The Hot Fudge Sunday Affair

by Cynthia Blair

  Chris didn’t know what to do. She needed to distract them, to get Eric and Jeff off this topic of conversation. When the car lurched to a stop at a red light, she did the first thing that came to mind. She pretended the jolt had knocked her purse off her lap. Before anyone knew what was happening, a shower of makeup and change and other assorted items fell all over the backseat and the floor.

  “Oh, no! Now look what I’ve done! I’m so clumsy sometimes....”

  The subject of art was forgotten as the three of them scrambled around the back of the limousine, retrieving pencils and mascara and pennies from every possible corner of the upholstery.

  By the end of the day, Chris was exhausted—and totally discouraged.

  Maybe Mom was right, she thought as Thomas drove into the circular driveway in front of City Hall. Maybe there can be only one queen.

  She vowed to have a serious talk with her twin that very evening, right after dinner. As much as she hated to admit it, she was beginning to suspect that carrying through the Hot Fudge Sunday Affair for the rest of the week was simply impossible.

  Even for that undauntable duo, Christine and Susan Pratt.

  Chapter Eight

  “So, Chris, how did it go today?” Mr. Pratt helped himself to a generous dollop of mashed potatoes, then passed the bowl on to Susan. “You’ve been the queen of Centennial Week for three days now. How are you enjoying it?”

  Chris glanced at her twin sister warily. “Well, it’s certainly never boring!”

  But Susan was in a playful mood. “Come on, Chris. I bet you love every minute. For one thing, you’re such a ham that I’m sure you must thrive on being in the spotlight. I, on the other hand, would undoubtedly find it difficult to go running around Whittington, meeting and greeting, acting as some sort of goodwill ambassador.”

  “Well, then, it’s a good thing I was chosen and not you!” By this point, Chris was wearing a huge grin. Even all the doubts she’d been having didn’t keep her from appreciating the humor of the situation.

  “Yes, good thing!” Susan agreed heartily. “Mom, could you please pass the carrots?”

  “You never did tell us about yesterday,” said Mrs. Pratt. “How was the art show at the day camp?”

  Chris and Susan exchanged nervous glances. “It was, um, great. Really great.”

  “You know,” Mrs. Pratt went on, “May McCormick’s daughter Janice was supposed to be exhibiting some papier-mâché animals she made. She was quite proud of them, actually. Did you happen to see them?”

  Chris earnestly studied her plate. “Uh, let’s see ... I don’t remember everything I saw....”

  “Sure, you saw them,” Susan interrupted, “Remember? You were telling me all about them last night. There was a huge orange lion with a mane made out of shredded newspaper and a blue-and-green giraffe with polka dots and a purple elephant.”

  “Oh, yes. Now I remember.”

  “Yes,” Susan said matter-of-factly, “they were beautiful. At least, the way you described them to me.”

  “Did you choose them for first prize?” Mrs. Pratt asked eagerly. “It certainly sounds as if you were impressed with them.”

  “No, Chris chose two clay figures. They were

  part of a Zodiac series. They represented Gemini, the Twins. They were quite well done, weren’t they, Chris?”

  Chris gulped. “Very well done.”

  “Goodness, it sounds as if Susan remembers more of the details of the art show than you do, Chris,” Mr. Pratt observed. Chris and Susan both grew tense, but then he said, “Would someone pass me the rolls? These are really good! I don’t remember ever having these before.”

  Relieved, the twins looked at each other and grinned.

  After dinner, Chris and her mother went out to visit their neighbors who’d just had their kitchen redone and were anxious to show it off. Susan was upstairs, on her way to take a shower, when the telephone rang.

  “I’ll get it!” she called downstairs to her father. “Hello?”

  “Hi! It’s Eric Caulfield. How are you, Chris?”

  It was not the first time that someone phoning the house had mistaken one sister for the other. But it was one of the few instances when the caller had no idea that there was a pair of twins at the Pratt’s house. Since Eric had already assumed that he was talking to Chris, Susan decided that the safest thing to do was go along with his assumption.

