving your legs and move to British Columbia already?"
You look at the cucumber
Just two round slices of cucumber, about the size of silver dollars.

"She was in the basement?" one asks, horrified.

"I guess that's what passes for courting among the help," says another.
Smell
Whatever smell is there is overpowered by your characteristic fragrance: Self-Obsession, by Calvin Klone.

"Still, you'd think she'd be a little more discrete. I mean Frank's only been gone for a day."

"Personally, I think she wanted to get caught. She always has enjoyed the limelight."
You ask Cynthia about Roger
"Really, Julia, can't we talk about something a little more interesting?".

"Oh well. Did you see what Cissy was wearing?"

"How could you miss it?"
You ask Cynthia about Keith
"So you must have heard and Keith and I."

"Well, yes. I know a woman must have her hobbies," Cynthia says coquettishly. "It's a shame yours will destroy your marriage."
You ask Cynthia about the photo
"Have you heard anything about a photo today?"

"Oh yes, I heard someone took a picture of you. What a shame."
You ask Cynthia about Beverly
"How do you feel about Beverly?"

"She's a little manipulative, even for my tastes."
Smell Cynthia
Careful not to look like a bloodhound, you raise your nose and sniff delicately. Amidst the smells of wine and food, you detect the faint scent of Bellagio. Definitely not the scent from hall.
You take the salad
"Come now, Julia," Cynthia clucks. "I heard Frank cut up your platinum card, but must you really resort to taking leftovers?"

You ignore her and take it.
You ask Cynthia about Cissy
"What do you think of Cissy?"

"I'm just glad she's not talking to me."
You look
Outside dining (next to the Pro Shop)
This is what it's all about: stale food and staler gossip. However, despite all that, the outside dining offered by Pine Meadows is really the only thing that interests you at the club. The tables are full; the place is busy. The members don't seem to be eating all that much though, no doubt saving their appetites for the banquet tonight. To the west is the server's entrance to the kitchen where all manner of food is prepared. The dining area extends to the east, and to the south and southeast are the garden path and tennis court respectively.

A group of women sit here playing bridge and chatting.

Cynthia glares at the nouveaus surrounding her.
You examine the women
(the bridge players)
A group of women sit around a table, playing bridge and chatting.
You ask the women about Roger
(the bridge players about that)
"Really, Julia," one of them says, "we're a little busy right now."
You examine the salad
Little more than wilted lettuce leaves and vinegar, the salad looks like is was picked at slightly, and then discarded. Nice way to spend twelve bucks.
You ask Cynthia about Frank
"What do you think of my husband?"

"Frankly," she pauses, thinking herself the funniest person in the world. "I never got what you saw in him. I mean he's pale, he's flabby, he's a bad dresser. He's not even that rich."

How dare she. Sure the first part is true, but not rich? What is she suggesting, you married out of love?
Go east
"Really, Julia. I think all that time on your back has interfered with your sense of direction," Cynthia says as you bump in to a low wall.
You look around
Outside dining (next to the Pro Shop)
This is what it's all about: stale food and staler gossip. However, despite all that, the outside dining offered by Pine Meadows is really the only thing that interests you at the club. The tables are full; the place is busy. The members don't seem to be eating all that much though, no doubt saving their appetites for the banquet tonight. To the west is the server's entrance to the kitchen where all manner of food is prepared. The dining area extends to the east, and to the south and southeast are the garden path and tennis court respectively.

A group of women sit here playing bridge and chatting.

Cynthia waits impatiently for her meal.
You look at the wall
That is beneath your concern.
You go northeast
"Oh, off to see Keith, are we?" Cynthia says, eyes burrowing in to you.

Normally, you wouldn't be cowed by Cynthia's acid tongue but with that film floating around, you don't want to chance it.
Go southwest
"Aww, leaving so soon? Well we must do this again sometime," Cynthia calls out after you.

Serving as little more than a junction, the path here leads from the garden in the southwest to the outside dining area in the north and northeast. The club itself lies to the west and the tennis court to the east. To the southeast is the pool, but it is closed for the season.
You go north
Outside dining (next to the kitchen)
This is what it's all about: stale food and staler gossip. However, despite all that, the outside dining offered by Pine Meadows is really the only thing that interests you at the club. The tables are full; the place is busy. The members don't seem to be eating all that much though, no doubt saving their appetites for the banquet tonight. To the west is the server's entrance to the kitchen where all manner of food is prepared. The dining area extends to the east, and to the south and southeast are the garden path and tennis court respectively.

A waiter bustles about, tray of wine glasses in hand, trying desperately to keep up with drink orders from demanding patrons.

Oh great, Cecilia Winnecott is here, the most frightfully irritating woman you have ever had the displeasure to meet. You attempt to duck out before she sees you but it's too late.

"Yoohoo, Julia! Over here." As if you could miss her. Her bright fuchsia pantsuit practically sears your retinas. Cissy sashays up to you, her jacket barely able to contain those three Danishes you saw her wolf down this morning.
You examine Cecilia
A hundred-eighty pound woman packed in a hundred-sixty pound Chanel reject. You've got to hand it to her though, all that fuchsia really does detract from what it covers.

"Oh, Julia. It's been ages. You simply must see our pictures from Tuscany," she says, and before you can decline, she pulls a stack of photos from her purse.
You examine the photos
Why does anyone think people want to see their pictures? Well, since you're looking, I guess that's a stupid question.

"Here's my eldest, Tyler, isn't he handsome?" Cissy croons, showing you a photo of a rather dirty little boy with a finger up his nose.
You get the photo
You can see them as much as you like from here, which isn't much at all.

"Oh ooh, here's Madison. Isn't she darling?"

"She's absolutely breathtaking," you say.
Search photos
You find nothing of interest.

"And this is our villa, isn't it just to die for?"

Frankly, you agree. You'd die before setting foot in such a dismal little hovel.
Smell cissy
Your nose is overrun with both Dolce and Gabbana.

"Aww, look at little Aidan. Isn't he a treasure?"

My God, doesn't this woman ever stop breeding?
You ask Cissy about Cynthia
"So what do you think of Cynthia?"

"She's a dreadful gossip, that woman." Cissy leans in a bit closer, "Who, by the way, is going back for another collagen treatment in a week."
You ask Cissy about Beverly
"What do you think of Beverly?"

She shudders. "Ugh, don't mention that horrible woman to me."

Cissy recently found out all the bad things Beverly says behind her back. Fortunately, she thinks Beverly is the only one who says them.
Smell cissy
Your nose is overrun with both Dolce and Gabbana.

Cissy continues to prattle on about her oh so fascinating life.
You ask Cissy about the outfit
Cissy has the memory span of a goldfish. Unless it was related directly to what she's talking about, she would forget her own name.
You ask Cissy about Frank
"What do you think of Frank?"

"Oh, you've got yourself a keeper there. He really does worship the ground you walk on."

You must admit: that's nice. It makes him all the easier to walk all over.
You ask Cissy about Keith
"I suppose you've heard about Keith and I."

"Oh, that. Well, I wasn't going to bring it up; it's vulgar, really. Besides, I don't believe a word of it."
You ask Cissy about the photos
You subtilely feel Cissy out about the photo, but she doesn't get it.

"They're spectacular, aren't they? I took them all myself," she says, admiring a blurry photo of what looks to be an ape, or her husband.
You ask Cissy about the kids
You make a passing comment about her kids.

"Children are an absolute treasure, aren't they?" she says, looking at her photos fondly. "Really Julia, you simply must have one one of these days."

Any thought you ever had of having a child went up in smoke after seeing her 'charming' brood.
You ask Cissy about the banquet
You mention the banquet to Cissy.

"Oh yes, you have that speech as Philanthropist of the Year, don't you? Really, Julia, you are such an inspiration. You could really teach these nouveaus," she glances around the dining area disdainfully, "a thing or two about noblesse obligé."

Where does she get off with that tone? Her family made its money from inventing the egg carton.
You ask Cecilia about the egg carton
"Didn't your family make its money in egg cartons?"

"Well you know my great-grandfather, Sir Arthur Chesterbald Winnecott, invented them, right? Oh he was a brilliant man."

Cissy proceeds to relate to you how the modern egg-carton evolved through a series of steps. First in boxes, then in little cardboard cups, and finally the styrofoam ones we've grown to know and love. Somehow, through the magic that is Cissy, she manages to make it more boring than you thought possible.
You look at the waiter
Tuxedoes aren't active wear, and the waiter exemplifies perfectly why this is so. His cummerbund prevents him from turning his waist; his whole ensemble clings to him with sweat. In fact, his bow tie seems so tight that his eyes bug out and his face is flushed.

Cissy continues to prattle on about her oh so fascinating life.
You ask Cissy about the gossip
"I suppose you've heard about Keith and I."

