The Day the Mustache Took Over

by Alan Katz

  “Do we have to do chores all the time?” David wanted to know. “Or keep brushing our teeth?”

  “Relax, guys. As for studying, tidying, and brushinginging, that’s not who I am. Listen, I haven’t yet memorized all twenty-four letters of the alphabet! I haven’t flossed since 1992! Never did give a hoot about my breath, which on a good day smells like my armpits!” Martin laughed and slapped his thighs. “I can’t believe you guys fell for all that! What a pair of suckers!”

  He breathed on the plant in the corner and it immediately withered and collapsed.

  “Wait, so why’d you make us brush our teeth?” David asked.

  “And clean our dresser drawers?” Nathan continued.

  Martin giggled. “Oh, that.” He giggled again. “Don’t you see what fun we can have? In front of your parents, I’ll be the caregiver of the century, the king of responsibility. But when we’re alone, it’s going to be good times all the time!” He giggled again.

  This seemed too good to be true.

  “But you’ve got to play along with it,” Martin continued. “When your parents are around and I tell you to brush your teeth, you have to do it. If I say, ‘Scrub the floors,’ then you have to do that, too. Understood?”

  The boys nodded.

  Then Martin handed them each a piece of paper. “Here’s the daily schedule. . . .”

  The boys read to themselves, competing, as usual, to see who could finish first.

  1. Parents go to work

  2. TV, TV, TV

  3. Indoor tennis in the living room

  4. Massive unhealthy snack

  5. TV, TV, TV

  6. Jumping on the beds

  7. Hide-and-seek

  8. TV, TV, TV

  9. Bubblegum-blowing competition on the white couch

  10. TV

  11. Stand-on-your-head juggling class with good crystal

  12. Deep-fried triple-chocolate snack

  13. More TV

  “What about school?” David wanted to know.

  “I don’t go to school,” Martin answered.

  “But we do,” David insisted. “We have to.”

  “It’s the law!” said Nathan.

  “Hmm. I suppose you’ll have to go, then,” Martin answered. “Okay, that’s just a small disruption; we’ll fit it in somehow. So this will just be my daily schedule . . . though I hate playing indoor tennis all by myself.” He giggled. “Now listen, you nut jobs! We’re going to have so much fun!”

  Martin gave them a crazy salute, opened the door, and backed out of the room. But right before he closed the door, he pointed to a pile of books on the boys’ desks and said (loud enough for Mr. and Mrs. Wohlfardt to hear, of course), “Remember, there’s a ‘u’ in the center of the word ‘study.’ And that ‘u’ stands for you! Study on!”

  The door slammed shut and Martin was gone.

  Nathan looked at David. David looked at Nathan. They opened their books and began to study.

  Could it be true? A babysitter who lived for TV, junk food, and jumping on the beds? At that moment, it seemed extremely possible that Martin Healey Discount could be the world’s best nanny! But for now, they had to spend the rest of the night doing homework.

  CHAPTER

  TEN

  The next morning, Martin woke Nathan and David at 5:15 a.m. Exhausted from a night of study and homework, they could barely move.

  “Arise, young gents,” Martin announced as he rapidly rap-tap-tapped on their bedroom door. “Remember, it is the early bird that catches the worm.”

  “Who needs a worm?” David mumbled and grumbled to himself. But there was no use arguing; he knew that seeming to be responsible was all part of the deal they’d made with Martin.

  At precisely five thirty, the freshly showered duo of Nathan and David Wohlfardt dragged themselves down the stairs and slid into their seats at the empty breakfast table.

  The boys stared in disbelief. Where was the junk food Martin had promised them?

  Martin delicately slid three eggs out from his shirt pocket. “Behold three glorious eggs. Two are deliciously, nutritiously hard-boiled, and the other one’s raw,” he said while juggling them at blinding speed. “Choose wisely and you’ll have breakfast. Make the wrong choice, and the yolk’s on you!” He giggled.

  “You pick first!” Nathan said.

  “No, you!” answered David.

  “You!”

  “You!”