  “I’m fine, Eric. How are you?” She was aware that her voice had softened and that it was probably clear how pleased she was to hear from him.

  “Fine. Listen, I wanted to ask you for a little favor. You know, you’re so busy during the day that I feel like the only way I ever get to talk to you is on the run.”

  “They do keep me busy, don’t they?”

  “I’ll say! So I was wondering if you and I could sit down together and talk. That way I can really do an in-depth interview. Find out more about things like your interest in art. You know, that deadline of mine is getting closer every minute, and I still don’t feel as if I’ve gotten to know the real Christine Pratt.”

  And you’re not about to, either, Susan thought, trying hard not to giggle at the irony of what he was saying. “Well, sure, Eric. That’s a great idea. When were you thinking of getting together?”

  “Are you free tonight?”

  “Why, yes, I am, as a matter of fact.” Susan found herself actually looking forward to playing the role of Christine Pratt again—especially if it involved spending the evening with Eric Caulfield. Even though it meant she would be subject to very close scrutiny.

  “Great. How about if I stop over in about an hour?”

  “ Oh, no! Not here!” In a more controlled voice, she said, “No, that’s not a very good idea.” Not if my mother walks in; with Chris and sees me being interviewed for the newspaper! “My, um, parents are having some friends over tonight for a little party, and, well, it’ll just be easier if you and I meet somewhere else.” Somewhere as far away from the house as possible!

  “Okay. But where should we go? Frankly, I’m not all that familiar with Whittington yet.”

  “I know the perfect place.”

  Less than an hour later, Susan was sitting at a small white table at Fozzy’s Ice Cream Parlor, waiting for Eric. It was such a pleasant place, with its pink-and-white-striped wallpaper, long marble counter running along one side, and elaborate wrought-iron tables and chairs that were reminiscent of an old-fashioned ice cream parlor, the kind that was found on every Main Street of every small town in America at the turn of the century.

  And she was confident that she would have no trouble passing as Chris. In fact, even though she had decided to dress very casually, she had raided her twin’s closet and dresser. Wearing Chris’s jeans and lavender tee-shirt instead of her own clothes gave her an extra burst of confidence. It helped her get that much more involved in playing the part. She’d even put two of her sister’s purple barrettes in her chestnut hair.

  When she saw Eric appear in the doorway, scan the crowd, and then break into a sincere grin once he spotted her, Susan’s heart did a flip-flop.

  Calm down, she warned herself. This isn’t a date, remember? Not only is Eric Caulfield interested in you because you’re the queen of Centennial Week. He also thinks you’re someone named Christine Pratt!

  Still, even the most cautious part of her had to admit that he did look happy to see her. Much happier than she would expect a reporter to look as he was meeting someone who was simply the subject of an article he was writing.

  “Hi, Chris. Glad you could make it. This looks like a nice place.”

  “Especially if you’re as big an ice cream fan as I am.”

  “Are you kidding? Ice cream is my middle name. I just hope they have pistachio. There’s nothing like pistachio ice cream in a hot fudge sundae. Do you like sundaes?”

  Susan smiled mysteriously. “Let’s just say that I’m not really in the mood for one tonight. I think I’ll stick to a vanilla milk shake.
”

  After they ordered, Susan folded her hands on the table and looked at Eric expectantly. “Well?”

  “Well, what?”

  “Aren’t you going to take out a pad and start asking me a million questions and writing down every word I say?”

  “Oh, yeah. I almost forgot what I was here for.” The tips of his ears turned bright pink as he pulled a small notebook out of his shirt pocket. “And here I’m supposed to be this crackerjack reporter!”

  “It’s just because you’re still new at this.”

  “Right.” He cast a grateful look at her. Then suddenly his green eyes grew serious. “Okay, Chris, tell me. When did you first come up with the idea of doing a big research report on the history of Whittington?”

