What Are You Doing
New Year’s Eve?
Jixemitri CWP #4
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Author’s notes: This story is a sequel to “All I Want
For Christmas.” If you haven’t read that, you may want to. This story plays
on several gags in earlier stories in the Here and Now universe, such as
“Boys Will Be Boys.” Mart Belden wearily plopped down in his
seat at the kitchen table. He rubbed the sleep out of his eyes and looked
around for any signs of intelligent life. The only other person in the room
was his little brother, Bobby, who was noisily slurping down his “norange” juice. Nope,
no intelligent life whatsoever, Mart thought grumpily. “Mornin’, Mart,” Bobby cheerfully greeted. The six-year-old
fed Reddy a bite of his biscuit, then popped the remaining bit into his own
mouth. Mart stared at his
youngest sibling in disgust. “That’s really gross, Bobby. You shouldn’t take
a bite of something after Reddy has slobbered all over it.” “Why not?”
Bobby asked with a shrug. “Me an’ Reddy is bestest
friends. We share ev’rything. Even our germs.” He
happily smiled, revealing his two new grownup teeth that had popped through
the day after Christmas. “Where’s Moms?”
Mart looked around the kitchen for a glimpse of his fair-haired mother. “Don’t worry.”
Bobby grinned knowingly. “Even though Moms ain’t
here, she lefted yer breafesk in the oven for ya.” Mart jumped up
and opened the oven door. Sure enough, there were two plates in the oven with
foil wrapped over them. He grabbed some oven mitts and pulled one of the
plates out. After transferring the bacon, scrambled eggs, and biscuits to a
cool plate, and after pouring a large glass of milk, he sat back down at the
table and munched on a slice of bacon. “So, where’s
everybody else?” Mart questioned between bites of food. “Moms wented to Crimpers to exchange some ugly junk she gotted for Chris’mas. Dad’s at
work. Brian’s in the shower ‘cause Jim is comin’ over an’ they’re gonna
do stuff. And Trixie’s sleepin’ ‘cause
she’s a lazy squaw,” Bobby informed him with a grin. Mart slathered
some jam on his flaky biscuit. “So, how, perchance, was I so auspicious as to
acquire the fellowship of my most pernicious sibling? Dare I fantasize that
you will bid adieu to our humble domicile and retreat elsewhere for the New
Year’s festivities?” “I ain’t ‘xactly sure whatcha mean, but if you was askin’
why I’m still here, it’s ‘cause Moms couldn’t take
me to Crimpers on ‘count that I sorta
did somethin’ bad there last time.” Mart lifted a
sandy brow in query. “What did you do this time? Did you get your shoelaces
caught in the escalator again, and they had to shut it down for an hour to
free you?” Bobby shook his head. “No, it was even worser
than that. After Thanksgiving some saleslady was standin’
on a huuuge ladder hangin’
ornyments on that honkin’
big tree by the door,” he explained cheerfully. “I actually knockded her off the ladder,
and she gotted real mad. She hollered at me reeeeally loud
while the ambulance taked her away. Mr. Crimper telled Moms to keep me
away, at least till Mrs. Pritt gets her casts off. “An’ Brian
already telled me I can’t go with him and Jim to
chop wood, ‘cause last time I almost choppded off
Reddy’s tail. An’ as soon as I finish my breafesk,
I’m gonna go upstairs an’ wake Trixie up. Moms said
since you all wasn’t doin’ nuthin’
‘portant, you could watch me till she gotted home.” “Sorry small
fry, but Esquire Mangan and I will be departing to the home of Mrs. Gertrude Vanderpoel to assist Tad Webster in his New Year’s Eve
Party preliminaries,” Mart announced. Bobby stuck his
lower lip out and ever-so slightly made it quiver. “An’ I can’t holp ya?” Mart snickered.
“Alas, you cannot, my puerile comrade. Methinks it would be much more
beneficial for you to remain here.” “Plee-ease, Mart?” Bobby begged. “I won’t bug ya. I’ll just go see ol’ Brom an’ eat windmill cookies.” “I said no,”
Mart replied firmly. Bobby’s pout
turned into a devilish grin as he remembered the silvery object in his
pocket. Quick as a wink, he whipped out his brand new handcuffs that he had
gotten for Christmas, and clasped one end on Mart’s wrist and the other on
his own hand. “Guess you’re stuck with me.” “Bobby! Take
these off right now!” Mart ordered. “I can’t,”
Bobby replied innocently, batting his baby blues. “I losted
the key.” Mart laughed.