"Oh, that. Well, I wasn't going to bring it up; it's vulgar, really. Besides, I don't believe a word of it."
You go west
"Umm, Julia, hon. That's the kitchen," says Cissy, giving you a peculiar look. You can't blame her. Most people, if they want to complain, just scream at the waiters in front of everyone.
You go east
"I'm dreadfully sorry, Cissy, but I have some things to do," you say, rubbing your temples in attempt to ward off the migraine you know is coming.

"Ciao!" Please, one month in Tuscany and she thinks she's Monica Bellucci.

Outside dining (next to the Pro Shop)
This is what it's all about: stale food and staler gossip. However, despite all that, the outside dining offered by Pine Meadows is really the only thing that interests you at the club. The tables are full; the place is busy. The members don't seem to be eating all that much though, no doubt saving their appetites for the banquet tonight. To the west is the server's entrance to the kitchen where all manner of food is prepared. The dining area extends to the east, and to the south and southeast are the garden path and tennis court respectively.

A group of women sit here playing bridge and chatting.

Cynthia glares at the nouveaus surrounding her.
You ask Cynthia about the receptionist
"Really, Julia, can't we talk about something a little more interesting?".
You ask Cynthia about the club manager
"What do you think of Pine Meadows?"

"It's a shame what's happened to the place," she says, almost wistfully. "Nouveaus." She rolls her eyes in the direction of the diners.
You ask Cynthia about Charles
"What do you think of Charles?"

"Really, Julia. The only thing worse than being a bore is talking about one."
You examine the time
Looking closely at your watch, you see that it is just after five.
Go southwest
"Aww, leaving so soon? Well we must do this again sometime," Cynthia calls out after you.

Serving as little more than a junction, the path here leads from the garden in the southwest to the outside dining area in the north and northeast. The club itself lies to the west and the tennis court to the east. To the southeast is the pool, but it is closed for the season.
Go southwest
Being this far out in the country, the garden is really the only place at Pine Meadows where nature exists, yet isn't out of control. The topiary is subtle, no garish animals or ambitious creations. Flowers line the drive to the south, down which the valet service lies. A path, hedged with rose bushes, curves round the club to the northeast, and the club itself lies to the north.

Melissa Stratham, wife to Johnathan Stratham, sits here on a bench, delicately leafing through a paperback novel.

As she sees you enter, she looks up and grins impishly. "Oh, Julia," she says, closing her book for a moment. "I'm surprised to see you here. I thought you preferred to do your hoeing in the basement."
Smell Melissa
You raise your nose ever so slightly and sniff. Chanel #5, definitely the same as in the hall.
You ask Melissa about Frank
"So what do you think of my husband?"

"Well he will certainly spice up the banquet. He is going to be there, isn't he? It just won't be any fun without him."
You ask Melissa about Keith
"I suppose you heard about Keith and I."

"Oh that, you know how this place is. News spreads fast."
You ask Melissa about the photo
"Have you heard of a certain photo making it about the club?"

"Oh yes, I heard someone had taken a photo of you as you were, indisposed. There's just no privacy any more is there?"
You ask Melissa about the perfume
"That's a charming fragrance, Melissa. Whatever is it?"

"It's Chanel #5, do you like it?"

"Well, no. But then again, I have taste," you reply snidely.
You ask Melissa about the hall
"What were you doing in the basement? And don't deny it, it reeked of Chanel, just like you."

"Really, Julia. This paranoia is most unbecoming. A lot of people wear Chanel #5," Melissa says, shifting in her seat slightly.
Examine book
It's the latest Danielle Steel: something about a wealthy heiress and a stableboy.
You ask Melissa about the book
"That's quite a book you have there."

"Do you like it? I thought you might. It's about a wealthy heiress and her affair with the stableboy." She pauses, thoughtfully. "Hey, perhaps you could write your own. You know, update it for the modern world. I'm sure you have enough material."
You ask Melissa about Charles
"That Charles is something else, isn't he?"

"Don't get me started. That man is such a bore. I dread each time I have to pay my dues and listen to him speak."
You ask Melissa about Beverly
"You've taken quite a shine to Beverly, haven't you?"

"Well yes I have. It was so kind of her to take me under her wing. Now there's a woman who knows how to get what she wants."
You ask Melissa about Cynthia
"What do you know of Cynthia?"

"I'd watch your step around her. She's a sly one."
You ask Melissa about Cissy
"My God, did you see what Cissy was wearing?"

"Oh, that woman. She just does not know interesting photography. Cynthia on the other hand..." Melissa lets her words trail off deliberately.
You ask Melissa about the receptionist
"Please, Julia. I'm trying to read." Melissa says, barely glancing up.
Describe the surroundings
Being this far out in the country, the garden is really the only place at Pine Meadows where nature exists, yet isn't out of control. The topiary is subtle, no garish animals or ambitious creations. Flowers line the drive to the south, down which the valet service lies. A path, hedged with rose bushes, curves round the club to the northeast, and the club itself lies to the north.

Melissa continues to read her book.
You look at the flowers
Hedges of rose bushes frame the sides of the path, their little pink flowers swaying in a cool breeze.
Go north
Putting the club's best foot forward is clearly the purpose of the foyer. A stately crystal chandelier scatters daylight into kaleidoscopic patterns. Two verdant plants stand next to a set of double doors to the north, their leaves extended as if to usher people in to the banquet hall. To the south, next to the exit to the gardens, is a bulletin board. The hall continues to the west and east.
Go north
The hall is closed until tonight's banquet.
You go to the west
Pine Meadows's most recent addition, the spa was built during the natural beauty craze of the late nineties, when holistic was in and plastic surgery was out. Frankly, you never could understand why it was so popular. The smell of damp seaweed and aromatherapy float in from the south, where the actual spa lies. To the north and west, with a functionalism that seems out of place next to the distinctively modern architecture of the spa, are the women's and men's change facilities, respectively.

The crowning achievement of some hack designer, a desk, dominates the room, trying to give some sense of purpose to the poor soul whose job it is to man it.

The receptionist glances around and sighs.
You ask the receptionist about herself
"How are you today?" you ask, trying to be as nice as possible.

"I'm fine. A little tired, but you know how it is."

Is she actually suggesting you've ever looked tired? It's definitely time to see Dr. Rickers again.
You ask the receptionist about Beverly
You ask about one of the spa patrons.

"I'm sorry Mrs. Hawthorne, but the stylist-client relationship is one of strictest confidence."

True, they are the priests and therapists of the new millenium.
You show the salad to the receptionist
"I couldn't possibly. Too fattening," she says, waving the salad away with the bones she calls fingers.
Inventory
You are carrying:
a half-eaten salad
a pair of cucumber slices
your Louis Vuitton bag (which is open)
your make-up
a pair of banquet tickets
your watch (being worn)
your ensemble (being worn)
You show the cucumber to the receptionist
"Oh that would be perfect for Ms. Williams facial. We ran out of out supply ages ago."
Go south
Just two years ago, this place would have been packed at this time of day. Now hardly anyone comes in here, and you can hardly blame them. It feels more like some hellish jungle than a spa. The smell is subtle but gnaws at you nonetheless. A bed of rocks, heated to drive up sweat and drive out impurities, gives the room a heavy, fevered feeling, making you wonder why they even bothered considering there is already a whirlpool to the south. For those club members who have given up on trying to hide the fact that they dye their hair, a hairdresser's station sits to one side, from which you have a clear view of the lobby and its desk to the north. And all this set to some "Sounds of Nature" CD. Already, your hair is going limp from all the humidity.

Ms. Williams, face covered in mud, sits at the hairdresser's station waiting for her weekly colouring.
You examine Williams
(Ms. Williams)
A fearsome sight, Ms. Williams has opted for a peculiar strategy in fighting the ravages of time: none. When she smiles, a rare event, the crow's feet (although ostrich might be more fitting by comparison) lace across her face like webs. If it weren't for her weekly dye job you might think she were over a hundred.
Smell Williams
(Ms. Williams)
Mothballs and ribbon candy. Guess even money can't ward off the smell of the elderly.
You give the cucumber to Williams
(Ms. Williams)
"I thought you could use some cucumber to complete your facial," you say, handing her the slices.

