Author's Disclaimer: I do not own My Life as a Teenage Robot, or any of its characters or places. They belong to Rob Renzetti and Nickelodeon. The character of Madison "Maddie" Prima, however, as well as all characters not appearing in the My Life as a Teenage Robot television series, belong to me.
Author's Note: Hey, guys! I hope everyone's been well. Once again, thank you from the bottom of my heart for your continued interest and support in this story. While this chapter marks the beginning of a more dramatic sequence of events for Brit and company, I did throw in a few scenes I hope you will find humorous. I'm not the best at writing comedy, but those scenes managed to give me a chuckle anyway. (The scene where Maddie gets sick led me to do a little Google research.) I even got the opportunity to work in some references from the show, which was very fun to do.
On another note, I've been reading a lot of British novels lately, as well as researching British slang, so I tossed in a few words here and there, too, that I feel are worthy of the queen bee herself. Hopefully I succeeded.
Happy reading, and sorry for the crazy length of this chapter. I got carried away...again. LOL.
CHAPTER 4:
HER SECRET SHAME
Maddie was sound asleep, her head pressed against the window, when Brit pulled into the parking garage of the luxury apartment building. Switching off the ignition, the destitute diva laid a careful hand on her daughter's shoulder. "Wake up, sweet-pea. We're here."
The little girl blinked her sleepy, cerulean eyes up at her mother. "Where's here?"
"Mr. Lee's apartment."
Back at the restaurant, Maddie's mother had explained that the man she called Sheldon had invited them to stay the night at his place. Intrigued, Maddie proceeded to ask, "You mean like a sleepover?" Both adults went on to exchange looks, the sort of looks suggesting they shared a secret. Smiling at her daughter's childlike philosophy, Brit replied honestly, "That's right, darling."
Excited for the prospect of spending the night in a place she'd never been before, Maddie celebrated by skipping the entire way across the parking lot to her mother's car.
The seemingly boundless energy that had flowed through Madison Prima like cash through an ATM machine less than an hour ago had since exhausted itself. Waking only long enough to inquire where they were, Maddie drifted off once more, caught somewhere between the boundaries of sitting up and laying down, cheek resting on her shoulder.
Brit wished she could do the same. Wished she was home, curled up in her grand bed, the duvet pulled over her head. But it was not to be. Not for a long, long time. Maybe never. Not as long as she had this many things to worry about. She sighed. She couldn't think right now. Didn't want to think. Especially about numbers. They had never been her strong suite. Ironically, she was incredibly proficient when it came to spending money. Back when she'd had it. But those days were long gone. Now, her only skill was in taking what little clothing she hadn't pawned, and putting together stylish outfits for herself and her daughter. She wondered how that sort of thing would look on a résumé. She had barely begun to consider this, when she was aware that her head was spinning. Spinning like the earth thrown completely out of orbit, reminding her that this was hardly the time to be making any elaborate decisions.
Laying her head against the window opposite her daughter, Brittany closed her eyes. It was there, in the safety of her posh automobile, that her anxiety over what an awful thing it is to be considered a homeless person began to fade.
Just as she felt herself starting to slide towards the sweet escape of sleep, she was woken by a vociferous vibration coming from outside her window. Startled and groggy, she turned to see Sheldon crouched on the other side of the glass, his hand curled into a loose fist. She waved, signaling for him to move so that she might open the door. Scrambling to his feet, he slid to the left, leaving a generous gap between her car and the one beside it. Pushing open the door, Brit climbed out of her car. She was about to reach back inside for Maddie, when Sheldon stopped her hand with his.
"How 'bout letting me carry her? You look exhausted."
After the way he'd insisted on paying for her dinner, Brit saw no point in arguing with Sheldon. He would always win. "Yes, thank you," she replied appreciatively. "Wait there while I collect our things from the trunk."
While Brit went about retrieving her very large, very heavy, and very, very expensive pieces of designer luggage, Sheldon happily retrieved Maddie from the front passenger's seat. The little girl was all but dead to the world, producing only the slightest of stirs as he scooped her into his arms. She murmured something he could not understand, before nuzzling deeper into his sinewy chest. She was a little wisp of a thing, the spitting image of her mother as a girl. Seeing Brit now, and how she had changed, Sheldon felt suddenly very protective of her and the child. A long time had passed since he'd felt needed, or had the urge to don his Silver Shell armor. Years, in fact. It would be nice to feel that way again…
He smiled, watching Brit struggle with her two suitcases. Both of which were a good three or four times the size of her. Clearly, she had packed too much. No surprise there, he mused. He wanted to laugh. Did she have any idea how adorable she was? "On second thought," he said, "why don't you take Maddie, and I'll give you a hand with those bags?"
