Chapter 2: Rusty Rendezvous
France, 1960
"Twist again, like you did last summer," Monet sang under her breath. The American song crooned unfamiliar in her throat. But it was undeniably catchy especially after Jack sang it.
She sighed, resisting the tooniness to melt into mush. They're after all, in a social event.
The Teenage Threatrical Talent Toon Show (yes, they put a lot of T's for the heck of it) held was nothing more than a school occasion. Parents were invited to show them their kids' theatrical tooning.
But the said event was also the nearest they would ever have to a high school dance. Something they only see in foreign shows. The seats facing the podium was cleared to the side. Streamers are everywhere. Food had been served. Pretty soon, the older students would come up with a way to bring some music.
13-year-old Monet cast a furtive glance across the other side of the gymnasium. Rose, another girl from her class, sat on a chair. Beside her, leaning against the wall, hands on pockets was him.
Hands scrunched the taffeta fabric of her dress before she hastily smoothed it over. Was it possible for the cutest guy to look hotter in a suit?
Legs looking like long, slender strokes. The bored look in his cobalt eyes only made him tantalising, framed by a blaze of hair. A teenage homme fatale. The pointed rabbit ears on top of his human frame, should have been weird. But it only made him taller, sleeker.
Cooler.
In his suit, she could just imagine him giving a tiny bow before extending his hand. "Puis-je avoir le plaisir de danser avec cette mademoiselle? (Can I have the pleasure of dancing with this mademoiselle?)" he would ask.
She grinned, her heart lifting. The height differences wouldn't be a problem. Jack could carry him on his arm instead of holding her by the waist as they dance the night away… (technically, it's noon but it just sounds so romantic).
The milkcat gave a sideways glance to the other girls. They all have the same idea, she knew. But the less braver would rather wait to be asked. More chance for her then. Not to mention Jack's already in her class. He'd recognize her.
Music finally wafted in the air. Catchy. Casual. The older kids broke the ice, already dancing. Now's her chance to-
"Hé Rose! Allons danser! (Hey Rose! Let's dance!)"
To see Jack flapping his elbows with the most idiotically contorted grins she had ever seen.
Her mouth hung open. She wondered what their mother, a teacher in their school would think of him acting so atrociously-
Only to see Professeur Rhoda showing the full version of dancing like a chicken to her fellow colleague.
Her mind quietly reminded her that Jack was the type to shoot himself into a basketball hoop for laughs. And did. Jack was a known class clown. But he wouldn't be that goofy as to-
Never mind.
Jack was now galumphing around his sister like floor's on fire. Rose calmly stood in the center. She clapped in time of the music, letting him dance for the both of them with energy excessive for four people. The others who are so familiar with his antics, hooted and egged him on.
She looked back to The Twins' mother was now demonstrating to the professor a dance that looks like she's trying to kick herself.
Whoever was Jack's father, he and their mother created a a book that must never be judged by its cover.
XOXOXO
Acme Studios, 1962
Jesse couldn't shake the feeling there's a catch. The board of directors want Rhoda back. But they have always been so fickle with which shows to create and which to keep. Now they just decided to keep a classic.
His eyes glanced at the photo Rhoda gave him of their kids. It's now framed and sitting on his office table. The only sentimental object on the table's surface, other than that, it's bare of any decorations.
He had pointed out their statistics that they have more success with new shows. But the board gave good reasons to keep her. Improve Baby Mina shorts ratings. Get the fans who have grown up to watch it again. Join in the trend.
Jesse didn't believe that was all of it. There's a catch. There always was.
Some studios were known for twisting actors' arms behind their backs, tying them with contracts. Making them work in movies they wouldn't have chosen in the first place. Becoming a product shaped by their eyes.
He glanced out his window, seeing a shiny long limo parked from afar. Jesse had always trust his instincts. It wasn't so different now. She would almost be done ranting with Wallace, the head board director.