"Oh thank you, Julia," Ms. Williams croons. "These will be perfect for my eyes. That idiot at the desk doesn't know half as much about beauty as you," she says, laying the slices on her eyes.
You examine the rocks
Heated by some unknown source, the rocks cause the air above them to shimmer like a mirage. On the floor beside the bed of rocks is a bucket of water.
You examine the bucket
Trying to capture some of the supposed ambience of colonial America, this bucket is constructed of well-fitted oak panels. Hooked on to the side of the bucket is a ladle.
You pour the water on the rocks
You plunge the ladle in to the bucket and pour the water on to the rocks. A loud hiss ensues as a cloud of steam fills the room.
Look around
Just two years ago, this place would have been packed at this time of day. Now hardly anyone comes in here, and you can hardly blame them. It feels more like some hellish jungle than a spa. The smell is subtle but gnaws at you nonetheless. A bed of rocks, heated to drive up sweat and drive out impurities, gives the room a heavy, fevered feeling, making you wonder why they even bothered considering there is already a whirlpool to the south. For those club members who have given up on trying to hide the fact that they dye their hair, a hairdresser's station sits to one side, from which you have a clear view of the lobby and its desk to the north. And all this set to some "Sounds of Nature" CD.

The jungle image is now complete as steam wraps its way around the plants, partially obscuring your vision.

Ms. Williams, face covered in mud, sits at the hairdresser's station waiting for her weekly colouring.
You examine the station
An all-in-one sink, chair, and hair dryer, the hairdresser's station is a testament to the fact that the spa doesn't service enough people to get the standard banks of equipment that more profitable ones do. While in itself an adequate piece of equipment, you would rather have one machine do each job and do it right.

On the brim of the sink rests a bottle of dye.
You ask Williams about the receptionist
(Ms. Williams about that)
"What's with that receptionist? Who does she think she is?"

"I don't know, but she was supposed to be in here ages ago to do my hair."
As fast as it appeared, the steam dissipates, allowing you to see clearly again.
You examine the dye
You would die before being caught putting this in your hair. As to whether you would actually put it in or not, only your stylist knows for sure.
You take the dye
You plunge the ladle in to the bucket and pour the water on to the rocks. A loud hiss ensues as a cloud of steam fills the room.
You would die before being caught putting this in your hair. As to whether you would actually put it in or not, only your stylist knows for sure.
You put dye on Williams
(Ms. Williams)
You need to be holding the dye before you can put it on top of something else.
You put the dye in the bucket
You need to be holding the dye before you can put it into something else.
As fast as it appeared, the steam dissipates, allowing you to see clearly again.
You knock over the dye
You do manual labour? Get real.
You open the door
The whirlpool is currently occupied. Besides, if you wanted to lie in a pool of someone else's filth, you'd have a bath with Frank and make his day.
You look at time
Looking closely at your watch, you see that it is sometime after five.
You look at plants
These plants have seen better days. All the steam from the whirlpool and all the heat from the rocks have taken their toll. It's probably for the best. When will people learn that nature belongs outside?
You ask the receptionist about the dye
"Shouldn't you start doing Ms. Williams's dye job?" Hey, if you don't keep the help in line, who will?

"I'll get to her colouring just as soon as I finish this," the receptionist says, although you can't imagine what is so important. She probably just enjoys making her squirm.
You go to the south
Just two years ago, this place would have been packed at this time of day. Now hardly anyone comes in here, and you can hardly blame them. It feels more like some hellish jungle than a spa. The smell is subtle but gnaws at you nonetheless. A bed of rocks, heated to drive up sweat and drive out impurities, gives the room a heavy, fevered feeling, making you wonder why they even bothered considering there is already a whirlpool to the south. For those club members who have given up on trying to hide the fact that they dye their hair, a hairdresser's station sits to one side, from which you have a clear view of the lobby and its desk to the north. And all this set to some "Sounds of Nature" CD.

Ms. Williams, face covered in mud, sits at the hairdresser's station waiting for her weekly colouring.
Down
The stairs turn sharply north as you descend.

A short, dimly lit hallway between the utility closet to the north and the stairs to the rest of the club leading south and up.

A faint smell lingers in the hall.
Go north
The concrete walls of this closet are oppressively close, made more so by the smell of bleach and chemicals coming from a filthy shelf against the far wall. Various brooms clutter the room, displaying none of the pleasant tidiness characteristic of the rest of Pine Meadows. All this can be escaped through a door to the south.
You take the bleach
Nah, let the cleaning staff handle that.
You examine the shelf
A filthy metal shelf hangs on the far wall, sagging from the weight of the cleaning supplies it struggles to support. Although most of them are foreign to you, you do recognize one bottle as bleach.
You take the bleach
(the bleach)
Taken.
You look at the bleach
(the bleach)
Although cleaning has never been your forte, judging by the label and its numerous warnings, you would say this bottle contained bleach.
Smell the bleach
(the bleach)
The pungent smell of chlorine fills your nostrils, burning the delicate membranes inside.
You go south
A short, dimly lit hallway between the utility closet to the north and the stairs to the rest of the club leading south and up.

A faint smell lingers in the hall.
Up
The stairs turn sharply north as you ascend.

This is the newest addition to Pine Meadows, built to house the new spa to the west. In stark contrast to the well-lit, tan stucco walls, a dingy concrete stairwell descends to south. To the north, a rather uninspired doorway leads to the office of the club manager. The hall itself extends to the east.
You go to the west
Pine Meadows's most recent addition, the spa was built during the natural beauty craze of the late nineties, when holistic was in and plastic surgery was out. Frankly, you never could understand why it was so popular. The smell of damp seaweed and aromatherapy float in from the south, where the actual spa lies. To the north and west, with a functionalism that seems out of place next to the distinctively modern architecture of the spa, are the women's and men's change facilities, respectively.

The crowning achievement of some hack designer, a desk, dominates the room, trying to give some sense of purpose to the poor soul whose job it is to man it.

Desperately trying to look important, the receptionist peers down a hawkish nose at a log book, scribbling in corrections at a furious speed.
You go to the north
With the pool closed until summer and tennis verging on the passé, the only use the women of Pine Meadows have for this room is the lockers. The showers lie, unused, to the north.

Your locker, #11, sits against the left wall.
You pour the bleach in dye
With Ms. Williams's eyes covered by the cucumber slices, you make your way over to the sink and carefully pour some bleach in to the dye.

Just then, the receptionist, who apparently doubles as the hairdresser with the spa's drop in popularity, comes in. "Ready for your colouring, Ms. Williams?"

"Of course I am, I've been waiting for hours." Her voice grates on you as it scrapes out past her ancient vocal cords.

"I am sorry about that, it's just we're so busy, and--."

"Just get on with it, you don't get paid to talk."

With that, the hairdresser goes about mixing the dye with some peroxide she brought with her (in addition to the liberal dousing of bleach you put in there) and puts it in Ms. Williams already fragile hair. For a few minutes it seems as though the bleach has no effect, but then, just as you're about the leave, you notice a few strands coming out in the hairdresser's hands until finally it starts coming out in goopy clumps.

"What's going on up there?"

"Uh, ah, I don't know. I used the same proportions as always."

"You idiot!" the old crone shrieks, fishing a hand through what remains of her hair. "My hair! My hair!"

The hairdresser apologizes profusely, leading Ms. Williams out with a towel on her head.
You go north
Pine Meadows's most recent addition, the spa was built during the natural beauty craze of the late nineties, when holistic was in and plastic surgery was out. Frankly, you never could understand why it was so popular. The smell of damp seaweed and aromatherapy float in from the south, where the actual spa lies. To the north and west, with a functionalism that seems out of place next to the distinctively modern architecture of the spa, are the women's and men's change facilities, respectively.

The crowning achievement of some hack designer, a desk, dominates the room, trying to give some sense of purpose to the poor soul whose job it is to man it.
You take the book
That belongs on the desk.
You look up Cynthia
#18, combination 23-44-46 (if only her measurements were the same).
You look up beverly
Here it is. #3, combination 16-43-81. "Anti-aging treatment, twice a week. Appointment to be verified each Monday."
You look up melissa
#67, combination 33-73-42. "Problem facelift, avocado cream mask recommended." Hah! So much for that summer in Napa.
You look up Williams
"Brittle hair, only use 30 millilitres of peroxide each treatment." She doesn't seem to have a locker.
You look up frank
Since Frank is rarely at the club, he never bothered to get a locker.
Go west
Checking first to make sure no one is looking, you enter the men's change room.

Despite everything you've heard about men's bath and change facilities, this room is remarkably similar to the women's one you're more familiar with. Same tiles, same lockers. In fact, if it weren't for the direction you entered through, you wouldn't be able to tell the difference.
You look at the lockers
What is it about locked things that makes them so irresistible?
Go north
You can go only east or out.
Go east
Pine Meadows's most recent addition, the spa was built during the natural beauty craze of the late nineties, when holistic was in and plastic surgery was out. Frankly, you never could understand why it was so popular. The smell of damp seaweed and aromatherapy float in from the south, where the actual spa lies. To the north and west, with a functionalism that seems out of place next to the distinctively modern architecture of the spa, are the women's and men's change facilities, respectively.