  That was easy. Talking about the project was no problem, as long as Eric was listening and taking notes instead of asking a million questions about the town’s history—one of which would be bound to make her slip up. Fortunately, he was content just to listen. She talked at great length about what she did know. And since Susan had done so much of the planning and given Chris so much guidance on how to research something like that, she had no problem sounding as if she knew as much about Whittington as her twin did. She even told Eric a few anecdotes about the town’s history, little stories she remembered Chris telling her as she uncovered them in the course of her research. By the time their ice cream arrived, she was talking animatedly about Whittington—not only its history but also the way it was now.

  Then suddenly, Eric’s questions got tougher.

  “Okay. I think we’ve covered that topic. Now some more personal stuff. First of all, tell me about your family. Do you have any sisters or brothers?”

  Susan hesitated, pretending to be intent on stirring her milk shake with her straw. She couldn’t very well lie, she knew; after all, whatever she said might be published in. the newspaper. “I have a sister,” she said slowly.

  “Younger or older?”

  “She’s, um, older.” That was the truth. Chris had been born seven minutes before Susan. Still, she was beginning to feel awful. She liked Eric too much to be holding back. Somehow, pretending to be Chris was a lot easier than having to answer a lot of tricky questions, questions whose answers ran the risk of exposing the Hot Fudge Sunday Affair.

  What if I do tell Eric that I have a twin sister? Susan thought suddenly. He still won’t know what we’re up to. She wanted to tell him, but she was too afraid. As was usually the case with Susan, being cautious won over taking a risk.

  Fortunately, the family background of the queen of Centennial Week didn’t seem to be of too much interest to the Herald reporter. They quickly moved on to other topics: the classes she most enjoyed, her hobbies, what she wanted to do when she grew up. Susan answered the way she knew Chris would answer. And she downplayed her “interest in art” as much as she could. She was glad she knew her sister as well as she did. Pretending to be Chris was a breeze. If only that nagging feeling that she was deceiving Eric would go away ...

  “Well, I think I’ve got everything I need,” Eric finally said, closing his notebook and tucking it back into his shirt pocket.

  Instead of feeling relieved, Susan was disappointed. “I guess that means our interview is over, then.”

  “Not necessarily. I mean I don’t have to hurry off or anything.” Susan was pleased to see that Eric’s ears turned pink again. It was becoming more and more obvious to her that he saw spending time with her as much more than just the tiresome duty of an up-and-coming reporter. She was determined to drink her milk shake as slowly as was humanly possible. In fact, she even wondered if she could possibly manage to down another.

  “Good. In that case,” she said, “let’s try turning the tables.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Now it’s my turn to interview you!” Susan’s brown eyes glowed flirtatiously. “Let’s see if I can find out what makes Eric Caulfield tick!”

  Chapter Nine

  Chris and her mother strolled up the sidewalk together, back toward the Pratts’ house.

  “That was some kitchen,” Chris commented. “They’ve certainly put a lot of work into it. And I’ve never seen so many appliances in one place in my entire life. Except maybe at Sears.”

  Mrs. Pratt laughed. “You’ve got a good sense of humor, Chris. I’ll bet you’re doing a fine job as the queen of Centennial Week. Even though the selection was based on your research paper and the mayor had never even met you before this week, they couldn’t have chosen someone more personable. More outgoing. Why, I can’t think of anyone who’d be as good a representative of Whittington’s young people as you.”

  “Oh, I don’t know. Anyone could do it, I think. It’s not really that hard ... and it’s an awful lot of fun.” Chris was relieved that she and her mother had reached the back door at that point. She hoped her parents never noticed that she and her twin started to grow uncomfortable every time the subject of Centennial Week was raised.

  “Perhaps,” her mother was saying. “At any rate, I want you to know how proud your father and I are of you. And I’m sure that Susan’s proud of you, too.”

  Chris gulped and dashed inside the kitchen, muttering, “Thanks, Mom.” She hoped it appeared that her peculiar reaction was simply a matter of modesty. She felt more strongly than ever that it was time for her and her twin to have a heart-to-heart talk. The Hot Fudge Sunday Affair was threatening to get out of hand, and it was definitely time for a reevaluation. Still, she wasn’t sure if she wanted Susan to agree to abandon it ... or talk her into continuing. She intended to talk to her the very first chance she got.

