Real friends are those who,
when you feel you've made a fool of yourself,
don't feel you've done a permanent job.
##
Sabrina directed a feral grin at her oldest son as she held up a playing card. “Only one card . . . . Oooonly one card . . . . Ooooooonly . . . .”
“Yeah, Mom, I see it. Only one card. Don’t get all wadded up. It ain’t over yet.” The young skunk studied the ten cards in his paw, trying to formulate a meld.
“Isn’t.” Samantha piped up.
He turned to his twin and spoke with an undertone of threat in his voice. “What?”
“Isn’t. There ain’t no such word as ain’t.”
“Oh, for cryin’ out loud! I was making a literary reference! And, yes, for your information, there is. Ain’t was a perfectly acceptable contraction for ‘am not’ during much of the eighteenth century.”
“So what you said was ‘It am not over yet.’ That’s even worse.”
“Will you please just be quiet and let me concentrate.”
“Oh, come on, Dare, if you haven’t found a run of eight by now, you won’t this turn. Just discard.”
He grumbled as he tossed a card on the pile. “I hate Phase Ten.”
“It was your idea to play,” Sabrina pointed out.
“Don’t remind me.”
Samantha drew a card, considered her grouping, rearranged a few cards, laid ten of them on the table, and discarded the eleventh. “I’m out!” she said brightly, and bounced up from the chair. “Anybody want some more tea?” The black vixen went over to the wet bar on the other side of the family room to refill her glass, swishing her luxurious white-tipped tail.
Daren just stared at her and then at his own cards, his mouth open. “But . . . but you . . . aaaa ! !” He flopped his cards down and slumped in his seat, raking his fingers through his dark-gray mop of hair. “I hate Phase Ten.”
Sabrina smiled patiently at him. “You said that already. And I still don’t think it’s true. You just hate to lose.” She called over her shoulder to her daughter, “Yes, Sam, I’ll have half a glass.” Then she got a look of concentration on her face. “Samantha, do you know where Alice is?”
Samantha looked around, perked up one ear, and shrugged. “No telling where Captain Chaos might be, Mom. You know that.”
Sabrina sighed and got up to look for her “least un”.
##
The diminutive skunkette was almost within reach of her goal. She had pushed one of the kitchen chairs over to the china cabinet, stacked two thick phone books on its seat, and climbed from floor, to chair seat, to chair back, to the lowest of the open shelves, where her mother kept the everyday dishes. Now she was trying to pull herself up to the middle shelf, where resided the cookie jar. The cabinet leaned forward slightly, swaying from her exertions. Both elbows were hooked over the low railing along the front. If she could just get that one foot up and over. . . .
“Aaaalliiiiice ! ! ! ! !”
Sabrina sprinted across the kitchen and snatched the would-be cookie burglar off the cabinet. Daren was not more than five steps behind. He just about lost it when he saw what his little sister had been up to.
“Alice, you are SO busted.”
He called back into the den, “Hey, Sam, you gotta see this.”
Samantha hopped into the kitchen and took in the scene with a glance. “Ay-yep. Destructo-baby rides again.”
“ ‘Again’? ‘Still’ is more like it. I don’t remember her dismounting.”
Sabrina carried her youngest daughter back across the room, berating her for her intended thievery. “Child, can’t you smell supper? We’re having chicken pot pie in twenty minutes, tops! You know you can’t have cookies before supper, I know you know that.”
Daren observed sagely, speaking from the lofty height of his thirteen years of experience, “What she knows doesn’t seem to have much effect on what she wants, Mom.”
Sabrina shot him an exasperated look and walked out, the tiny three-year-old under one arm. Alice had been willful and headstrong practically from birth. They christened her “Destructo-Baby” at the tender age of ten months, after the incident with the turkey platter. She had crawled early, walked early and gotten into mischief about as soon as she was able. She kept both parents and all four of her older siblings very busy.
“Yeah, Ittybroo, she’s like that ‘Mean Widdle Kid’ in the old cartoon:
‘Ip I dood it, I det a whippin’ . . . . . . . I dood it.’”
He looked at his sister, a pained expression on his face. “I have asked you politely not to call me that anymore.”
“What? Ittybroo?”
“YES!!”
“But I don’t use it in public. And it’s soooo kee-yooot.”
His eyes narrowed dangerously. “You might forget yourself. And if my friends ever hear you say it . . .”
“What?”
“I’ll have to hurt you.”
His twin stuck her tongue out at him and flounced out of the room.
