Hey y'all. Went on a Hey Arnold binge for a few days, and had this idea bouncing around in my head ever since. "The gang" is in high school now and... that should be everything.
There's smatterings of HxA and GxP, but it doesn't really focus on it very much.
Disclaimer: Hey! Arnold is not my creation. Huh-doi.
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"Helga, I have a business proposition for you." Rhonda stood before Helga in her impeccably fashionable ensemble. It made Helga sick, but business was business, and money was money.
"Yeah? What."
"While Mummy and Daddy are away in Austria for the weekend, I'm hosting my own little "soiree" at my house, and no soiree is complete without," her voice hushed, almost inaudible in the noisy lunchroom, "a full bar. Now, I can get into daddy's liquor cabinet, but I don't know how to mix drinks, but rumor has it that you're... quite the "chemist." I'd be willing to compensate you for your time. How does $50 for the night sound?" She worded it as though she were doing Helga a favor, but her tone was laced with more mockery and derision than usual.
"First of all, Rhonda, a "chemist" deals in drugs. A bartender tends bars. Second, 50 BUCKS? If you want me to serve warm beer all night in soapy glasses, sure 50 buckaroos sounds peachy. You want a "soiree," you going to at least pay me $75. That'll get you passable drinks. Pay me a hundred, and you'll have a "truly fantabulous soiree." It was hard to hide the disgust in her voice, but the money was good, she had to sell the product.
"Deal. The soiree is this Saturday at 7pm, but be there at 6 to set up. Formal attire is required, but you should just wear basic black, but you know. No pigtails. And TRY to do something about your face. We have enough gargoyles on the roof."
Her words weren't intentionally cruel.. That was Rhonda's way, she could never be accused of being cruel to someone, because that would require malicious intent. She was just so caught up in her own trip that she never regarded other people as humans, merely insects. Helga could barely fault her for the comment. "Sure thing. 6pm. Basic black." Rhonda turned on a dime as the bell rang. Helga was almost sorry she'd spoken up that day in health class when they had 'learned' about the dangers of alcohol consumption. It wasn't her fault the teacher had her facts wrong. The dumbo had tried telling the class that one drink would cause alcoholism, and that being an alcoholic was against the law. Ever since, rumors had flown about where her knowledge had come from.
What a crock. "At least I'll get a couple weeks worth of groceries out of this..." Big Bob spent so much time at the beeper emporium and buying wide white belts that he never thought about buying food, and Miriam... when she remembered how to get out the front door, she'd leave the food on the roof of the car.
The rest of the day went by without incident. Curly had been moved to a "more controlled environment," (fancy 'grown-up' talk for the loony-bin) after he attempted to strangle the school psychologist with her telephone wire. He had no motive, just felt like it. Things were much calmer with him gone, albeit slightly more boring. Eugene slipped a few times, and Harold feel asleep in class. Arnold... well. As per usual, Arnold was fawning over the newest female addition to the student body, a leggy brunette with blue eyes. Arnold knew little about her, just that she was beautiful.
"Arnold, my love, why must you forsake me so? I know you will never love me as I love you, but why must you TORMENT me... throwing it in my face how much you prefer others to me...If only you would turn that lovesick gaze towards me and tell me that which I yearn to be true..." She gave a deep sigh, and noticed the heavy mouth-breathing. Helga barely had the energy to punch Brainy in the face as he stood behind her.
Barely.
*crunch*
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"Helga? I heard you're... bar-tending Rhonda's party tomorrow, is that true?" Arnold stood behind her, confusion lining his face.
"What's it to ya, Arnoldo? Got a favorite drink you want me to mix? First one is spit-free, promise."
"Helga..." disappointment tinged his voice, "are you sure you should really be doing that? We're only 17, we're way too young to be drinking, and you could-"
"Listen, Arnold. I appreciate the concern. Really, I do. But don't worry, the booze teacher got most of that stuff wrong. You're not going to die from drinking a beer, and I can keep track of drinks, and as rumor has it, I'm 'the most knowledgeable bartender' in the school. She miscalculated her inflection, and the last sentence sounded more hurt than sarcastic, trying to cover it up quickly, she blurted out "So what'll it be, football head? Just don't pick anything too froo-froo. I don't think I could look you in the face if you ordered an appletini." Every word that tumbled out of her mouth, Arnold looked more and more uncomfortable and disappointed. She just kept digging herself deeper and deeper. "Look geekbait, don't judge me, you gonna be there or not?"
"I... I dunno Helga, I don't drink and I don't think I'd have a very good time..." Well, if it made him uncomfortable, maybe it was for the best that he didn't show...
"Whatever, it's no skin off my nose, you goody two-shoes... Have fun studying or staying at home." Helga stormed off, feeling an odd mixture of shame, anger, and embarrassment. Arnold stood, watching her walk away, concerned and confused.
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"Hey Helllgaa, make me something haaarrrrrd!" Somehow Harold made his way into Rhonda's party, and was making a ruckus, Rhonda was elsewhere, entertaining the others with stories of her travels, while sipping a glass of red wine with ice cubes. So much for sophistication.
