Marge in Charge

by Isla Fisher

  I have an idea. “I’ll be right back!” I say, and I run off to find our dressing-up box. When I get back, I find Marge and Jakey in Mommy and Dad’s room.

  Jake is standing right inside Mommy’s closet, pulling out all her favorite clothes. Oh no! Mommy will not be happy if we make a mess, and I don’t want to get in trouble. But it does look like fun. . . .

  “You can borrow my fairy wings,” I offer Marge. “And my ladybug Halloween costume will fit Jakey.”

  Marge shakes her head, and instead she puts on a pirate patch and wields a gladiator sword.

  “At a dinner party it’s important that you stand out,” says Marge, buttoning Jake into a yellow sequined jacket. “I was at a dinner party in Paris when I caught the eye of the earl of Toulouse, and he taught me to tango.”

  “What’s tango?” Jake is squinting at Marge.

  “I’ll show you,” says Marge, and she picks my little brother up into a hug and dances him around the room, singing loudly.

  “The earl of Toulouse taught me to dance like this, but he had a rose between his teeth and a red monkey jacket on.” Marge looks giddy with the memory.

  Jake and I catch each other’s eyes as Marge warbles on, and I start laughing so much my chest hurts. Then I remember Mommy has a pink feather boa. It’s really soft and silky, and she lets me wear it if I am very careful.

  The boa would look perfect with Marge’s hair, so I find the box and offer it to her.

  “You should wear it,” says Marge kindly.

  I finally choose a sparkly evening gown and tall heels to go with the feather boa. I also wear Mommy’s gold bracelets looped over my ears—Marge says I look like a baroness. Jake matches Dad’s Wellington boots with his sequined jacket and a French beret, which is a kind of French hat that makes adults look silly.

  Marge grabs Dad’s black tuxedo jacket and folds up the sleeves to fit her short arms. And she adds the suit pants, which are so long they touch the ground and she has to fold them up. She even finds his bow tie and a top hat. Then she grabs a black marker from her handbag and draws a twirly-whirly mustache on her face. “I’m Marge, the man,” she announces in a gruff voice.

  “Mustaches make gentlemen look mysterious!” she says, bowing.

  Marge and I admire ourselves in Mommy’s large mirror until we are distracted by the noise of Jakey jumping dangerously fast on Mommy’s bed.

  “That looks like fun!” says Marge, and she joins in. Soon we are all jumping on the bed, and I finally understand why Jakey does it all the time.

  My legs are so tired they are wobbly, and my tummy is really rumbling when Marge holds out the list and sings, “It’s time for the dinner party to start!”

  “Who are the surprise special guests?” Jakey wants to know.

  As we walk downstairs, I am struck by a brilliant idea. I sneak off and return with a shoe box that has holes poked in the top.

  “Ta-da!” I cry.

  I lift the lid.

  “Marge, meet Bill and Bob, our pet snails. They can be our special dinner guests!”

  Marge looks pleased, and Jake whoops with excitement.

  “Mommy says they have to stay in the box, but this is a special occasion and we need six guests,” I reason, lifting them out gently and setting them on the table.

  “They leave a shimmery trail behind them like gooey fairy dust!” Jakey adds.

  “Now that we have our guests, we can start!” Marge says with a cheer.

  Archie looks confused as Marge puts him in Jakey’s old high chair. He is not normally even allowed to be in the dining room, and now he is sitting at the table with two chopsticks in front of his paws!

  I feel like a princess in my sparkly gown. Jake takes everyone’s orders very politely, gives his notepad to Marge, then sits quietly in his chair. I have never seen him so well behaved or with such clean hair. If only Mommy could see him now!

  There are a lot of banging and crashing sounds from the kitchen before Marge brings out one large bowl covered by a silver lid.

  I’m really hungry now, so I’m very excited.

  “Chef Marge has your appetizer!”

  Marge lifts the lid dramatically and, underneath, the bowl contains brown goo and six spoons.

  “I am not eating that!” Jakey groans. He’s looking a little bit grumpy—I think he might be hungry too.

  “It’s Soup à la Chocolatay,” Marge announces in a perfect French accent.