He got up, getting out of his main office. In the office's waiting room, he passed by his secretary tap-tapping on her typewriter.
Opening the door, he almost collided it with a pram.
"Hey! Watch it, bub!" someone yelled from inside something that should have contained an infant.
A toon chauffeur skidded the pram to a halt. It's flap opened with a blast of tobacco smoke.
"What are you doing here?" Jesse asked. "Your filming doesn't begin until a few months or more."
"What? I can't come and go as I please?" Mina retorted.
Silence fell between them. It was then that Jesse realized this was the first time in 15 years that they had talked to each other. Even if they work in the same studios.
"Would you like a drink in my office?" he asked.
The old woman raised a peach-fuzz brow. "I thought you don't drink."
"I don't. But I got Scotch as old as you."
Her brow raised even higher. She turned to her chauffeur. "Jeeves, meet me in the limo. Go smoke or something."
She hopped out of the pram, straightening her trademark baby clothes.
"What are you really doing here?" Jesse asked once that she's seated across his desk.
Mina straight up drank the contents in her shotglass. "Just getting my facts straight, boy. Since it's my show."
"You don't trust me?"
Distrust he's familiar with Mina. Even before he and Rhoda were dating, he could feel her suspicious eyes burning a hole at the back of his head.
"Everybody got motives, charlie." She poured herself another drink. "Like I don't think you invited me here just to be hospitable."
He stared at her smirking face. She caught him there.
"You knew all along," he said, getting straight to the point.
Her shoulder jerked up flippantly into a shrug. "If you're talking about me knowing Rhoda's whereabouts, yes." She took the time to appreciate the amber liquid. "Made working in here with you more tolerable."
Could he have known where Rhoda was if he had paid more attention to Mina? Her annual trips to France that newsrags would mention sometimes? After all these years...
Mina glanced at his silent eyes, a green intensity that gave nothing of what he's thinking. Just like Rose. But she doesn't need to read them. She have a shrewd guess.
"Why would I ever tell you? I thought you were a jerk."
Their close acquaintance-if you could even call it that, had been strange at best. Part insults exchanged and part Rhoda. A bridge that had crashed and burned when Rhoda left because of his supposed affair.
Mina chugged down another shot. She wiped her mouth with her arm. "It was months before she contacted me again, you know. After they were born."
Jesse frowned. Toons are sensitive to alcohol. But with Mina's excessive intake, she had developed tolerance that was almost feared. But it's unlike her to just simply share details so easily.
"It was a shock seeing her holding a baby rabbit. But when I saw Jack," Mina laughed shaking her head. "It was like a lead pipe to the stomach." She tipped the bottle again.
"I was mad. Soooo mad at her when she disappeared. I was mad at you too," she said, waving a hand at him. "I was mad at you for hurting her. But I was furious at her for just disappearing."
She looked down at her shotglass. "I thought we were closer than that," she said quietly.
It's strange how some words make you feel like you've walked in on someone dressing. But Mina wasn't finished.
"Months passed, I cooled down. But then!" she slammed her shotglass. "I received a letter from that stupid rabbit! Unbelievable!"
She rested an elbow on the table, gesturing around. "I was so-" her mouth fought an internal war, "-relieved receiving her letter! But who cares about that?! Really? After all this time? I was so aaarrrggh!" she shuddered with frustration, chubby hands wringing an invisible neck.
She crowed with laughter, smacking the table. "That rabbit is going to be the death of me one day," she said, as though she had been talking dearly about Rhoda the whole time.
Jesse checked the bottle if it was laced or something. Maybe it wasn't a great idea to be in the same room with Mina in her mood swings.
"You know," she grabbed the bottle and pointed it at him. "You almost discovered that you two have kids. Almost."
XOXOXO
Acme Studios, 1952
There was a sound of flushing and Mina opened the door of the ladies' room, whistling.