"But I'm quite capable of—"
"Is it me, or did we not have a similar discussion not two hours earlier?"
"It's you," Brit lied, in her battle to maintain her posture, as well as her dignity. But the weight of the bags proved too much, and she toppled backwards. She let out a helpless little cry, her suede mulberry ankle boots kicking the air in protest. Landing flat on her back against the cushiony shields of her luggage, she was spared what could have proven a very painful and possibly serious injury.
Sheldon was looking at her in what appeared to be a mixture of concern and amusement. From the safety of his arms, Maddie remained dormant to her mother's brush with doom. More worried for the condition of her luggage than the danger she'd put herself in, Brit began to hoist herself up. She had just managed to get herself into a sitting position, when Sheldon offered her his hand.
"If you won't let me carry your bags," he said, "then at least do me the honor of helping you up."
Brit complied, and a moment later she was standing beside him. Despite their compromise, he continued to insist on taking charge of the luggage. She reluctantly agreed, if only because she'd passed the point of physical exhaustion. "Just don't go dragging them across the concrete,"she warned, as luggage and little girl were exchanged. "They're authentic leather and very, very expensive."
"Don't worry. I'll be as careful as I would if they were M.I.B."
Brit stared at Sheldon, as though he was speaking a totally different language. "M.I.B.?"
"Mint in box."
"Oh." Had he just compared her designer luggage to a container of unopened Tic-Tacs? Far too knackered to entertain such an absurd concept, the British beauty chose instead to change the subject. "So, which apartment is yours?"
"You'll see." Smiling, Sheldon gathered up the luggage with surprising ease and headed for the stairway, the Primas trailing closely behind.
Brit spied through partially closed lids Sheldon as he inserted the key into the lock of apartment number eight-one-zero-three. There was an audible "click!" and the door unlocked. He pushed it open, and instantly the room flooded with light, revealing a beautifully furnished sitting room.
"Welcome," he declared, "to my humble abode."
Brit's initial thought would normally be to ask how someone who'd spent their teen years tinkering away in their parents' garage could afford such a lavish lifestyle. Sheldon must be a lawyer, or a banker, to have acquired all of the nice things she herself had taken for granted. She longed to kick off her boots, and sink her toes into the sumptuous pashmina carpet. And was the lamp of colorful stained glass perched on an end-table a real Tiffany? Being a long-time admirer of art nouveau decor, Brit considered herself an expert in identifying creations by her favorite designers. For Tiff's sixteenth birthday, Brit had presented her cousin with a bona fide Tiffany lamp. Partly as a joke, and partly because it was just the sort of thing suited for the homes of aristocratic ladies. Ladies whose fashion and lifestyle Brit herself strongly admired.
Seeing Sheldon's lamp made her ponder the question of what had become of the one she'd given Tiff. By now, it was undoubtedly laying in shattered pieces beneath pounds and pounds of garbage somewhere. Brit was sure of it.
"It's pretty, isn't it?" said Sheldon, his gentle voice chasing away Brit's negative thoughts. "I came across it at an antique shop a few years back."
She managed a small smile. "It's lovely."
"I've always had something of a fondness for beauty and its depiction through creative expression." As he spoke, his attention lingered on Brit, surveying her in much the same way it had back at the restaurant. As though she would vanish, and he wanted to preserve her eternally—every perfect, curvaceous inch of her—to memory.
Unable to help herself, she stifled a yawn.
"Oh, wow, how stupid am I?" Sheldon exclaimed. "Here I am, babbling on and on, and you're practically falling asleep on your feet!"
"I'm fine," she insisted. "Please. Carry on with what you were saying."
"There will be plenty of time for that tomorrow. Right now, it's late and you're obviously very tired."
Sheldon escorted his guests down a long corridor, past various doors and rooms. At last they arrived at what he described as the 'guest quarters'. "You and Maddie are welcome to use whatever rooms you'd like," he said.
"We aren't choosy," Brit replied. Sheldon appeared to mull these words over in his head, as if he did not quite believe her capable of such open-mindedness. "Besides, Maddie prefers to sleep beside me whenever we travel. Therefore, we will only require a single suite."