  “It’s not the hair dye again, is it?” I ask, sniffing the bowl.

  Our babysitter dips her spoon daintily into the “soup” before taking a big SLURRRP from her bowl.

  “It’s chocolate soup,” she says proudly. “I melted three whole bars and five mini ones that I found in my handbag.”

  Chocolate soup?

  Marge is my favorite babysitter ever! “Mommy never lets us eat chocolate unless it’s a special treat,” I explain.

  “Marge is in charge,” says Jake cheerfully as he spoons some chocolate soup into his mouth. I have never seen Jake eat anything with a spoon before—he normally uses his fingers.

  The melted chocolate smells delicious, so I pick up a spoon and have a taste.

  “Scrummy yummy in my tummy!” I say. That’s what Grandpa Bert always says when he tastes anything delectable.

  It’s so tasty that before we know it, Marge, Jakey, and I are hugging the bowl between us and licking the inside and our fingers, and chocolate is everywhere and Marge’s mustache is smeared with chocolate. Unfortunately there isn’t enough left for the other guests at the dinner party.

  Oops! I forgot about our special guests. Bill and Bob have inched away, but Archie looks disappointed.

  Marge goes back to the kitchen to get the next course of the meal.

  It feels like she is gone for a really long time, and we are REALLY hungry now.

  Finally Marge returns. “And now for our main course!” she announces in her silly French accent. “Voilà macaroni and cheese.”

  Marge shows Jake and me which fork to use and how to look elegant while eating pasta. “Lady Beauregard always told me never to trust anyone who uses a spoon when they should use a fork.”

  Archie does not look elegant as he wolfs down his portion of pasta—there is cheese sauce all over his furry face. He licks it off.

  SLURP! SLURP!

  “And now for dessert,” says Marge after we have finished. She disappears into the kitchen, and I share a look with Jakey. I hope we don’t have to eat that cake we made!

  But Marge has a surprise in store. She returns with an enormous bowl of broccoli.

  Jake shakes his head suspiciously. “That is NOT dessert. That is broccoli, and I refuse to eat it!”

  “You are right, it is broccoli,” says Marge, smiling. “And we can’t eat broccoli at the dinner table,” she adds.

  But eating our dinner was the first rule on Mommy’s list. What is Marge thinking?

  “We can’t eat broccoli ANYWHERE,” says Jake crossly.

  “What about on a bus?” Marge asks innocently. “Would you eat a broccoli tower on a bus?” Jakey’s eyes widen as Marge stacks all the broccoli stalks on top of each other until it’s a giant leaning tower of broccoli. Then she drags over the cardboard box that he uses as his superhero hideout. She takes chairs from the playroom and puts them in two rows in the box, just like the inside of a bus! Then she crawls inside the box and squeezes into the driver’s seat!

  “All aboard the bus, please,” she calls.

  Jakey mimes giving Marge his ticket, then races inside the box and takes a seat happily. I carefully bring over our broccoli tower and two bowls, and sit down too. Jakey and I each nibble a floret until the tower collapses, and then we pretend to wave out of the bus window.

  Would you believe it? My brother eats all his broccoli! Mommy will be thrilled.

  Not only has Jake eaten his broccoli, but he’s used a fork, his hair is clean, and he can tango!

  Marge looks happy too as she checks ever
ything off the list and sighs.

  “After a royal banquet or dinner party, the guests retire to the living room to chat,” Marge explains, leading us out of the dining room. She proceeds to lie down across Dad’s armchair.

  Jakey and I snuggle up on the sofa. I don’t even mind when Jakey leans his head on me.

  “Don’t you miss the palace?” I ask. I’ve never met anyone royal before.

  “Never!” retorts Marge. “I left to travel the world seeking wild adventures in faraway lands!”

  “Have you ever babysat before?” I ask.

  “No, but I have petsat, plantsat, and house-sat. I am usually very, incredibly, always, typically . . . busy,” Marge replies with a yawn.

  “What do you do for a job?” Jakey asks.

  “Well, I try to take my puppies roller-skating every day, my ferret has an enormous hat collection and insists on trying on all the hats each morning, and my ponies like me to tell them stories while braiding their tails—and those are only half of my tasks,” says Marge sleepily.

