Note: Submitted for the 2020 Nude Day contest. All Characters are 18 years of age or older.
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Yvonne smoothed down her elegant, electric blue dress and sucked in her tummy.
"Still got it, girl," she said to her reflection.
Taking another deep breath, Yvonne attempted to calm her nerves. Today was a big day. Her small catering company had been hired for a prestigious event, 'Women at The Top'. The city's movers and shakers would be there, and all were women. Make a good impression and doors would open.
"You've worked hard, girl," she told herself. Forty-Two, trim figure, shoulder-length dark hair, divorced from a jackass of a husband, a beautiful daughter and a thriving business she had built from tea cakes, crumpets and scones.
Her phone pinged.
'We are here and ready to set up, Ms Summer'
. It was Anne, the company's no. 2 and its main chef.
'Down soon'
, she messaged back. Yvonne had booked a room at the Sacker Street Hotel where the event was being held.
"Go wow them, girl!" Pep talk delivered she headed for the main reception hall.
Anne was busy with her small team, prepping the nibbles and fancies for the guests. Yvonne checked over the arrangements and some of the dishes
"We need some more of the smoked ham and lentil terrine with briôche and port reduction, and can we tidy up the beef carpaccio with feta fritters and sun-dried tomatoes? Oh and make sure we dress the seared scallops with cauliflower purée and black pudding beignet and highlight our speciality, the dressed crab with pickled beetroot salad and sourdough crisps." Yvonne rapped out instructions, and the catering staff scurried around to do her bidding.
Yvonne turned her critical eye on the temporary waitress staff she had been obliged to hire for the occasion. "And smarten up those outfits, I want elegant, not stripper," she said sharply.
The waitresses looked at each other and shrugged. "Yes, Ms Summers," said Cara, who seemed to be the unofficial leader of the group.
Anne put her hand on Yvonne. "Why don't you mingle with the guests while we finish up and start bringing the food out?" She suggested.
Flustered, Yvonne grabbed Anne back "Yes I'm sorry, nerves," she giggled then hiccuped. "God, I'm in a right state!"
"Try a dressed crab, new supplier, meant to be the best," said Anne reassuringly. "It will go really well with the champers."
Yvonne smiled weakly and popped the speciality into her mouth. It was divine, the taste sweeping away her nerves.
Drink in hand, Yvonne stepped into the main banqueting room and fixed a smile to her face. A handsome blonde woman in her fifties gave her a quick embrace.
"Lovely to see you, Yvonne, you have done wonders with your catering company and your daughter has been tirelessly promoting your food," said Mary Cummings.
Yvonne caught her daughter's eye in the crowd, and they signalled their affection for each other. Forrist Summers shared her mother's dark complexion and wavy black hair and was doing her best to charm the older women around her.
The chit chat amongst the women was light, friendly and more inclined to salacious gossip than the businesses and industries in which they excelled. This lunch was a reward for hard work, and everyone wanted to enjoy themselves.
Circulating freely, Yvonne matched her daughter's charm until a brief announcement of 'Lunch is served' was made followed by enticing aromas as the waitresses brought through trays of food. Yvonne had opted for grand entrance over laying out the food beforehand. It was more dramatic and kept the food fresh.
The expectant buzz and delight as the high powered guests tucked into the fare was music to Yvonne's ears.
Mary Cummings caught her eye and smiled, waving a smoked salmon delicacy as she did so. Yvonne raised her glass in acknowledgement, ignoring the sudden sharp pain in her tummy. Nerves, she thought.
One of the waitresses, Ingrid, was looking at her, a slight smile on her face. Frowning Yvonne rubbed her tummy and was about to tell the waitress to keep bringing the food when an even sharper pain and an ominous rumble became the harbinger of a more serious problem.
"Oh, no," she gasped and hurried to the restroom. Pulling frantically at her dress, she got to the cubicle, but already knew she was a fraction too late.
With a sigh of relief, she plumped herself down on the pan and let go. It wasn't pretty, nor was it silent. Embarrassed Yvonne prayed that no one else would come in.
She groaned as she examined her panties. They hadn't come through unscathed, even her lovely new dress was stained. Thinking quickly, Yvonne remembered there was a baby changing facility at the back of the restroom.
Flushing the evidence away, she gathered her panties in a wad of tissue and dived out of the cubicle and into the changing facility. Stripping off her dress she began rinsing it out, hoping to shift the stains. It was only partly successful. Damn, she thought bitterly. Absorbed as she was by her predicament, the screams and yells from the banqueting hall barely registered. The crashing sound from the restroom and sudden banging on the changing facilities door jolted her into full awareness.
"Fuck's sake, open this door!" A less than lady-like voice could be heard in between the banging.
What? A sudden chill hit Yvonne. It wasn't only her! And then the inescapable conclusion hit her. The food! Her food! A cold numbness swept over her, colour draining from her face. She had given everyone food poisoning. But how? And so quickly?
Yvonne put on her sponged dress and ditched her panties. Steeling herself, she opened the door. It was carnage. An elderly silver-haired woman in her fifties, with her elegant black dress hitched around her hips, glared at her.
"Too fucking late!" And then she and Yvonne were roughly pushed aside by a black woman.
"Coming through!" The black woman yelled. She didn't bother closing the door, just sat down and shuddered with relief. "Oh god, that feels good."
The silver-haired woman, 'Janice' according to her name tag, sank to the floor and sat in her own filth, sobbing.
Yvonne stepped over her gingerly and saw all the cubicles were occupied, with several women banging on the doors in desperation. Others had sunk to the floor, it was a sea of poop streaked limbs and despairing women.
"This is your fucking fault!" An angry Mary Cummings said from her seat in the sink, her legs dangling down, and neatly coiffured hair flopping over her sweat drenched face.
Yvonne instinctively covered her nose and mouth as Mary continued defecating in the sink.
"It was the smoked salmon," Mary snapped.
The woman next to her, Alice Decker, shook her head. "No, it was the dressed crab!"
"It was the beef," moaned Isabella Bacas. She was squatting over the wastebasket, which for once was living up to its name.
Puzzlement creased Yvonne's brow "That's not possible," she blurted out. One dish maybe, but all of them? And to act that fast?
Keeping her face covered, Yvonne walked out into the hallway.
"Please!" It was Mary Soames, the CEO of Plush Inc, manufacturer of luxury toiletries and bath products.
Embarrassed, Yvonne helped the half-naked woman out of the large plant holder stand and steered her toward the men's restroom. Mary suddenly gripped her arm and dived into another plant holder.
"I'm so sorry," she gasped as a rasping retort sprayed the unfortunate Banana plant.
Yvonne smiled weakly, not sure where to look.