“You’re lying. I can tell.” “Am not,” Bobby
scowled, nervously holding his hand over his pocket protectively. “Are too,” Mart
argued. “And if you don’t take these off right this minute, I’m going to yell
for Brian to bring me the sock.” Bobby gulped
nervously. “The sock?” “Yes, the
sock.” Mart folded his arms and grinned in satisfaction at the fear in
Bobby’s eyes. “And believe me, I’ve been sweating a whole lot more in gym class
the past few weeks, so that sock is even nastier now than it was last time I
shoved it in your mouth.” Bobby scowled,
but quickly retrieved the tiny key out of the pocket of his jeans. He
remembered all too vividly what Mart’s smelly, putrefied gym sock had tasted
like when it was shoved in his mouth last time. Mart rubbed his
wrists after Bobby had freed him. Suddenly, that devilish Johnson grin split
his face. “You know Bobster, you don’t need to go to Mrs. V’s to have fun. What you ought to do is…” and he leaned over
and whispered in his little brother’s ear. Bobby giggled and rubbed his
chubby hands together in utter anticipation. Mart finished
his breakfast, rinsed his plate and placed it in the sink. Feeling quite
proud of himself, he went upstairs to see if Brian was out of the shower. If
not, he could bang on the bathroom door to hurry him along. Bobby hid under the kitchen table out of
sight, and tried his best to stifle his giggles as he waited for his sister
to come downstairs. He was not disappointed. Just a few minutes later, he
heard Trixie clumping down the stairs. “Moms left you some breakfast in the
oven,” Bobby heard Mart call from the other room. “You actually saved it for me?” Trixie
grumbled sleepily. “You cut me deep, Trix,” Mart moaned. “I
can’t believe you would think I would actually steal food from my own sister.
What kind of brother do you think I am?” His voice faded as Bobby heard more
stomping up the stairs. “The greedy kind,” Trixie muttered as she
staggered in the kitchen. She cheered slightly as she inhaled the delicious
aroma of Moms’ thick-sliced bacon. She grabbed a potholder and retrieved the
plate out of the oven. After what seemed like an eternity to one
little boy, Trixie finally sat down at the kitchen table. Bobby, quiet as a mouse,
clasped the handcuff on his own wrist. Just as he was reaching for her wrist,
there was a knock at the back door. She jumped up quickly to answer it. Bobby
scowled momentarily, but then an even more devious plan formed in his mind.
He choked back a giggle and unlocked the handcuffs from his own wrist. He
quickly stuffed the key back into his pocket, as best as he could from a
seated position. Meanwhile, Trixie flung open the door, in
her best Trixie-style, to see Jim standing there. His cheeks were slightly
flushed from the cold, and he was rubbing his freckled hands together in an
effort to keep warm. His hunter green parka emphasized the emerald hue of his
eyes. She caught her breath slightly at the woodsy sight before her. Trixie flushed in embarrassment and ran a
hand through her mass of ringlets in an unsuccessful effort to tame them a
bit. “Good morning, Jim,” she greeted. Jim’s heart fluttered as he gazed at the
picture Trixie made in her snowman pajamas. Her curls were tousled, and his
favorite one was dangling in the middle of her forehead, just begging to be
tugged. Her china blue eyes sparkled and her cheeks were rosy. He gulped
nervously. “Hey, Trix. Is Brian around?” “I think he’s finishing up in the shower,”
she answered. “He should be down any minute.” She nervously stepped aside,
allowing Jim to enter the warm kitchen. “C’mon in. Moms made some yummy
biscuits this morning. I think there’s some left. And, if you’re a good boy,
maybe I’ll share my bacon with you.” Jim grinned as he bent 0ver to take off
his boots. “Now there’s an offer I can’t refuse,” he said, shaking the snow
out of his russet hair. He sat down at the table to Trixie’s left and
snatched a piece of crispy bacon off her plate. She pulled a plate out of the cupboard.