The crowning achievement of some hack designer, a desk, dominates the room, trying to give some sense of purpose to the poor soul whose job it is to man it.
You look up Charles
Here it is. #32, combination 62-34-42. "Standing appointment each day from three o'clock to five-thirty. May be used by Mr. Burton or Scott."
You go to the west
Checking first to make sure no one is looking, you enter the men's change room.

Despite everything you've heard about men's bath and change facilities, this room is remarkably similar to the women's one you're more familiar with. Same tiles, same lockers. In fact, if it weren't for the direction you entered through, you wouldn't be able to tell the difference.

There it is, Charles's locker, #32.
You open the locker
(Charles's locker)
You check to see you're alone and then enter 62-34-42 on the combination lock. Inside is Charles's clothing.
You examine the clothing
Looking at Charles's clothes baffles you. Despite being all top of the line, on Charles they look cheap and out-of-place. Some people just aren't meant to be rich.
Search clothing
You begin fishing through the pockets of Charles's clothes. Just when you think you've gone through every pocket three times, you find it: the key to Charles's office. You pocket it quickly.
Go north
With the pool closed until summer and tennis verging on the passé, the only use the women of Pine Meadows have for this room is the lockers. The showers lie, unused, to the north.

You see Melissa's locker, #67, against the wall.

Beverly's locker, #3, sits in the banks.

Cynthia's locker, #18, stands against the wall.

Your locker, #11, sits against the left wall.
You close locker
(Charles's locker)
You close Charles's locker.
You open melissa
You flip the dial through 33-73-42 and the locker swings open to reveal a small bottle of pills.
You examine the pills
Ah, this takes you back. The bottle contains a number of small white pills. On the side is a label that says: "Percodan. Highly addictive. Do not take for longer than five days or dependency may result." Below that is a date for several months ago and the name and phone number of one Dr. Ferguson. Curiously, the name of the patient is scratched out.
You take the pills
(putting the half-eaten salad into the Louis Vuitton bag to make room) Taken.
You close locker
Which do you mean, Melissa's locker, Beverly's locker, Cynthia's locker, your locker or the lockers?
Close melissa
You close Melissa's locker.
You open beverly
You turn the dial to 16-43-81 and here a small click as the door swings open and reveals some of Beverly's trademark clothes.
You look at what you're carrying with you
You are carrying:
a bottle of Percodan
a key
some bleach
your Louis Vuitton bag (which is open)
a half-eaten salad
your make-up
a pair of banquet tickets
your watch (being worn)
your ensemble (being worn)
Close beverly
You close Beverly's locker.
You open Cynthia
Turning the dial to 23-44-46, you hear a gentle click. The swings open to reveal a small camera sitting in the bottom of the locker.
You take camera
(putting the bleach into the Louis Vuitton bag to make room)
Taken.
You examine the camera
It's a small, instant camera.
Close Cynthia
You close Cynthia's locker.
You put all in the bag
camera: Done.
bottle of Percodan: Done.
key: Done.
You open the camera
You flip open the small hatch on the side where the film is supposed to go. It's empty.
You put the camera in the bag
You put the camera into the Louis Vuitton bag.
You look under the desk
Bending over has already gotten you in to one awkward position today.
You unlock the door with key
You unlock the door to Charles's office.
Go north
You open the door and walk in.

You haven't seen this room since you joined the club years ago. Frank handles all the dues, and Charles isn't your first choice among people to socialize with. The office itself seems to be a lot more luxurious than before. Maybe last time you were just distracted by the fear of your application being denied, or, more likely, Charles's perpetually tacky air just drained all the class out of the place. Either way, you have to say that now you like its bold charm, so unlike its owner.

Clearly the focus of the layout, a magnificently restored antique oak desk stands near the back of the room, illuminated by a spacious window overlooking the golf course. Somewhat less impressive, a wise move considering they might detract from the desk, are a row of cabinets leading from the door to the south, along the wall, to the window at the far side of the room.

Charles could come back any minute. Better make it quick.

On Charles's desk is a telephone.
You lock the door
(with the key)
The door clicks gently as the key turns in the lock.
You take the phone
You don't want it. Besides, there's only one jack in Pine Meadows.
You open the cabinets
If you want to dig up some dirt on someone, look them up by name.
You look up Cynthia
Cynthia's financial records are boring, even for accounting forms; however, towards the end, you find a health notice. Well, well, it looks like someone's allergic to peanuts.

Just as you close the cabinet, you hear faint footsteps outside the door. "Who's in there?" You hear Charles call as he thuds on the door.
You look up beverly
What's this? A note from Beverly's mother to Charles reminding him of Beverly's fiftieth birthday that is approaching soon. Well it's about time: she's been forty-five for six years now.
You look up cissy
Cissy's records are as bloated and boring as she is.
You look up melissa
The cheques are made out from her husband. She may be young, but at least she knows how to work it.
You look up roger
Roger's files list him as the primary shareholder of the club, giving him the ability to make membership decisions completely at his own discretion.
You look up frank
Hmm, what's this? The account Frank has been using to pay for dues isn't anyone that you recognize. How dare he? A marriage is supposed to be about trust!
You look up Charles
Eighty thousand dollars a year. Well now you see why it costs three dollars for a glass of Perrier.
You look up Williams
Ms. Williams's cheques go back to the fifties, when the club first opened.
You examine the window
The window provides a wonderful view of the golf course. In fact, from up here, you can barely see how ill-kept the green is or how polluted the water.
Describe the surroundings
Clearly the focus of the layout, a magnificently restored antique oak desk stands near the back of the room, illuminated by a spacious window overlooking the golf course. Somewhat less impressive, a wise move considering they might detract from the desk, are a row of cabinets leading from the door to the south, along the wall, to the window at the far side of the room.

On Charles's desk is a telephone.
You examine the desk
Absolutely gorgeous and without a scratch on it. Which is to be expected, seeing as very little work actually gets done at it. Most members have their banks automatically pay their dues for them and since country clubs have declined in popularity recently, new members are few and far between. Why Charles would have been granted a new desk is beyond you.
You examine phone
With rules against cell phones and a desire for leaving the outside world outside, this is the only phone at Pine Meadows.
You hide under the desk
You try crawling under the desk, but figure that if Charles does come in, your face will be where only cater-waiters and hustlers have been before. Then, you climb on top of the cabinets, but realize that Charles isn't quite that short. Finally, you try hiding behind a pencil, but you have a few more months on your diet before you can pull that off. Dejected, you go about finding a better way to avoid getting caught.
You open the window
You open the office window.
You climb out the window
As soon as your head ducks below the windowsill, you hear Charles (obviously with some assistance) break open the door and shriek: "The window, they've gone out the window!"

Quickly, you begin to climb down the trellis, careful not to get your heels snagged in the ivy. However, you're more adept at navigating a concrete jungle than a real one, and soon one of your pumps gets caught on a particularly nasty weed. You kick wildly for a few moments, but it's to no avail; you lose your balance and tumble in to the bushes below, dragging the wreckage of the trellis with you.

Behind the club (in the thorn bushes)
Ow! While the bushes cushion your fall, preventing any serious damage, their thorns still manage to tear at your clothes and cling at your hair. As you pluck the spikes from your face, you hear Charles screaming from the window above.
You leave
You get out of the thorn bushes.

Yours are probably the first feet to tread here since the trellis was installed. The bushes have none of the carefully manicured branches or unnaturally bright flowers of their cousins in the garden. Instead, they are twisted with many sharp little thorns. They thin a little to the southwest.

Without the cover of the bushes, Charles easily sees you. The criminal charges are no big deal, but being seen by the whole club being pulled from the bushes by the police is almost too much to bear.
Inventory
You are carrying:
a key (which opens the broken door)
your Louis Vuitton bag (which is open)
a camera
a bottle of Percodan
some bleach
a half-eaten salad
your make-up
a pair of banquet tickets
your watch (being worn)
your ensemble (being worn)

"Can you see them?" You hear a voice ask from above.

"No, they're in the bushes," Charles replies.
Wait
Although the thorns continue to poke in to your soft skin, you decide you'd rather put up with that for a few minutes than let Charles see you.

"Well is there any more you want me to do?"

"Nah, go back to the whirlpool, I'll take care of things here."
You wait awhile
Although the thorns continue to poke in to your soft skin, you decide you'd rather put up with that for a few minutes than let Charles see you.

"That's it! I'm going to call the police," you hear Charles call to you from above. At least he's gone from the window now.
You go outside
You get out of the thorn bushes.