"I see." Sheldon smiled. "Well, if there's anything else you need—anything at all—panic alarms have been installed in each and every room."
"I'll keep that in mind." It made Brit feel secure knowing Sheldon would be close by if anything were to happen. "Thank you again for everything you've done. You're a smashing host."
"You don't need to thank me. All I want is for you and Maddie to feel as comfortable here, as you would in your own home."
"I assure you we do."
"I'm very glad to hear it."
"Well…goodnight."
"Goodnight, Brit," Sheldon said. "Sweet dreams."
"And to you as well."
Sheldon slipped away, a slightly more muscular shadow of his former gangly self moving leisurely across the white walls of his impressive penthouse. Watching him go, Brit felt a familiar flutter in her belly. It was the sort of feeling that no one but her husband had ever been able to evoke. She blushed. What did it mean? Was it lust, or something more? An attraction that had nothing to do with the amount of money Sheldon had, or the beautiful house in which he dwelled? Having grown up a perfectly rich snob, Brit had been ignorantly unaware that those with money were capable of things like kindness and generosity. The students back at her English private school had certainly treated her no better than she'd Jenny Wakeman. Perhaps if you worked for what you had, instead of being born into it, or having it handed to you, then you had a better chance of developing a life guided by respectability and happiness.
Sheldon Oswald Lee finished buttoning the top button—that is, the last in a line of five buttons—on his blue-striped pajama top. The one with his initials sewn in fancy script into the right breast pocket. A gift from Jenny on his last birthday. Even though nine years had passed since their high school graduation, and while Jenny would always maintain the personality of a teenager (nevertheless, a very mature teenager), the long-time friends remained close. They did not see each other nearly as much as they would have liked; Sheldon's management of the country's largest computer enterprise, and Jenny's full-time supper-heroing, had seen to that. Despite their hectic schedules, they still managed to stay caught up on the latest events in each other's lives. It may not have been the most idyllic way to maintain a friendship, but it was better than nothing.
Even if Sheldon did feel lonely a trifle at times.
He'd graduated high school at just sixteen, and college shortly before turning twenty-one. He was twenty-five now, already with an impressive legacy of academic successes behind him. He was amongst the youngest persons in the world to reach billionaire status before the age of twenty, and had had notable articles written about him in both Not So Popular Mechanics and Fashionista Magazine magazines. Fashionista was planning on declaring him 'Sexiest Man Alive' and 'Most Eligible Bachelor' in this year's summer issue. Tiffany Crust, who was conducting both interviews, had e-mailed him a substantial list of fifteen questions. He'd intended to look each one over carefully, and hopefully answer a few this evening. But with all that had happened, and with all that would likely continue to happen, he could not say for sure when he'd get to it. He had no intention of letting Tiff or her magazine down, and determined to fulfill his obligations. It suddenly occurred to him that he did not need to be at the office until noon the next day. It was ten p.m. now. He could work for an hour or so, and still be able to rise at his usual hour of seven a.m.
He retrieved his very ancient—though still very functional—laptop computer from one of the storage drawers beneath his four-poster bed. Crawling into bed, he switched on the machine. Once it had finished loading, he opened his e-mail, and scrolled down until he came to Tiff's message. He clicked on it, generating a square of text to fill the screen. Try as he might, he could not get himself to focus on the task in front of him. Not as long as the beautiful woman, whose very presence consumed his every thought and action, was near.
Brit exercised great caution, as she removed the black silk gloves from her hands. In doing so, she revealed the secret shame that had plagued her since her days as a shy and insecure girl back in England.
She had begun dealing with chronic hand eczema shortly after starting the sixth grade. It was impossible to say what, exactly, had triggered it. As far as anyone could tell, she was the only person in her family to ever suffer the condition. At nearly twelve years old, Brit had for years been the subject of bullying. But it was only recently that she'd gotten her first period. Henceforth, her doctor and parents all agreed that the culprit had to be either puberty or stress. Perhaps both. While her eczema was easy enough to conceal, her other problem proved a much more complicated matter altogether. Especially when it had established itself right in the middle of her face.