After handing it to Jim, she opened the refrigerator. “Milk or orange juice?” “Orange juice,” he answered, discreetly
gawking as Trixie bent over to look in the refrigerator. Her snowman pajama
pants hugged her bottom, emphasizing her pert figure. After she found the
orange juice, she reached up to the high cupboard beside the refrigerator to
get a glass. The reaching motion made her matching snowman baby tee ever-so
slightly rise above her belly button. I’ll
definitely have to start coming to the Beldens’ at breakfast time more often,
Jim thought with a wicked grin. Trixie found the leftover biscuits, and
warmed them in the microwave. Finally, she brought the biscuits to the table
and sat down. She took her plate and split her food with Jim. “Moms’ portions
are too big, anyway,” she explained. “I’ve got to watch my figure.” Jim choked on a bite of scrambled eggs. It
had been on the tip of his tongue to say that he had just been watching her
figure, and it looked fine to him. “Cute jammies,”
he commented instead. Trixie blushed. Mentally she kicked
herself for not changing, or at least brushing her teeth, before she came
downstairs. Meanwhile, Bobby hunkered under the table,
stifling giggles. He had to be quiet. If he made the slightest noise, all of
his planning would be in vain. But, he had to be fast. A moment’s hesitation
could jeopardize the entire mission. Finally, his golden opportunity came.
Trixie’s left hand hung over the chair arm, her wrist dangling enticingly
over the end. Jim, who was left-handed, had his right arm hanging beside him.
It appeared to be inching closer and closer to Trixie’s hand… CLINK! Both Trixie and Jim jumped at the
noise, but when they tried to hop up, they got tangled up in each other and
landed in a heap on the floor. Trixie looked up and perplexed blue eyes met
triumphant blue ones. “ROBERT HAROLD
BELDEN!” Trixie bellowed. “What
have you done??!!” Jim yanked both his and Trixie’s arm up
and studied them. “Handcuffs?” he
asked incredulously. Bobby fell over in a fit of giggles. “Gotcha!”
he laughed. “I’ve been waitin’ an’ waitin’ for ya to hold still! I
never thoughted I’d get those on!” Trixie took a few cleansing breaths.
“Well, now that you’ve had your fun, maybe you can get the key and unlock
us,” she replied snippily. “Aw, Trix,” Jim muttered under his breath
so only she could hear, “you’ve got to use child psychology. Follow my lead.”
He looked up and smiled at the littlest Belden. “You’re just having some fun,
aren’t you, Bobster? This was a really funny trick, but I think
you’d better let us go. I need to help Brian chop wood.” Bobby scowled. “You gotta
go? Ev’rybody goes and does fun junk and just
leaves me behind.” Jim and Trixie glanced at one another
nervously. “Well, I’ll
be here Bobby. Maybe we can play Battleship after the boys leave,” Trixie
promised. “I know how you love to play games.” Bobby thought about it for a moment, but
then shook his head. “Nope. I want Jim to play, too. After we play Battleship
AND Monobly
AND Candy Land, then I’ll unlock you. If
I win.” “Monopoly takes a long time to play,
Bobby,” Jim told him, his voice less confident than it had been minutes
before. “Maybe we could just play a quick game of---” Bobby crossed his arms and pouted. “Then
I’m not gonna unlock ya.” Trixie’s blue eyes smoldered and her lips
were drawn closely together. “You can’t use child psychology on monkeys, Jim.
Sometimes, you just need a little brute force!” Suddenly, she lunged at
Bobby, dragging Jim behind. Bobby’s catlike reflexes allowed him plenty of
time to get out of the way and sit back and giggle as Trixie and Jim landed
on the floor under the table. Unfortunately, Brian picked that precise
moment to come into the room. “I thought I heard--- Hey! What’re you doing to
my sister?!” Brian growled. All he could see was Trixie laying spread eagle
on the kitchen floor and Jim sprawled out on top of her. To make matters worse, Trixie whipped her
hands down by her hips to prop herself up, which made Jim’s face land on her
chest. “Why you…” Brian pounced to their side.
“You’d better get up before I beat the crap out of you, Frayne!” Brian
threatened fiercely. “Fight! Fight!” Bobby squealed in delight,
gleefully hopping up and down and waving his arms. “I would if I…” Jim began, trying to raise
himself off of Trixie. However, at that moment, she raised her and Jim’s
hands above her head. Jim, in the precarious position he was already in, lost
what was left of his balance and flew back into Trixie’s chest, face first. Luckily for Jim, Brian saw the handcuffs.
After quite a bit of sputtering, he helped his sister and his best friend to
their feet. “Do I even want to know how you got in this position?” he asked,
his chocolate brown eyes dancing in amusement. Both Trixie and Jim looked over at Bobby.
Bobby assumed his famous angelic expression, then knowing it wasn’t working,
bolted for the door. “Gotta blast!” he exclaimed. Brian used his ninja reflexes and grabbed
the youngster by the back of the shirt. “Not so fast, Mudflap!
