The Hot Fudge Sunday Affair

by Cynthia Blair

  THE HOT FUDGE SUNDAY AFFAIR

  Cynthia Blair

  Chapter One

  “I’m so bored!” wailed Christine Pratt. Dramatically, she flopped back against the green canvas hammock that was hung between the two largest oak trees in her family’s backyard. “I’ve been counting the weeks until summer vacation, and now that it’s here, I don’t know what I’m going to do with myself for the next two months!”

  Susan, her twin sister, looked up from the patch of string beans and tomatoes she was weeding. “Well, for one thing, we promised Mom we’d get this garden in shape. I don’t know about you, but I enjoy working outside. Besides, it’s rewarding, knowing that by the end of the summer we’ll have lots of fresh vegetables that we grew all by ourselves.”

  “Oh, Sooz, you’re always so practical! That’s not what I mean. I’m talking about something fun, something adventurous ... something different! I want to meet new people, see new places, do new things.” Chris let her arm drop over the side of the hammock. Lazily she picked a dandelion out of the lawn. “Instead, I’ll probably just sit around the house, doing nothing.”

  “You make it sound like you’ve been sentenced to two months of solitary confinement!” Susan couldn’t help chuckling as she plopped down on the ground cross-legged, glad for the chance to take a break. As always, her sister was being melodramatic. The truth was that the popular Chris Pratt would no doubt be busy night and day, running off to the town pool and parties and barbecues and Fozzy’s, the brand-new ice cream parlor in town. Her large group of friends was always planning something, and they weren’t about to leave Chris behind.

  “What about you, Sooz? What have you got lined up? Besides digging in the dirt and taking advantage of that green thumb of yours, I mean.”

  “Oh, you know me. I’m anxious to start fooling around with that new set of watercolors I just got and do some experimenting with pastels. And I’ve already got a huge stack of books that I can’t wait to read.” She shrugged. “Actually, I’m looking forward to having some time to myself.”

  Although the two sixteen-year-olds were identical twins, there was little that Susan and Christine Pratt had in common. Chris was talkative and outgoing, traits that made her one of the most popular girls at Whittington High. Her life seemed to be a whirlwind of club meetings, outings with girlfriends, and dates. In fact, the rest of the family had practically stopped answering the telephone, since it was almost always someone calling for Chris.

  Susan, on the other hand, was quiet. Not only was she naturally shy; she preferred being on her own, pursuing the hobbies that were important to her. Reading and listening to music were favorite pastimes, but painting was her true passion. Her artistic talent and her self-discipline to work on developing it had already won her recognition. The year before, the school principal had chosen a painting of hers from dozens of others to put up in his office.

  The girls even managed to look different. It was true that they shared the same dark brown eyes, high cheekbones, and pert ski-jump noses. But today, for example, they hardly looked alike at all. Susan’s shoulder-length chestnut hair was tucked underneath a bright red bandana, while Chris’s was pulled back into a flattering ponytail. Susan had donned an old pair of jeans and a navy-blue tee-shirt, printed with WHITTINGTON HIGH in yellow across the front. Chris, meanwhile, looked almost like a fashion model, decked out in khaki-colored shorts and a lavender tee-shirt that showed off her tall slim frame. The differences in their personalities were clearly reflected in their appearances.

  “Besides,” Susan continued, twirling a piece of grass between two fingers, “you and I deserve a rest. We worked hard in school this year. It’ll be nice to relax for a change!”

  “I suppose. I guess we do deserve a rest.” Chris sighed. “You know, I still can’t believe I got an A in history. Especially since it used to be my worst subject. And I owe that A entirely to you!”

  “Well, I wouldn’t say that, exactly. . . .”

  “Come on, don’t be so modest! You know darn well that if you hadn’t helped me, I never would have been able to write that super research paper on the history of our town! You told me where to find things in the library and came up with the idea, of checking public records over at City Hall.... You even wrote the outline for me!”

  “I guess I did help a little.”