The phone rang. Daren ambled over and squinted at the caller-ID: Unavailable. He picked up the receiver. “Foxx residence.”
“Chris, is that you?” It was a female voice.
“No, this is Daren. Who is this?”
“Well, gee, Dare, I’m insulted you don’t recognize my voice!”
It clicked. “Aunt Wendy?”
“Right the second time!”
“Nunh-uh. I only made one guess, so there can’t be a second one, right? Besides, you thought I was my Dad.”
She laughed. “I concede to your superior logic. Is your mother around?”
“Sure, lemme get her.” He held the receiver away from his muzzle and shouted, “Mo-o-om!”
He got no answer.
“MO-O-O-OM!!”
His younger sister, Endora, stomped into the kitchen from the den. “Will you please be quiet! I’m tryin’ to read in here.”
“Hey, Floss. Aunt Wendy’s on the phone and wants to talk to Mom.”
“She went to the laundry with Alice.” The solid-black skunkette leaned up against the wall by the door and cracked her book back open. A voracious reader at nine years old, she was thoroughly addicted to the written word, and particularly smitten with high fantasy. If it involved dragons, heroes, or magic she loved it.
“Well, would you go get her, please?”
Flossie ignored him.
“Floss?”
“What?”
“I did say please.”
“Oh, all right.” She made her way out of the kitchen, heading down the hall to the back of the house, still reading.
Presently, Sabrina picked up on one of the extensions. “This is Mrs. Foxx.”
“You just never get tired of the sound of that, do you, ducks?”
Sabrina grinned. “Hi, Wendy! What’s up?” She heard Daren hang up the phone in the kitchen.
“Well, the sky, the price of gasohol, the salaries of Senators, the…”
“Stoppit, stoppit, stoppit! Let me rephrase that.” She paused, thinking how to word it just right. “What would you like to talk about?”
“Okay, you got me.” Sabrina could hear her smile. “I’d like to have you two over for dinner some night next week. Is there a particular evening that works best for you?”
“Dinner at your place? You the cook?”
“Well, yeah. Who else?”
“I’m there! You after a weekday night?” Sabrina queried.
“Yah. If you can get a baby-sitter.”
“That really isn’t a problem anymore. Samantha and Daren are thirteen now. They can manage the other three.” She thought a minute and said, “Wednesday or Thursday would be good for me. I don’t know about Chris’ schedule, but I’ll call him now and give you a ring back. Okay?”
“Call him? Where is he?”
“At work. You remember, he got promoted a couple months ago? He’s been going in about every other Saturday to do the personnel reports. Just for a few hours.”
“Ah. Okay, then, I’m on my mobile. Just let me know when. I’ve got something special planned.”
“Special, huh. How special?”
“Very special.”
“Special in what way?”
“In a very special way.”
“Wennndyyyy…”
The vixen laughed. “Just tell that chili-head husband of yours to Teflon-coat his tongue. My first crop of habañeros came in, and they’ve outdone themselves.”
“Oooooo! Cajun! He’ll love that!”
“No, no, no, no. Cajun uses cayenne and its relations. Habañero is used in central Mexican dishes.”
“Whatever. I know I won’t be able to eat much of it regardless.
“Just takes practice, dear heart.”
Dear heart? “Uh-huh. Well, let me call Chris. Be talking to ya.” Something occurred to her. “Wait a second. What’s the occasion?”
“It’s a surprise.”
Sabrina made a hmph noise. “You sure are a wellspring of information today.”
Wendy gave a low laugh. “I promise it’ll be worth the suspense, howsabout that?”
“Oh, okay. Bye, then.”
“See ya.”
Sabrina hit the FLASH key and the autodialed Chris’ cellphone. One ring. . . . Two rings . . . .
“This is Chris Foxx.”
“Hey, Sweets.”
He grinned. “Hey there yourself, Kitten. To what do I owe the honor?” He scooted the report he’d been preparing out of the way, settled his lanky self comfortably into the chair, and tossed his feet up onto the corner of his desk.
“You can thank Wendy.”
Blink, blink. “Oh, yes?”
“Oh, yes. She invited us to dinner.”
That got his attention. “Kewl! What, where, and what time?”
“That’s why I’m calling you, silly. She left it open. Pull up your schedule and see what weeknight is good for you.”
“No sooner said, Babe.” He opened his calendar and checked for late meetings. “Looks like Tuesday, Wednesday, or Thursday. No, hang on, Thursday I have a big lunch thing . . . and you’ll believe me when I say I want to have a good appetite for whatever Wendy’s cooking.”
“That’s a roger, Cap’n!”