Are those your handcuffs?” “What handcuffs?” Bobby inquired, batting
his eyes angelically. Brian bit his tongue and practiced his
best Dad voice. “The handcuffs that are on Trixie and Jim.” “Oh, those
handcuffs! Yup, they belong to me,” Bobby nodded. “Well, take… them…
off… now,” Brian ordered slowly, all amusement gone from his eyes. Bobby sighed deeply and stomped his foot.
He tried very hard to squeeze out a tear, but to his dismay, his tear ducts
were clogged. Bobby may not have been able to cry, but he could whine. And
whine he did. “Aw, Brian! If I letted them go, Jim’ll go chop wood with you and I’ll be stuck here with
dumb ol’ Trixie!” “Gee, thanks,” Trixie muttered. “Well, I’m sure all the Bob-Whites will
come here later and play with you, if you unlock Jim and Trixie now,” Brian
said sternly. “No, ya won’t! Yer all goin’ to that dumb party
later,” Bobby grumbled. “I’ll unlock ‘em after we play.” “What offensive measures have been taken?”
Brian asked Jim and Trixie. “Child psychology didn’t work,” Jim
replied. “Neither did brute force,” Trixie
admitted. “Okay, time for a little blackmail,” Brian
said, clapping his hands. “Bobby, what would you do if I told Moms that you recorded over their wedding tape with the
‘Love in an Elevator’ music video?” Bobby lowered his eyebrows in confusion.
“I didn’t do that. That was Mart.” “Well, you
know that, and I know that, and Mart knows that, but Moms and Dad don’t
know that.” Brian grinned wickedly. Bobby narrowed his eyes and suspiciously
studied his oldest brother. “Ya wouldn’t really tell Moms that, would ya, Brian?” “That’s a chance you’ll have to take,”
Brian said with a shrug. Bobby let out a deep breath, knowing he
had no choice. Moms and Dad would never question Brian. Being responsible had
to have some perks, after all. He stuck his chubby hand in his pocket and
rummaged around. “Hurry up, dork!” Trixie hissed. “I have
stuff I need to do!” “I’m lookin’!”
Bobby yelled. “Uh, Brian, I can’t find my key. It’s losted.” “Very funny,” Jim said with a smirk.
“Unlock us, Bobby. Brian and I have a lot of work to do before the party.” “I’m not jokin’!”
Bobby cried. “I actually losted it!” “Accidentally or actually?” Trixie
questioned, knowing Bobby’s penchant for confusing the two words. “ACTUALLY!” Bobby hollered. “It’s gone! I stucked it right in my pocket when I was under the table,
but it ain’t there!” Brian crawled under the table and searched
for the missing key. “It’s not here. Maybe we can pick it with a bobby pin.” Trixie shook her head. “You can’t pick the
lock on those cuffs. They’re guaranteed to be pick-proof.” “Are you sure?” Brian asked. Trixie nodded and shrugged. “I was the one
that bought them for him for Christmas.” “Does your Dad have a saw?” Jim
questioned. “They’re cut-proof, too,” Trixie mumbled.
“They’re top of the line, you know.” “I’ve got an idea.” Brian grabbed his
little brother and flipped him upside down and started shaking him. At first, Bobby giggled, but after several
minutes of shaking, he began to cry. “I’m gonna
puke, Brian! Let me down!” Brian sighed and set a wobbly Bobby onto his feet.
“This has to be the stupidest thing you’ve done yet!” Brian griped. Bobby stumbled around a bit, still dizzy
from all the shaking. “It wuddn’t my idea. Mart was
the one who---” “Mart is the one who what, small fry?” Mart chose the perfect moment to enter the
kitchen. He grabbed an apple and took a big bite out of it. “Telled me to
put the handcuffs on Trixie,” Bobby sobbed.
“Did you do it?” Mart asked, oblivious to
Trixie and Jim’s predicament. Trixie smacked her middle brother upside the
head. “So this is your fault!” she
hissed. “Hey!” Mart exclaimed, rubbing his head.