Yours are probably the first feet to tread here since the trellis was installed. The bushes have none of the carefully manicured branches or unnaturally bright flowers of their cousins in the garden. Instead, they are twisted with many sharp little thorns. They thin a little to the southwest.
You look at the thorns
Although the same kind grow in the garden in front of the club, those ones are kept in check with meticulous grooming. These, without a gardener to tend to them, have grown wildly, as if making up for the complacency of their sisters.
You look at the trellis
The trellis lies in a mangled heap at the base of the wall.
You go to the southwest
You battle your way through the underbrush for what must literally be minutes until you arrive in the garden.

Being this far out in the country, the garden is really the only place at Pine Meadows where nature exists, yet isn't out of control. The topiary is subtle, no garish animals or ambitious creations. Flowers line the drive to the south, down which the valet service lies. A path, hedged with rose bushes, curves round the club to the northeast, and the club itself lies to the north.

Melissa continues to read her book.

"My, my. First the basement, now the bushes? Ever heard of a bed?" Melissa says, smirking.
About yourself
The fall took its toll on your appearance. Your skirt was ripped, but you managed to capitalize on that by tearing it a little more and turning it in to a fashionable slit. Although you tried, you failed to get all the twigs and thorns out of your hair. Still, you look a lot better than most of the people around here.
You look at the ensemble
It's tragic really, the damage done by the fall. Oh well, these clothes were two weeks old; it's about time they were replaced.
You go to the south
If you leave the club without getting that film you'll be ruined.
You open your locker
38 left, 24 right, 34 left, just like your measurements. Inside is a change of clothes.
You take the clothes
Although those bushes took their toll, the worst might be yet to come. You should probably save these clothes for the banquet.
You close locker
Which do you mean, Melissa's locker, Beverly's locker, Cynthia's locker, your locker or the lockers?
You close your locker
You close your locker.
You fix the makeup
Sometimes less is more.
You go south
Just two years ago, this place would have been packed at this time of day. Now hardly anyone comes in here, and you can hardly blame them. It feels more like some hellish jungle than a spa. The smell is subtle but gnaws at you nonetheless. A bed of rocks, heated to drive up sweat and drive out impurities, gives the room a heavy, fevered feeling, making you wonder why they even bothered considering there is already a whirlpool to the south. For those club members who have given up on trying to hide the fact that they dye their hair, a hairdresser's station sits to one side, from which you have a clear view of the lobby and its desk to the north. And all this set to some "Sounds of Nature" CD.

Strands of gray hair form a trail through the spa, left after you gave Ms. Williams the Sinéad O'Conner look.
You go south
You open the door and walk in.

Cramped and humid, the whirlpool room is dominated by a large tub of bubbling water. The steam coming from it is almost unbearable; it flattens your hair and clings to your skin. Even worse, there seems to be no ventilation other than from the door to the north, beside which is a row of hooks for hanging clothes.

A young man reclines in the pool, naked.

Some clothes hang on one of the hooks.

The man sits up with a start but does nothing to conceal his nudity. "Who the hell are you?" he demands. Without waiting for a reply, he lies back. "Nevermind. I don't care. Charles said I could stay here all afternoon, so fuck off."
You examine man
With his bleached hair and chiseled features, this guy looks like he stepped right out of Honcho.
You examine clothes
My God! A poly-cotton blend in this place? What is Pine Meadows coming to?
Search clothes
"Hey, cut that out!" You ignore him but find nothing of interest anyway.
You remove the clothes
(first taking the clothes)
"Hey, what are you doing? I need those," the man cries.

You ignore him and take the clothes.
You enter the whirlpool
Which do you mean, the door to the spa or the whirlpool?
You go north
"Listen!" you hiss, holding the clothes out of the young man's reach. "Either you tell me what I want to know or I walk out with these clothes right now."

"What? You're crazy!"

"Am I?" You walk towards the door.

"Ok, wait, wait. Alright, what do you want to know?"

"Well, who the hell you are, for starters."

"Ok, I'm Scott. Charles's new 'assistant.' I'd shake your hand, but I'm a little indisposed at the moment."

"I'll let it slide," you say, politely averting your eyes. "Do you always bathe naked with your employers?"

"Bathe naked, sleep naked, play Parcheesi naked," he shrugs his shoulders. "Whatever they pay me for. It's all the same to me."

You knew it. Charles was always a little well-manicured, even for Pine Meadows. "So he pays you for your services?"

"Of course, you have seen him, haven't you?" The two of you share a collective shudder.

"Alright, that's enough." Satisfied you have enough information, you hang his clothes back on the hooks.

"Anytime."
You go north
You open the door and walk in.

Clearly the focus of the layout, a magnificently restored antique oak desk stands near the back of the room, illuminated by a spacious window overlooking the golf course. Somewhat less impressive, a wise move considering they might detract from the desk, are a row of cabinets leading from the door to the south, along the wall, to the window at the far side of the room.

Charles sits at his desk, pushing some papers around to at least give the impression that he's worth the money the club pays him.

On Charles's desk is a telephone.

"Julia!" Charles says nasally. "So good to see you. Can I help you with anything?"
You ask Charles about Scott
"So I was talking to Scott, and he had some of the most interesting things to say."

"Um, ah." Charles tugs at his bow tie. "I don't know what you're talking about."
Blackmail charles with Scott
"My, my Charles, you look absolutely flushed. Have you been in the whirlpool?" you ask gently.

"Well, yes I have, Julia." --his cheeks get a little redder-- "It's marvelous. You really must try it sometime."

"Were you in for long? I saw the door and it said you were signed up for the whole afternoon. I'm only asking because prolonged exposure can be terrible for the skin, let alone the health." Your lips pout out a little with feigned concern.

"Um, well, I was only in for an hour or so, I'm letting my assistant use the rest of my time." Charles tugs a little at his bow tie.

"Oh, so you finally found someone to work 'under' you?" you ask, your emphasis almost tacky.

"Yes, his name's Scott. He's worth every penny the club pays him."

"Oh yes, Scott. I spoke to him." Charles face drops. "He has some very interesting things to say."

Charles face glistens with sweat. "Please, Julia. Don't tell anyone, I'll give you anything you want." He pleads.

"Alright, let me in to those cabinets and let me use your phone."

"But that is-"

"Or I could just go talk to Mr. Knowles."

"Ok, ok. Just as long as you don't tell anyone I let you," Charles says resignedly and goes back to working on his papers, even less believably than before.
You call the doctor
Suspicious about those pills, you call up doctor Ferguson.

"Hi, Dr. Ferguson. This is Angie from Dr. Leeds office," you say in as nasal a voice as you can muster. "I'm calling in regards to a patient of yours, one Melissa Stratham."

"Yes, what can I do for you?" he asks, more than a little perturbed to be disturbed.

"Well, Mrs. Stratham told us that you gave her a prescription for Percodan to be renewed indefinitely and--"

"What? She's still taking them? They're highly addictive!" he says with concern, more likely from fear of malpractice than genuine compassion.

"Alright, Dr. Ferguson. I'll notify Betty Ford right away."

With that, you hang up the phone and ignore Charles's odd looks.
You look up Knowles
Roger's files list him as the primary shareholder of the club, giving him the ability to make membership decisions completely at his own discretion.
You ask Charles about the banquet
"Please, Julia. I've let you look at the records, isn't that enough?"
Go south
Being this far out in the country, the garden is really the only place at Pine Meadows where nature exists, yet isn't out of control. The topiary is subtle, no garish animals or ambitious creations. Flowers line the drive to the south, down which the valet service lies. A path, hedged with rose bushes, curves round the club to the northeast, and the club itself lies to the north.

Getting to a particularly steamy passage, Melissa fans her neck vigorously.
You ask Melissa about the pills
You tell Melissa about your little conversation with Dr. Ferguson.

"So they're mine. No one but the most backwards fossil would care about my little indulgence."
Blackmail melissa with pills
You tell Melissa about your conversation with Dr. Ferguson.

"Oh, please. This is the new millenium. Who cares if I indulge in a little Percodan now and then?"
Blackmail melissa with addiction
"Now why would that scare me?" Melissa says, and returns to her book.
You show pills to Melissa
(first taking the bottle of Percodan)
You tell Melissa about your little conversation with Dr. Ferguson.

"So they're mine. No one but the most backwards fossil would care about my little indulgence."
You ask Melissa about husband
"So where is your husband, anyway?"

"He's gone to London for business until the end of the month. It's like I never get to see him any more. How is a girl supposed to stay faithful?" --she glances at you-- "Well I guess I'm asking the wrong person."
You ask Melissa about Roger
"So what do you know of Roger Knowles?"

"Ugh," she says, wrinkling her nose, "that man is an ogre."
Go northeast
Serving as little more than a junction, the path here leads from the garden in the southwest to the outside dining area in the north and northeast. The club itself lies to the west and the tennis court to the east. To the southeast is the pool, but it is closed for the season.
You go to the north
As if you never left, Cissy starts back on her photos.