“What is she cooking, by the way? Or did she say?”
“She mentioned something about asking you to Teflon-coat your tongue.”
“WOO-HOO!! Cajun!”
“No, it’s something involving those awful habañeros.”
“Hey, even better. Maybe I should bring a couple of towels.”
“I don’t know why you would want to put something in your mouth that you have to wear rubber gloves to prepare. You can’t possibly taste anything but heat.”
“Baloney. I love the taste of habañeros. You just have to build up a little resistance, that’s all.”
“Huh. Baloney at you.”
“No, really. Once you get past the heat you can begin to enjoy all the different nuances and variations between chilis. There’s a whole world of flavors from smoky to fruity to . . . ”
“Yeah, yeah, you’ve said all that before. I didn’t believe it then, and I don’t believe it now.”
“Don’t knock it ‘til you’ve tried it.” He grinned. “That seemed to apply to my Boy Scout skills if I remember correctly.”
“Stoppit, you.” She tried not to blush as she looked around to make sure none of the kids was listening. “We can talk about that later.”
“Promise?”
Her voice lowered to a whisper. “You’re making me blush!”
“Can’t I just make you?”
She dropped the phone to her side. What am I going to do with that man? Fifteen years into the marriage, and he’s still just as goofy over me as the first week we met.
“Kitten?”
No response.
“Ohhhh, Wifely?”
She put the phone back up to her ear. “Are you gonna behave yourself?”
His grin returned. “Oh, absolutely.”
“Good,” she said, “Then which night?”
“Which night for what?”
“Chriiiiiiis!”
He considered. “Really, either night would be fine.
“Okay, then, let’s make it a Wendy Wednesday.”
Pause. “Eewwwwwwwwww.”
She chuckled. “You know you bring these puns on yourself.”
“It really isn’t incumbent upon you to take advantage of every single opportunity.”
“Heh. It’s my turn.”
He nodded. “Point conceded.”
“Thank you. I’ll be good now.”
“Kitten, you’re always good.”
Her smile broadened. “You know, I really think I should let you get some work done.”
“Awwww.”
“Off with you, boy. Back to the salt mine.”
“I love you anyway.” He made his reply as sultry as he could.
“Goodbye.”
“I love the sound of your voice, you know.”
“Goodbye, Chris.”
“Your voice inspires me to greater . . .”
“GOODBYE, CHRIS.”
“Bye, Dear. See you tonight.”
“You nut.”
“Your nut.”
“For which I am ever grateful. I love you!”
“Love you, too!”
She broke the connection and called Wendy back.
##
Wendy went to answer the door. She looked through the peep-hole, only to find that an enormous green eye was staring back. She opened the door. “Hi, guys! Come on in.”
“Hey, Wendy!” Chris stopped three steps into the room and held his head up, eyes closed, while taking a deep whiff of the aroma filling the room. “Whoa.”
Sabrina’s eyes widened as well. “Wow, Wendy, that smells incredible. What is it?”
Wendy gave an experimental sniff at the air. “My guess would be . . . food! Of some sort.” She smiled at them both while closing the door, and indicated the living room. “Have a seat. Dinner won’t be ready for another fifteen or twenty minutes. Can I getcha somethin’ to drink?”
“Whatcha got?”
“Well, I’ve got some wine chilled to go with supper, an’ a few Coronas . . . ”
Chris chimed in. “Hey, it’s Mexican, right? Gotta have Corona.”
“Ahem.” She concentrated and slowly ticked off the items on her fingers. “I’ve got sodas, orange juice, tomato juice . . . ”
Sabrina and Chris looked at each other and snickered when she said that.
Wendy looked back and forth between them. “What?”
Chris’ expression betrayed naught but the purest innocence. “Nothing. Pray do go on.”
Her mouth twisted a little. “You two don’t hafta be so mysterious with th’ inside jokes.”
Sabrina insisted, “No, really, it’s nothing. I’ll have a soda. You got root beer?”
“Yep. What’ll you have Chris?”
“Make it two.”
“Comin’ right up.” She gave them a wink and sashayed out to the kitchen. Sabrina noted Wendy’s outfit: tight, dark green slacks and a filmy, multi-layered, cream-colored sleeveless top, cut low. The ensemble did little to disguise her positive attributes. Wendy worked hard for that body, Sabrina knew, and with excellent results. She was still one of the most comely specimens of vixen-hood around. She had her hair up, too, in a very becoming braid, and a large orchid in place behind one ear. She’s dressed to wound, at least. Wonder what the deal is with that?