“For what reason has my xanthous-haired kinswoman
opted to employ such warfare upon her hapless, unsuspecting fraternal
sibling?” Without a word, Trixie jerked up her and
Jim’s handcuffed wrists and shoved them under Mart’s nose. Mart looked at his little brother. “Did
you do this?” Bobby merely nodded. Mart doubled over in laughter. “Sweet, Bobster! That’s even better than my original idea!” He
held out his hand for Bobby to high five. Bobby smacked his middle brother’s
palm, his pout replaced by a proud smile. Mart was rewarded with a firm smack by
both Jim and Trixie. “Hey!” he yelped. “Methinks my acquisition of such
disapprobation is misguided, at best!” “This is all your
fault!” Trixie grumbled. “Dear Beatrix,
may I dogmatically connote that you are perhaps making much ado about
nothing?” Mart questioned, still unaware of the seriousness of the situation.
“May I propose that you ascertain the key and insert it into the lock, thus
effectively liberating you from said helotry?” He turned to Jim and studied
him with one sandy brow raised in speculation. “Or are you relishing being in
bondage with my flaxen-haired sister?” “We can’t just ‘ascertain’ the key,” Jim
replied grimly. “Bobby has ‘losted’ it.” Mart snickered. “Bummer. Tell me, James,
per se, how much circulating medium did it set you back to get Bobby to (here
he used those famous finger quotes) ‘lose’ the key, so you could remain
constrained to the fair Beatrix?” Jim’s face turned even redder than his
hair. If his green eyes had been a
light saber, poor Mart would have met an untimely demise. “Mart!” Trixie sputtered. “I suggest you
help get us out of this mess before Moms gets home, or we’ll all be in
trouble.” “True,” Mart added with a twinkle in his
eyes. “However, I’m more intrigued what the patriarch of the Belden clan will
say come time to slumber. Jim, I hope
you like the left side of the bed.” “You’re not helping,” berated Brian. “If
you can’t think of a solution, could you at least shut up so the rest of us
can?” Mart feigned a hurt expression. “I am
truly offended by that callous remark. It almost makes me forget the
veritably brilliant solution conjured up by my immensely superior
cerebellum---” Jim stuck a finger directly in front of
Mart’s nose. “Spit it out or die, Belden.” “Would Trixie’s handcuff keys work?” Mart
asked simply. “Maybe,” Trixie answered thoughtfully.
“They’re in my room. I’ll go get th---” “Whoa!” Brian said, blocking the doorway. “You’re
certifiably insane if you think I’ll let Jim go up to your bedroom alone with
you. I have a better idea. Mart,
you and Bobby get the key. I’m going to start chopping firewood, so we can go
to Tad’s party tonight. Jim can come out and help me when he’s free.” Mart snorted. “How am I supposed to find
one single key in the cataclysmic chamber more commonly called ‘Trixie’s
room’? Bobby and I could get ‘losted’ in there.” Trixie sniffed indignantly and tossed her
curls right into Jim’s face. “I had them in my jeans’ pocket. Those jeans are
on the floor, right in the middle of my room.” Mart chuckled as he led Bobby out of the
kitchen. “All right, squaw. But if we aren’t back by sundown, send in a St.
Bernard. Got your compass, Bobster?” After Mart and Bobby left, Brian crossed
his arms and assumed his most serious expression. “Now that they’re gone, I
think it’s necessary for me to lay down a few rules,” he lectured. “Rule
number one, no going into any of
the bedrooms.” Trixie and Jim rolled their eyes. “Rule number
two, keep your hands to yourself, as much as possible. If you have any itches
in awkward places, deal with it.” Jim chuckled. “I think we heard the ‘keep
all hands, feet, and objects to yourself’ lecture in
kindergarten, Brian.” “Rule number three, no going to the
bathroom,” Brian continued, pointedly ignoring his best friend. “Oh great, Bri!”
Trixie exploded. “Now that you’ve mentioned it, I know I’m gonna have to pee. Thanks a lot.” “Rule number four, no showering or bathing
or removing clothes for any reason,” Brian continued. “What if they catch on fire?” Trixie asked
with an impish twinkle in her eyes. “Even if they catch on fire, they are not to be removed,” Brian clarified
sternly. “If they do catch on fire, stop, drop, and roll. But try not to
touch each other when you’re rolling. And under no circumstance are you
permitted to remove clothing.” Trixie started giggling. “How would we
even get our clothes off, Bri? Would we leave our
tops dangling on our handcuffed wrists?” “Relax, Brian,” Jim soothed. “Go ahead and
get started on the wood, and I’m sure Mart will be right down with the key.” “Okay,” Brian relented. “But don’t do
anything I wouldn’t do.” “That secures my virtue,” Trixie muttered
sarcastically as Brian left. “Poor Honey even stood under the mistletoe---”
Remembering Jim was right there, Trixie left her sentence hanging. However, Jim’s curiosity was piqued. “Did
Honey want Brian to kiss her?” he
nervously asked. Trixie merely shrugged her shoulders and
ignored the question. “Well, I guess we should sit down and wait for Mart.