Outside dining (next to the kitchen)
This is what it's all about: stale food and staler gossip. However, despite all that, the outside dining offered by Pine Meadows is really the only thing that interests you at the club. The tables are full; the place is busy. The members don't seem to be eating all that much though, no doubt saving their appetites for the banquet tonight. To the west is the server's entrance to the kitchen where all manner of food is prepared. The dining area extends to the east, and to the south and southeast are the garden path and tennis court respectively.

The waiter takes a sip from one of the finished drinks and seems to calm down a bit.

Cissy stands here in all her fuchsia splendour.
You go east
"You're not leaving already are you?" Cissy asks, lips pouted. "Oh well, you must come back to see the rest of my photos soon."

Outside dining (next to the Pro Shop)
This is what it's all about: stale food and staler gossip. However, despite all that, the outside dining offered by Pine Meadows is really the only thing that interests you at the club. The tables are full; the place is busy. The members don't seem to be eating all that much though, no doubt saving their appetites for the banquet tonight. To the west is the server's entrance to the kitchen where all manner of food is prepared. The dining area extends to the east, and to the south and southeast are the garden path and tennis court respectively.

A group of women sit here playing bridge and chatting.

Cynthia waits impatiently for her meal.
You tell Cynthia about the pills
"What do you think of Percodan?"

"I haven't done it in years. Oh, well that explains how you're able to let Frank touch you."
You tell Cynthia about Charles
"What do you think of Charles?"

"Really, Julia. The only thing worse than being a bore is talking about one."
Go west
"Aww, leaving so soon? Well we must do this again sometime," Cynthia calls out after you.
As if you never left, Cissy starts back on her photos.

Outside dining (next to the kitchen)
This is what it's all about: stale food and staler gossip. However, despite all that, the outside dining offered by Pine Meadows is really the only thing that interests you at the club. The tables are full; the place is busy. The members don't seem to be eating all that much though, no doubt saving their appetites for the banquet tonight. To the west is the server's entrance to the kitchen where all manner of food is prepared. The dining area extends to the east, and to the south and southeast are the garden path and tennis court respectively.

A waiter bustles about frantically, trying desperately to keep up with drink orders from demanding patrons.

Cissy stands here in all her fuchsia splendour.
You look at the waiter
Tuxedoes aren't active wear, and the waiter exemplifies perfectly why this is so. His cummerbund prevents him from turning his waist; his whole ensemble clings to him with sweat. In fact, his bow tie seems so tight that his eyes bug out and his face is flushed.

Cissy continues to prattle on about her oh so fascinating life.
You ask the waiter for the peanuts
"I'm sorry, Mrs. Hawthorne, but we don't serve peanuts here. There might be some sauce in the kitchen though."

Cissy tells you about another 'famous' relative's accomplishments.
You order the drink
"Here you go, Mrs. Hawthorne," he says, handing you a glass of wine, his experience such that barely a ripple passes across its surface.

Cissy continues to prattle on about her oh so fascinating life.
You spill the wine on Cissy
Pretending to catch your heel on a crack, you launch yourself forward towards Cissy, spilling the deep, red wine over her clothes.

"My clothes!" she cries, trying desperately to sop up the rapidly setting wine. "This was a gift from my husband." You guess he bought it as a not so subtle hint.

"Don't worry Cissy, a little club soda and that will come right out." A lie, sure, but you have to stop her from sobbing somehow. Besides, you did her a favour, that monstrosity wasn't helping anyone.

When Cissy sees that nothing she can do here will stop the stain, she begins to walk out. "Oh dear, guess I'll go home to change. I'll see you at the banquet tonight. Ciao."
Go west
For all the years you've been a member of Pine Meadows, you've never had a reason to visit the kitchen before today. And you are thankful for that. If you had been here years ago you certainly wouldn't have been so quick to eat the food. Gray slabs of meat lie along the counters and hang from cupboards; enormous pots, some empty, some full, sit on stoves. All this under a barrage of pedestrian smells that assault your nose. A set of large, locked doors lead west to the banquet hall and a smaller opening on the opposite wall leads back out to the dining area.

Amongst the many exotic dishes, you see a steaming plate of Coquille Saint Jacques.

When he thinks you aren't looking, one of the cooks spits in to a steaming plate of something.
You open the cupboards
The cooks look at you suspiciously but say nothing. You're well known among the kitchen staff for your temper. The cupboards are packed with a bewildering array of foodstuffs.
You search the cupboards
Here we go, Thai peanut sauce. You slip it in to your pocket while the cooks aren't looking.
You put the sauce on the Coquille
"Please, Mrs. Hawthorne," says one of the cooks, "leave the food to us."
You examine cook
Harried and hurried, the cooks rush about the kitchen.
You look at the pots
Balanced on the stove, several pots stand dangerously close to falling over.
You put the sauce on the Coquille
With the cooks distracted, you sneak the peanut sauce in to Cynthia's food and discard the bottle.

Apparently you made quite a mess. The cooks are still cleaning it up.
Go east
Outside dining (next to the kitchen)
This is what it's all about: stale food and staler gossip. The tables are full; the place is busy. The members don't seem to be eating all that much though, no doubt saving their appetites for the banquet tonight. To the west is the server's entrance to the kitchen where all manner of food is prepared. The dining area extends to the east, and to the south and southeast are the garden path and tennis court respectively.

A waiter bustles about frantically, trying desperately to keep up with drink orders from demanding patrons.
Go east
Outside dining (next to the Pro Shop)
This is what it's all about: stale food and staler gossip. The tables are full; the place is busy. The members don't seem to be eating all that much though, no doubt saving their appetites for the banquet tonight. To the west is the server's entrance to the kitchen where all manner of food is prepared. The dining area extends to the east, and to the south and southeast are the garden path and tennis court respectively.

A group of women sit here playing bridge and chatting.

You arrive just as Cynthia sits down to eat her Coquille Saint-Jacques. Your glee can barely be contained as she raises a slimy piece of shellfish to her lips and delicately nibbles at it.

A few minutes pass while Cynthia eats her meal and when she is done, she finishes it off with a delicate licking of her lips. That's when she notices what you have been seeing the whole time. Her lips, reacting furiously to the peanut sauce, have begun to swell, ballooning up to twice their regular size with no sign of stopping.

"Myb bwips, bwat's bappebing?" she blubbers. Oh well, at least she won't need that collagen anymore.

Soon the paramedics arrive to take her away from the crowd of gawking club members and elated waiters, leaving you to resume your business.
You look
Outside dining (next to the Pro Shop)
This is what it's all about: stale food and staler gossip. The tables are full; the place is busy. The members don't seem to be eating all that much though, no doubt saving their appetites for the banquet tonight. To the west is the server's entrance to the kitchen where all manner of food is prepared. The dining area extends to the east, and to the south and southeast are the garden path and tennis court respectively.

A group of women sit here playing bridge and chatting.
You go northeast
You walk down the paved path until you come to the Pro Shop.

Since Pine Meadows instituted the policy of allowing day memberships, the shop has been enjoying a lot more business. Well, enjoying is probably the wrong word. The only people who frequent the shop are amateur social climbers trying to impress clients or lonely housewives eager to get a little attention from Keith. Luckily, none of them seem to be around, leaving you to see how cramped the shop actually is. All manner of rackets, clubs, and balls crowd the walls; an obtrusive counter divides the room arbitrarily, and to the north a door leads to the driving range, too small to open up the place at all.

Keith smiles up at you as you enter.

"Hey babe, good to see ya," Keith says, smiling. "I was beginning to think you might not make it."
You examine Keith
Tall, well-muscled, and the most sexually virile man you've ever known, Keith rubs his hand across his chest absently when he catches you looking at him. You suppress a shudder and involuntarily lick your lips.

"You better be careful with those around Mr. Knowles," Keith says, glancing at the pills and jerking his thumb towards the driving range. "He's in a huff ever since he found out about his grandson."
Smell keith
Whatever smell is there is overpowered by your characteristic fragrance: Self-Obsession, by Calvin Klone.
You tell Keith about the photo
"Listen, Keith, someone was in the access hall while we were in the closet and they took a photo."

"You mean someone took a picture of us while we were fucking?" You cringe at his vulgarity. "Shit, what are we going to do?"

"Don't worry, I'll take care of it," you say, hoping it's not a lie.
You tell Keith about Frank
"About Frank..."

"Why don't you leave him already? Then we could finally be together. Just don't tell him about us, he'd ruin me." With that, he leans forward dramatically. "I could give you the moon."

No, what he could give you would be more painfully trite lines like that.
You tell Keith about Charles
"What do you think of Charles?"