Chris and Sabrina went over to the living room area and sat down side by side on the couch. Wendy’s apartment had an open, airy layout, and was very tastefully decorated. It managed to be elegant and homey at the same time. The Foxx’s had helped her move in several years back, after her divorce, and Wendy had done some nice things with it.
Chris crossed one leg over the other knee and put his arm around Sabrina’s shoulders. “Did you notice the table?”
“Huh? What about it?”
“Look at it.”
Sabrina studied the settings. The light dawned. “Those are paw towels, not napkins.”
“Pre-zactly.”
“Thoughtful of her.” She snuggled in closer. It was then that she finally noticed the music. It was turned down very low, more of an atmosphere than an effort at entertainment. Wendy had splurged on a full-sensory-array sound system the year before. The music was omni-directional and reproduced exactly as it had been played. She was quite the audiophile; as far as she was concerned, “fuzz” was a four-letter word.
“Is that an organ?”
Chris looked around, trying to see what Sabrina was looking at. “Is what an organ?”
“The music, silly.”
Chris concentrated. “Woosh. I can hardly hear that. Can you hear it all right?”
She furrowed her brow at him. “Your hearing isn’t going, is it? Foxes are noted for their sharp ears, you know.” The frown transformed to a grin. “If you go deaf, they’ll jerk your fox license.”
“Eh? Say what? Speak up dearie, I don’t have my ear-horn with me.”
Wendy reappeared, bearing a tray of drinks. She set it down on the coffee table and picked up one of the glasses, then took her place in the stuffed chair across from the couch. Chris and Sabrina took their drinks.
Sabrina looked narrowly at Wendy’s choice. “What’s that you’ve got there?”
Wendy was in the middle of taking a sip and waited until she had swallowed to answer. “Mudslide.”
“Doesn’t look like a mudslide.”
She waved one paw languidly. “It’s my own version thereof. I add some crushed ice and a scoop of Rocky-Road ice cream to the kahlua an’ frangelico in the blender, an’ then stir in a half jigger of rum.” She took another sip. “Smoooooooooooooth. Very.”
“Sounds good,” Sabrina observed. “I might have to try one after dinner.”
“Say, Wendy,” said Chris, “what’s that classical piece you’ve got going back there? It sounds kinda familiar, but I can’t place it.”
Sabrina sent him an oblique look. “Maybe if she turned it up some?”
He winced.
“It’s Saint-Saens. One of his organ things.” Wendy leaned back in the chair and stretched. It was . . . an interesting demonstration. Sabrina and Chris gave each other a furtive glance. What’s she up to?
“So, Wendy . . . what’s your ‘special’ news?” Sabrina’s question was cautious.
Wendy swirled her drink around in the glass, looking at Chris. “You’ll fin’ out Monday anyway. Why spoil th’ surprise?”
“Because I like being spoiled?”
That brought a smile. “Okay. I’m quitting.”
“WHAT?!?” The response was a duet.
“Yep. I’m outta here.”
“You’re leaving StrongArm?” Chris was incredulous.
“That’s th’ general idea.”
“But you said you were going to retire from there! I thought you’d gotten all that wanderlust stuff out of your system!”
She swung one leg over the arm of the chair and sipped her drink. “Guess not.”
Sabrina got a clue. That is not her first drink! “Who are you going to work for?”
Wendy tilted her head and smiled lopsidedly. “Me.”
“Come again?”
“Oh, assuredly.”
Chris sighed, frustrated. “I mean . . . what do you mean? You hanging out a shingle as a CPA?”
“Nope. Movin’ to Vermont.”
“VERMONT?!?” The duet again.
She looked at them, impressed. “That’s pretty good. Can ya do it ever’ time?”
“Cut the balloon juice, Wendy, you’re not really going to Vermont, are you? What’s in Vermont besides trees?”
She thought about his question. “Aren’t trees enough?”
Sabrina tried a different tack. “What brought on this decision?”
Wendy stared down at the floor for a few seconds, then said, “I guess it was a com’ination o’ thinks … uh, things.” She looked at her glass and carefully set it down on the table, still half full. “My Uncle Julian died, see, an’ he lef’ me a piece of property in Vermont, and y’know I never have really much liked bein’ an accoun’ant much, an’ then they hired The Rodent last year and he’s my boss, and I hate him, I mean really hate him, like I can’t stand even thinkin’ about workin’ for him for another week, and Fenton says I can make it a bred & bikkfast . . .” She paused briefly for a deep breath. “I mean bed & breakfast, and the kitchen’s still in good shape . . . I guess that’s it.”