As a child, Brit's overbite had proven an instrument of tremendous pain for her. She could not go anywhere in school without being called 'Bucky the Buck-Toothed Beaver', 'Bugs Bunny' or 'Choppers'. She was asked daily by her schoolmates if she'd fancy a piece of wood or a carrot. It may not have seemed like a big deal to the grownups, but from the way Brit recalled those developmental years, the kids were nothing short of savage. Then the truth about her skin condition came out. It was hard to imagine how her life could get any worse. But it had. Oh, bloody hell, had it ever. When she walked into a classroom, the other kids would begin to whisper and giggle about something other than her teeth. If she sat down next to someone, whomever it was would beg the teacher to assign them another seat, or move to one themselves. The way she'd been treated was almost as hurtful as it was humiliating. There had been many times where she had simply skipped school. All because the wrath of her parents proved so much more bearable than being made to feel like some sort of horrible, contagious disease.
Eczema was not a disease, but try convincing a bunch of twelve and thirteen-year-olds of that. It was nothing if not impossible. Kids that age believed whatever they wanted. That everything they thought of and talked about was nothing short of stone cold fact. If someone told them otherwise, they simply opted not to listen.
In high school, there had very few occasions where Brit was able to go a full day without her gloves. (Being transferred to a new school in a new town had had a significant impact on her stress levels.) Aside from her family, no one in Tremorton had any idea that she'd ever suffered what was actually a very common affliction. Even Don, her husband of less than three years, and who had considered her gloves something of a second skin, had had no clue his wife was hiding anything, until after they were married. She had expected her secret to come out right around the time they'd started dating—and that Tiff would be the one to blow her cousin's cover. Only she hadn't, and neither had anyone else. When Tiff had sworn to her cousin that the name 'Brittany Crust' would never again touch her lips, the pint-size princess wasn't kidding.
In a sad, bittersweet sort of way, Brit felt beholden to her cousin. As hurt and angry as Tiff had been (and, for all anyone knew, still was), she had still honored her promise to Brit. Tiff had even taken to sporting her own pair of fashionable gloves, to help her cousin feel less like an outcast, and more like someone with a 'fly sense of style'.
"Your secret's safe wit' me, cuz."
Brit proceeded to reach for the bottle of prescription ointment beside her. It was sticky and smelly and permanently stained anything it came in contact with—including wood—but was the only remedy strong enough to soothe her chafed and irritable hands. It was also the last bottle before her prescription ran out indefinitely. She sighed. This was the sort of thing poor people dealt with regularly. Those who were sick and could not afford to pay the price for their medications. Rather than go without, they cut their pills in half, hoping it would hold them over, until they could scrounge enough money together for more.
Poor Maddie had had the misfortune of inheriting her mother's condition. It was confined to her feet, but responded well to the same ointment her mother used on her hands. Maddie's 'itchies' were triggered mostly by the harsh summer temperatures, when shoes and socks were swapped out for sandals, and swimming became an almost mandatory event. She refused to wear sandals or go barefoot, except at home, and only indoors. If company came to call, or she was spending the night away from home (such as tonight), she would scramble to put on her socks, so that nobody would ask her about her 'lizard feet'. The little girl's insecurities were truly heartbreaking to behold, and often forced Brit to turn away, so that Maddie would not see her tears, and demand in the sweetly naïve voice of a child, "What's wrong, Mommy?"
Brit was about to expel a frugal portion of the foul-smelling stuff into her palm, when it occurred to her that several hours had passed, since she'd last checked her phone. Not that she was expecting any important texts or calls. With the exception of her her in-laws, the only time Brit's phone ever rang nowadays was when she was the target of bankers and bill collectors. Even her cell phone service—which was the cheapest and most unreliable available—was threatening to cut her off at the end of the month.
Bollocks.
She picked up her phone. There were two missed calls. One from early this afternoon, and the other from later in the evening, at seven-thirty-four p.m. She'd ignored the first call, after seeing it was from one of four or so dozen credit card companies. She'd ordered Maddie—who was as technologically savvy as any other modern day youngster—to silence the phone, so that "Mummy can focus on the road." Brit had not bothered to turn the volume back on, or even set her phone to vibrate, which explained why she'd been unaware of the second call. The caller was listed simply as 'Unknown', and the number they'd rung from was a mystery to her. It had a city area code, but who did she know who lived in the city except Sheldon? Besides, what logical reason could he possibly have to ring her, when he'd spent all evening in the company of her and her daughter?
'Unknown' was probably just another meddling sod, looking to demand money she didn't have. Not anyone worth bothering about. What would be the point of ringing back, anyway? To stress herself out even more? Just the thought made her hands start to itch. As always, the tingling started at the tops, slowly working its way to the backs, to the soft area at the bottoms of her fingers, moving stealthily towards her palms, until her only reasonable option was to drag her hands across a sheet of sandpaper.