Before, after the shooting season is done, nothing would have made Mina leave her manor. Why go anywhere when you've got a full shelf of bourbon, TV and a bed?
But now, she would travel to France where she'd spend a week with Rhoda and the kids.
Sure she was only able to travel a week before shooting starts again. But despite the jet lag with the usual hangover, it was worth it.
Walking down the corridor, she took a photo from her hammerspace. It was a photo of the four of them: her, Rhoda and her 5 year old "niece" and "nephew".
Jack was still getting the hang of jumping. Mina remembered seeing the hole in their ceiling nailed with planks. He have his mother's wide-eyed cheeriness.
Rose was still asking a lot of questions about things Mina normally took for granted. Like why is the sky blue? Or why do flowers smell good? Whenever she sang, Rhoda would looked teary-eyed. For a moment, Mina had thought it was because it reminded her of him. But thankfully, their mother was just proud.
The picture taken was after an uneventful picnic. An uneventful picnic that ended up with all of them rolling down the hill inside her pram. After they had slowed down in one piece, with the pram muddy and scratched; they had asked a shocked bystander to take a picture.
She was passing by the lobby when the doors opened. A blast of wind blew inside. Startled, the photo slipped from her fingers.
"Oi!"
She chased after the photo, cursing. It flitted through another walkway and was about to waft gently down on the ground-
But of course, an elephant had to sneeze.
The photo flew with newfound wind. Mina ambled as fast as her chubby legs could carry her.
"Son of a-"
She dodged between legs of employees. Slipped through a passing cart. Startled a pencil pusher who was carrying a stack of paperwork.
Eyes squinted through the shower of papers, wondering where could that photo be. There! Just a few yards ahead, pass the legs and-
And directly in front of his path.
She didn't think. She ran.
Across the polished marble floor, she slid under a passing rack of clothes.
"Mother-" the costumes muffled the rest of her words.
"-fucking-" she spat out a feather, continuing to ran in one single movement.
"-jiminy-" she vaulted over a pack of yipping toon dogs.
"-ball jingling-" Two men carrying a huge gong came out from nowhere. Mina slid forward. Time slowed as she bend backwards, seeing her own dull reflection on the gong's brass.
"-cockface!" she gasped, running again. She dodged through the jungle of passing legs. She could see Jesse stopped and starting to pick it up.
"Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, FUCK!"
She leapt! Her heart thudded in her ears. She hang momentarily in the air, thanking anyone, anyone who's listening for letting the photo fell facedown.
She splat with an ungainly drop on top of it.
"Oof!"
She panted. Her stomach threatened to throw up as retaliation to the uncalled workout. That was close. That was too close. If Rhoda found out how he found out…
Mina glared poison from her position to all the way to Jesse's six feet.
Jesse's impassive expression frowned quizically before walking away.
Mina cautiously got up, hastily slipping the photo back to her hammerspace.
Maybe Jesse wouldn't care if he had kids. But hadn't he done enough?
XOXOXO
Acme Studios, 1962
"I was wrong about you, you know," Mina said, raising her shotglass to him. "But Rhoda's a dear friend of mine."
Jesse said nothing. Contrary to popular belief, Mina doesn't use the word "dear" lightly.
"Rhoda. Random. Reckless," Mina said, tapping each word on the table.
She met his eyes and that's when Jesse realized she wasn't just babbling. She was finally letting him in.
"She might not be the same to you, I dunno."
She slammed down the shotglass smartly on the table. "Tell your friend Leroy, I said hi. And not be such a wuss." Mina hopped When off her chair and ambled out, as though she hadn't just finished the whole bottle of Scotch.
XOXOXO
The Paint Palate, 1962
Rhoda hummed, looking around at the restaurant. It was one star less than the Nut Bar. But it still has a class all of its own.
She followed the waiter to their table. Judging by distance between tables and the strict policy of the establishment, she wouldn't be surprised if they also have private rooms upstairs.
