DISCLAIMER: I do not own anything from Tiny Toon Adventures, including characters, locations, references, or the Acme Warner Bros. logo. All rights go to Warner Bros. and Steven Spielberg's Amblin Entertainment.
Edited by my friend, Redtop1995. Many thanks.
Chapter 37
The Price of Absence
Hamton stared absent-mindedly at the school floor as he swept, his mind overflowing with thoughts of his holiday mission.
Standing on his tiptoes, he peeked through the cafeteria door's circular window. Inside, his six friends were sitting at a nearby table, pizza in hand. Buster's and Babs' backs were turned, but the others, Furrball included, looked happy. Fifi was sitting at the end of the table's bench, talking to the others. She was just about to take a bite of pizza when she paused and turned her attention to the door, right where Hamton was looking in.
Hamton ducked, rushed away, and got back to cleaning, thinking only of Fifi and her gift.
It took nearly three hours to clean the whole school this time. Despite Hamton's protests, Furrball joined him and Pete about an hour later, right after their friends, classmates, and teachers all left to go home. Even with Furrball's help, however, the task of cleaning was an exam in and of itself. The Destruction classroom took the longest: clearing away broken bits of floor, sorting anvils, restocking the cabinets with dynamite, and of course, sweeping up all the dust and broken piano keys.
At around 9:00, when the classrooms were finished, Hamton and Furrball started on the bathrooms. Furrball took the two closest to the school exit and Hamton went to the bathrooms nearest the cafeteria.
He was very tired. Running his clean hand down his face, he dragged the mop bucket and broom outside the doors and decided to start on the boy's room. He pushed the door open.
"Hey, fatty!" a cruel voice called out.
Hamton jumped and dropped the broom. The plastic handle hit the bathroom floor with a clatter.
Montana Max was standing at the sinks, his arms crossed, and his face stuck in the usual expression he had whenever he looked at Hamton or his friends – angry and disgusted.
"Monty?" Hamton gaped. "Wh-what are you still doing here?"
"Waiting for you, that's what, you janitor's rat!"
"Waiting? For what?"
And at this question, Monty's expression calmed and he smiled lightly. It did nothing to ease Hamton's anxiousness. Quite the contrary; he knew Monty too well to know whatever made him happy usually meant something very dire for somebody else.
"I want to make you . . . a new offer," Monty began, walking towards Hamton, his hands behind his back. He looked down at the broom Hamton had dropped and picked it up off the floor. "Tsk, tsk, tsk. Helping that mentally-jarred janitor must be a real drag. I'm surprised you're not complaining."
Hamton felt annoyance bubble up inside him, but managed to keep it suppressed. "I'm helping Pete out, and he's kindly paying me."
"And the filthy flea-bag's here too."
Hamton's irritation rose even further. "Furrball is helping me, yes," he growled through gritted teeth.
"Hmm," said Monty, nodding. "That mangy cat has taken quite a liking to you, I've noticed. I really don't get why. But that aside, let's get down to business," and Monty tossed the broom over to Hamton. He caught it, still glaring at Monty, fuming over the insults to his friend and housemate.
"Hamton, I honestly don't understand why anyone would want to help a janitor clean up a stupid school, especially when it's so close to Christmas."
Hamton didn't reply, but his mind shouted, "Of course you wouldn't! You wouldn't recognize assistance even if someone helped you with it!"
Monty went on, waving his hand in an airy sort of fashion. "There's gifts to buy, crowds of people to beat to the best deals, stuff to get and much more stuff to wrap and get."
"What do you want, Monty?" Hamton asked impatiently. "I got to get back to cleaning."
"I already told you. I want to make you a new offer." And now he looked intently at Hamton. "You're trying to buy something with the money you got from me and whatever that idiot panther's paying you, aren't you?"
"Yeah, so?" Hamton challenged. "And Pete's not a panther, he's a pum-"
"So," Monty interrupted, and he reached into his pocket, "what if I were to give you . . . one thousand bucks?!" And indeed, Monty now held in his hand a thick stack of twenty-dollar bills: crisp, green, and authentic.
Hamton stared at it, not in awe, but confusion.
"And all you have to do, Hamton," Monty drawled with a wicked grin, "is tell me what it is you're working so hard for. Do that, and this," he ran his thumb down the dollars, causing them to flip like playing cards, "is yours. So," he smiled with a smug smirk, "how 'bout it?"
Hamton stood there, hardly breathing, staring between Monty and the stack of bills. His mind was ablaze with questions.
"Why do you want to know what I'm working for?" Hamton asked with suspicion.
