by Bill Myers
Things got even more interesting when they decided not to climb the 982 steps to the front door and took the escalator instead. The inside entry hall (which was only the size of New York—the state, not the city) had a giant fountain bubbling with soda pop.
“Is that . . . root beer?” TJ asked.
Number Too shrugged. “If it’s Wednesday, yeah. We have a different flavor every day of the week.”
Waiting for each of the children was their own electric car (complete with chauffeur) to take them down the long hallway to their playroom. TJ hitched a ride with Number Thuree, and once they arrived, she couldn’t believe her eyes. The playroom was like a Toys ’R’ Us store gone berserk. It’s not that the kids had every toy you could imagine . . . it’s that they had three of every toy you could imagine.
And yet, when she looked into the children’s faces, she could see nothing but bored expressions and unhappiness. That is, when she could keep her eyes open long enough to see anything. It had been a long, long day.
“So,” TJ said, fighting back a yawn and glancing at her watch. “It sure is getting late. What time do you guys go to bed?”
“Mwe won’t mow woo mwed,” Number One said as she took off her coat and dropped it on the floor. (Actually, it never quite made it to the floor, since a nearby butler dove and caught it before it hit the ground.)
TJ turned to Number Too. “What did she say?”
“‘We don’t go to bed,’” he said as he took off his Viking vest and another butler made a frantic catch. He continued toward a wall full of TV screens.
TJ followed him. “No bedtime?”
“Nah.” He pointed at the remote on the table and a third butler scrambled to pick it up for him. “Momma loves us too much to make us go to bed.”
TJ glanced at Number Thuree. The poor thing was so tired she could barely walk. This was obviously a new definition of love. But before TJ could say anything, Number One began screaming, “MWAUGH! MWAUGH! MWAUGH!”
They spun around to see the girl staring in horror at a tiny ball of dust in the corner. The first butler dashed over to help. But he was too late. By the time he had snatched up the dust ball, Number One was sobbing and shaking like a leaf.
Number Too snapped at the butlers. “Who’s responsible?”
“The maid,” the first butler answered.
“Tell her she’s fired.”
The butler bowed his head.
“And you are too,” Number Too continued.
“But, sir, why?”
“Because I’m in a bad mood.”
“Yes, sir.”
“And you, too,” he yelled at the second butler. “And you.” He pointed at the third. “I’m in a real bad mood.”
TJ shook her head in disbelief. And just when the weirdness couldn’t get any weirder . . .
“Sweetie-kins!”
All eyes turned to the door as a mountain of gift-wrapped packages staggered inside. Somewhere underneath the mountain, TJ guessed there was another butler. And directly behind him stood Lady Goo-Goo. She wore a dress made of toothbrushes held together by (what else?) dental floss.
“MOMMA!” All three children ran to her.
“My babies!” Lady Goo-Goo said as she dropped to her knees and gathered them into her arms. But before the children could even snuggle, she pulled away and rose to her feet. “It was so wonderful seeing you,” she said, “but Momma’s very tired.”
“Oh, Momma,” they started to whine.
“Tut-tut-tut.” She held out a finger. “You know the rules, my sweets.”
TJ watched as the kids seemed to wilt before her eyes.
“Yes, Momma,” they mumbled.
“Momma’s got to get her beauty rest,” the woman said.
“Yes, Momma.”
“But see, I bought you all these marvelous presents.” She pointed to the moving mountain of gifts as it finally collapsed in the middle of the room.
“Yes, Momma,” the kids said, barely bothering to look.
Once again, TJ felt a growing sadness. It was so obvious the gifts meant nothing to them.
“Well, good night, my babies,” the woman said as she turned from the room. “Momma loves you oodles and oodles.”
“We love you, too, Momma,” they mumbled as she shut the door and disappeared from their sight.