"Hello, Leroy!" she chirped after thanking the waiter. She slid on a chair across him. "It's so nice to see you again! How's your head?"
Leroy momentarily touched his temple. "It's fine. Good. Sylvia spun me on to a marble statue. I think I passed out a little. But she didn't spun me that hard."
Rhoda nodded fervently. "I was surprised when you called me to meet you? Is there anything wrong?"
Leroy froze. He twiddled his thumbs. "Uhhh… why don't we order first?"
Her eyebrows slightly wrinkled at his unease. "Sure!" she chirped, opening the menu. "I'm really glad to see you. Last time, I practically have to help you hobble out the gate. How did you get so much cake hit you? I-" she rambled on, filling the air with chatter.
Leroy thumbed the menu silently.
"What are you having, Leroy? Hopefully, the twins are having snacks right now. Jack has the tendency to skip when he's overexcited about something. They found Mina's old instruments just lying around!" She flipped through the menu again. "I think I'll just have a salad."
She took the time to observe him as he signaled the waiter. She had tried to ease his nervousness with small talk. But it didn't seem very effective.
Rhoda continued to strike up a conversation as they wait for their order. But he looked distracted.
She smiled at him encouragingly. "Leroy, is something troubling you?"
He startled a bit. Looked away. His crooked teeth bit his lip. Scraggly hair quivered. Then he took a deep breath.
"It's not really me, Rhoda. But I have to ask." He paused, wrung his hands. "What are your plans with Jesse?"
She blinked. Leroy was an old friend of Jesse's. Even before she met him.
"Well, we're still rebuilding our relationship." She looked down. "I know my kids are expecting that we should get back together."
"Do you want to?"
She tore her eyes from her lap at the heaviness of his tone. "Of course! I mean, we're still not sure how-"
"Don't."
"What?"
"Don't get back with him."
Rhoda stared. Leroy had always been the nicest guy. But he was now looking at her determinedly. Like a weed that's meant to die.
"You really don't know. Do you?"
Air was rushing out. It was getting harder to breathe. "What're you talking about, Leroy?"
She watched him looked down on his lap. Her fur prickled. Images of lava flashed in her mind, dark, ashy sludge with cracks of molten rock, as he frowned.
"You don't know what it's like," he quietly said, low, charged with an undercurrent, "seeing Jesse after you left."
Their orders came, the clink of plates rudely scraping the grim silence.
"You didn't even confront him when you saw those pictures," he continued when the waiter disappeared.
Her pulse quickened. "You don't understand. I have too. I-"
"He told me about the toons' tendency to take after the animals they were drawn after," Leroy said, ignoring his plate. "I understand that. But was your faith in him so weak, you just ran off?"
He watched Rhoda's eyes became uncharacteristically steely. "It wasn't a matter of faith, Leroy." If the table hadn't been blocking his view, he would've seen her hand drift to her womb.
Leroy continued, despite. "I've never seen Jesse cry before." His voice clenched like a fist. "And he's one of the strongest people I know."
Rhoda's eyes widened. However, his eyes burned, still staring at his lap. He couldn't look at her. This rabbit, so optimistically oblivious, just waltzing back into Jesse's life.
"People always think the worst of him. I thought you weren't one of them. You… you… you..."
She flinched when he didn't continue, as though the wordless, hanging unsaid physically struck her. If he noticed, he ignored it or didn't care.
"He broke," he simply said. "I saw what you did to him." He frowned down on his lap. "I don't want to hate you, really." She saw his eyes flashed. "But I'm not going to let you hurt him again."
XOXOXO
France, 1955
When you're in a small toon community, you tend to be familiar with everybody without really knowing them well.
Like old Mrs. Tuffet who used to be a mascot for a food company. Or the mole clerk that can be seen through his shop window. Or the strange rabbit family that would passed by.
Your eyes widen with mild interest. The rabbit mother was yakking cheerily. On either side of her, a small rabbit girl holds her hand together with an equally small but strange rabbit boy.