I’m sure it won’t take him long to find that key.” Trixie and Jim sat at the
kitchen table in awkward silence. Thankfully, a knock broke the unbearable
quiet. Dan opened the door and peeked
his head through. “Anybody home?” “Come on in, Dan,” Trixie called. “Mart
will be down in a minute.” Dan, knowing Mrs. Belden’s penchant for
early morning baking, searched the countertops till he found a leftover
biscuit. He poured himself a glass of milk, put the biscuit on a napkin, and
sat down across from Trixie and Jim at the table. Immediately, Dan noticed the handcuffs,
but he didn’t say a word. For several minutes, he happily munched and
slurped. After he had drunk the last bit of milk and wiped off some stray
crumbs, he leaned back in the kitchen chair and placed his hands behind his
head. “Kinky,” he said, with a lecherous grin and a wink. “Daniel William Mangan!” Trixie bellowed.
“Get your thoughts out of the gutter!” Dan put up his hands to shield himself
from any further insults. “What?” he asked innocently. “If you’re into
bondage, that’s none of my business. If it’s OK with Mr. and Mrs. B., then
it’s OK with me. Handcuffs aren’t my thing, but---” “Bobby put them on us,” Jim patiently
explained. “Then, he ‘losted’ the key. He and Mart
are looking for the one that goes with Trixie’s set, to see if it will work.” Just that moment, Mart and Bobby returned.
“Found it,” Mart replied, holding up the key triumphantly. He inserted it
into the lock, and turned it, but nothing happened. “Are you doing it right?” Trixie
questioned impatiently. “Yes,” Mart snapped, jiggling the key.
“It’s not going to work.” Trixie sighed. “What are we going to do?” Mart walked to the door and put on his
boots. “Well, beloved sister, I’m accompanying Esquire Mangan to the abode of
the benevolent Mrs. Vanderpoel, where we shall
assist Esquire Webster with the garnishments for his New Year’s Eve
festivities.” “Mart!” Trixie whined. “You aren’t just
going to leave us like this, are you?” “Yup. There’s nothing I can do. Bobby, you
keep looking for that key. Trixie, you try not to kill Bobby. Jim, you behave
yourself.” Mart’s friendly wink told Jim that he wasn’t nearly as spastic as
his older brother. He put on his coat and opened the door. “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do,” Dan
teased as they left. “Well, at least we have several more
options there than with Brian,” Trixie joked, remembering her brother’s words
earlier. Bobby hopped up and bounded for the door. “Whoa!” Trixie exclaimed. “Where are you going?” “I’m gonna play
with my new huly hoop,” Bobby told her. Trixie grabbed him by the scruff of the
neck. “I don’t think so. If I can’t
play with a hula hoop, you can’t
play with a hula hoop.” Bobby looked up at his sister sweetly.
“You can borrow my huly hoop if ya
want, Trixie.” Trixie glared at her brother and raised
her and Jim’s handcuffed wrists. “Does it
look like I can play with a hula hoop?” Bobby scratched his head and thought.
“Yeah. You an’ Jim could both get inside and wiggle it.” Jim’s eyes twinkled at the thought. “Well,
Bobby, that sure is nice of you to offer, but Brian
wouldn’t like it. Rule number two.” “Okey dokey!” Bobby grinned, trying to squirm away. “Hey,
Trixie! Let me go! I wanna go play!” “No way!” Trixie growled. “If I can’t play with your hula hoop, you can’t play with the hula hoop.” “Do you even wanna
play with the hula hoop?” Bobby asked meekly. “No, I don’t want to play with the hula hoop!” Trixie exploded, flapping both
her and Jim’s arms all over the place. “It’s the principle of the thing!” “I thoughted Mr.
Stratton was the principal,” Bobby corrected curiously. “Bobby, you’re not going anywhere or doing anything until you’ve found that key,” Trixie said in her most
ominous voice. “That ain’t
fair!” Bobby whined, stomping his foot. “I don’t hafta
listen to you. You ain’t my boss!” “All right, Bobby,” Trixie said, her tone
totally nonchalant. “But if you don’t find that key, I’m telling Dad you were
the one who sent him the Viagra sample for his birthday.” Bobby shook his head in confusion. “I
didn’t give Dad the Trixie smiled sweetly at her baby brother.