"That's my business, but let's just say I'm a curious man," Monty replied, his smooth face not losing any of its slickness. "And seeing you work so hard —"
"Last time, you didn't seem very happy with me earning any of your money," Hamton said bluntly. "I seem to remember you kicked me out of your house from fifty floors up."
"That was then, this is now," Monty dismissed casually, but Hamton could hear the anger behind the strained calm. "I'm not asking you to do anything dangerous this time, just to tell me why —"
"No, thanks."
Monty froze, clearly not expecting this answer. The next moment, his expression became very bitter. "What?"
"No, thank you," Hamton repeated slowly and clearly. "You can keep your money, Monty. I'll earn it elsewhere."
Monty shook with anger, as happened every time he didn't get what he wanted. "What are you, nuts? You're turning down a thousand bucks? What kind of moron are you?"
"A moron who doesn't make the same mistake twice!" retorted Hamton. "I appreciate the offer you made me before, but that was before you went and showed it to the entire school!"
"Hey, you were the one who went through all of those death traps! You could've stopped at any time! You chose to do all that! All I did was record it!"
"...Yeah . . . I did choose to do that," said Hamton humbly, "but I'm not going to make that mistake again. Now, if you don't mind, Monty, I'd like to start cleaning this bathroom."
But Monty didn't move. He glared at Hamton, rigid as a statue while strangling the thick wad of cash in his fist. "What are you trying to buy?" he demanded. "What's so important that you're willing to make yourself a slave for others?!"
Thinking of Fifi, Hamton responded, "That's my business."
He moved forward, passed Monty, and started sweeping the floor by the farthest stall. "I got work to do. Have a very nice holiday, Monty," he said, not looking up from the dirty floor.
He heard Monty turn and open the door.
"Hey, Hamton!"
He looked up.
"Here! This 'oughta give you something more to do!" And Monty kicked over the wastebasket, full of used, crumpled paper towels that rolled around the floor. Laughing coldly, Monty then walked out through the door and was gone.
Hamton finished cleaning without any regrets in rejecting Monty's offer. As tired and as frantic as he was in raising the last of the money, his brain hadn't forgotten the argument that broke out when Fifi discovered he had gone and hurt himself for Monty's amusement. Not to mention, he swore to his friends and to Pepe that he wouldn't go looking to Monty for cash again, and he had no intentions of breaking that promise, even with less than a week before the deadline when Shirley's charm wore off.
By 10:00, all the school floors were swept and mopped, all the classrooms were reorganized, and all the trash bags full of pizza crusts and broken piano bits were thrown out. Together, Hamton, Furrball, and Pete walked out through the school's front doors and into the cool, quiet winter night.
"Hamton, Furrball, I really can't say thank you guys enough for all your guys' help," said Pete in his goofy voice, "so I'll say it again. Thank you, guys, so much."
"No problem," Hamton said tiredly, his eyelids heavy and his posture in a slump. Furrball, too, gave a similar response mixed with a yawn.
"Here." Pete pulled out a small stack of dollars. "Your pay. It means a lot to me, you guys, all the help you gave me."
"Thanks," said Hamton, accepting the money, "and again, your welcome."
Furrball meowed, seconding that motion.
"Well, good night, fellas," said Pete, using his keys to lock the school's front door. "You both have a good Christmas or Hanukkah or whichever you celebrate. You guys going to come to the holiday party?"
"Yeah..." Hamton said through a yawn. "Pla . . . we plan to..."
"Great, I'll see you there! Night, fellas."
"Night, Pete."
Furrball replied with a meow and a nod, and together, he and Hamton walked down the concrete pathway and out through the school's stone arch.
Exhausted, his eyes dry and sore, Hamton moved down the snowy sidewalk with Furrball. His bones felt heavy and his muscles seemed nonexistent. He would've happily laid down on the sidewalk and slept there if not for the frosty wind.
But Furrball, who was much more awake, helped make the walk home easier. He had saved two extra pieces of pizza for Hamton in his locker and offered them as they walked. Hamton happily ate the slices, feeling quite hungry, though amazingly, not as much as he thought. The pieces were delicious, even though they were lukewarm.
When they reached the house, Hamton grabbed the mail from out of the mailbox and trudged inside the warm living room. Together, he and Furrball hung their coats on their hooks, entered the living room, and fell backwards onto the couch, laying there for a full minute before any of them said anything.
"Long day, eh, Furrball?" Hamton asked tiredly.
"Mmm-hmm," Furrball nodded, letting out a kitty-cat yawn.