  This went on for a while, until Martin solved the problem by having the boys go in alphabetical order—by the last letters of their middle names (Nathan Reuben went before David Meyer).

  Nathan chose and got a hard-boiled egg.

  David chose and also got a hard-boiled egg.

  Then Martin cracked the third egg, which in fact was also hard-boiled, and he peeled and ate it.

  Martin had tricked them into eating a healthy breakfast!

  After breakfast, they still had more than two hours until they had to be in school. Martin told them delightful stories about his own delightful childhood, sharing tales of how his nanny made sure he got to school delightfully early so he could get a delightful seat in the delightful classroom. The boys found none of this delightful, except perhaps that the nanny’s name was Harriet D. Lightful.

  After that, Martin led the boys through an exercise routine (he watched, they exercised), had them study some more (he watched, they studied), and then joined them to tidy up their room (he watched, they tidied).

  Nathan and David were pretty upset over how the morning was going. They thought their “deal” with Martin meant free time and playtime all the time, but here they were doing all things that were decidedly undelightful.

  “Martin must be making us do all this so Mom and Dad will be impressed,” Nathan whispered to David as he dusted his collection of “Your Team Lost But You Get a Giant Trophy Anyway” giant trophies.

  “Yeah, I guess you’re right,” David said. “But impressing them is depressing me!”

  “Enough dilly-dolly-dallying,” Martin called out so everyone in town could hear. Then he hustled both boys off to school sixty minutes before the first bell.

  When he returned, Mr. and Mrs. Wohlfardt met him at the front door.

  “You are remarkable with the boys, Martin,” Mrs. Wohlfardt told him.

  “Remarkable and quite hark-able,” added Mr. Wohlfardt, willing to sacrifice logical meaning for a cute-ish rhyme. “I never thought I’d see our twins so motivated to exercise, study, clean up, and get to school on time!”

  “You’re a real treasure, Martin,” Mrs. Wohlfardt said. “We thank you for being here, Martin,” she added, and suddenly realized that everything she had ever said to him ended with the word “Martin.” She vowed to stop that.

  “I would still, of course, like to read those letters of recommendation,” Mr. Wohlfardt said.

  “Letters, yes, letters,” Martin said, hurriedly helping Mr. and Mrs. Wohlfardt with their coats, briefcases, lunches, and assorted other items designed to get them out of the house as soon as possible. “I would be glad to prepare and produce those letters of recommendation at once. However, as a wise man once said, ‘To be late for work is to be late for life.’ You both must go now. At once! Tish-poof! Mind those planes, sir. Mind your business, ma’am.”

  As he spoke, Martin practically pushed them out the door. But rather than feeling rushed, rather than being upset over not seeing the recommendation letters, Mr. and Mrs. Wohlfardt actually appreciated Martin’s concern.

  “Arriva-dusty!” Martin called after the pair as he watched them drive away.

  Once Mr. and Mrs. Wohlfardt were gone, the house was quiet. And Martin was . . . tired. Thinking about his job and his responsibilities, he did the only thing he could think to do at that moment: he went back to his room and slept until noon.

  CHAPTER

  ELEVEN

  NANNY—AN INTERNATIONAL SPY! read the front-page headline on the local newspaper a few weeks after Martin’s
arrival.

  Martin had dropped the boys off at the library that afternoon, after telling Mr. and Mrs. Wohlfardt, “The boys have a playdate this afternoon with William Shakespeare, Mark Twain, and that lovely young man Charles Dickens.”

  “Look at this!” David said to Nathan, shoving the newspaper in his face.

  “What? Wow! ‘Missing doggy found,’ ” Nathan read aloud. “Thrilling.”

  “Not that!” David said. “Higher up.”

  “ ‘Mayor approves trash collection budget’?” Nathan asked. “Big deal!”

  “Still higher up!” David insisted.

  “ ‘Nanny—an international spy.’ Yeah, so what?”

  “That could be Martin,” David said. “What if Martin is an international spy?”

  “He’s not,” answered Nathan, studying the paper. “It says the spy’s name is Max Heller Douglas.”

