A trio of Elini kids did something unprecedented in Bitch history: They approached the dog and demanded to be photographed and quoted.
"Can we be in the New Times? Could you ask us something outlandish and ridiculous?" asked one giggly, dark-haired princess. Before the hound could answer that pretty much all her questions fit that description, the boy third of the group blurted, "You could ask us if we're old enough to be drinking!"
The Bitch decided to stick with the photo and skip the damning evidence of names. But where was that alcohol? The situation seemed pretty dry, actually. The hound sniffed out some cases of room-temperature Piper-Heidsieck Brut tucked behind one of the mansion's granite outdoor wet bars, and since there were already some plastic flutes on the counter ... well, with the help of several fellow guests and some cork-twisting males, champagne-serving was soon in progress. Always awkward at parties, The Bitch was happy to have something useful to do. "I'm only an amateur bartender," she reminded while overfilling the plastic flutes so that they frothed over and onto the countertop. A few thirsty partygoers were annoyed by the warmness of the champagne, so The Bitch made sure they got an extra dousing of foam. Pretty soon the hound was covered in sweat and sticky dregs.
A pretty blond woman swam into view. "Hey, we're back," called Provines. "We found a place to live just today." The Bitch smiled and handed Provines a whole bottle of Piper. Lowry appeared.
"Is that the product you have on?" he asked the drenched dog. Indeed the Tinte black eyeliner having endured hours of limo stampedes, photographic confrontations, and a thorough dousing by grape-derived liquid remained intact, barely smeared, on the hound's eyelashes and lids.