Chris and Sabrina sat there with their muzzles hanging open. This was close to the top of their “Things To Never Worry About Because They Aren’t Going To Happen” list.
Sabrina was very concerned. “Wendy, are you sure about this? How long have you thought about it?”
“Well, I went up ta see th’ place . . .” She paused again and grimaced slightly. “The property. It’s pretty. The house is run down, but I think I can make a go of it.” She got a determined, yea an unpleasant look on her face. “An’ if I have to go through one more meetin’ with The Rodent, I’m gonna bisect his smug face with a letter opener. A dull one. . . . . . . . And I don’ really wanna go to jail just now, and killin’ him might still be considered a mishdemeanor in this state.”
“Wow.” Chris was silent for a minute. “You know, I’d heard some stories about that guy, but I didn’t really put much credence in them.”
“Kiddo, you don’t know th’ quarter of it. Gets my blood pressure up just thinkin’ about some of the crap he’s pulled.”
“Well, gee.” Sabrina was momentarily at a loss. “What part of Vermont is this place in?”
“The west. Not too terrible far from Ticonderoga.”
A buzzer started nagging them from the kitchen. “Oopsie! Can’t let stuff burn!” Wendy got to her feet, albeit a little unsteadily, and trotted out of the room.
They looked at each other. Neither said anything for a minute.
Sabrina spoke first. “Well. Whaddaya know about that?”
“I don’t know what to think. I guess she wants us to be happy for her. Gotta admit, though, it’s pretty odd, and pretty sudden.”
“Yeah.”
They heard a loud clunk from the kitchen, and Wendy’s voice saying, “Woops!”
Sabrina started to get up until Wendy called, “No problem, ever’thing okey-dokey!” She began humming loudly.
“I wonder just how many of those mudslides she had before we got here.”
Chris shook his head. “Quite a few, knowing her tolerance for alcohol. This is not like her. Something weird about this whole setup.”
Wendy came back in carrying a large tray, and went over to the dinette. “First course says ‘Eat up!’ guys.” She set the tray in the center of the table and then stood by her chair expectantly, and not swaying too badly.
Chris and Sabrina got up and came to the table, each taking a chair. Chris waited while the two women seated themselves, then took his chair.
Wendy giggled. “Ever the gentlefur.” She gave Sabrina a big wink. “You got yourself a keeper there, girlfriend.”
Sabrina and Chris really didn’t know what to make of Wendy’s behavior. They had never known her to be drunk in all the time since her divorce, and only a few times before that. They both wondered what could have upset her so.
Wendy pulled a wine chiller up next to the table and extracted a bottle from it. “Here ya go. Let’s celebrate. Live a little!” She picked up the corkscrew and held it in one paw while holding the wine in the other. She looked at both objects in confusion for a few seconds, then smiled over at Chris. “Would you mind doin’ the honors? I don’t remember how t’ work this fool thing.” She passed him the wine.
Chris twisted the screw in and popped the cork out. Then he poured everyone half a glass.
Wendy picked up her glass. “Thanks, luv.”
Her state of insobriety had distracted Chris to such an extent that he really hadn’t paid much attention to the contents of the serving tray. He decided to just play along and see if he could get some idea about what was running through her mind. He examined the food and his face came alight.
“Rellenos!”
“Sure thing, luv. Thought we’d start with poblanos, somethin’ Sabrina here could handle.” She gave the skunkette a sidelong glance. “We’ll work our way up to th’ rough stuff after while.”
Was that a double-entendre? Sabrina was not at all sure she liked the sound of that. But she did like chili rellenos, and Wendy’s were particularly good. She scooped one out onto her plate, and the other two followed suit.
For the next few minutes the only sounds heard were munching noises and brief exclamations of delight. When the rellenos were gone Wendy brought out a small chef salad for each of them.
The food seemed to steady her by several degrees. Near the end of the second course she was no longer slurring her words, and the conversation had turned decidedly pleasant. Chris and Sabrina were feeling much more at ease.
Wendy then served a complex dish involving flour tortillas, molé sauce, salsa, pickled tomatillos, serrano peppers, and a mixture of sauteéd chicken and onions. It was delicious, but Sabrina was fanning her mouth before she was through.
Wendy was sympathetic. “Dear heart, I left the peppers on the side so that you wouldn’t have to eat them. Your fella here is a member of the ‘Pain Is Good’ club, but I don’t expect you to hurt yourself just to be polite!”
