THE CRAFT FAIRE

"Ugh, if I see one more of those hideous bleach bottle windmills, I think I'll throw up!" Sheila pointed to a display on the other side of the auditorium. "Oh, no! Here she comes again!" Sheila moaned to her partner, "Please, don't let her have the booth next to us again."

Carrie glanced up, hands halting in mid-air, feeling her shoulders sag. "The way our luck's been going at these craft fairs, it's gotta be her. We're in for it." She bent her head and went back to pulling out the merchandise for their display.

"Hi, girls!" Mona's grating, high-pitched voice echoed across the expanse of the auditorium. "Isn't this great? We're neighbors again." Mona waved her hand at the booth area next to their own. Her two sons already pulling racks and tables from the carts.

Sheila jerked the top of the tub off with more force than necessary, muttering, "Dandy, you creepy little bi..."

"Shhhh," Carrie hissed, cutting her off. "She'll hear."

"Ask me if I care," Sheila returned the hiss and brushed a stray lock of hair from her eyes. Carrie could see the deadly animosity. And couldn't blame her.

Mona Carruthers. The bane of their existence and that of just about every crafter on the circuit unfortunate enough to get a booth next to or across from her. Staying a step ahead of Mona wasn't easy. Crafters were always looking for more ideas at the faires, but not to the extent Mona took it by producing the same thing at lower prices the next day.

Mona acted as if it was her right, her standard line being, "We're all one big, happy family, right? I'm always happy to share my ideas."

Yeah, right, Carrie thought, and that would be okay, if Mona ever came up with an original idea. If you were unlucky enough to add a new craft which sold very well, you could count on Mona having an almost identical craft the next day. Where or how she managed to get the supplies so quickly and construct them, no one knew ... it just happened.

The crafts were one thing. What became a constant topic for discussion around the coffee urn was her ability to rope in customers that were looking at your things. If you broke eye contact with them, whoosh! Next thing you knew, they were at Mona's booth and she was racking up a sale.

Having the effrontery to mention something to her only netted a misty-eyed-Mona and sugary-sweet protestations of innocence. The promoters didn't care. Complaints to them landed on deaf ears. As long as crafters paid the booth fees, taxes and didn't use kits or copyrighted items, they were happy.

Carrie glared hard in Sheila's direction as Mona came bouncing over and attempted to give Sheila a hug. Sheila looked ready to deck her, but refrained and darted out of Mona's reach, hefting another tub of crafts onto the table with a bang. Carrie felt relief wash over her.

"I'm so happy to see you, girls!" Mona giggled, her eyes darting from tub to tub and display to display, visibly relaxing as she finished her `inventory'.

They didn't have any of the new stuff out yet. This time, they were going to wait until the last day, when the promoters had a huge entertainment planned and customers should pack the auditorium. And without sufficient time for Mona to do her worst.

"Hello, Mona," Carrie managed to get out with a modicum of politeness. Sheila had escaped the hug, but Carrie wasn't watching closely enough and got nailed. She shut her eyes tightly and felt the cringe creeping as Mona gave her a brief but fierce hug. The overwhelming perfume assailed her nostrils and a sneeze threatened if she didn't move away soon.

Thankfully, a clatter and small crash caused Mona to spin around in the direction of her booth. The racks had fallen, her boys just standing there placidly amidst the clutter. Mona tut-tutted and darted off to her booth.

"Having fun, ladies?" Ben's voice caused them to turn in unison. They liked Ben. Up to a point. He did marvelous stained glass, something Mona hadn't managed to copy ... yet. The only trouble with Ben was he liked to rub that fact in. "I see our favorite crafter has managed to get a booth next to you again. Amazing how her stock always mimics the crafters in her immediate vicinity."

"Shut up, Ben!" Sheila snarled.

"Oh, my. Aren't we touchy today?"

Carrie couldn't resist, "One of these days, Ben, I'm going to send a gift certificate to Mona for a stained glass course. Then we'll see who's touchy."

Ben had the grace to blanche and changed the subject. "How'd you two do at the Connelly Faire? I wasn't at all happy."

"Lousy advertising, if you ask me." Sheila looked up long enough to answer.

"We cleared the booth rent, but not much more, Ben." Carrie put in absently as the loudspeaker announced they would be opening the doors in less than an hour.

Carrie was furiously glaring at Sheila. "Have you lost your ever-lovin' mind?" She whispered, looking at her friend's overly innocent face and the hideous item clutched in her hand. Sheila had disappeared on her three hours ago, not giving her a clue as to her destination nor reason.

"Oh, it's all the rage around here," Sheila answered a little loudly, darting a quick glance in the direction of Mona's booth. She gave Carrie a long wink and pleading look to go along with her.

Carrie knew Sheila like her own sister. She was up to something and wasn't sure if she wanted to be involved. Some of Sheila's schemes backfired with the force of an atomic blast.

Mona began walking in their direction and the fleeting smug look on Sheila's face told her Mona was the target of this latest endeavor. Carrie refused to get involved. She turned back to help a customer as Mona's sugary-sweet voice wafted toward them.

"Hi girls. How's it going for you today?"

While ringing up the sale, Carrie noticed Mona craning her neck to catch a glimpse of the item Sheila was now stuffing into a sack and placing in a tub, firmly snapping the lid in place. Carrie rolled her eyes and was about to say something when Sheila threw a threatening look. It wasn't pleading this time. There was blood in Sheila's eyes, and she wanted revenge against Mona's son's accident with a coffee cup earlier on Sheila's basket of carefully cross-stitched ornaments. Almost the identical thing had happened at the last faire, just the other clumsy oaf of a son and on Carrie's needlepoint placemats.

"I'm gonna get tarred, feathered and run out of town, I know it," Carrie mumbled. Sheila couldn't possibly want that -- hideous thing at their booth. "Even Mona won't fall for that one." She glared at her daffy partner.

"It worked! It worked, look at her!" Sheila fairly jumped with glee two mornings later, clasping her hands together as an angry crowd was gathered around the adjoining booth, calling Mona just about every name in the book.

The faire had been open less than an hour on that last day and the guest of honor was due to arrive momentarily.

Mona's sons were cowering in the background of their booth, trying to throw covers over their new stock.

Carrie was in a state of shock. She'd heard about Percy, the pride of the county. Percy was also the guest of honor and the main crowd draw slated for the last day. He was also the largest prize pig in several western states.

And there was Mona; with a huge display of felt hamburgers, complete with a pig's face with X's for eyes and a red apple in its mouth with a large sign emblazoned "Percy Burgers". Carrie had to admire Sheila's skullduggery.

She'd run across a storage unit that was selling the contents of a default unit and there, she found a hand-made felt "Percy Burger" about to be dumped. The storage unit owner refused to sell it. He loved Percy just like everyone else in the county.

Sheila had rescued it from the garbage. Carrie had noticed that Mona had hung back beyond the closing time the previous day. She'd obviously ferreted out the horrid `sample' Sheila had squirreled away in the tub, complete with Sheila's notes to put it on their list of craft items to have in the summer faire here on Percy's home turf. Mona, in her usual copycat mode, must have stayed up all night getting her new stock ready.

Carrie smiled. It served Mona right. A slap against Percy in this proud, rural community was tantamount to a declaration of war.

Please feel free to email me with your suggestions or critiques: mkdesigner@yahoo.com

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