Lazily, Hamton looked down at the single letter in his hand. It was addressed to him and had the familiar appearance of a Christmas card.
At the moment, Hamton felt too tired to even read, but thought he knew who the letter was from and opened it.
It was as he had guessed: a Christmas card, depicting a mistletoe surrounded by snowflakes with the message "HAPPY HOLIDAYS!"
He opened it and found a message written in squiggly cursive.
Dear, Hamton,
Your father and I hope you and Furrball have been doing all right since we last saw you both. You boys are keeping yourselves fully fed, right? To make doubly sure, I have sent your next grocery check early. You should have it by this Saturday, I think. Please use the extra dollars to buy some turkey, potatoes, stuffing, cranberry sauce, cookie mix — the usual holiday feast.
All in all, I hope you are well, sweetie. I know with your cartoon exams, things can get pretty stressful. I don't know if this letter will arrive by the time you have your exams, but I want to you know, Hamton, that your father and I are both confident you'll do great, and hope you enjoy yourself fully after this long semester is over.
The holidays are almost here and me and your father are really excited to see you. We'll be back in Acme Acres on Christmas morning. We'll open presents, bake cookies, and take our traditional family photo. And of course, we'll be more than happy to have Furrball join us. He's such a sweet cat.
Have you got all your holiday shopping done yet, sweetie? Better hurry, only a couple days left. But I know there's no reason to worry. You're such a responsible boy.
Stay happy, Hamton. We'll see you on Christmas morning. Expect us early.
Love you loads,
Mom and Dad
P.S. - Hamton, it's your father. Remember, if you can't find any other gift for your lady friend, chocolate is ALWAYS a good backup.
ADDITIONAL P.S. - (Winnie shaking her head in amusement) - Remember, sweetie, make sure your gift comes from the heart. Forgive me if that sounds cheesy, but it rings true. It really does.
Hamton reread the letter, focusing on two particular sentences.
Have you got all your holiday shopping done yet, sweetie? Better hurry, only a couple days left.
And with that, Hamton's tiredness was scraped away, leaving in its place a pile of dread and despair. The Cartoon Exams were over, and only now did Hamton realize what a wonderful distraction they had been. Though he, of course, hadn't forgotten about it, it felt wonderful to not think about his desperate mission to buy Fifi's present. And the letter he held in his hand helped serve as a reminder that Hamton was, now more than ever, nearly out of time.
Groaning, Hamton slapped a hand to his face.
"Meow?" asked Furrball, eyeing Hamton curiously.
Hamton handed over the letter. Furrball read it, then turned back to his friend, his eyebrow still raised, confused as to why this would cause him grief.
"What am I going to do, Furrball?" Hamton said, his hand pressed hard to his face. "There no way I can get the perfume now."
He fell backwards onto the couch and stared up at the ceiling. "I guess I shouldn't be surprised. I knew this would happen."
Furrball let out an encouraging meow. Hamton turned. His housemate was pointing at the letter's postscript and the part about chocolate.
Hamton couldn't help letting out a laugh. "Yeah, I could buy Fifi a truck full of chocolate with all the money we've collected. But . . . no."
Hamton knew that deluding himself would do no good. He knew Fifi liked chocolate, but it just wouldn't match the glamour of fifteen-hundred-dollar perfume. No, a girl like Fifi deserved something magnificent, or at least he thought so.
Still . . . Furrball's touch of humor was a blessing to feel.
Hamton clenched the fifteen-dollar payment in his pocket, as though this action would cause the remaining amount to squeeze out. But, of course. . .
Furrball gave a few meows, all spoken with confusion.
Hamton stood up. "Oh, yeah, I too saw Monty after hours. He was hiding in the boy's bathroom and offered to pay me a thousand dollars."
At this, Furrball sat up straight and gave Hamton an incredulous look.
"Don't worry! Don't worry!" Hamton said, shaking his hands. "I didn't take it. I told Monty to keep the money and hit the road." Hamton paused. "Well, I didn't use those exact words, but you get the point."
Furrball meowed something along the lines of, "What did he want you to do?"
"He wants to know why I'm doing all this work. Like I would ever tell Monty that," Hamton said derisively.
But then Furrball meowed something that made Hamton's blood go still.
"Yeah . . . I know," he said with worry. "Why does Monty want to know what I'm working for?"
But before either could give this unpleasant thought any more consideration, the telephone rang.
Hamton and Furrball turned in surprise to the device on the end table.
"Who's calling at this hour?" Hamton asked. "It's past 10:30." Furrball shrugged with a meow.