"Harold, you've had enough, don't make me bounce you out of here." In the two hours he had been there, he had consumed several beers and a top notch margarita.
"WHAAAAAT I"ve barely had anythin' what are you talking abou'!" Helga pulled out a walkie-talkie and radioed Torvalt to escort Harold to the upstairs guest quarters, aka the drunk tank. Eugene was already convalescing, after an unfortunate discovering of an intolerance to vodka.
The party had thus far been uneventful and boring. The only thing the boys wanted was beer, and the girls, in an attempt to appear classy enough for the party, all chose wine. Eugene had been the only one adventurous enough to try a screwdriver, with semi-disastrous consequences. Easiest $100 she had ever made. Surprisingly, a tuxedo-clad blond made his way to the bar.
"I thought you didn't drink, Arnoldo." Her face still flushed from their conversation earlier.
"I don't, but the guys wanted a designated driver. I have grandpa's Packard tonight. I didn't want to, because I've only got my provisional, but... I'd rather get in trouble than have my friends get hurt..." The tone in his voice was unmistakeable, accusatory. What he was really saying was '...have my friends get hurt because of you.'
She lowered her eyes in shame, she filled a glass and put it on the table in front of him. "Relax, it's just water. Spit free, like I said. No promises about the next one though." His accusatory glare still burned a hole in her heart. "All the drinks are watered down. I don't want anyone to get hurt either."
"And how many have you had tonight?" There it was again, that accusing tone. He actually believed those rumors, Helga was almost furious, until she remembered that she had brought it upon herself. Defeated, she responded.
"I'm on the job, Arnold, and I don't drink." She couldn't look him in the eye as she spoke.
"But if you don't drink, how do you-"
A wave of teenagers in ball gowns and tuxedos approached the bar, interrupting him. Preoccupied with the rush, Helga nearly forgot that Arnold was sitting there, watching. True to her world, every beer was secretly cut with soda water, and all the wine was mixed with water. Several of the girls requested ice cubes in their drinks, which made it easier to further cut the wine. Surprised, he changed his focus and watched the girl, rather than the drinks. The black turtleneck and black slacks suited her, all she needed was a black beret and she would practically belong in a Parisian cafe. The neutral expression on her face seemed practically painted on, it barely belonged to her. Occasionally someone would test her mixology knowledge, ordering strange and 'sophisticated' drinks, and she met the challenges without fail. Arnold found himself wondering if the rumors really were true. Was she secretly a huge drinker? How else would she have accumulated this much knowledge? Rhonda pulled him away to go listen to her prattle about Munich, casting the occasional glance at Helga, who never strayed from her post, and whose expression never changed. Eventually the party ended, and Helga closed up shop. Arnold had been running his 'taxi service,' throughout the evening, and came back for the last group. After pouring a giggly Gerald and Phoebe into the backseat of the Packard, Arnold realized he had one seat left, and Helga was still cleaning up.
"Helga, do you need a ride?" Secretly he wished she would refuse, despite the alcohol, he had a nice time with his friends, and did not want her sullen mood to ruin his good one, which he regretted feeling, and scolded himself for being so selfish. Before he could decide what he wanted her response, Helga responded sharply.
"Do I LOOK like I need a ride? Jeez Arnold, I TOLD you I didn't drink anything tonight, I NEVER drink, just leave me the hell alone, you namby-pamby goody two-shoes! I don't need your goddamned charity!" Arnold sputtered in response, which only infuriated Helga further. "I said, leave me the hell alone! Go! Just get them home and get away from me!" She was hurt and bitter, For the sake of money, she had spent the night serving poison to her classmates – no mater how she justified it, and now Arnold, her sweet Arnold thought she was a terrible person, not to mention an alcoholic. Her rage quickly petered out, and he turned quickly to hide the tears that began to roll down her face.
As Arnold drove away, he looked back, he could have sworn he saw Helga watching him drive away.
He shook off the look and drove towards Gerald's house.
"Man! It stinks that Helga wasn't drinkin' tonight, she's probably HILARIOUS when she's drunk! Right Pheobe?"
"Heehee, I don't know, Gerald, I've never known Helga to drink. She always said she didn't want to become a 'holic.' heehee." Gerald and Arnold both looked at her strangely. "Yes, a 'holic.' She comes from a family of holics. Her father is a workaholic, Olga is a schooloholic, and her mother..." Pheobe broke down into nervous laughter. She and Gerald both babbled incoherently for a few minutes, which devolved into sloppy cuddling. They were nowhere near as intoxicated as they thought they were, but their imaginations werer clearly getting the better of them. Ignoring them, Arnold stopped short at Geralds house. Gerald flew forward and hit the seat in front of him. As he walked up, Arnold turned to Pheobe.
"What was that about Helga's mother?"
"Well..."
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"Morning, Miriam." Helga walked through the living room on her way to the kitchen to make breakfast. Miriam was passed out on the couch, an empty bottle on the floor next to her.
"Huh...? Oh..umm...'Elga? Morn'n'... Ccan you get me... whurz the... I wuzlookinfrr..."
"Tabasco sauce, right...mom? One Bloody Mary, coming up..."
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Sooo... that's it. Tell me what you think? I guess?