  “You sure did. And not only did I get an A; Mr.

  Simpson thought the project was so good that he sent a copy to the mayor. Now that’s what I call team effort!”

  “That reminds me: We have the town’s one-hundred-year anniversary to look forward to this July,” said Susan. “Imagine: Whittington’s been around for a whole century. And I hear they’re planning all kinds of things for the celebration. Parades, picnics, speeches—and the dedication of that new statue, or whatever it is. Centennial Week should be the biggest thing that’s happened in this town since they built the pool!”

  “Yes, I guess that’ll be fun,” Chris admitted. But her sullenness continued as she picked apart the dandelion petal by petal.

  Before the exasperated Susan could say anything else, she noticed her mother corning toward them, carrying a tray with three tall icy glasses.

  “Hi, girls!” Mrs. Pratt called. “I can see you’re working hard!” As she got nearer, she said, “I brought out some lemonade because I figured you’d be due for a break around now. I can see I was right!”

  “We’ve been working like positive fiends all morning.” Gratefully, Chris took one of the glasses off the tray and gulped down half the lemonade without stopping. “Working in the sun really dries you out.”

  “So I see!” Mrs. Pratt handed a glass to Susan, then joined Chris on the hammock. “You girls have gotten a lot done. I’m very impressed!”

  “If you’re impressed now,” said Susan, looking at the neat patch she’d been working on for the past hour, “wait until you see the huge tomatoes we have in August.”

  “At the rate you’re going, we’ll have to set up a stand in front of the house just to get rid of them all!”

  Chris had already downed the rest of her lemonade. “Hey,” she suddenly asked, “what’s that in your pocket?”

  “Oh, just this morning’s mail. I haven’t even looked at it.” She took a small stack of envelopes out of the front pocket of her skirt and glanced through it. “Nothing too interesting, I’m afraid. Just the usual advertisements, a couple of bills ... why, here’s one for you, Chris.”

  “For me? I’m not expecting anything.” Excitedly, she reached for the white envelope. It looked very formal, typed with her address and full name: Ms. Christine Pratt. And the address on the upper left corner was Mayor Harris, City Hall of Whittington. “It’s from the mayor!” she cried, tearing open the envelope.

  “Uh-oh,” joked her twin. “Guess they finally caught you, Sis. Now you’re in for it.”

  Chris ignored her. She was too busy reading the letter.

  “For heaven’s sake, tell us!” her mother pleaded after a few seconds. “Can’t you see we’re both dying to know why the mayor is writing to you?”

  Suddenly Chris started screeching. “I don’t believe it! I don’t believe it!” She was beside herself with glee. “What’ll I wear? Oh, no; I’d better get my hair cut right away.... Oh, I don’t believe it!”

  “Chris, what on earth are you talking about?” Susan had joined her mother and sister on the hammock. Impatiently, she snatched the letter from her hand and began to read out loud.

  “Dear Ms. Pratt:

  “As you probably know, Whittington is celebrating its one hundredth anniversary this year. We have been busily planning a week of festivities for July, called Centennial Week. To better inclu
de our citizens in the celebration, we have decided to select an honorary King and Queen from the local high school. After reading your most informative research project on the town’s history, we have chosen you to be our Queen.”

  “Chris, that’s fantastic! Congratulations!”

  “My own daughter, queen of Whittington!” Mrs. Pratt was almost as excited as Chris.

  “I bet you’ll get your picture on the front page of the Whittington Herald!” Susan exclaimed.

  “And you’ll be at the dedication ceremony for the new monument.”

  “And maybe you’ll even get to read your research project or at least get it printed in the newspaper!”

  Suddenly Chris grew serious. In fact, she was frowning so deeply that she looked as if she were about to cry.

  “Chris, what is it?” Her twin was concerned. “Is everything all right?”

  “Well ... I just realized something.”

  “What?”

  “That you did just as much work on that research paper as I did. Yet I’m the one who’s getting all the glory. And the fun of being queen of Centennial Week.”