Feeling stiff, Hamton stood up from the couch and walked over to the ringing phone. He reached to pick up the receiver but then stopped, his hand frozen in midair.
He hadn't noticed it until now, but the answering machine's light was blinking. And, according to the red number, there were 11 unheard messages.
"What the —" Hamton muttered, eyeing the large number.
The phone gave off another ring. Hamton quickly picked up the receiver. "Hello?"
"Hamton?"
"Oh, hi, Buster."
"Hey, pal. You doing okay? You disappeared on us at dinner."
"Yeah, I know," Hamton replied. "I left to go help Pete clean the school. He was paying me this week to help janitor and today was the last day."
There were a few seconds of silence.
"Oh," said Buster. "Well . . . that's nice. I mean, I knew that already, but. . . ."
Hamton frowned. Was it just him or did Buster sound a little upset? "Buster, you okay?"
"Oh yeah, sure. I'm fine," he said unconvincingly. "Well . . . I just wanted to check on you. The others were kind of worried, you know, with the school serving pizza and you not being there. . . ."
Hamton's stomach started to ache all of a sudden, though it had nothing to do with the pizza he ate on the way home. "But . . . but, Buster, you know I'm trying raise money for Fifi. It's not that I didn't want to be there. I would've been if —"
"I know, Hamton," he said calmly. "I'm not mad at you. I know why you weren't there, so do the others. Well . . . except Fifi, of course. . . ."
Hamton's throat went very dry.
"She's not mad at me, is she?" he asked fretfully.
Furrball, who was watching Hamton, looked very concerned.
A few silent seconds went by.
"Buster?" Hamton repeated. He started to panic, gripping the phone so hard it might soon break. "Buster! Fifi's not mad, is —?"
"No! No, she's not mad at you, Hamton," Buster said wearily. "Honest, she's not. She's actually quite cheery, now that I think about it. Yeah, she was a little down with you not being there, and of course we couldn't tell her why you were cleaning the school with Pete. But, other than that, she looked pretty happy. She left after a few slices, and I swear I saw some pep in her step as she walked out. Or, rather, Babs and Shirley noticed and I took note of it. She said she had to get home and do some 'reorganizing' in her Cadillac, setting things up and taking things down. Decorating for Christmas is my guess."
"Oh," said Hamton, his heart slowing down to somewhere beneath cardiac arrest. "Well, that's nice. But then what's wrong? Why do you sound so. . . . ."
Buster didn't answer for a few short, heavy moments, but when he did, he did so with a sigh.
"Never mind, Hamton. It's stupid. Forget it."
"No, tell me," Hamton insisted, now feeling perplexed. If Fifi was all right, what else could there be to worry about?
Buster sighed again. "Okay, don't laugh, Hamton, but we, that is to say, me, Babs, Plucky, Shirley, and Fifi . . . we . . . we missed you at dinner."
Hamton blinked. "What?"
"I told you it's dumb. But. . ." Buster sighed for a third time. Hamton could've sworn he heard Buster slap his hand to his face. "Okay, look. Hamton, I'm not trying to make you feel bad or anything, but all this money raising has . . . well, it's kind of taken away a lot of time when we could all be hanging out, like how we usually do. I mean, I know we've been studying for the exams and all that stuff, but . . . well, we're all friends. And the end of the exams should've been something we celebrated together. Not to mention, it's the holidays . . . and all you seem to want to do is work for Fifi's present."
Hamton's mouth slowly fell open over the period in which Buster explained all this. He was speechless. He didn't know what to say or how to explain how much this rendered him incapable of talking. His hand gripping the receiver actually became sweaty.
"Buster," he said, quite at a loss. "I'm only trying —"
"I know, I know," he said sympathetically. "Again, I'm not trying to make you feel bad, and I'm really sorry for feeling this way. And I'm not going to try and discourage you from buying that perfume for Fifi. I know you're determined and I admire that — all of us do. The fact that you want to get Fifi something special shows what kind of guy you are. But . . . try and remember, Hamton, you've got friends to hang out with this holiday, that's all. The pizza dinner . . . just wasn't the same without you."
And before Hamton could say anything more than splutter his bewilderment, Buster said, "Well, that's all. You and Furrball have a good sleep, Hamton. Maybe we'll see each other tomorrow. You know, if you're not too busy."
He hung up before anything else could be said.
Hamton remained standing, speechless and stunned. The phone's dial tone continued to drone in his ear, his mouth agape. He now wished he hadn't eaten anything at all today. There was a dull, heavy feeling in his gut that was indescribable and horrible, a feeling that flowed through his system like tainted blood.