Tossing her phone aside, Brit picked up her bottle of prescription ointment, and squeezed an ample amount onto her palm.
"Mommy? Mommy? I think I need a drink of water."
The familiar voice pulled Brit up from the waters of a restless sleep. A tiny figure was hovering over her, its identity obscured by darkness. Gradually, her eyes adjusted, and she was able to determine the presence in front of her. "Maddie?" she asked groggily. "What are you doing out of bed, love? Did you have a nightmare?"
"No. I need a drink of water," Maddie repeated. There was only one reason why she would wake her mother in the middle of the night, asking for water. Something Brit feared she had neither the strength nor the patience to deal with.
"Don't you feel well?"
A slow shake of her daughter's head confirmed her worries. "I think I'm gonna—"
Whatever doubts Brit had harbored regarding her maternal abilities vanished with the sound of Maddie's retching heaves. It was a sound that regularly followed Maddie's request for water, a sound that Brit, as a mother, was well acquainted with. It was over quickly, and soon enough the former queen bee was gathering her daughter into her arms, asking Maddie if she was okay, if she needed to use the bathroom. And all the while Brit was cursing herself. How could she have let Maddie, who weighed little more than a pineapple, devour such a massive meal so close to bedtime?
Some of what had missed the carpet (Brit did not like to consider how she was going to explain that mess to Sheldon) had ended up in Maddie's hair instead. Dark, shining, beautiful hair that had been passed along to her from her mother's side of the family. Hair Brit was fond of tying brightly colored ribbons in, and styling with curling wands and flat-irons. Hair that was now in dreadful need of a thorough washing.
"How do you feel?" she asked. "Shall I help you to bed? Or do you think you might be sick again?"
Maddie groaned, from where she'd managed to crawl and collapse onto the throw rug beside the bed. The rug was a good foot or so from the mess, which she'd managed to keep contained to the wooden floor. "Wanna lie here," she said.
"Yes, dear, of course. But not on the floor."
"Don't wanna move."
"But you won't be comfortable."
"Don't care."
Brit signed in defeat. This would never do. She was not going to get a wink of sleep that night. Not when her six-year-old daughter had opted to spend the night on a hard, cold floor.
In the brightness of his bedroom, Sheldon was sitting up in bed, head thrown back on the pillows, snoring loudly, a long trail of saliva dangling from his bottom lip. The laptop remained open on his lap, an image of the old flying toaster screensaver, which he'd redesigned specifically to run on his (slightly more) modernized computer, was playing ad nauseam on the screen. He was having a horrible dream about being back in high school, after showing up for class in nothing but the kitty face underwear he'd last worn when he was fifteen. He had just reached the part where everyone—including old Principal Renzetti—were laughing and pointing at him. Sheldon tried in vain to cover himself, using an issue of Fashionista Magazine. On the cover was a picture of him as he'd looked as a teenager, with the caption 'World's Sexiest Nerd' printed at the top. He was in the process of figuring out what he could do, what he could possibly invent that would get him out of his present situation—a situation he had no idea how he'd gotten into to begin with—when the bell signaling the end of school rang.
It was still ringing when he jerked awake. In doing so, a sharp pain shot up the back of his neck. This generated a violent knee spasm, and the laptop fell to the floor with a shattering crash. Unlike the rest of the penthouse, the bedroom floors had been constructed of solid wood "Because wood flooring is better suited for those of us with allergies," Sheldon would say, if someone inquired about the absence of carpet in the bedrooms.
Forcing himself to peer over the edge of the bed, Sheldon surveyed the damage. The laptop had landed in a way similar to a book, when a person wants to save their place but has no way to mark it. A good sign, or a reason to be concerned? Throwing his long legs over the edge of the bed, he was in the process of leaning over and finding out, when he realized that the ringing he'd first heard in his dream was still going.
He smacked his palm against his forehead. "Sheldon, you mind-boggling moron! That isn't the end-of-school bell! It's the damn panic alarm!"
Feeling like the very thing dogs sniff when they're getting to know each other, he lunged from the bed. He succeeded not only in tripping over the fallen laptop, and propelling it back into its proper upright position, but in slamming the lid down painfully on all five toes of his right foot.
"Owe!" he cried, shaking his foot free from the jaws of his childhood computer. The pain followed him across the room, out the door, into the hallway, and all the way down. "Owe-owe-owe-owe-owie-owie-owie-owwwwe…!"