Chris agreed. “Yeah, hon, I’ll be happy to take them off your paws, as it were.”
She had her tongue hanging out. “Well, you’re the one alwayth telling me I thould build up thome rethithtance.” She helped herself to another scoop of the yogurt that had been supplied for that purpose. It cooled the fire nicely. “How long does that take, anyway?”
“Depends, babe,” said Chris. “Some furs never really have any trouble with it. But it can take years.” He popped another serrano into his mouth and chewed with evident relish.
The next, and penultimate, course was manzana peppers stuffed with a mixture of ground meat. It smelled heavenly, but when Sabrina leaned forward for a better sniff her eyes smarted. She pulled back and looked over at Wendy. “Dare I try it?”
Wendy tapped a finger against her nose. “Actually . . . I think you probably ought to pass on the pepper itself. But try a little of the stuffing, you might be able to enjoy it. Just get a little, though, just in case.”
Chris set to with a will and was shortly mopping his brow with the paw towel. His eyes were watering and the skin of his ears glowed a bright red through his fur. “Great stuff, Wendy!” He had to pull out his kerchief to wipe his nose. “That’ll get the old sinuses cleared out.” He snuffled every other breath.
Sabrina had found the stuffing to be remarkably good, but it was almost too hot to eat. She doused it liberally with the yogurt and forged ahead. “This is wonderful, Wendy!” She looked closely at one forkful. “Is that chicken? It doesn’t quite taste like it.”
“Nah. It’s rattlesnake.”
Sabrina held the fork motionless, never taking her eyes off the uneaten bite. Chris grinned at her, undeterred, and continued eating. Sabrina looked up at Wendy (who couldn’t quite manage to keep a totally straight face), decided she was joking, and resumed her meal.
“Anybody up for dessert?” asked Wendy a few minutes later. Chris had eaten the manzanas that Sabrina had set aside, and both of them were sweating quite freely.
The meal, though extensive, had not been at all heavy. Her guests were a bit surprised to find that they were not that full. They nodded. Chris said, “Bring it on!”
Wendy returned from the kitchen bearing three bowls of ice cream. She served her guests and then set a tray bearing a variety of toppings in the center of the table. She pointed to each in turn. “Okay, this is your standard hot fudge.” Sabrina promptly copped the jar and poured some on her ice cream. “This is strawberry. This is pineapple salsa, but it’s only a little hot, and dynamite on ice cream, flavor-wise. This is ‘hot-scotch’. It’s a butterscotch-scotch bonnet sauce. It’s pretty hot, but again, it’s awfully good.” She followed Sabrina’s lead and poured a little of the hot-scotch on her ice cream. “And this,” and here she picked up the remaining jar and paused dramatically, “this is habañero jelly.” She set it back on the table with a flourish and plopped herself down in her chair. “It’s some I made myself from my last batch of peppers. They were particularly fiery. It’s easily the hottest stuff I ever tasted.” She looked at Chris with what might be called a smirk playing around her features. “I don’t normally offer a dare to anybody when it comes to hot food, but you’re an exception.” She leaned forward. “I dare you to put one teaspoon of that stuff on your ice cream, and finish it!”
He grinned evilly, picked up his spoon, and snickered. “You’re on!”
Wendy got up and headed for the kitchen. Sabrina began eating her ice cream. “Oooh.” She slowly lowered the paw holding her spoon to the table, her eyes closed. “Whoa. That’s home-made. French vanilla, I think. Mmmmm.” She resumed her attack on the dessert.
Wendy came back and presented Chris a measuring spoon, and his eyebrows went up. “Got to be that exact, do we?”
“Just for the record. A teaspoon of this is kind of a lot, as you will see.”
Chris poured the agreed-upon amount of the jelly-from-hell over his ice cream. He stirred it in briefly and then scooped up a generous portion with his spoon. Sabrina watched, a look of worry on her face, as he put it into his mouth and swirled it around.
He dropped the spoon.
His eyes got absolutely huge. He swallowed, not without difficulty, and began panting. He shook his head. His tear ducts kicked into overdrive; he could barely see. His face turned a deep red. He smacked the table with both paws, tongue hanging out, and shook his head again.
“Holy . . . ” His voice cracked. “Holy . . . ” He got up and stumbled into the kitchen.
Wendy looked worried, and called out, “You okay in there?” The only response was the sound of the freezer door opening. Sabrina had finished her dessert, so she got up to check on him. She found him with his snout buried in a box of Neapolitan.
She patted his shoulder. “Well. Since I never said ‘Don’t do it’ I can’t really say ‘I told you so’. But you ought to have known better.”