  As she went inside the house, she jumped. There, sitting at the kitchen table calmly drinking a glass of milk, was the last person in the world she would have expected to find: Jeff Miller.

  “Jeff!” she gasped. She grabbed on to the refrigerator handle for support, suddenly feeling weak in the knees. “What are you doing here?”

  “Hi!” he said cheerfully, wiping off his milk mustache. “Surprised, huh? I thought you would be.” Gesturing toward his nearly empty glass, he added, “Your father offered me a glass of milk, so I said I’d just come on into the kitchen and help myself. You don’t mind, do you?”

  “Not at all. Help yourself, Jeff!” Mrs. Pratt had come into the kitchen behind Chris. “I’m Chris’s mother. And I’m very pleased to meet the king of Centennial Week. I must say we’ve already heard a lot about you.”

  Anxious to keep their conversation to a minimum, Chris interrupted immediately. “Hey, listen, Jeff. I just had a great idea. I’ve suddenly got this incredible urge for a chocolate ice cream soda. What do you say you and I hop on over to Fozzy’s?”

  “Yes, that sounds like fun. Have a nice time, kids.” With that, Mrs. Pratt walked out of the kitchen. It was all Chris could do to suppress a loud sigh of relief.

  “So I guess you really were surprised to see me,” Jeff said as he and Chris sauntered past the dry cleaner’s and the florist, toward Fozzy’s, “Frankly, I wouldn’t have been surprised if you ordered me out of your house the instant you laid eyes on me.”

  “I’d never do something like that!”

  “I know. But I kind, of feel like that’s exactly what I deserved.” He kept his eyes on the sidewalk. “Listen, Chris, I owe you a big apology. I acted like a real jerk yesterday. And I wasn’t exactly Prince Charming all day today, either. I guess I overreacted.”

  He looked over at her then, and the expression in his eyes was apologetic. She noticed for the first time that they were a wonderful shade of blue-green. “Do you think that being a queen and all, you might be able to find it in your heart to forgive me?”

  Chris couldn’t help bursting out laughing. “Of course I forgive you, Jeff. And I’m really glad you decided that you and I should be friends again.”

  As they walked the rest of the way to Fozzy’s, Chris noticed that it was a beautiful summer evening, the kind that always made her feel restless—and to
tally unable to stay indoors. Going out for an ice cream soda, especially with someone like Jeff Miller, was the perfect thing to be doing.

  And when Jeff reached over and shyly took her hand, she was certain that she had never felt happier.

  Their romantic reverie ended abruptly, however. As soon as they walked into Fozzy’s, Chris spotted Susan. She was sitting at a corner table with Eric Caulfield, happily chattering away over a vanilla milk shake. Chris involuntarily let out a squeal.

  “What is it, Chris? You look as if you’ve just seen a ghost!”

  If he only knew! she thought ruefully. ..

  With that special sense the twins had about each other, something they could never explain, Susan also had a feeling that she and her twin were in each other’s presence. She glanced over toward the door and saw her sister standing there with Jeff. And then she realized what it all meant. A look of horror crossed Susan’s face.

  But it was too late. Before Chris could think of an excuse to leave immediately, before she even had a chance to drag Jeff out of there bodily, he said, “Hey, look, Chris! There’s a girl who looks just like you! Do you know her?”

  And Eric, noticing the peculiar expression on Susan’s face, had looked over at the doorway and spotted Chris and Jeff. “Am I seeing double?” he whispered, unable to keep his eyes off the phantom-like duplicate of his date for the evening.

  “I guess I forgot to tell you,” Chris said to Jeff. “I have a twin sister.”

  “That’s incredible! I mean, I had no idea. Well, let’s go over and say hello.”

  “No! I wouldn’t do that if I were you.”

  “Why not? I’d like to meet your twin, Chris.”

  “Well ...” She thought as hard as she could, trying to come up with an excuse. “Actually, she and I have kind of an ... agreement. That we’ll keep our lives totally separate. So if I ran into her somewhere, I pretend I didn’t even see her. And she does the same thing.”