Brit was sitting on the bed, repeatedly pressing the panic alarm, which had been conveniently placed on the nightstand. The ghastly noise reminded her of a film she had watched as a child. An old black and white horror movie that centered around two sisters. One sister, a retired actress, had been crippled in a terrible car accident, and forced to muddle her days away in an upstairs bedroom. Her only company were her pet parakeet and devoted housekeeper. If she was alone and required assistance, she had only to press the hand buzzer on her nightstand. But it was the other sister whom Brit remembered most vividly. Presumably because it was the sister with the two working legs who'd terrified Brit so much. Jealous of her crippled sister, the former child actress lived under the delusion that she, too, was a talented performer, and gone about town asking young strangers if they remembered her.
May a higher power strike me dead if I ever become like that, Brit thought.
She rose then, intending to go back and sit with her daughter. Maddie was still refusing to budge from her spot on the floor, complaining about the sound of the alarm, when the door burst open, and Sheldon appeared.
His hand on the knob, he gasped out, "I came as fast as I could…what's going on?"
Brit was standing by the bed, her slim fingers laced together in her nervousness. She had yet to prepare Sheldon for the surprise awaiting him. "Maddie took ill unexpectedly. I'm afraid that—"
A shadow of genuine concern fell across the billionaire's face. "Maddie's sick?"
"Yes. However, I should warn you that—"
"Where is she?"
"On the other side of the bed. Sheldon, I really must tell you—"
But Sheldon was already circling—more like hobbling, Brit noted—to the opposite side of the bed. He had just spotted Maddie, when he felt his left foot—which was both bare and uninjured—make contact with a most unsettling substance. Brit raised a hand to her mouth, as Sheldon looked down at his foot in what could only be perceived as horror.
"Is it ruined?" Brit asked worriedly, as she finished tucking the comforter securely around Maddie.
Sheldon smiled reassuringly from his crouched position on the floor. "Are you referring to the floor or my foot?"
Brit rolled her eyes goodnaturedly. Not only was she relieved to see he was not in the least bit irritated by what had happened, but that he could joke about it so easily. Beside him were the ingredients he and Brit had collected, to create a homemade stain lifting solution: a box of baking soda, a bottle of distilled vinegar, a large mixing bowl containing three quarters of water, a scrubbing sponge, and a brand new roll of paper towels. The paper towels were Sheldon's preferred brand. The kind that let you select whatever size you wanted. But that wasn't the best part. The best part was that they were twice as absorbent as regular paper towels!
Snatching up the roll, Sheldon tore off three towels in a single rip. "Both the floor and my foot are perfectly salvageable," he said. "This solution you mixed up seems to have worked."
"It's a little trick I learned after having Maddie," Brit replied. "As a parent, there are certain things you must learn to deal with early on. Getting sick out of every type of flooring is one of them."
"I'd say it's number one."
She smiled. "Quite."
"Mmm…Mommy?"
Brit regarded her daughter with motherly concern. The color had drained from Maddie's face, leaving her looking pale and sickly. Her lively blue eyes had taken on the grayish tint of a sky just before a storm. But her lack of fever had led her mother and Sheldon to assume she'd simply gotten sick on too much greasy diner food.
"What is it, darling?" Brit said.
"Where's Buzzy?"
"What's a Buzzy?" Sheldon asked.
"It's a stuffed animal," Brit explained. "A bee. She's had it since she was born. Pteresa gave it to her. Maddie sleeps with it every night. If she doesn't have it…"
"Do you know where it is?"
"The car!" Maddie exclaimed. "I left him in the car!"
Brit groaned. No matter how much Maddie begged, no matter how much she cried or whined, there was no way—absolutely no way!—that Brit was taking the elevator down to the lobby, so that she could walk through the rotating glass doors, and enter the parking garage in the dark, dead of night, to retrieve some silly stuffed animal. A stuffed animal given to her daughter by someone Brit once considered a friend, but whose life had eventually drifted in a different direction from hers, ceasing all contact.
"I promise to go down first thing in the morning," Brit said, "and get him for you."
"But I…" Maddie's lower lip quivered. "I can't go to sleep without him."
"Darling, it's only for one night."
"No!" Maddie protested by pounding her fists into the mattress at her sides. "That's too long! I can't sleep unless I have Buzzy!"
"But you were sleeping perfectly soundly only a moment ago."