"That guy freaks me out. Always brushing up against me and stuff."
You tell Keith about Scott
"Sorry, babe. I don't know nothing about that."
You go to the north
With the banquet just a few hours away, most people aren't willing to work up a sweat. As such, the driving range is all but uninhabited. While most of the course is just grass, the range has concrete walks, sparing you from the torture that is walking on grass in heels. The Pro Shop lies to the south.

Roger Knowles, a man who puts the 'old' in old money, stands here, occasionally hitting a ball off in to the green.

"Oh, Julia, it's you," Roger says, looking up. As he returns his concentration to the game, he continues, "What do you want?"
You tell Roger about pills
You carefully feel Roger out about drugs.

"Damn junkies," he spits, "they're ruining this country and this club. I will not have those people at Pine Meadows."
You tell Roger about Melissa
You better not, blackmail only works if you haven't actually revealed the information.

Roger sights up and smacks a ball clear across the green.
You examine Roger
While Pine Meadows's members have never been known for their progressive politics, Roger Knowles is considered a little old-fashioned even here. You'd be wise to watch your step around him; he's never liked you and, being a primary shareholder of the club, is likely to expel you should you disturb him too much.
You ask Roger about Frank
"Julia, I have no need of your gossip."

Roger sights up and smacks a ball clear across the green.
You go south
Since Pine Meadows instituted the policy of allowing day memberships, the shop has been enjoying a lot more business. Well, enjoying is probably the wrong word. The only people who frequent the shop are amateur social climbers trying to impress clients or lonely housewives eager to get a little attention from Keith. Luckily, none of them seem to be around, leaving you to see how cramped the shop actually is. All manner of rackets, clubs, and balls crowd the walls; an obtrusive counter divides the room arbitrarily, and to the north a door leads to the driving range, too small to open up the place at all.

Keith paces back and forth, absentmindedly fiddling with things.
Go southwest
Outside dining (next to the Pro Shop)
This is what it's all about: stale food and staler gossip. The tables are full; the place is busy. The members don't seem to be eating all that much though, no doubt saving their appetites for the banquet tonight. To the west is the server's entrance to the kitchen where all manner of food is prepared. The dining area extends to the east, and to the south and southeast are the garden path and tennis court respectively.

A group of women sit here playing bridge and chatting.
Go south
Since tennis became passé, this court is mainly used by those few members who actually enjoy the game. In fact, due to the reduced use, the club has even begun letting non-members play on it. You've never been that fond of tennis and with the rabble about, you're loath to even stay on the court. Hardly a big loss. The net droops, the benches are peeling, and the rubber floor sticks to your pumps. Although you are fenced in on most sides, thankfully, you can still leave to the more agreeable outside dining areas to the northwest and north, or the garden path to the west.

Beverly hops from foot to foot, waiting for a ball to come out of a serving machine at the other end of the court.

Beverly smacks a ball across the court.
You go west
Serving as little more than a junction, the path here leads from the garden in the southwest to the outside dining area in the north and northeast. The club itself lies to the west and the tennis court to the east. To the southeast is the pool, but it is closed for the season.
Blackmail melissa about pills
"Oh, Melissa," you say, smiling, "I was just talking to Roger Knowles, you know, primary shareholder of the club, the man with the power to make or break? Well, he had some of the most interesting things to say about, how did he put it, oh yes, 'junkies.' I just thought you might--"

"Cut the crap, Julia, what do you want?" she says, her boldness replaced by anger.

"Now, now. No need for such language," you say, enjoying your moment. "Just give me the film and no one need know your dirty little secret."

"Fine, take it," she says, pulling a roll of film from her handbag and tossing it at you. With that, she stomps off from the garden. However, as she does, she calls back to you, a hint of satisfaction in her voice. "But if you want the photo itself, you might want to talk to the person who's behind all this."

"Who?" you ask, painfully aware of how little time is left until the banquet.

"Who do you think? Who stands to gain the most by you and Frank splitting up? Besides Frank of course." And with that, she's gone.
You examine the film
Here it is: the film. Now you just need to get your hands on that photo and this whole mess will be over.
Look around
Being this far out in the country, the garden is really the only place at Pine Meadows where nature exists, yet isn't out of control. The topiary is subtle, no garish animals or ambitious creations. Flowers line the drive to the south, down which the valet service lies. A path, hedged with rose bushes, curves round the club to the northeast, and the club itself lies to the north.
You go to the east
Since tennis became passé, this court is mainly used by those few members who actually enjoy the game. In fact, due to the reduced use, the club has even begun letting non-members play on it. You've never been that fond of tennis and with the rabble about, you're loath to even stay on the court. Hardly a big loss. The net droops, the benches are peeling, and the rubber floor sticks to your pumps. Although you are fenced in on most sides, thankfully, you can still leave to the more agreeable outside dining areas to the northwest and north, or the garden path to the west.

Beverly hops from foot to foot, waiting for a ball to come out of a serving machine at the other end of the court.

In a strangely crude move, Beverly shifts her bra uncomfortably.
You show the film to bevely
You can only do that to something animate.
You show the film to Beverly
"I guess this is what you're after," Beverly says, fishing in to her shirt and pulling out a photo. "Sorry about all I've put you through today, it's just I couldn't afford to let you know I had it until the banquet. You've proved quite resourceful so far. Who knows? Had you known it were me from the start, you might have just been able to stop me." She puts the photo back in her blouse. "Really, Julia, Frank and all his money deserve to be with someone a little more faithful than you. And once he sees this photo he'll realize who that is. Men are so easy to bend when vulnerable, don't you agree?"

"Oh well," she says, turning off the machine and wiping the sweat from her brow. As she does, Beverly glances at her watch. "My, my. Look at the time. I must be getting ready for the banquet. Oh yeah, I forgot to tell you. I talked to Charles and told him about how it had been so long since I had seen Frank and he was more than willing to seat us all together. Isn't that wonderful?"

"See you there," she says, throwing her purse over her shoulder and walking off.

Beverly was right, the banquet is almost starting, which means Frank will be arriving soon. You run as fast as you can without breaking a sweat to the bathroom, toss your stuff in your locker, and go about making yourself look as presentable as possible. Quickly, you get the extra clothes from your locker, put them on, and go about fixing your makeup. Within twenty minutes (a Pine Meadows record) you are ready and speed your way to the banquet hall, drawing more than a little bit of attention: running is as rare as running shoes amongst these people.

Luckily, your speed pays off and you get to the banquet just in time. Frank is just arriving and Beverly is nowhere to be seen, apparently your tampering with her clothes slowed her down long enough. Just as the doors open, Beverly comes racing down the hall with a sweater tied around her waist, casting you a dirty look as she does. With that, you are all ushered in to the hall.

Banquet hall (at your table)
Well, here you are, seated at a table in what amounts to the most horrifically uncomfortable chair you have ever been upon. An ostentatious centerpiece, surrounded by candles with a program leaning against it, sits in the middle of the table, its baby's breath bouncing perilously close to the flames. All around you, the din of diners talking, plates clunking, and air-conditioners whirring, fade in to the background, allowing you to concentrate on the problem at hand.

Frank sits to one side, gazing fondly at you.

Beverly eyes you suspiciously and pulls her purse a little closer.

You nervously flip the menu over in your hands, absent-mindedly pretending to read.
You look at the menu
The situation is enough to make you lose your appetite. And if it weren't, having seen the kitchen earlier certainly would.

Beverly takes a sip of her drink.
You check what you're carrying
You are carrying:
a menu
a change of clothes (being worn)
your Louis Vuitton bag (which is open)
your make-up
your watch (being worn)
You examine the candle
I guess Charles thinks that if the banquet is lit with these, people won't be able to see how tacky the whole thing is.

Frank sips at his drink nervously.
You look at centerpiece
Egad, from a cursory glance, the centerpiece appeared to be fresh-cut flowers, but on closer inspection, it's plastic! You knew this place was going down hill, but plastic?

Glancing up towards the stage, you see Charles preparing the podium for the speakers.
Burn menu
Trying to make it look as accidental as possible, you put the menu in to the flame. Within seconds it is flaring away, causing quite a scene.

"Your menu!" Frank shouts, jumping to his feet, surprisingly gallant. Quickly, he grabs one of the glasses from the table and dashes water over the burgeoning fire. It goes out with a hiss, leaving a puddle of ashy water and charred paper. "That was close," he wheezes, wiping the sweat from his forehead.

"Yes, a little too close," Beverly mutters, eyeing you suspiciously and moving her purse beneath her chair.

A team of waiters, hitherto immobilized with shock, move in to action. Within a few moments, the table is restored and people start getting back to waiting for their meals and gossiping amongst themselves.
You look under the chair
Bending over has already gotten you in to one awkward position today.
Burn program
Better not, you already look like enough of a pyro.