“Well, you know that, and I know that, and Mart knows that, but Dad
doesn’t know that. It’s two against one.” Bobby howled as a fresh stream of tears
trickled down his chubby cheeks. However, the blackmail worked, and he began
looking for the key. “So, what do we do now?” Jim asked. Trixie shrugged. “Well, I really need to
go upstairs to the bathroom and---” “We can’t!” Jim protested. “Brian said not
to go to the bathroom.” Trixie sighed deeply and attempted to
cross her arms. However, that action caused Jim’s hand to rest against her
right breast. Startled, she dropped her arm and turned a bright crimson. If
possible, Jim was an even brighter shade of red. “I don’t need to go to the bathroom!” she
snapped. “I didn’t brush my teeth this morning, and my mouth feels yucky.” “Okay,” Jim relented. “But what happens if
you
do need to go? I mean, you’re a girl, and girls have to pee every hour
on the hour.” “We do not!” Trixie disagreed. “Have I
once had to go in the middle of a mystery? Hello! I held it for hours on that
boat on the “I know, but---” “I may be short, but I’m 75% bladder,”
Trixie matter-of-factly stated. “So, you worry about your liquids, Frayne,
and I’ll worry about mine.” Jim grinned. Only Trixie could turn
urination into a contest. “All right. Now, let’s go reduce the risk of
cavities and fight some tartar build-up.” All went according to plan, until they tried
to ascend up the narrow staircase leading to the second floor. It wasn’t
quite wide enough for two people to go through. “Here! Let me go first!” Trixie said in
exasperation. She attempted to stand in front of Jim. However, that caused
his handcuffed hand to rest against her backside. “Whoa!” Jim screeched. “Rule num---”
However, as Jim jumped back, he caused Trixie to lose her balance. They
toppled to the ground. “Ooomph!” he exclaimed as Trixie landed on top of him. “…ber two!” he nervously squeaked. “Did you get those tattooed on your hand
so you could read them to me repeatedly?” Trixie inquired in a grumpy voice.
Carefully, they untangled their limbs and precariously stood to their feet.
“Let’s stand with our backs to the wall and sidestep up the stairs.” “That should work,” Jim replied.
Carefully, they scaled the staircase wall, and made their way to the second
floor of Crabapple Farm. Once in the bathroom, another challenge
arose. The bathroom sink was against the western wall. In order for Trixie to
stand in front of the basin, Jim had to be squished against the wall with
Trixie pressed against the front of his body. “Rule number
two!” Jim reminded, his voice cracking a bit. “Jim! Quit saying that!” Trixie begged. “I
have to brush my teeth! And I have to be right in front of the sink.
My spit has bad aim.” “Why didn’t you brush them as soon as you
woke up?” Trixie sighed. “I didn’t want my orange
juice to taste yucky. Now, help me squirt some toothpaste on my toothbrush.”
She handed Jim the toothpaste, which had lost its cap long ago. She held out
her toothbrush while Jim applied a generous amount on the bristles. “Now, close your eyes,” Trixie ordered. “Why?” Jim asked, totally confused. “Because I don’t want you to see me brush
my teeth. It’s private.” Jim rolled his eyes, but complied with her
request. Minutes later, he heard Trixie spit, rinse, and gargle. “Okay, you can look,” Trixie said. Jim opened his eyes and saw Trixie opening
a little bag. “Now what’re you doing?” Trixie innocently batted her eyes. “Just
freshening up.” “You said all you needed to do was brush
your teeth,” Jim reminded. “You didn’t say anything about ‘freshening up’.” “What’s wrong? You claustrophobic or
something?” “Something like
that,” Jim muttered, wishing desperately he could adjust himself. Trixie sighed deeply. “Well, there’s a
make-up mirror in my room. We can go in there.” “Rule number one,” Jim squawked. “Do you always obey all the rules?” Trixie
asked in a teasing tone. “Not always,” Jim answered defensively. “I
remove all the ‘do not remove’ tags from my pillow. Sometimes, I don’t wash
apples before I eat them. And believe it or not, I actually watched a PG-13
movie when I was only twelve.” Trixie giggled. “You wild man, you!” She
pulled out her container of loose powder and unsuccessfully tried to open it.