  “That’s very fair of you,” her mother said gently. “But I don’t see what can be done about it. After all, there can be only one queen, and you’re the one who was selected. You’re the one the mayor wants,”

  She stood up, gathering together the rest of the mail. “Cheer up, Chris. I’m sure Susan doesn’t mind, do you, honey? Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to telephone everyone I know and spread the good news. Goodness, if you’re the queen, I guess that makes me the Queen Mother, doesn’t it?” She hurried off, beaming with pride.

  But the scene she left behind was a somber one. Now that her sister had pointed out that she had played a large part in the success of the research project that was responsible for Chris’s being awarded this honor, Susan, too, was pensive. The two girls sat in silence for a long time. Finally Susan spoke.

  “Mom’s right, you know. You were the one chosen.”

  “I know. It’s just that I won’t feel nearly as good about it, knowing that you’re at home or watching from the sidelines.”

  “Don’t worry,” Susan insisted bravely. “Look,

  Chris, you’ve just been awarded a great honor! And it’s going to be a blast! You should be happy about it, not worried about how I’ll feel. I’m glad for you.”

  “You don’t mind?”

  “Not at all.”

  “You’re sure you don’t feel bad, Sooz?”

  “No. I promise.”

  “Well ... okay, then. Let’s get back to work.” Chris climbed out of the hammock, picked up a trowel, and with new enthusiasm attacked a patch of dandelions. Without realizing it, she had started to hum.

  Susan, meanwhile, bent over a row of string bean seedlings and began weeding furiously. She wanted to make sure that her sister didn’t see that there were tears in her eyes.

  Chapter Two

  For the next two weeks Chris’s life centered around getting ready for her upcoming reign as the honorary queen of Whittington’s Centennial Week. It seemed as if there was so much to do. Mainly she wanted to review her research on the town’s history. After all, she reasoned, she was supposed to be an expert of sorts. Beyond that she needed to get her hair cut, have her good shoes reheeled, and decide what to wear to each event. Her mother agreed that a new dress or two was definitely in order for such a special occasion, and she looked forward to a shopping spree.

  Susan was as helpful as she could be. She was determined not to put a damper on her twin’s growing excitement. In fact, she became so wrapped up in plans and speculations about the approaching week of festivities that she almost forgot about her initial resentment. She seemed to be enjoying the preparations almost as much as her sister. Still, she was a bit surprised that Chris didn’t mention the issue of fairness again.

  Chris hadn’t forgotten, however. Knowing that she was about to embark on an adventure that her twin rightfully deserved to share nagged at her constantly, hanging over her like a little gray cloud. But she decided not to say any more about it. At least not yet.

  When the beginning of Centennial Week was just three days away, the girls went off to the local shopping mall together, gleeful about their mission of finding just the right dress. After considering every single one in the entire mall, Chris and Susan finally found some possibilities on the fourth floor of one of its department stores. Upon her sister’s insistence, Susan followed her into the dressing room to provide assistance with buttons and, zippers—and advice.

  “What do you think of this one, Sooz?” Chris surveyed herself in the full-length mirror, first striking a model-like pose, then frowning and placing her hands on her hips, “Too severe, don’t you think?”

  Susan examined the simple navy-blue dress with the white lace collar. “Definitely not you,” she agreed. “It doesn’t exactly capture the spirit of Centennial Week, either.”

  Chris tried the second. It was obvious that she had her doubts about this light blue flowered sundress, too. She stood before the mirror, scowling. “Too casual?”

  “I don’t know; I kind of like it.” Susan played around with the scarf that came with it, draping it around Chris’s neck and shoulders so that it hung in soft, flattering folds. “How about if you wore it like that?”

  “Oh, you’re right! It’s gorgeous! And just right for a really hot day. Something like a picnic or maybe a parade.” Chris still wasn’t entirely convinced, but she trusted her sister’s judgment. Especially in the area of what kinds of clothes were suitable for someone about to become a public figure.

