by Brian Bakos
***
Unfortunately, as the afternoon progressed, Johnny drank more than was good for him. By the second Blompers game, the punch had loosened his tongue so much that he was talking without thinking.
“Isn’t my mansion great?” He slapped Rufus on the back. “Just the sort of place for somebody who is coming up in the world, eh?”
“Yes,” Rufus agreed politely.
Rufus had not come up nearly as far in the world as he would have liked. He wondered how it would be to own a fine house such as this one. Suddenly, his Punch Fabuloso was tasting much less fabulous.
“Not that there was anything wrong with my old place,” Johnny continued, “it just didn’t suit my station in life any longer. You can see what I’m driving at, eh?”
Mayor Raccoon smiled. Johnny was putting his foot in his mouth very nicely. Maybe things were not quite so bad as he’d feared.
“Have some more punch, Johnny,” he suggested.
“Don’t mind if I do.”
Johnny refilled his mug and hoisted it above the company.
“I propose a toast!” he cried. “Here’s to coming up in the world.”
“To coming up in the world!” the others echoed.
The guests all laughed and joked, but underneath they were seething. Even the Punch Fabuloso didn’t calm their jealousy and anger. The goodwill they’d started to feel for Johnny had completely disappeared.
Johnny didn’t notice the resentment boiling all around him, though. As far as he could tell, everything was going just great. It was time to begin the next party activity.
11: The Paint Brush Samba
“And now for the musical games!” Johnny announced.
He pranced to his stereo in the living room and turned on some joyous music. He seized a paintbrush off the pile by the picture window.
“What kind of music is that?” Chester asked.
“It’s Samba, from Brazil,” Johnny said, “and I’m going to teach you the Paint Brush Samba!”
He danced about the living room, in beat to the music, swishing the paint brush in the air like an orchestra conductor’s baton. The floor creaked along with every step.
“You know,” Rufus whispered to Chester, “he don’t move half bad for such a clumsy looking guy.”
“It’s easy and fun,” Johnny said. “All you do is dip your brush into the paint, dance over to the wall, and smooth it on.”
Moving to the Samba beat, he dipped his brush into a bucket of blue paint. Then he slapped a broad swath of it onto the living room wall.
“See, there’s nothing to it,” he said. “There’s a brush and a bucket of paint for each of you.”
“Uh, where’re you going to be while we’re slinging them paintbrushes?” Rufus asked.
“Under the house,” Johnny said. “While you’re all dancing and painting, I’ll be listening for floor creaks. Whenever I hear one, I’ll nail a support in place. Pretty soon the floor will be quiet as a tomb.”
He finished his painting demo with an elegant flourish.
“We’ll get ever so much done,” he said. “Then there’s a roof leak that needs to be fixed.”
The guests glanced nervously at each other and downed the last of their Punch Fabuloso.
“My, my, doesn’t that sound like great fun?” Mayor Raccoon said, glancing at the wall clock. “I’m so sorry to miss it, Johnny, but I really must be going. I explained about my political meeting.”
“Yes, of course, Mayor,” Johnny said. “Thanks for coming.”
Johnny escorted Mayor Raccoon to the door. There they shook paws formally, as befitted the two leading citizens of Forest Towne.
“Good-bye Mayor,” Johnny said. “Give my regards to the other dignitaries.”
“Certainly,” Mayor Raccoon said. “Enjoy the clock.”
“I certainly shall,” Johnny replied.
Mayor Raccoon disappeared down the walk. Johnny turned back to the remaining guests.
“So, let’s get started!” he said. “Who wants the blue paint? The yellow is for the bedroom.”
“Uh, sorry Johnny,” said Rufus, “but I have to leave, too.”
Johnny was thunderstruck. “Why?”
“Well ...” Rufus said, “I’m the new Official Assistant to the Mayor, and I must go to the meeting with him. Kind of help out, you know.”
“Mayor Raccoon didn’t say anything about this to me,” Johnny said.