He looked up at her, tongue lolling out, ice cream covering his muzzle, sweat dripping from his fur in several places. His voice was raspy. “You could have put a live grenade in my mouth and pulled the pin and the result would have been the same.” He stuck his face back into the box.
Wendy sauntered into the kitchen and leaned up against the doorjamb, her own bowl in one paw. “I believe I did say it was the hottest stuff I’d ever tasted.” She had another spoonful. “Didn’t I?”
He looked up. “No lie. That goes for me, too.” He panted some more and then ran his tongue around inside his mouth. “The fire seems to be abating. A little.” Pant, pant. “Of course, all things are relative in that respect.” He set the container on the counter. “Sorry about your ice cream. But strong measures were indicated.” He leaned back against the counter, breathing heavily. “Y’know, I’ve had habañeros before. I’ve never, and I mean never, had any come close to being that hot. Are you sure you didn’t zap it with capsicum extract?”
“Cross my heart,” she said, tracing one finger over her chest in an ‘X’.
He shook his head again. “Wow.” He peered around her into the dining room. “How much did I leave?”
“Oh, you don’t have to finish it. I never expected you to. Heck, my reaction was more demonstrative than yours. I was stomping the floor, pounding on the cabinets. That stuff is vicious. Now if you have it in really tiny amounts, it’s good. But they have to be really tiny.” She set her bowl on the counter and moved over to the freezer. “I think now would be a good time to make you two a mudslide apiece.”
##
Sabrina was halfway through her third drink, and feeling extremely relaxed.
Wendy had moved the coffee table back, hauled out some really big pillow things and arranged them on the floor to make a kind of conversation pit. It was quite comfortable, and in the following hour and a half they managed to cover most of the background that had prompted her to move. She had been unusually forthcoming with information about her visits to her uncle as a child, an atypical situation, given her normal reticence concerning her past. She didn’t like to dwell on unpleasant things.
They learned quite a bit about the place she’d inherited. Erection had begun some time during 1874 and continued for most of the next seven years. No expense had been spared in its construction: pink and green Italian marble for the foyer, decay-and-insect-resistant cedar for all the framing, huge beams and rafters, local granite for the foundation, slate from England for the roof, teak and mahogany for the parquet floors, Venetian cut crystal window panes and chandeliers, and on and on and on. Architecturally daring, the house was considered a behemoth, even in that overdone, gilded era, but during the Gay ‘90’s Ash Creek Manor became a more or less obligatory stop on the New England social circuit. The house’s original builder/owner had absolutely stunk of old money, and entertained lavishly and happily for many years, before his death in 1911. His son continued the tradition until 1929, when Black Tuesday put a very decided stop to all that. With the crash, the family fortune vanished, as had so many others’, and having decided life held little allure for one of the nouveau poor, he put a bullet through his skull. The house shortly ended up in the paws of one of the smaller lending institutions in the Northeast, and there it had stayed for most of thirty years, until her uncle bought it. No one else had wanted the thing. It was just too big.
“Uhhmm, Wendy . . . .” Sabrina had a question that had wandered somewhere off to the side of her brain, and she had to hop over a couple of fences to retrieve it. “Okay, yeah . . . . This Fenton guy, is he gonna like, show you the ropes and stuff on this bed & breakfast deal?”
“Oh, I don’ know as how it’ll be s’much showin’ me the ropes as maybe jus’ bein’ there ta kinda, y’know, be moral support.” She giggled. “M’cheerin’ section.”
Chris had been more careful with his alcohol than had his wife (and way more than had Wendy), and was meditating on what he had learned. It still sounded to him like an awfully big chunk to bite off. He tossed out a question of his own.
“Well, then, let’s say that everything works the way you have it planned, no hiccups, no inclement weather, da-dee-da. How long will it be, realistically, before you can start making any money with the place? Real money, I mean.”
Wendy had to think hard. Her thinker was missing on a cylinder or two, thanks to the high-test fuel she kept adding to the tank. “That’d be . . . uhhh . . . seven, eight, maybe nine weeks? I’ll hafta look at m’notes.” But she made no move to get up, only smiled benignly at him.
“And you’re leaving in . . . two weeks? Yeah, Wednesday after next, you said.” Chris shook his head for the umpteenth time. “Wow. It won’t be the same with you gone.”
Sabrina reached over and took Wendy’s left paw in her right. “We’re really gonna miss you, girl! You’ve turned into sort of an institution, y’know. The kids’ll just flip, ‘specially Sam. She’d lots rather discuss fashion and clothes and that sorta thing with you than with me.”
