A/N Fun fact, last night I went back and looked through my first fanfics from 3 years ago just for fun.
...Never again... [gulp!] #wasireallythatterrible
In other news, I am literally panicking about getting this story done before the finale and S2 premiere on March 7, and I am so much in a frenzy that I even made myself a writing schedule. What does this mean for you readers? Hopefully more frequent updates! Thanks again for all the lovely reviews and support, and enjoy the chapter! :D
The Playboy
"Hey there, Oprah!" said a breezy voice from behind. "Check out these new digs?"
Oprah groaned.
"C'mon, partner, whaddya think?"
Not again. "Do I have to?" she whined.
"I need to know if I got the 'cool cat' look nailed or not, so yeah!"
Rolling her eyes, Oprah swiveled her desk chair around and sized her partner up. "I've said it before and I'll say it again. When I said you needed to stop being a shy person…that's not exactly what I had in mind."
Over the past thirteen years, O'Donahue's insecurity had all but dissipated, and his confidence and self-esteem had flown through the roof. Though still a little quiet, he'd turned himself into anything as "far-out, subterranean and chrome-plated" as he could be, as he liked to tell her. Today, that apparently meant a black leather jacket, sunshades, a slicked-back pompadour, and the Elvis-is-in-the-house pose.
"Don't let Ole—Ms. O see you out of uniform," was all the more Oprah would say before turning back to her typewriter and her juice box.
O'Donahue yanked her chair back around and whipped off his shades. "Aw, come on, Oprah, lighten up! Don't be such a drag!"
"I'm not being a drag, I'm being a productive agent," Oprah retorted. "It's taken us over forty years—and far too many trips to the Word Room for my taste—to nab Fannee Doolee and stop her from stealing everything with double letters. If Ms. O wants our report on solving the case, then she's gonna get it. Either get with it and help me write it, or tune out and let me work."
"Alright, alright!" Hands up in surrender, he backed away and turned to go. "Later, gator. See you in ten."
Oprah rolled her eyes again and went back to her typing.
True to his word, O'Donahue was back ten minutes later, just as Oprah was sliding her finished report into the Ditto machine. "What is it now?" she said.
"Hey, there. No attitude, s'il vous plaît."
"Don't bother with that, you hubcap. Your French has always been terrible and we both know it." Nevertheless, she turned to face him with a teasing smile. "Now what is it you need?"
"Didn't you know? It's Friday. There's a public dance tonight at that new joint downtown."
"You mean the Club 24? Isn't that one American group performing there this weekend?"
O'Donahue grinned. "Dion and the Belmonts, so you did know! Now, that wouldn't happen to mean you were wanting to make the scene tonight?"
Oprah felt her cheeks grow warm. Why did that make her feel so self-conscious? "Well, how could I want to?" she managed to reply. "There's a very good reason you never see very many Odd Squad agents at Friday night dances, you know. I'm a kid, and I have neither dress nor beau for dancing. Besides, I—"
"Don't you?" O'Donahue countered, raising an eyebrow. "You wound me, baby doll."
"For heaven's sake, what are you getting at?"
"Well…" Leaning against the filing cabinet, he casually propped an arm on her shoulder, which she promptly removed. "That ain't no sweat. Dresses aren't hard to find, and you already got yourself a hip partner."
Oprah gave him a sidelong look. With some effort she hid a grin, but her cheeks were warm again. "I was going to say, I also just started karate classes on Friday nights. I've told you that before, surely you remember."
"Just this once? Take a break from work and mush?"
"I told you, I can't."
"I'll get you a red dress with white polka dots and a scarf to match."
How did he know? "Fine, you got yourself a deal."
"Right-o!" Straightening up off the filing cabinet, O'Donahue put his shades back on and started off, but not before sending a wink her way. "Catch you after work tonight, baby doll!" he said, and was gone the next moment.
Oprah shook her head and chuckled softly. "The nerve of him," she murmured. Still, she had gotten used to this new and improved O'Donahue. Better that he be sassy than insecure, if it means Olga's grip on him is gone for good, she reasoned to herself. Once again focusing her efforts on the Ditto machine, Oprah then noticed an odd fluttering in her stomach and tried to calm it down with another juice box. Even odder, it took the better part of an hour before the fluttering went away completely.
But oddest of all was this thought: Did he mean it when he called me baby doll?
"…I said a tag-tag, tag along with me / Rock now, tag-tag, taggin' along / Rock, tag-tag, taggin' along / Yeah, tag-tag, taggin' along / Uh-huh, tag-tag, tag along / Ta-a-a-a-a-g along…"
Oprah, to say the least, was impressed. "Since when did you learn all those moves?" she shouted over the music to her partner, swishing her new red skirts.
"I dunno!" he shouted back, spinning her around. "It just sort of happened! Unreal, right?"
Whatever it was, O'Donahue clearly had a special knack for rock 'n roll dancing. Had she not been his partner, Oprah might never have guessed he was the same one who utterly failed at square dance four decades ago. But now he was, as Obfusco liked to say, "smooth as ketchup on a sweater made of sand," whatever that meant. Especially when, after doing the jitterbug, he surprised her by flawlessly taking her into a lift and a dip. Try as she might, Oprah couldn't hold back a giggle.
