I Guess I Just Always Figured There'd Be Next Year

Insert Standard Disclaimer … Here
Setting: Season 7, directly after "Key Party."

Karen shifted uncomfortably on the cushion, her legs folded up beside her. She unconsciously ran her fingers up and down her calf, her perfectly manicured nails occasionally catching on her pantyhose. Karen leaned heavily on her other hand on the cold stone floor, glancing furtively over her shoulder every so often towards the door.

She was seated outside on the manse's terrace, clearly waiting for something. It was unseasonably warm for October, but not enough so that it rendered the heat lamps unnecessary as they buzzed idly above her head. Tiny white lights dotted the various potted trees and wove their way through the intricate latticework that formed one wall around the terrace. A few bright stars shone through the fog and pollution overhead and the faint sounds of traffic wafted up from bustling Park Avenue below.

Karen bit her nail, bored, and glanced at her watch. She was seated on a thick cushion on the cold slate floor, an elaborate place setting spread out before her, picnic-style. To her left, another identical place setting was waiting. Fine china, her best silver, and hand stitched linen napkins lay atop a rich tablecloth. A bottle of wine chilled in a bucket nearby and, in the center of it all, a magnificent birthday cake stood, its candles slowly shrinking before her eyes as Karen waited.

Karen raised her watch to eyelevel once more and stared down at its face. She bit her lip as she counted out the seconds, her head bobbing ever-so-slightly with each advancement the skinniest hand made towards the 12.

When it finally hit, signaling a new minute, a brilliant smile broke out across Karen's face, her pensive and nervous look vanishing immediately. She beamed and turned towards the empty place beside her.

"Happy birthday, Stanley," she whispered before swiftly blowing out the candles.