  “How many nannies do you think are mannies? And this is a case of mannies with the same initials!” David said. “Max Heller Douglas is MHD, and so is Martin Healey Discount!”

  “Just coincidence,” Nathan told his brother. “It also says that Max Heller Douglas was a nanny for girls named Natalie Wilson and Dana Wilson.”

  “Spooky! Those are the same initials again!” David said with mystery in his voice. “NW like Nathan Wohlfardt, and DW like David Wohlfardt!”

  “Two more coincidences, I’m sure,” Nathan told him. “And look, it says that Max Heller Douglas is seven feet tall and doesn’t have a mustache. So there. Martin is more than a foot shorter, and he does have a mustache.”

  “Ah, but how do we know it’s a real mustache?” David wondered. “Maybe he takes it off at night. And maybe he’s here to spy on our family.”

  “I never thought I’d say this to you, David,” Nathan said, “but I think you’re thinking too much. Go back to the way you usually are.”

  “If he is a spy, we’ve got to tell Mom and Dad,” David warned.

  “If he is, which he’s not, and we tell, which we won’t, and he leaves, which he shouldn’t, then we don’t get the ski trip, which we should,” Nathan said.

  “Yes, but if he is, which he could be, and we don’t tell, which we should, and he stays, which he shouldn’t, and he gives away all our family secrets, which he might, then what?” David wanted to know.

  “Our only family secret is that you’re a nut,” Nathan told him. “And honestly, it’s not that much of a secret.”

  “Nathan, your problem is that you trust people too much. Remember how you didn’t believe me when I said Ibi was from another planet . . . until we found her Interplanetary Citizenship Card?”

  “She got that when she joined the Star Blazers TV show fan club,” Nathan told him.

  “Logical excuse. But deep down, I still suspect she was a super-creepy space alien from the planet Zelba!” David insisted.

  “Stop being so suspicious, David. The only one around here from another planet is you!” Nathan said.

  “Laugh if you want to, Nathan. But I know a spy when I meet one, and . . .”

  David looked toward the ceiling and thrust his right arm into the air for emphasis as he spoke louder than you really should in a library.

  “Martin Healey Discount, Super-Spy . . . I’m onto you!”

  CHAPTER

  TWELVE

  One afternoon later that week, Nathan came home from school with the exciting news that he’d been picked as a candidate for class president. His mother didn’t know yet. His father didn’t know yet. Even his brother probably didn’t know yet, because he was busy attending an after-school model-building class, putting the finishing touches on something that was either a two-foot-long replica of the Titanic or an extremely ugly giant wooden gecko.

  “You know, I was class president three times,” Martin told Nathan. “Twice in fourth grade, and once in fifth grade.”

  “You were in fourth grade twice?” Nathan asked.

  “Actually, three times,” Martin answered. “In my school, we went to first, then fourth, then second, then fourth, then third, then fourth, then seventh.”

  “Is that true?” Nathan asked.

  “I’m sorry, I wasn’t listening to a single thing I was saying,” Martin told him. “But, Nathan, if you expect to win the school election, you are going to need good campaign signs.”

  “Well, I—” Nathan started. Martin interrupted him.

  “And speaking of good signs, it’s a good sign that I’m available to be your official campaign manager,” Martin said. “Here’s your first slogan: ‘Give Your Whole Heart to Nathan Wohlfardt!’ ”

  “Aw, that sounds like a Valentine’s Day card, Martin,” Nathan said. “I want votes, not hugs.”

  “Listen, friend,” Martin told him. “Anyone with the last name of Wohlfardt should consider himself lucky to have a slogan at all.”

  Nathan made a sour face.

  “Next, we’ll work on your buttons and your bumper stickers,” Martin said.

  “Bumper stickers?” Nathan asked. “But kids in my school don’t drive cars!”

  “Exactly!” Martin brightened. “That’s why it’s such a good idea—none of the other candidates will think of that!”

  “Think of what?” David asked as he entered the room with his usual slam-dunk-the-door-frame leap.

  “Bumper stickers,” Nathan answered.

  “Don’t be ridiculous, you didn’t think of bumper stickers!” David said. “Forest P. Gill invented them back in the 1930s!” he added, having recently read that in a book of little-known facts.