All too soon the song ended, and Oprah and O'Donahue clapped and cheered along with all of the other couples there. The lead singer Dion then launched into the "thank-you-very-much-my-what-a-lovely-crowd-this-evening-I'll-introduce-the-rest-of-the-band" spiel, giving the pair time to relax and chat. "So how'd you like the dress?" O'Donahue asked.
"Oh, it's very radioactive," she beamed, giving it another twirl. "Thank you, O'Donahue. This was definitely worth missing classes for."
Oprah couldn't be sure, but she thought she saw a slight flush in her partner's cheeks. "Aw, it was nothing. Whatever it took to get you out for some kicks for once." He glanced back at the bar counter. "Say, I think they're serving milkshakes over there. Wanna stop and refuel?"
"You bet!" she agreed. As the two of them began to move off the dance floor, Oprah wondered if how she and O'Donahue were acting was what grownups called "flirting". If that's what it is, she thought, it's actually kind of fun. I could get used to this.
"Ooh, look girls! It's Agent O'Donahue from the Odd Squad!"
Oprah froze.
Standing directly in front of them and blocking their path were three girls—one blonde, one dark-haired and dark-skinned, and one brunette with cateye glasses. They looked about 13 or 14, with identical hairstyles, identical mint-green dresses, identical makeup, and identical manicures. And they were all looking at O'Donahue with expressions that made Oprah tense up.
But O'Donahue merely grinned and tipped his chin at them. "Hello, ladies. Pleasure to see you again."
Oprah looked at him sharply. "Again?"
"Partner, meet Madi, Nina, and Bridget," O'Donahue said as he pointed to each girl in order, who curtseyed at the mention of their names. "I solved a case for them once when you had the day off last month."
"And wasn't he killer," Madi said, twirling a strand of blonde hair around her finger.
"Oh, definitely," Bridget agreed, tipping her glasses. "He saved my cat Pilchard, and Madi's dog Hunley."
"And my dog Charkey," chimed in Nina. "They all went and turned themselves into gelatin, you know, and Agent O'Donahue was nice enough to turn them back to normal with his little, er, dinglehopper gadget."
"So nice, he was," Madi giggled. "Quite the flutter bum, too,"
"Nonsense." O'Donahue waved all their compliments away, yet it was clear when he straightened his jacket and whipped out the tiny comb that he enjoyed them. "No need for all the apple butter, ladies."
"Yes, there's no need at all," Oprah said hurriedly, with a funny feeling in her gut. "Now if you'll excuse us—"
"Oh, but we've just been introduced!" Bridget interrupted, sidestepping to keep Oprah from leaving. "You know, it's funny, I don't recall O'Donahue mentioning you when he saved our pets last month."
Oprah shot her partner a look. What is that supposed to mean? she wanted to ask him, but settled for an angry glare.
O'Donahue coughed slightly.
"Hmm, I believe you're right, Bridget," Nina said. "What did you say your name was?"
"I didn't," Oprah practically snapped. "But I'm known as Agent—"
The sudden startup of the music cut her off. To the three girls' delight and Oprah's dismay it was the band's new hit single, "Teenager in Love".
Madi squealed. "Ooh, I love this song! So slow and romantic! Agent O'Donahue, you simply must dance with us!"
"Oh yes, please!" said Nina, nodding her head eagerly. "Our dance partners left early, you see, and we couldn't just sit this one out!"
Bridget entwined her arm in his and steered him around toward the dance floor. "You don't mind, do you?" she asked Oprah.
Oprah forced a smile. "No, not at all," she said sweetly.
"Thanks, partner! I'll get you that milkshake when I'm done!" O'Donahue called back over his shoulder, already leading the three girls into the dance. The last thing Oprah heard him say before the crowd swallowed them up was, "Come on snakes, now let's rattle!"
Suddenly angry, Oprah stormed off until she came to the bar counter, and delivered a mighty kick to the first bar stool she saw. One of the soda jerks saw her and curiously came over. "Can I get you something, miss?"
Oprah scowled at him. "One Juice Cow, please and thank you."
He furrowed his brow. "A Juice Cow, miss?"
"You make Brown Cows and Black Cows, don't you? Well, I want a Juice Cow!"
"Right away, miss!" the jerk said quickly, scuttling off. Oprah hopped up in the bar stool and swiveled around to watch the dance. She spotted O'Donahue immediately, dancing with a dreamy-eyed Nina. The song ended and went right into "No One Knows", and Madi immediately took Nina's place. Oprah gripped her polka-dotted skirts and glowered at them, knowing O'Donahue wouldn't be back for a long time. The feeling in her gut was growing bigger and stronger, but she couldn't put a finger on what it was.
"Here's your Juice Cow, miss!"
Oprah turned around long enough to fish out some cash and slam it on the counter in front of the soda jerk, then grabbed her drink and went back to glowering at her partner and the trio of girls. Why am I even so mad about it? Oprah wondered, subconsciously taking a sip. Olga kept him away from other kids for so long, why should I start doing the same? Besides, I've known him for decades. It's not like I fancy him or anything.
Do I?
The Belmonts had moved on to a new song. "I wonder why-y-y I love you like I do / Is it beca-a-ause I think you love me too…"
"Oh, cut the gas," Oprah muttered, suddenly realizing what the feeling in her gut was.
Jealousy.