Then you're just resting idly, looking out of the window. Something crashed and clanged. But for toons, it's nothing to blink about. You catch the same mother rabbit, dragging the disgruntled strange boy by the collar -twice her size now. Following them behind, was the little doe who've bloomed into a young lady.
That's when you realized how much years have gone by.
When you talk with the neighbors, you all know each other. Maybe not the names. But say "Oh, that old beaver with the glasses?" and everybody would know who you're talking about. And when you say "Oh, that rabbit family?" they'll know who you're talking about. Even though there are other rabbits in the area.
You know them. That rabbit family. Together, they'd set out to town. The mother would be yakking and bouncing. She would be holding her shopping list like a precious treasure map, pointing ahead in the sidewalk, "Suivons ce sentier! (Let's follow that trail!)" The daughter would be walking along, back straight and proper. And the strange humanoid son would be laughing and running a bit (get ready for him to trip though) as they go to the market.
Everybody knows them.
They've never seen the father though.
XOXOXO
Mina's Manor, 1962
Rose peeked inside the oven, watching the endive gratin being baked slowly in it. She and Jack had cooked dinner, a form of cheese casserole. Being vegetarians themselves, they have to make sure that Aunt Mina would eat it too.
"Hey Rose."
She turned to see Jack in deep thought on the dining table. He was staring at the vegetables that they weren't able to use.
"If we'll breed a tomato and a potato together, will we have a pomato or a totato?"
She gave him a stare that could dry a cucumber to kindle.
He blinked. "What?"
XOXOXO
France, 1955
Rhoda spun around, holding little Rose high above her head. The rabbit tot giggled, lifting her arms.
Jack tugged her dress with small hands, ears barely brushing her shoulder. "Me next! Me next!"
A few years later, Jack laughed, spinning around with Maman lifted high above his head. He blurred as he sped too fast and his hands slipped.
Maman flew some distance away.
He limped after Rose who was running towards the horizon where Maman disappeared. His twin sister sure knows how to kick.
.XOXOXO
Mina's Manor, 1962
Mina fiddled with her pipe, relaxing back on a chair. Who needs TV when you spend the night with the twins?
"You can't breed a tomato and a potato together. Besides, a tomato's a fruit," Rose said with a healthy dose of skepticism.
He shrugged as though not seeing the predicament. "They're still plants."
She sighed, ducking her head to knead the skin between her brows. "Potatoes grow underground. Tomatoes shoot out of branches," she shook her head. "How will that thing have crops?"
"They can meet halfway, you know. Submerged."
She raised a brow. "Name one crop that's submerged."
"Aaah…" he scratched his face, then his arse. Rose gave him a reminding glare of propriety. "Carrots!" Jack smirked in triumph. "See? The body's in the ground but its tops are… well on the top of the ground."
Jack wondered why she's looking at him as though he's pissing on the laws of nature. He gesticulate like a salesman about to convince a customer.
"Think about it! A pomato-totato would feel like mashed potatoes and tomato paste. I bet it would taste like both too!"
From afar, they heard the door open.
"Maman!" Jack zipped outside the kitchen.
"Hey, Ma! We just cooked-" his voice faltered. Dark. Hazy. Air was being sucked into her body-
"Hey, Jack!" Maman teased, a kilowatt-smile on her face. "You cooked what?"
Jack stared, stilling in the brightly lit corridor. "I -uh, we just cooked your cheese casserole."
Her perked ears perked further. "Really? That's great!" She thrust a doggie bag toto him. "Can you bring this to the fridge?"
He tried not to back away from it. Even the food was emitting the same stuff as the Pandora's box.
"Jack? Is everything alright?" she asked, still holding the harmless little bag. "I wasn't able to eat my salad."
He took it, deciding to throw it out as soon as possible. "Oui, Maman. Who did you meet up again?"