Maddie did not answer. Folding her arms over her chest, she flopped back against the pillow, glaring long and hard at the armoire set against the wall on the other side of the room.
"I've got an idea," Sheldon said. "Wait here, ladies. I'll be back in a flash."
He was back in less than a minute. A mysterious smile curved its way up one corner of his mouth, while his hand worked to conceal something behind his back. Sinking down onto the edge of the bed, he slowly drew out his hand, and presented the sulking child with a token from his youth.
"Is that…" Maddie squinted her glassless eyes, not sure if what she was seeing was really real. "Is that a…a Action Jenny doll?"
"It most certainly is," declared Sheldon, with all the pride of a first-time parent. "A first edition, as a matter of fact. What do you think?"
"Well…" Maddie studied the doll for several seconds before continuing. "Whoever painted her used the wrong color blue. The real Jenny's blue is a lot brighter than this. And yours is kinda dirty-lookin'."
"Maddie!" Brit hissed. "Be nice."
"It's all right," Sheldon said. "She's just being honest."
"Sorry, Mr. Lee," Maddie said. "I don't care that your Jenny's a different color than the real one. Or that it's been a while since she's had a bath. Guess she's just been too busy chasin' after aliens an' fightin' crime, huh?"
"What?" Sheldon had become distracted by Brit—or rather, the intriguing way Brit had of leaning against the top edge of the bed, and unknowingly revealing the outline of her shapely hip through her silk robe. Her choice of both clothing and posture had made it next to impossible for her host to concentrate on anything else.
As though waking from a trance, Sheldon regarded the child smiling patiently up at him with fatherly affection. "Oh. Oh, yes," he said, dragging his hands over his face in embarrassment. "And please. No more 'Mr. Lee'. It makes me feel like I'm still at work. From now on, call me 'Sheldon'."
"The name that Mommy calls you?" Maddie was astounded. She didn't know too many adults who allowed—and certainly none who insisted—that children address them by their first name. What was it about her that made this man, this Sheldon Lee, grant her such a privilege?
"Is that all right?" he prompted, following a brief silence.
Maddie nodded her head yes.
"Great. Now that that's settled, hold out your hands, please."
Maddie obliged, and without further adieu, Sheldon placed the Action Jenny doll into her outstretched hands. His heart swelled as he watched her cuddle the doll close to her cheek.
"She may not be much to look at now," he said, "or worth the price she would be, if I'd taken better care of her. But a little wear and tear doesn't make her any less special."
"What's special about her?" Maddie asked.
"Well, I got her when I was fifteen. The same year I met Jenny. The real Jenny."
"The same Jenny from my video games?"
"That's right."
"Wow! You mean you knew her?"
"I still know her."
"Cool! What's she like?"
"As thoughtful and compassionate as she is strong and fearless. You'd like her. Maybe one day I'll introduce you."
"You really mean it?" Maddie's eyes sparkled with anticipation, and the color returned to her cheeks. "That would be so awesome!"
"Of course I mean it. No great lover of robots can feel fulfilled, until they've met the greatest robot of them all."
Although she said nothing, Brit's discomfort showed plainly on her pretty face. Depending on how open she'd been with her daughter, and whatever stories Brit's old colleagues had shared with Maddie, it was impossible to tell for sure how much the child knew about her mother's relationship—or lack thereof—to Jenny Wakeman. More than likely, the adults in Maddie's life had simply opted to shield the truth from her. And why not, when the truth would force her mother to admit doings she was not exactly proud of?
Sheldon harbored no resentment for the years in which his only tie to popularity was as a target for bullies. Yet he found Brit's reasons for keeping her daughter in the dark about certain things perfectly understandable. Maddie, whose adoration and admiration for her mother was as unblemished as Sheldon's complexion, was the jewel of Brit's eye. Watching the tender and forgiving way Maddie tucked her head underneath her mother's chin, and how both of Brit's arms slipped so protectively and lovingly over her daughter's chest, the Action Jenny doll positioned in Maddie's arms so that it seemed to smile up at its former owner, as if saying, "We had our time, it was great, but now the time has come to let go, and let me move on", it hit Sheldon then just how much Brit still clung to Don.
"Maddie? Would you like to hear the story of how Jenny rescued me from a band of revenge-driven space pirates?"
It was a quarter past three in the morning, when Brit and Sheldon said goodnight in the doorway of the guest bedroom.
"You have a way with kids," she said.
"You think so?" he asked.