TJ felt terrible as she observed this. Finally, to break the mood, she walked over to the pile of gifts. “Well, it sure looks like you got a lot of stuff,” she said, trying to sound cheerful. She picked one and added, “I wonder what this could be.”
But none of the children answered. Instead, Number Too slowly drifted toward the wall of televisions. Number One walked back to the corner to make sure the dust ball was completely gone. And Number Thuree? She just kept standing there, staring at the closed door where her mother had been.
Feeling her own heart about to break, TJ cleared her throat and asked, “Well, what do you want to do now?”
“I think you better go home,” Number Too muttered.
“Are you sure?” TJ asked.
“Yeah,” he sighed. “Momma’s here. Everything’s good.”
TJ looked back at Number Thuree, who was still staring at the door. “Really?” she said. “You call this good?”
“Yeah,” he mumbled, “it’s perfect.” Without a glance at her, Number Too clicked on the televisions. “The chauffeur will pay you and take you home.”
TJ didn’t remember much of the limo ride home . . . just the part where she climbed in and laid her head back on the seat, and then the driver shaking her awake, saying, “Miss, you’re home.”
But she did remember the part about being $500 richer. Who wouldn’t?
She also remembered dragging herself to the front door. This time there were no chain saws to greet her, no bikers, and no snoring fathers—just two goofballs from the 23rd century. And they weren’t exactly waiting up for her. They were stretched out asleep, floating five feet above the top step on opposite sides of the stairway. Tuna wore one of those old-fashioned nightshirts with a long floppy hat, and Herby was in a pair of Winnie the Pooh pajamas with attached feet.
Since she wasn’t in the mood for another lecture about being too focused on money, she tiptoed past the Christmas tree and up the stairs. She tried to squeeze between the guys and would have succeeded, if it weren’t for the
invisible force field she ran into. Suddenly every light in the house began flashing like a disco club. A mirrored ball even lowered from the ceiling and reflected colored lights in all directions.
Herby was the first to wake. “Hey, dude,” he called to Tuna. “Look who finally decided to come home.”
Tuna opened his eyes, spotted TJ, then stretched. “Oh, it’s . . . it’s . . .” He frowned. “What’s her name again?”
Herby laughed. “That’s a good one.”
TJ was not amused. “Come on, guys,” she whispered as she tried to
and
her way through the force field. “I’m really tired.”
“Yeah, celebrating the holiday season can be rough,” Tuna said.
“I’m not celebrating anything,” TJ sighed.
“You can say that again.”
“Another score!” Herby laughed and the boys high-fived. “You’re one funny dude, dude.”
Tuna shrugged. “I do my best.”
“Come on,” TJ whined. “Just let me go to bed.”
“Hey, I’ve got one,” Herby said. “You ready?”
“Let’s hear it,” Tuna said.
Herby gathered himself and took a breath. “Knock, knock.”
“Who’s there?”
“TJ.”
“TJ who?”
“I can’t remember. Can you?”
Tuna stared at him.
Herby grinned.
“You call that a joke?” Tuna asked.
“Guys,” TJ begged.
“Admit it,” Herby argued. “It’s a real crack-up.”
“G
uys, I want to go to bed and I want to go NOW!”
“All right, all right,” Herby said. “Don’t get all gur-roid on us.” He opened the Swiss Army Knife and
the force field switched off.
Giving them a withering look, TJ climbed the final step, turned, and started down the hallway.
The boys barely noticed.
“You didn’t think that was funny?” Herby asked Tuna.
“Hardly.”
“Okay, okay, how ’bout this? How many TJs does it take to screw in a lightbulb?”
“I don’t know,” Tuna sighed. “How many TJs does it take to screw in a lightbulb?”
“TJ who?!” Herby clapped his hands and burst out laughing. “Get it? TJ who?”
He was still laughing when TJ passed Violet’s bedroom. Her sister’s light was on, so TJ slowed to peek inside.