"Oh just Leroy," she said. "I'm going to go to my room for a while." She bounced past him.
Jack looked back. Leroy was a good friend of Pa. A bit of a coward, maybe. But he did go through lengths to help them.
XOXOXO
France, 1960
Monet sat, trying not to look sullen. Music had and flowing languid, sweet and romantic. A signal for the slow dance.
Jack and Rose had backed away from each other, traces of disgust in their faces. Monet had been relieved about that. Those two practically do everything together.
But then Jack had made a beeline for their mother. And thus, ended Monet's dream of ever having a not-so-much-of-a-big-deal romantic slow dance with the hottest guy in school. She was able to ask two boys to dance with her. But it just wasn't the same. If she can't reach her first goal, then she wanted a guy to ask her. It was silly and probably hypocritical in her part. But-
"Why should we be wallflowers?"
Her spiralling mopping broke. Rose was looking at the dance floor before looking back at the girls. Monet wanted to retort that she got it easy. Rose doesn't even have to ask a boy, they'd go straight to her like mice to cheddar.
Whatever her words would be were blown away when Rose extended a hand to her. "Why can't we just dance?" she pointed out.
Monet stared at the lacegloved hand. Her rebellious streak itched at the thought. Why should they be sitting around waiting?
She took her hand. In the corner of her eye, she could see the other toon girls standing up to take partners.
The toons who were already in the dance floor stared. But Monet didn't mind. She and Rose swayed a bit to the music, facing each other.
"Alors, qui est le gars et qui est la fille ici? (So, who's the guy and who's the girl here?)" she chided.
Rose shook her head, amused. "Aucun. Nous dansons comme des égaux (None. We dance as equals)." She raised both hands in front of her. Monet hesitatingly clasped them, unsure what they're doing.
The other girls were now watching them, copying their position.
Rose gently guided her back, stepping backward two steps. The cat's feet instinctively followed.
"Maintenant, bouge-moi (Now, move me)," Rose said quietly.
Monet danced backward with Rose following forward. Now, they rock side-to side, taking turns leading each other. Almost an impulse, she gave Rose a twirl. Rose's skirt flared like a blooming flower fastforward, giving a teasing view of her calves.
Monet faced away from her, letting her arm swing gracefully outward before twirling into Rose's space and falling into her waiting arm.
She opened her eyes stunned. No guy had dipped her in a dance before. For a moment, she had felt beautiful and strong and light.
Rose righted her up again with a smooth lift of her arm.
"Voilà pourquoi vous ne pouvez pas obtenir un gars pour danser avec vous (So this is why you couldn't get a guy to dance with you)," the milkcat chided. "Vous êtes un meilleur danseur qu'ils pourraient jamais être (You're a better dancer than they could ever be)."
The white rabbit gave an unmindful shrug, a smile in her cool eyes. "Vous dansez bien vous-même (You dance well yourself)."
Whatever giddiness she exuded, dimmed. It had been fun. But this would have been better if it had been a boy who had asked her. If only he could dance as well as Rose...
The rabbit must've noticed her discontent. "Voulez-vous vous reposer? (Do you want to rest?)"
Monet nodded. "Merci pour la danse (Thanks for the dance)."
"Vous aussi (You too)."
They parted ways. Monet glanced back, watching her walk away -head high, a subtle swing in her hips. She wouldn't be surprised if guys are intimidated by Rose. In the midst of teenage toon torpedoes, Rose carried herself quite differently.
.XOXOXO
Mina's Manor, 1962
Maman is hiding things from them. Again.
Like the time she had a breakdown. Like the time she suddenly fled, leaving their father in a situation so easy to misread.
Like the time she painted their separation with colors of "nothing's wrong" and ended up with Jack slugging their father, with everything wrong.
Rose wouldn't have noticed anything. Maman had came to the dining table, as bubbly as ever. But it only took one look at Jack to see that something was off.