Leaning heavily against the doorframe, Brit smiled softly. "Many people find Maddie endearing, but difficult to understand. You're the first person who hasn't asked me to translate anything she's said."
Sheldon's reciprocated smile conveyed his demureness. "It wasn't hard. If adults only took the time to listen—I mean really listen—to kids, and what they're saying, then the world would be a much happier and way more intelligent place."
"Even so, my daughter adores you. Never have I seen her take to a stranger quite so fast."
"Our mutual love of robots certainly doesn't hurt."
You mean a mutual love of Jenny. "So it would seem." Brit yawned, as though listening to how Sheldon had spent seventy-five years stranded in outer space had bored her to death.
It was then, as she raised a hand to her mouth, that Sheldon glimpsed a most astonishing and troubling sight: Brit's hands. Those long, tapered fingers he had only just seen laced together in a protective gesture at the base of her daughter's chest, were covered in a thick layer of flaky, reddish raw skin. Skin that was undoubtedly painful to the touch.
He sucked in a sharp breath. She lifted her head, met his eyes. The look of horror that materialized on his formerly composed face was more than she could bear. All she could think to do was to throw her hands over her eyes, and hide behind the source of her deepest, most secret shame.
After a moment's pause, she heard him ask, "Brit? You okay?"
She did not answer. Merely stood there, in the doorway of the bedroom, where her daughter was sleeping peacefully. In all her six years of life, Maddie had never once cringed in revulsion to her mother's touch. To Maddie, her mother's hands were not something to be disgusted by, like lima beans or grape-flavored Popsicles. Such hands were the giver of band-aids to scraped knees; the wiper of tears after a bad dream; and the maker of the best double dutch triple chocolate chip muffins in the whole wide world. It was to those who were blinded by the error of their beliefs, that Brit was seen as something else entirely.
Oh. What was this? Something drawing her hands away from her face? Or rather, someone was. Sheldon. Brit froze, clenching her hands into tight fists, her thin wrists like blocks of cement, as the billionaire tried in vain to pry her hands forward.
"Stop it."
His command was firm yet kind, and she gave in, her stubbornness crumbling like a brick wall as his worried face loomed before her.
"What are you doing?" she asked hoarsely. She could feel tears in her eyes, a lump in her throat. "How can you bear to touch me? Are you not the least bit disgusted?"
"How can I be disgusted when I am literally blinded by the beauty before me?" he said, as she sensed his hold on her wrists begin to relax.
She blinked back her tears. "You're making fun of me…"
"I assure you I'm not."
"You know, don't you?"
"You mean about your hands? Honey, I studied medical science in my youth, and completed a full course during my first year of college. Of course I can see you suffer from a form of hand eczema."
"Is that why you're being so sweet about it? Because my condition is related to science, and science is something that interests you?"
"I suppose that's part of it. Mostly it's because I can sympathize with the emotional toll such conditions take on the human psyche. As I'm sure you'll remember, I used to suffer from a pretty bad case of acne. It cleared up by the time I started college. But during those formative years, there were times where I felt really depressed. There were days where I'd tell my folks I was sick, just so I wouldn't have to go to school, and face the ridicule of the other kids."
"I had no idea."
She really hadn't. She'd never taken the time to notice just how much alike they truly were. Had she known, would she have made the effort to relate to him, and be his friend? Not bloody likely. She'd had enough trouble trying to keep her condition a secret from everyone at school. She couldn't afford to take on any added burdens.
Once upon a time, in the kingdom of Tremorton, Brittany Crust, the queen bee of high school, had found one of her subjects, Sheldon Lee, guilty of being a nerd and a geek, and banished him to the Land of the Lower Classmen.
Now, ten years later, her wayward subject had returned, here to comfort his former queen, and help her see that she was not alone. That she was still beautiful, in spite of what surfaced when the day ended, and her gloves came off.
Some fun tidbits regarding this chapter:
-The number of Sheldon's apartment - eight-one-zero-three - is an allusion to August 1, 2003, which was when "My Life as a Teenage Robot" first premiered on Nickelodeon (according to Wikipedia).
-The movie about the two sisters that Brit reminisces over is a real movie (kudos to anyone who knows the title).
-I didn't realize the significance of making Buzzy a bee, until AFTER writing it. I was watching a lot of "Adventure Time" while writing this chapter, and developed a fondness for the cute little bee shown alongside the equally adorable worm during the end credits. So I decided to model Maddie's special stuffed animal after the bee.