“That’s because he don’t know it himself, yet,” Rufus said. “I’ve got to go tell him.”
He bolted for the door, practically tripping over his own feet in his rush to get out. No sooner had Rufus left then Tom Chipmunk spoke up.
“Gotta go, Johnny,” he said. “I’m the new Official Assistant to the Mayor’s Assistant, so I have to be at the meeting, too.”
Chester Squirrel jumped up next.
“Oh my gosh, I almost forgot!” he cried. “I promised my girlfriend that I’d help fix up her place today. She’ll be furious if I don’t show.”
They both raced out before Johnny could utter a word. That left only Arthur Beaver.
“I don’t know yet why I’m leaving,” Arthur said, “I’ll figure it out later.”
He moved toward the door.
“Tell you what, Johnny,” he said, “let’s have the next fixer upper party at my place. You can bring the Punch Fabuloso.”
Then he, too, was gone, leaving Johnny alone among the brushes and the full buckets of paint. The barrel of Punch Fabuloso was quite empty, however.
12: A Really Dumb Decision
Johnny spent the next hours alone painting his living room. Happy samba music blared from his stereo, and the paint was a cheery blue, but Johnny was far from being joyful. He didn’t dance as he worked, but stomped about like an angry buffalo – the one who’d lost a hair earlier.
“That’s for you Rufus!”
Johnny smacked a brush against the wall, splattering paint drops.
“And that’s for you, Chester!”
He slapped another brush full of paint onto the wall. If the wall had feelings, it would have been hurting pretty bad. The house started getting dark, so Johnny lit the kerosene lamp in the chandelier. Dim light shone through the antlers, throwing bizarre shadows.
“Ugh, creepy!”
Johnny pulled the lamp out of the chandelier and placed it on the living room floor.
“That’s better.”
Actually, darkness shouldn’t have been coming yet, but Johnny didn’t give it any thought. He was much too angry to think clearly about anything. Plans for revenge squirmed in his brain like poisonous snakes.
“We’ll just see what happens when there’s no more Punch Fabuloso,” he snarled. “They’ll come crawling back, all right!”
Seven o’clock arrived. The tiny wooden man popped out of his door in the clock and started revving his chain saw.
Rummm! Rummm!
“Stop that already!” Johnny shouted.
He hurled a rag at the clock. The man ducked back inside his little door an instant before the rag hit.
“What’s the use?” Johnny set down his brush. “This is going to take forever.”
It was time to think about supper. Johnny shut off the music, and a new sound entered the house – the distant rumble of thunder.
Johnny stepped outside under a sky of dark, threatening clouds. The gloomy atmosphere matched his foul mood.
“Well, my fair weather friends have all left,” he said, “and now the fair weather itself is going.”
Another thunder rumble, still far off, but loud enough to let everybody know that it meant business. Johnny thought of the leaky roof. If he didn’t fix it immediately, the rain would pour in, splattering everywhere and running down his freshly painted walls. All his work would be ruined.
“It’ll just take a minute.” Johnny made a nervous glance upward. “A quick patch job is good enough for now.”
He dashed into the shed and ru
mmaged around. He quickly located a hammer, nails, and some plywood, but the transportation problem proved more difficult. The rugged step ladder he’d used to harvest the grapes from the trellis was not high enough to reach the roof.
The only other ladder was an old wooden thing. It was flimsy and light, as if time had sucked the strength from it. Over the years, it must have sat out in too much rain and hot sun. Johnny hefted it doubtfully.
This is a really dumb idea, Johnny, a little voice inside his head warned. Don’t go up there, or at least find a better ladder.
But there wasn’t time to find a better ladder, and the roof had to be fixed. Johnny pushed the warning out of his mind, as it was simply too inconvenient to obey it. He grabbed the ladder and dashed outside.
He braced the ladder against a wall of the house and started climbing – right into the disaster of Chapter 1.
Part 3: Disaster