Suddenly, from the stage, the ceiling, and behind, speakers screech to life. "Testing." Charles voice sounds out from all corners of the room, a good deal less servile when pumped out at a hundred and ten decibels.
You burn beverly
Better not, you already look like enough of a pyro.

"Now, to say a few words before the banquet, here's Julia Hawthorne, this year's philanthropist of the year," Charles says, gesturing to you with a wide sweep of his hand while an enormous circle of light falls on you from a spotlight above. "Let's give her a hand, everybody!" A round of applause ensues.
You wait a while
Time passes.

You have no other choice. The time for action is over. Dejected, you make your way to the stage, hoping that Beverly chooses to prolong your anxiety for awhile longer and not show Frank the photo. Of course, hope is all you can do.

When you reach the stage, you cast a glance towards your table, just long enough to see Beverly showing something to Frank. As you begin your speech, Frank leaves the table, and your life, forever.
Wait
Time passes.

Beverly takes a sip of her drink.
You wait awhile
Time passes.
You wait awhile
Time passes.

Frank sips at his drink nervously.
You examine Frank
Looking at Frank, you wonder what ever attracted you to him in the first place. His skin is pale, his hair is limp, his body is flabby, and his clothes are outdated. Then you glance down at the bulge in his pants and remember: it was the size of his wallet.

Glancing up towards the stage, you see Charles preparing the podium for the speakers.
Spill drink
What do you want to spill the drinks in?
You examine beverly
For all her bravado on the tennis court, Beverly seems to be a tad nervous. It's a lot easier to threaten to cause a scene and ruin a marriage than to actually do so. But if she's held on this long, there's no way she'll bow out now. In fact, you can see her hand dangling below the table, ready to fish out the photo from her purse at any moment.

Frank gulps down the rest of his drink.
You get the drink
You don't want to anger either of them.

Draining her glass, Beverly licks the rim with relish. She always was a bit of a lush.
You examine the candle
I guess Charles thinks that if the banquet is lit with these, people won't be able to see how tacky the whole thing is.

"Here, Beverly, let me get that for you," Frank says, taking the empty glasses and calling over the waiter.

"Oh, Frank. You're such a gentleman. How does Julia ever keep her hands off of you?" she says, handing him her glass.

Frank chuckles. He always does that when he's nervous.
Examine menu
The situation is enough to make you lose your appetite. And if it weren't, having seen the kitchen earlier certainly would.

A waiter comes by and removes the empty glasses, ignoring all requests for new drinks.
You wait awhile
Time passes.
Sing
Me me me me!

Suddenly, from the stage, the ceiling, and behind, speakers screech to life. "Testing." Charles voice sounds out from all corners of the room, a good deal less servile when pumped out at a hundred and ten decibels.
You wait
Time passes.

"Now, to say a few words before the banquet, here's Julia Hawthorne, this year's philanthropist of the year," Charles says, gesturing to you with a wide sweep of his hand while an enormous circle of light falls on you from a spotlight above. "Let's give her a hand, everybody!" A round of applause ensues.
Burn menu
Trying to make it look as accidental as possible, you put the menu in to the flame. At first, no one notices the small flame, and by the time they do, it's too late for them to do anything.

"Your menu!" Frank shrieks, pointing frantically and lurching back from the table. His foot catches on the leg of his chair, and he is sent sprawling in to a dessert cart. Another time and you might have found that funny, but you've had your fill of schadenfreude for today.

Beverly, for once losing her icy composure, scrabbles away from the table as fast as she can.

The fire begins to spread.
You take the photo
With everyone distracted by the raging fire, you grab the photo. Damn it's hot.

The fire spreads to the centrepiece, the cheap plastic leaves curling and spouting out plumes of foul-smelling smoke.
Burn photo
With a rather dramatic flourish (hey, you deserve it) you crumple up the photo and toss it in to the fire. As it burns, so does Beverly's hope of destroying your marriage. Not that she stops trying, though. Frank tells you later that week about a phone call from her, but without any proof, his blind adoration of you wins out over suspicion.

The fire that resulted during the banquet ended up destroying a good portion of the building. Good riddance, you say, the club was past its prime and it was more fitting that it go out with flare rather than dwindle away to mediocrity.
Wait
Time passes.

Beverly takes a sip of her drink.
Time passes.
Time passes.

Frank sips at his drink nervously.
Time passes.

Glancing up towards the stage, you see Charles preparing the podium for the speakers.
Time passes.
Time passes.

Frank gulps down the rest of his drink.
Time passes.

Draining her glass, Beverly licks the rim with relish. She always was a bit of a lush.
Time passes.

"Here, Beverly, let me get that for you," Frank says, taking the empty glasses and calling over the waiter.

"Oh, Frank. You're such a gentleman. How does Julia ever keep her hands off of you?" she says, handing him her glass.

Frank chuckles. He always does that when he's nervous.
Time passes.

A waiter comes by and removes the empty glasses, ignoring all requests for new drinks.
Time passes.
You wait for a while
Time passes.
Time passes.
Time passes.
You wait for a while
Time passes.

Suddenly, from the stage, the ceiling, and behind, speakers screech to life. "Testing." Charles voice sounds out from all corners of the room, a good deal less servile when pumped out at a hundred and ten decibels. Time passes.

"Now, to say a few words before the banquet, here's Julia Hawthorne, this year's philanthropist of the year," Charles says, gesturing to you with a wide sweep of his hand while an enormous circle of light falls on you from a spotlight above. "Let's give her a hand, everybody!" A round of applause ensues.
Burn menu
Trying to make it look as accidental as possible, you put the menu in to the flame. At first, no one notices the small flame, and by the time they do, it's too late for them to do anything.

"Your menu!" Frank shrieks, pointing frantically and lurching back from the table. His foot catches on the leg of his chair, and he is sent sprawling in to a dessert cart. Another time and you might have found that funny, but you've had your fill of schadenfreude for today.

Beverly, for once losing her icy composure, scrabbles away from the table as fast as she can.

The fire begins to spread.
You wait for a while
Time passes.

The fire spreads to the centrepiece, the cheap plastic leaves curling and spouting out plumes of foul-smelling smoke.
You wait
Time passes.

The flames web across the tablecloth, scorching the table underneath and sending waves of heat in to your face. You feel your nose soften. Dr. Rickers said it would take at least twice this much heat; that son of a bitch is so sued.
Wait
Time passes.

The fire licks at the table, sending out smoke that makes your head swim.
You wait awhile
Time passes.

The table collapses in to a pile of flaming kindling, sending a scent reminiscent of your trip upstate in to the air.

All the smoke finally gets to you. Your mind clouds over for a moment, and your knees buckle from under you. The last thing you remember is pitching headlong in to the fire.

When you awaken a few days later, you learn that Frank never saw the photo. But your satisfaction is short lived. With all the scars on your face, that's probably the last photo in which you looked decent. Well maybe not decent.
You tell Frank about Keith
First casting a defiant look at Beverly, you turn to Frank, take his hand in yours, and pinch your thigh to get some authentic tears flowing.

"Frank, I have to tell you something..."

After what seems like hours of tears, pleads, and yells, things finally settle down. It's over. Not that it's the worst loss or anything, you just wish you hadn't signed that pre-nupt.
Kiss beverly
Ahh, convince Frank you're a complete nympho by kissing Beverly and then maybe he won't consider your affair an act of betrayal and instead carry you off to the sexual-dysfunction clinic in his arms and you'll all live happily ever after, is that your plan? Dream on.

Beverly takes a sip of her drink.
Kiss frank
You haven't kissed him in months. To do so now might raise suspicion, and something else you're not too fond of.
Kiss beverly
Ahh, convince Frank you're a complete nympho by kissing Beverly and then maybe he won't consider your affair an act of betrayal and instead carry you off to the sexual-dysfunction clinic in his arms and you'll all live happily ever after, is that your plan? Dream on.

Frank sips at his drink nervously.
Inventory
You are carrying:
a menu
a change of clothes (being worn)
your Louis Vuitton bag (which is open)
your make-up
your watch (being worn)

Glancing up towards the stage, you see Charles preparing the podium for the speakers.
Describe the surroundings
Clearly the focus of the layout, a magnificently restored antique oak desk stands near the back of the room, illuminated by a spacious window overlooking the golf course. Somewhat less impressive, a wise move considering they might detract from the desk, are a row of cabinets leading from the door to the south, along the wall, to the window at the far side of the room.

On Charles's desk is a telephone.
You eat the salad
(first taking the half-eaten salad)
If you wanted to put something limp and wilted in your mouth... Ok, that one's a little dirty even for you.
Swing
What do you want to swing?
Swing frank
If only Frank were in to that.

Beverly takes a sip of her drink.