  It’s getting dark outside and I realize that it’s probably past our bedtime, and our parents will soon be home. I think about the messy kitchen, Mommy’s closet, and the bathroom full of bubbles. Marge notices my expression. She looks tired.

  “The cleaner will be here shortly, I’m sure.”

  “Er, Marge . . .” I don’t know how to break it to her. “Marge—we don’t have a cleaner!”

  “What about a maid?” Marge asks, yawning.

  I shake my head no.

  “A butler?” Marge’s eyelids are drooping.

  Again, I shake my head.

  “Not even a chambermaid?” she mumbles sleepily.

  “No,” I say. I don’t even know what a chambermaid is!

  But Marge has fallen asleep. Her skinny legs are thrown over the back of the chair and her belly rises and falls with each snore.

  I check the clock and it’s five to eight. Uh-oh. We are going to be in big trouble. My stomach feels quivery.

  “Jake, we only have five minutes till Mommy and Dad come back!” I whisper, so as not to wake our babysitter.

  Jake jumps up in shock.

  “We have to clean everything or Mommy and Dad won’t let Marge come and look after us again!”

  My little brother is looking at me with big, worried eyes. “Let’s clean up, NOW!” he whispers back urgently.

  I can’t believe it, because Jakey HATES cleaning up! Whenever Mommy asks him to straighten anything, he just pushes it under the bed. He must really like our new babysitter.

  We rush from room to room like little whirlwinds. The whole house is a disaster zone. There are towels and bubbles on the bathroom floor, Mommy’s clothes are thrown around the living room, and the kitchen sink is piled up with chocolaty bowls. Marge is still fast asleep in Dad’s armchair. Her messy rainbow hair is spread out, and she still has a black marker mustache and chocolate around her mouth.

  Gently I wake her up. “Marge, it’s time to clean your face and brush your hair before Mommy and Dad get back. We’ll clean the house.” She smiles sleepily at me and shuffles off toward the downstairs powder room.

  Then I run around picking up Mommy’s clothes while Jake grabs the mop and starts on the bathroom floor. I rinse the dishes and leave them in a sink full of hot, bubbly water. Jake puts Mommy’s jewelry away, and I manage to make the dining room look normal again by tossing all our decorations into the laundry basket.

  “Marge?” I call, wondering if she’s finished getting ready. But she doesn’t reply, and I can’t see her anywhere downstairs—our babysitter has disappeared!

  There’s no time to find her—I can hear Mommy and Dad at the front door.

  Quickly, we bolt upstairs to our bedroom and change into our pajamas. Archie is curled up sleeping on the rug in our room. Why isn’t he sleeping in his own doggy bed? I scramble onto my top bunk and Jakey flings himself onto the bottom bunk just as Mommy creaks open our bedroom door.

  I give a snorting sound that I hope Mommy will think is a snore.

  Mommy and Dad kiss our faces softly as we pretend to be sleeping.

  “They’re fast asleep,” Mommy whispers to Dad.

  I hear them move toward the door.

  “Is that Bob on the table?” she asks.

  I open an eye. Oh no!

  “Oh, and there’s Bill,” says Dad. “How did they get loose?”

  Mommy picks up Bob and Bill and puts them into their shoe box before tiptoeing out of our bedroom.

  The door closes quietly.

  I wait a minute and then, leaving Jake snuggled in bed, sneak out onto the landing and peek through the bars of the staircase and down into the living room. To my surprise, Marge is standing in the hallway, wide awake, with a clean face, and looking sensible, with all her magical hair hidden away!

  I peer closer and see Archie’s green blanket stuck to Marge’s back like a cape.

  That’s why we couldn’t find her—Marge must have crept off to sleep in Archie’s doggy bed!

  I snort back a giggle. I guess being small can be useful when it comes to finding comfy places to nap!

  “How were they?” Dad asks.

  “The kids ate all their dinner, even the broccoli, and Jake’s hair is clean,” Marge says proudly.

  “Thank you!” Mommy says happily.

  “It was easier washing my albino water buffalo’s tail than Jake’s hair, though,” Marge says seriously, but Mommy and Dad laugh, thinking that she is making a joke.