It was worse than she feared. Remember Violet’s thermometer chart, showing how much money she needed to raise to buy the TV? Well, it was not only colored to the top, but Violet had drawn a big puddle at the bottom showing how much was overflowing.
“Wonderful,” TJ muttered as she pulled back from the doorway and headed for her own room. “Just wonderful.”
She was so tired, she didn’t bother to turn on the lights or even change clothes. She just staggered to the bed and dropped onto the mattress. But the mattress was a lot lumpier than she remembered. Not only was it lumpy, but the lumps talked.
“OW!” they cried in a voice that sounded a lot like her littlest sister.
“Dorie?” TJ said. “Is that you?”
The lumps squirmed.
“What are you doing here?” TJ asked.
“I can’t breathe,” Dorie gasped.
“Oh, sorry.” TJ rolled off her and to the other side of the bed.
Dorie took a deep breath. “I missed you.”
“Yeah, I miss you too,” TJ said. “But why are you here?”
“It’s the only place you come when you’re home.” Dorie curled into a little ball, snuggling in nice and close.
TJ definitely got the message. And it was stronger than any flashing disco alarms or 23rd-century comedians. “Yeah,” she said, “I’ve been kinda busy. But it’ll all be over in a few days. And come Christmas Eve, I’ll be giving Daddy the best gift he’s ever had.”
But Dorie didn’t answer.
TJ gave her a nudge. “Squid? You awake?”
Her only answer was Dorie’s slow, heavy breathing. She’d already drifted back to sleep.
TJ gave a weary sigh and moved in closer. It was nice to be next to someone who loved her so much . . . and whom she loved. Of course she could never tell Dorie that. After all, she was the big sister, and she had a reputation to keep up. But it felt good to snuggle next to her . . . no matter how freezing her little iceberg feet were.
CHAPTER NINE
Old Friends Drop In
TIME TRAVEL LOG:
Malibu, California, December 24
Begin Transmission
Subject still not getting Christmas. We want to help, but some things have to be learned the hard way. In our subject’s case, the VERY hard way.
End Transmission
One day dragged by after another until it was the afternoon of Christmas Eve—the last day TJ had to work. It was also the day for Chad and Hesper’s “Feed the Homeless” program. But unfortunately for the couple, things were not going well in a very unwell sort of way. For starters, Chad had a long talk with the minister of his church. For finishers, Chad had to give Hesper (and her posse of Hesper wannabes) the bad news.
“What do you mean he won’t serve caviar cream puffs?” Hesper demanded.
“Yes,” her wannabes repeated, “what do you mean?”
“He just thinks there’s better food to feed them,” Chad said.
“The caviar puffs cost $39.99 apiece. What could be better than that?”
“Yeah,” her posse repeated, “what could be better than that?” (Instead of a posse, Chad wondered why Hesper didn’t just buy a bunch of parrots.)
He braced himself to give even more bad news.
“He also thinks we’re somehow missing the spirit behind the evening.”
“The spirit?” she asked.
“You know, baby Jesus, peace on earth, goodwill to men—that sort of thing.”
“Oh, he’s right!” Hesper nodded enthusiastically. “Absolutely! Bernie already thought of that.”
“He did?” Chad asked hopefully.
“You bet. That’s why we’re bringing in a giant snow machine.”
Chad frowned. She still hadn’t exactly grasped the reason for the season.
“And later, when the orchestra starts playing the Hallelujah Chorus, I’ll fly down in all my glory. Then I’ll walk amid those poor, wretched souls and feed them my caviar puffs.” She clapped her hands. “Won’t that just be fantasmo?”
“Yes!” Her wannabes clapped. “Fantasmo!”
Chad swallowed. “I’m not sure that’s such a great idea.”
“Oh, you’re so sweet,” Hesper said, linking her arm through his. “But don’t you worry. I’ll have plenty of bodyguards in case any of them want to touch me with their filthiness.” She gave a shudder, which meant all her wannabes shuddered.