  “No, you dinkerhead! We’re talking about making bumper stickers for the election campaign!” Nathan told him. “To go along with the posters!”

  “You’re already making posters for the election?” David asked. “But how did you know I’m running?”

  “Men, this is not the first time in history that siblings have run for the same office,” Martin said as he stood between the presidential rivals. “George Washington beat his brother Irving, Abraham Lincoln was elected over his brother Milton, and Millard Fillmore defeated his brothers Willard, Dillard, and Schmillard.”

  David and Nathan were pretty sure that Martin was being far more hysterical than historical. But before they could challenge him, Mrs. Wohlfardt entered the room.

  “Good afternoon, madame,” Martin said, suddenly standing at attention and licking cookie crumbs off his mustache. “We were just reviewing our historical facts.”

  “Homework, Martin?” she asked.

  “On the contrary,” Martin answered. “Pleasure learning! As I’ve repeatedly told the gents, history should not be a mystery, for tomorrow is merely the future of the past tense of what hasn’t yet happened.”

  Mrs. Wohlfardt looked puzzled but was impressed at the same time.

  “The splendid news,” Martin continued, “is that you are raising not one but two potential class presidents!”

  “My goodness!” Mrs. Wohlfardt grinned. “I’m so proud of my boys!” She beamed and kissed them both good-bye.

  Martin took a deep breath, grabbed a poster marker, and charted the situation:

  “Okay, let’s figure this out. Two brothers. Two candidates. One wins, one loses. How exciting that someone from this white-and-brown house will soon occupy the school’s White House!”

  “Um, the school doesn’t actually have a White House,” Nathan told him.

  But that didn’t really matter to Martin, who was as deep in thought as he could get without looking and smelling like an overheating car engine.

  Martin thought and thought and thought for nearly six seconds before exclaiming . . .

  “I’ve got it! Men, think about it. What’s the one thing an ordinary person needs to attain the top office?”

  “Honesty?” Nathan guessed.

  “Responsibility?” David offered.

  “Courage?” Nathan tried.

  “Compassion?” David said.

  “Not even close!” Martin insisted. “To go
from resident to president, all a person needs is the letter P. Get it? P-resident. P-resident. President!”

  “How does that help us?” Nathan wanted to know (while ducking Martin’s repeated P-spit sprays).

  “It doesn’t. Not a bit,” Martin admitted. “But now that I’ve demonstrated how masterful I am with words, it’s time for you to ask me to write your campaign speeches for you.”

  “Thanks, but I don’t need to have a written campaign speech. I’ll figure out what I’m going to say when I get there tomorrow,” Nathan said.

  “Me too,” said David. “And what I come up with will be better and clearer than whatever blabbering we’ll hear from my unworthy, smelly opponent, who just happens to be my unworthy, smelly twin brother.”

  “Oh yeah?” Nathan yelled.

  “Yeah!” David yelled back.

  “We’ll see about that!”

  “Yes, we will!”

  “Oh yeah?”

  “Yeah!”

  “We’ll see about that!”

  “Yes, we will!”

  The boys continued arguing in a repetitive, uncreative way for a really, really long time. They eventually got too tired to fight, and each twin spent the evening working on his campaign speech. Well, actually, they were both just endlessly doodling the words “Campaign Speech” on a pad.

  Martin stayed away from the boys all night; he was in his room, snacking on a large tray of tomato and tomato sandwiches (don’t ask) and bellowing, “Martin, you are a genius!” every 3.2 minutes.

  CHAPTER

  THIRTEEN

  Every seat in the school auditorium was filled. There was even someone sitting in row seven, seat three, which no one had occupied since the Great Prune Danish Incident back in 2012.

  The size of the crowd clearly showed how important this election was to the school.

  Two candidates.

  Two podiums.

  And one Mrs. Peyser, who stepped to the microphone and announced, “Good morning, everyone. In a few minutes, you’ll be hearing from David Wohlfardt and Nathan Wohlfardt, our two presidential candidates. But first, please rise and let’s sing the school song.”