  Jake and I both know that she’s not!

  When I’m back in our room I wriggle under my covers and sigh in wonder.

  “Are you awake, Jakey?” I ask.

  “Almost,” he says sleepily.

  “Do you think Marge is a real duchess?” I ask.

  Jake doesn’t answer for a long time. Then I hear a giggle.

  “Yes.”

  “Why are you laughing?” I ask.

  “We have a royal babysitter,” he says. “But we have to babysit her!”

  Jake’s right, and it makes me smile. “I hope that she comes again,” I reply, snuggling into my pillow.

  Jake and I are silent, thinking about it for a moment.

  “Do you think Mommy would buy me some rainbow hair dye?” I ask. “Jakey, what do you think?”

  But there is only the soft sound of his breathing.

  “Night-night, Jakey,” I whisper, and I turn out my light and drift off to sleep.

  Marge at the Birthday Party

  Hi! Remember me? I’m Jemima Button. I am seven years old and still the tallest in my class—though Rosie Williams is catching up with me now.

  It’s nine o’clock on Saturday morning. Jakey and I are downstairs eating eggs and toast. Jake is secretly feeding our puppy, Archie, all the runny yellow part of the egg, which he calls the “yuk” instead of the “yolk.” I have finished mine, and now I’m drawing a picture of Granny’s tabby cat, George, who looks like an old man with a yellow beard.

  Today I have butterflies in my tummy because Marge, our amazing babysitter, is taking us to Theo’s party. Theo is Jake’s best friend from school. He has one long eyebrow and always shares his snacks with Jake. Even though I am very excited to see Marge, I won’t know anyone at the party. I will be the oldest child there and possibly the only girl! What if no one plays with me?

  Mommy and Dad can’t come because they have to drive a long way today to visit Aunt Sally, who just had a baby. I’d love to meet baby Zara, but I get carsick.

  “Are you two going to be on your best behavior for Marge today?” asks Dad.

  Jake and I share a hidden smile and nod our heads.

  But we can’t promise that Marge will be on her best behavior! She always seems sensible until Mommy and Dad leave, and then we end up having fun and making up our own rules to add to Mommy’s list. Marge is secretly a duchess who used to live in a huge royal palace. But she hung up her tiara to live a life of incredible adventures. And anyway,
she couldn’t fit all her extraordinary pets into the palace stables!

  DING DONG—

  Marge is here!

  We jump up and run for the door. Jakey beats me there and pulls it open. Our babysitter smiles from the doorstep.

  “Look, I had a splinter yesterday!” cries my little brother. He lifts up his foot for Marge to see the scratch on his heel. “Dad took it out with tweezers, and I didn’t even cry,” he brags.

  “Very brave,” says Marge, pinching his chubby cheeks. Jake never allows anyone else to do that!

  Today Marge looks even smaller than I remembered. Can grown-ups shrink? She’s wearing a colorful jacket, striped leggings, and a tall hat to hide her long rainbow hair.

  “Buon giorno!” Marge smiles at me. “That is how Italian people say hello!”

  Jake and I start to giggle.

  “He-ll-o,” Jakey replies in his robot voice. “Buon gior-no. . . .”

  “The rules are on the fridge,” Mommy tells Marge as she fishes in her purse for the car keys. Looking at us, she adds, “Remember to be polite and say ‘please’ and ‘thank you’ when Marge takes care of you.”

  Dad is heading toward the door. “Be good, you two. Enjoy the party.”

  “I won’t know anyone there!” I gulp.

  “Parties are a great opportunity to make friends,” Dad says.

  “Take a book to read,” Mommy offers, trying to be helpful.

  I imagine myself sitting reading, away from everyone else playing and having fun at the party. It makes me feel sad.

  Mommy and Dad give both Jake and me big kisses.

  We stand on the doorstep waving good-bye. As soon as the car disappears, Marge turns to me.

  “Do you see this?” She shows me a tiny silver necklace with half a heart. I hold it in my fingers. There is small writing engraved on it. It reads: Best Friends Forever.

  “This is a friendship necklace given to me by Chester.”