“Jim, can you hold this?” Jim stared at the pink object in Trixie’s
hand in disgust. “No.” Trixie rolled her eyes. “It’ll only take a
second. Is this about rule number two?” “No, I just don’t want to hold your
make-up,” Jim answered stubbornly. “You won’t get any on you!” Trixie
promised. “Just hold it so I can open the top.” Willing to do almost anything to remove
himself from the close quarters, Jim gritted his teeth and grasped the pink
container in his hand. Trixie pulled on the top, but it was stuck. Not being
deterred, she wiped her sweaty hand off on her pajama pants, and gave a good
yank. Loose powder went airborne, landing on the sink, in the floor, on
Trixie… but mainly on Jim. “Crap!” Jim hollered, trying to shake the
offensive particles off him. “I knew this would happen!” “Relax,” she giggled. “It’s not like its
radioactive or anything. It won’t make your skin rot off or make you grow
another finger.” Jim glared at her. “I don’t want this
girlie crap on me. It smells funny.” “What’re you talking about? It’s make-up.
It doesn’t have a smell.” “Yes, it does!” Jim insisted. “It smells
all girlie, and weird.” Trixie sniffed indignantly and tossed her
curls, making Jim’s previous problem even worse. “I do not smell weird.” Jim sighed, and removed the proverbial
foot from his mouth. “I didn’t say you
smell weird. On you, that junk smells… good. But, on a guy, it smells weird.” Trixie sniffed once again, but helped Jim
wash his hands. With her free hand, she squirted soap in his left palm and
helped him lather up. After all the soap and powder was rinsed off, she dried
his hand with the hand towel. Afterwards, Trixie applied some of the
powder that remained in the container to her face. That being done, she
pulled out a tube of lip- gloss from her make-up bag. “What are you putting that stuff on for?”
Jim asked. Trixie turned and looked at Jim with her
snippiest expression. “Aren’t you
the one who said I needed lipstick?” Jim inwardly groaned. For the millionth
time, he regretted his little speech in Trixie leaned up to the sink, bringing Jim
with her. “Why do you have to get so close to the
mirror?” Jim questioned. She held out the tube of gloss to Jim. “Do
you want to do this?” He vigorously shook his head. He was determined
to keep his mouth shut. But then, he saw some little objects inside the
make-up bag, and the curiosity boiling up in him was too great. “What do you
use cotton balls for?” Trixie looked at Jim with a perplexed
expression on her pretty face. “What?” “Cotton balls,” he repeated. “What do you
do with them?” Trixie slowly applied the gloss to her
lips. “Lots of stuff.” Jim picked one of the cotton balls out of
the bag, careful to avoid all the “crap”. He held it up and studied it. “How
can something so insignificant be so vital to your beautifying process?” Trixie giggled. “This is really bugging
you, isn’t it?” Jim nodded, his green eyes focused on the
mysterious cotton ball. “I have no cotton balls. I’ve never used a cotton
ball. I’ve never been in a situation
where I thought, ‘Boy, I could really use a cotton ball right now.’ ” “You’ve never used a cotton ball?” Trixie asked incredulously. Jim shook his head, still spellbound by
the puffy object he held in his hand. “Never. I’ve never had a need for them.
I know they must be important.
Whenever I go in Mother or Honey’s bathroom, I see millions of these things
in their trashcans. They always look like they’ve been through some horrible
experience. I’ve tried and tried to figure out what they do with them to make
the cottonballs look so bad, but I can’t come up
with anything. So, what do you use them for?” Trixie leaned closer to Jim. “I could tell
you, but then I’d have to kill you,” she said in her most serious voice. Jim made a face, but couldn’t help but
think how adorable Trixie was when she teased. Finished with her lip-gloss,
Trixie put it in the bag, zipped it up, and put it in the cabinet. She opened
the drawer by her and pulled out a pick. She ran it through her unruly curls,
in an attempt to bring them under subjection. However, it was a futile
effort. Mesmerized by Trixie’s shiny curls, Jim
did not notice the can she grabbed. Suddenly, his thoughts were interrupted
by a hiss and a cloud of hazy fumes. Jim began choking and gagging. “BLECH!
Quit with the chemical warfare!” “It’s just hairspray,” she replied. “If I
don’t put a little on my hair, it goes wild. After all, I don’t want to need to comb it later on.” A deaf man could have heard the slight
cattiness to Trixie’s voice. Once again, Jim wished “Let’s go downstairs,” Trixie suggested. Jim happily complied.
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