  The third dress was instantly deemed perfect by Susan. It was dressier, just the thing for a dinner or some other formal occasion. The lines were simple. What made it distinctive was the way it fit, the soft texture of the fabric, and the colors, a subtle design of rosy pinks and pale lavenders.

  Her eyes glowed .as she fondled the fabric. “It’s beautiful, Chris.” Her voice was filled with longing. “I definitely think you should get this one.”

  Suddenly Chris began pulling it off. “Okay, I’ll take it. But here, why don’t you try it on first?”

  “Chris, whatever for?”

  Chris shrugged. “I’m curious to see how it looks on somebody else. Besides,” she added with a laugh, “since you and I look alike, it’s a good way for me to know how I look in it.”

  Susan obediently put on the pink-and-lavender dress. It was no surprise that she looked just like her twin sister in it. What did surprise her, however, was how special it made her feel. That delicate puff of a dress, with its silky fabric and luscious pastel colors, made her feel ... well, like a queen.

  The next stop was the beauty parlor, down at the other end of the mall. Susan had planned to wait while Chris got a haircut. She’d even brought along a book to keep herself busy. But when they reached Danielle’s Hair Boutique, there was a big sign in the window, announcing a summer sale.

  “Oh, look!” Chris cried, grabbing her sister’s arm. “There’s a special on haircuts today! Only half their usual price. Why don’t you get your hair cut, too?”

  “Do you think I need it?” Susan automatically reached up to touch her own chestnut hair. She realized that she was due for a trim. It was hanging just below her shoulders.

  “Why not? With this sale, we’ve got enough money. Come on, it’ll be good for you!” Bodily she dragged her twin inside the shop.

  An hour later, they emerged together, with their hair freshly washed, cut, and blow-dried. As they passed a mirror in the window of a housewares store, Susan stopped. “Hey, look, Chris. Right now you and I look more alike than ever!” It was true; since their hair had been cut by the same person, in the exact same way, it was virtually impossible to tell them apart.

  That evening, at home, Chris was anxious to show off her new purchases. “Let’s try everything on and show Mom and Dad how we look.”

  “How we look? They’re your clothes, Chris!”


  “I know. But instead of me trying them on one at a time, let’s each put one of the dresses on. It’ll be fun. And you can wear the pink one.”

  “Well ... okay. But I think you’re acting kind of strange, Christine Pratt!”

  Chris just smiled mysteriously.

  Their parents were in the backyard, getting ready for a family barbecue. Their mother was lighting the coals while their father traipsed back and forth from the kitchen, bringing paper plates and silverware and lemonade out to the picnic table on the lawn.

  “What’s this?” Mrs. Pratt asked, looking up from the grill. “A fashion show?’’

  “In a way. These are the two dresses I got today for Centennial Week. What do you think?” Chris and Susan twirled around, showing off their brand-new finery. “This one’s for daytime,” Chris explained. “And the one Susan is wearing is for more formal events. You know, like parties and dinners.”

  “You both look lovely.”

  “Your mother’s right; you do look terrific,” Mr. Pratt said approvingly. “In fact, I’d say that either one of you could easily be the queen of Centennial Week. I’d be hard-pressed to choose one of you over the other. You both look worthy of the honor. And I’m speaking as one of Whittington’s oldest, most distinguished citizens.” His eyes twinkled. “Well, oldest, anyway.”

  “Oh, Daddy!” Chris laughed. “We’d better get ready for dinner. Come on, Sooz. Let’s go upstairs and change.”

  While Susan was putting on jeans and a tee-shirt, her sister came into her room. She stood there in silence for a minute, staring at the paintings on the wall, all of them done by Susan. But Susan had the feeling that it wasn’t her artwork her twin was thinking about.

  “You know,” Chris said slowly, “I’ve been giving this a lot of thought. The unfairness of me being picked as queen of Centennial Week, I mean, even though you deserve it as much as I do.”

  “I thought we’d already decided that you weren’t going to worry about that anymore.”