Haven't they proven themselves enough? She and Jack are capable. Maman can rely on them. Why can't she see that? Why does she kept closing them off?
Frank outside of social cues, Maman could be humorous to awkward. But when it comes to really hiding things... Her fingers clutched the edge of the table. You're a pretty good actress, Maman.
Jack fidgeted. They finally had the chance to talk at the privacy of his room. He could sense something heavy clouding around Maman, covering her like goop. But seeing Rose after he told her, was a different haze. Concentrated and simmering below the surface.
Her back was turned, leaning on the table with both hands. The tension on her shoulders rose the longer the second hand ticks.
"Rose?" Jack asked. Speaking her name carefully, gingerly placed in the air like a feather on a tittering tower of china cups.
The rise of her shoulders whooshed out with an exhale of words. "Why can't she trust us?"
His lips pressed together, looking helplessly at her back. Rose's thoughts were always clean and economical. But when it comes to the emotions that colors them so heavily, she tends to keep it in and in and in, like a clenched fist digging nails inside the palm. As though to keep them out of the way of things so much important. Which Jack never understood because isn't how she feels important too? Or like keeping it underwater, refusing to let it rise until ironically, it was her who was drowning.
"Because, she doesn't want us to worry."
She made a noise of frustration, facing him again. "Well, I'm worried now. She kept hiding things from us."
Her words settled around them, heavy like a fog their mother kept around them. She tried not to let the realization irked her further.
"Back in France, it's always the three of us versus the world. And it felt like it." She took a deep breath. "But here in America, she's keeping us in the dark. Again."
Jack chewed his lip. Usually, Maman was honest about what's troubling her. When she doesn't want them to worry, at least they could hear her talking to Aunt Mina in a long distance phone call. But whatever was troubling Maman, she didn't even talk to Aunt Mina -she went straight to her room.
"I'm worried too," Jack said, his shoulders slouching. "But I think… I think she's not keeping this from us because we can't handle it. I think she just wants to face it alone."
"I can believe that," she said, massaging her temple. "I can believe that well enough. So," she shook her head, her ears flopping around warding off unwanted thoughts, "why can't I accept it?"
Jack stared at her and her maelstrom of thoughts. It was unsettling, this reversal of roles. Rose had always been the rock of reason. And him, well, he's the flailing, screaming mess of passionate knee-jerk reactions whipping in the roaring winds of injustice.
"You know, we can –I dunno," he fidgeted, slouching forward, rubbing his neck. "When she comes in the kitchen or if we find her deep in thought," he straightened up, silently grabbing his brain by the neck and shaking it furiously for ideas like a half-crazed thirsty survivor to a coconut tree. "Or find her smiling that bright, covering smile of hers. We can always offer her a cup of coco! Or a magazine! Or a kerchief? Or-"
Her sullen look was added with a crease between her brows. It was then he realized, he sucked. He sucked at being the role Rose wore like a dutiful queen.
"-something along with, I dunno... donuts? Words!" He started to sweat, his words tumbling against the grain of his zip-zapping thoughts. "And tell her that she can tell us anything. Except how we're made. Gawd, I'd never want to know that-"
Her expression suddenly morphed into a strange pressing of lips together.
"-Heck, I'd even paint numbers all over myself. I'd paint you too. But –not that I'm scared, but no. I can just smack one on your forehead though. While my paint's still wet. Then after you clock me, we can tell her-" he paused, puffing his chest with his hands akimbo, "'You can count on us' Yeah! We can-"
Rose suddenly burst laughing with a light push on his stomach. He grinned silly. "Or we can do it the ol' Rose way and just outright tell her we'll always be there for her."
She still have her palm over her eyes, the fingertips massaging her temple. There was a barely concealed grin, as though her head hurt, but in a good way.
"Sounds like a plan."
