Gaby, Gabi, Gabbie, and Gabriella had similar names and tastes, so no one gasped when they arrived at the party in identical attire. For them it wasn't a nightmare, as with other women who might have buried their face in their hands, edging slowly into the most distant corner, an emotion of dismayed shame guiding their flight. The quartet of Gabys stayed and had a great time. Soon it was noticed that they were hitting on the same men in some kind of regular rotation. The men, whose intoxication increased by the minute, hadn't the discernment necessary to register the discontinuity in conversation and feminine presence. And the women, it was further noticed, had only touched the lemonade. They left together, all eight of them, but no one ever found out what happened afterwards. The men had complete and total blackouts, caused presumably by the quantities of alcohol they had consumed. The Gaby variations were seen the next day sitting on a bench near the park, smiling quite harmlessly.

Story #282