What in the name of Steven Spielberg's solid gold undergarments just happened?
He turned to Furrball who was looking very confused and scared.
"Meow?"
Numbly, Hamton dropped the phone onto the base where the answering machine was still blinking 11.
"Furrball?" Hamton asked, his voice still. "How were our friends when I left the cafeteria and you ate pizza with them?"
Furrball stared blankly for a moment, then began to awkwardly explain.
Hamton visualized what happened, and he wished he couldn't. Apparently Fifi had mentioned how much time Hamton was spending going about his 'leetle jobs', pouting about how busy he was and how much he desired to raise money for who-knows-what. And from there, Buster, Babs, Plucky, and Shirley started to see her point. Though they knew perfectly well why Hamton was doing all of this, they also seemed to notice the fact that, apart from their little group night at the Mall two weeks ago, they hadn't spent any real time together outside of school.
Hamton couldn't disagree with their logic. Though studying for the Cartoon Exams had certainly been a reasonable excuse, he couldn't lie that, when it came down to it, all his spare time had been devoted to raising money for Fifi's gift, hardly thinking of doing anything else with anyone else.
When was the last time he and his friends had just hung out together and had fun as a group, not having to worry about buying gifts or passing exams or whatever else?
"And you, Furrball?" Hamton asked, worried. "Do you think I'm neglecting my friends?"
He shook his head, his cat ears waggling as he did.
"Do you think I'm obsessing over this whole 'perfume thing' as Buster said?" he asked, starting to sound irritated.
Furrball's lips tightened and he simply looked off to the side.
Hamton groaned, both out of tiredness, frustration, and sadness. "Great! First Fifi's upset with me, now my friends! Who's next, the President?!"
Furrball shook his head worriedly and made a few insistent meows, his paws shaking desperately.
"Not mad at me?" repeated Hamton in aggravation. "Well, they certainly don't sound bright and chipper, now do they?!"
Hamton turned his back on Furrball, wishing more than anything to be alone so he could think (and maybe voice his frustration into the house's emptiness).
It was his turn to sigh. How could it be that his Cartoon Exams would conclude like this? They were over and the holidays were right around the corner. He should be feeling happy and excited. But no. Hamton felt even more stressed than ever. Money to raise, gifts to buy, and now friends who thought his lack of company needed looking into.
How much more was going to happen before he went completely off the deep end?
Absentmindedly, desperate for a distraction, his eyes moved back to the blinking answering machine.
Sighing heavily yet again, Hamton walked over to the telephone and, feeling as though he were about to be punched, pressed the play button.
You have eleven unheard messages, said the phone's robotic voice.
First unheard message.
"'Ello, Hamton."
Hamton almost tripped. Furrball shot up from the couch and rushed to Hamton's side, and together they listened.
For a moment, they thought it had been Fifi who spoke, but they were wrong. The French-accented voice was male.
"Zis is Pepe Le Pew. I hope you are well and are happy zat ze winter exams are over. Now zat we all have some time off and ze Holidays are right around ze corner, I hope it would not be too much trouble if I make a leetle request. I apologize if zis is short notice, but, if you want, I would be glad to pay you and Furrball for some help around my house tomorrow morning. Does 9:00 sound all right? If it does, please call me in ze morning and let me know. Zat is all. I hope you and Furrball have a good night. Ta-ta!"
The message ended. Hamton and Furrball exchanged surprised looks at this unexpected offer.
Again, the phone's recorded voice spoke, Second unheard message:
"H-h-h-heh-heh-hello, Hamton. It's Pa-Pa-Pa-Pa- Porky Pig. . . ."
Hamton and Furrball listened. It was essentially the same as the first message: Porky offering his greetings, making a request for Hamton's and Furrball's help, offering payment, and suggesting it be around 10:00.
Third unheard message.
Granny. Same thing. 11:00.
Fourth unheard message.
Foghorn Leghorn. 12:00.
Fifth, sixth, seventh, on and on, teacher after teacher until the eleventh message finished.
Speechless, Hamton and Furrball stared down at the phone, then up at each other, having no idea what was going on or why.
"Well . . ." Hamton said awkwardly. "It looks like we're gonna be busy tomorrow. . . ."
Furrball simply meowed, wondering, perhaps like Hamton, where their remaining time until the 23rd would take them.
$320
-$15
(Helping Pete clean - 12/19)
$305 to go - 4 days until Dec. 23
All comments, positive or constructive, are welcome. Thanks for reading!