Sometimes, Jack envisions them as a two-mate crew of explorers in an ocean world of people. Rose is the captain, overlooking with a telescope, a compass in hand. With steady calm and quick witted eye, she'd look at the bounding main and decide which winds the ship sails. He is second-mate, cabin boy and overall lackey steering the mast or engine or whatever makes the boat move.
Then in the big blue of life, sometimes they'd sail into the Maman-tlantic Ocean. Full of churning waves, whooping winds and dancing whirlpools as though it's one big ball and the gods of every sea got too much fermenting brine and decided to cut loose.
No sharp rocks, thank goodness. But it's practically foam from all the agitation and a magnetic force field so out of whack, compass arrows tremble, spinning in a roulette -you could almost hear their silent screams as they're whiplash into finding north.
Kapitánya Rose would take one look at the ocean. One look at the map. Then push it to Jack's hands along with the captain's hat. For all the disasters he may leave in the wake of calm waters, this particular ocean Jack could stir into. He doesn't really need a criss-crossed paper of a map. It was really instinctive. Because all he have to do is decide what he thinks will makes sense and BAM! That's what Maman would do.
He put his hands on her shoulders. "She may not let us help her for now. But we can always let her know it's an option. Always."
And when Rose beamed, glitters of sunlight against a lake, he hoped he finally achieved being a Rose to her Jack.
.XOXOXO
Anaheim, Week Before Mina's Drawnday, 1962
Taking a day-off, Pa took them to Disneyland.
Jack stumbled out of Matterhorn Bobsleds. Next thing Rose knew, she was holding his ears for him as he hurled in a trashcan. Pa was there to pat him in the back.
Her brother straightened up, wiping his mouth. "That was amazing!" he crowed before going back to the rollercoaster.
Rose looked at his retreating figure with aghast only to hear a chuckle.
"At least he emptied his stomach," Pa said.
They walk after Jack. "Merci, Pa, for bringing us here."
It had been surreal, to glance at the driver's seat to see their father, instead of Maman. To ride in a in a roomier real car that humans use instead of Maman's secondhand toon car. The three of them looking at the entrance of Disneyland -not as Jack, Rose and Maman, but as Jack, Rose and Pa.
Jack grinned, covering his eyes as he look up to the highest point of the coaster ride. "I wish Maman was here, she would love this."
XOXOXO
Mina's Manor, 1962
Tick. Tick.
The wall clock was deafening in the absence of other noise. Only a few hours before dawn. The whole manor was still asleep.
Tick. Tick.
The darkness covered everything, save for the squares of light spilling from the window.
Tick. Tick.
Rhoda curled up tighter in her bed. Her eyes refused to close.
Tick. Tick.
He couldn't even call her a name.
Tick. Tick.
There was someone she doesn't want to be with right now.
Tick. Tick.
And closing her eyes would only mean being alone with that someone. Herse-
Tap. Tap.
She startled, head swiveling to where the sound was coming from. The window no longer spilled squares of moonlight.
Getting out of bed, she opened the window. Antoine grinned, rust-red fur and devilish golden eyes.
"You called, mon cher?"
Author's Note:
Remember Antoine? He's fox that used to be Rhoda and the twins' neighbor in their apartment. The one that helped Rhoda escaped being kidnapped before. The one that Jesse saw as Mr. Hornose's bodyguard.
Monet was a bit of us as a teen with vain fantasies that we knew are silly but still gives them importance. She was supposed to be the daughter of a rip-off of Felicia the Cat and a retired catfood mascot. But there wasn't a place to mention it in the story. She's a girl in Jack and Rose's class. French isn't my native language. But I tried my best to check their phrases since French IS their primary language. I searched but schools don't do promenades or high school dances in France until 2000s. But I guess that if they have tv and magazines, they would have heard about it.
There was so many things that were happening in the 1960s. Elvis Presley is there. Muhammad Ali is there, the black boxer that takes no bull. Black people fighting against segregation, feminists speaking up, gay people fighting for their rights. It's even the era of Hairspray musical. Man, I love that movie.