Hesper was definitely not making this easy. Still, Chad had to make sure she understood the church’s concern. “Actually—” he cleared his throat—“the reverend thinks it’s all just a little too much.”
“Too much?” Hesper asked.
“He’s afraid it’ll make the people feel like we’re just using them. Like they’re somehow inferior to us.”
“Well, of course they’re inferior. Why else would they be homeless?”
“He doesn’t see it that way. And to be honest, I don’t either.”
“Then maybe you two need to start seeing things differently,” Hesper said. “Honestly, how else does he expect to get on prime-time television?”
Chad shrugged. “He doesn’t. He just wants to remind the community that there are people less fortunate and we should pitch in to help them.”
“Well, if he doesn’t like the way I’m pitching in, maybe he can just do it himself.”
“No, he still wants to work with you, but—”
“Maybe I don’t want to work with him.”
“Hesper—”
“Besides, we’ve already notified the press. All my fans will be watching. So if your church doesn’t want to be part of the show, they can go somewhere else and put on their own.”
Chad looked at the ground. He hadn’t wanted it to come to this.
Seeing his expression, Hesper debated whether to yell and throw a fit or just break into uncontrollable sobs. Since she was a professional, she decided to do both. “If (sob-sob) they would rather do some pathetic little program instead of working with sweet, famous me (stomp a foot here), then they can just go ahead and (sob-sob) . . . they can just go ahead and (stomp another foot) . . . they can . . . they can . . .” Hesper could go no further. She had worked herself into such a fury that she rolled her eyes up into her head and collapsed into the arms of her wannabes . . . who quickly rolled their own eyes and collapsed into each other’s arms.
Chad looked on. It was quite a performance. He knew there would be no changing her mind, not when she got like this. The program would go on just as she had planned. And if his church wanted to hold something less flashy, they’d have to find someplace else to do it. There was no question about it.
Unfortunately this led to an even bigger question. Which program would Chad be part of? Sadly, he already knew his answer. And sadder still, he knew Hesper would be even less pleased.
TJ was dealing with a big question of her own.
Could she make it the entire day playing Santa Claus while running on autopilot?
So far, she’d done okay. She’d managed to
her way through the morning hours while half a trillion kids (give or take a billion) sat on her lap recit
ing their same worn-out
And she managed to
her way through the afternoon hours with another half-trillion critters of greed.
Of course there were the usual
and
But as long as TJ kept her mind on all the money she was making, she did just fine. By the end of the day, she figured she would have:
That was a ton of cash. And already she could picture handing it over to Dad as they sat around the Christmas tree tonight. Talk about a moment to remember. Yes, sir, things couldn’t have been better.
Actually, they could have been just a little better, if during the last 20 minutes the store was open, she hadn’t seen Violet passing by with two hulking deliverymen. The men carried a huge cardboard carton with lettering on the side that read:
Eat Your Hearts Out
This TV Screen Is Way Bigger Than Yours
TJ went cold (and it had nothing to do with the rainbow snow cone little Josie had just spilled down her front). Instead, it had everything to do with Violet’s buying a TV that obviously cost more than TJ’s measly $775.00.
There was no question about it: TJ had to make more money and she had to make it fast!
But how?
Luckily (or unluckily, if you’ve read enough of these stories) the answer came sooner than she expected. Her cell phone began playing the love song from High School Musical 17. This, of course, was the ringtone she’d programmed for Chad Steel’s calls.
Leaping to her feet, she dug the phone out of her pocket while dumping little Josie onto the floor. (Hey, we’re talking Chad Steel here.)
“Hello?” she answered.
“Hi, uh, um, er . . .”
“TJ?” she said, helping him out.
“Yeah, TJ. Listen, I’ve got some good news and some bad.”
The good news had obviously happened—she’d received a call from Chad Steel. She braced herself for the bad.
“I won’t be helping Hesper with feeding the homeless tonight.”
“Why not?” TJ managed to croak.