“Yeah, Wendy,” added Chris, “and we can’t let you go without a party or something!”
Wendy had her head resting sideways on her pillow. She looked back and forth between them, studying them, the wheels obviously turning as she considered what Chris had said.
She got an adrenaline rush. This is it! She sat up, leaned forward slightly, and clasped his left paw in her free one. She pulled in a deep breath and gazed levelly at them both, depending more than somewhat on the liquid courage she had imbibed, and spoke as clearly as she could.
“Yes. I think a party would be a good idea.” Another deep breath. She felt dizzy. “And I think it ought to start . . . now.” She leaned closer and pulled each of their paws up to her cheeks, her eyes on the floor. “And I know exactly what kind of going-away present I’d like. If you don’t mind.” She turned both of their paws over to kiss the palms and then glanced up at them. “It would mean a lot to me.”
[Now here, Gentle Reader, is where it really pays to write in a third-person-omniscient format. Wendy’s unsubtle proposition struck each of her guests with almost physical force. The resulting chaotic mental storm is presented below, although the actual trains of thought tended to jump their tracks rather quickly, and many of the ideas and reactions were not nearly this well-organized.
C: Oh, crap! . . .
S: Eek! . . .
C: So that’s why she got sloshed . . .
S: That’s right! She’s bisexual . . .
C: What was she thinking! . . .
S: She’s holding my paw so tight . . .
C: She’s serious, too . . .
S: Oh, man, I don’t want to hurt her feelings . . .
C: One of my long-standing fantasies, to boot . . .
S: She knows I’m straight, what does she think she’s doing? . . .
C: She had a threesome planned all along . . .
S: Did Chris know about this? . . .
C: I wonder what Sabrina thinks of that . . .
S: Chris could not have known about this! . . .
C: I can’t do that to Sabrina . . .
S: She can’t be trying to hurt us! Can she? . . .
C: I really wish she hadn’t brought this up . . .
S: Would it be such a big thing? . . .
C: What would that do to our marriage? . . .
S: She’s been such a good friend . . .
C: Tempting offer . . .
S: Zig Zag always said . . .
C: Two for one . . .
S: I’d enjoy it . . .
C: She’s my wife for goodness sake . . .
S: But how could I? . . .
C: Made her a promise, dammit! . . .
S: Can’t do that to Chris . . .
C: Won’t hurt Sabrina, no matter what . . .
S: Just can’t! . . .
C: Won’t . . .
We now resume our regularly-scheduled broadcast, already in progress.]
Chris and Sabrina looked at each other for about three seconds, then back to Wendy. She was obviously in a position of extreme vulnerability, and couldn’t meet their eyes.
In unspoken agreement, they moved over next to her and put their arms around her, each one resting his or her head on one of Wendy’s shoulders.
Chris began. “Wendy, I’m awfully flattered that you think that much of me, of us. And . . . well, you know we love you. But . . . ”
Sabrina picked up there. “But we’ve got an exclusive relationship. I belong to Chris. He belongs to me.”
Wendy started to shiver.
Sabrina hugged her and continued. “Oh, girl! It isn’t that we want to hurt your feelings or anything, heavens, no! It’s just . . . ”
Chris took Sabrina’s free paw in his. “It’s just that whenever you have a relationship, and you add sex to the picture, you get a different relationship. There is a bond between us,” and here he was looking straight into his wife’s clear, blue eyes, “a permanent bond, and sex is part of that bond. It isn’t a part of any other relationship that we have. It’s . . . well, it’s just too personal, too much a part of what makes us a couple. And I think that if we brought someone else in on that level, it would diminish what we have.”
Wendy was crying. “I’m s-s-sorry. I’m really sorry. I was . . . j-just . . . ” She couldn’t complete her sentence. Her emotional ship had fetched up on a reef.
Sabrina and Chris held her tightly, rocking gently back and forth. “We know,” said Sabrina, low and calm, soothing her friend. “We know. And we do love you. Too much to want to hurt the friendship.” Her own tears were beginning as well. She looked over at Chris and saw that he was in the same state.
Wendy’s sobbing had advanced to that stage where it would have to continue until she got release. Her shoulders were shaking uncontrollably.
“Stu . . . st-stupid . . . b-b-b-booze.” That was all she could manage for several minutes.
Eventually she put her arms around them both. They all leaned back onto the big pillow as her crying jag ran its course.
They held her there for a long time, as long as it took.
That’s what friends do for friends.