Chapter 18

Operation: Date Night

Alan and Muffy sat across from each other at the kitchen table of the Powers residence on Tuesday afternoon. Since tutoring sessions typically took place in the library of the Crosswire estate, the set-up today was a unique environment in which they had to work. While it was a perfectly suitable setting, the kitchen was less spacious, and Bailey was not available to wait on them hand and foot throughout the afternoon. They had not changed scenery on a whim, however; this was a carefully calculated move on their part. They had a plan, one that was chiefly Muffy's, informed by Alan's knowledge of his parents. Muffy had cheerily dubbed the plan "Operation: Date Night" before Alan had departed the limo yesterday evening. Alan had a part to play in Operation: Date Night's execution, too, but he also had to remain cool and trust in Muffy that everything would pan out accordingly.

Alan's father was surprised to see them here today and huffed, "Oh! Hello, Muffy! Don't see you around here all that often," as he wobbled over to the counter, carrying as many grocery bags as he could manage in both hands.

Alan tried to analyze his comment for signs of suspicion but found none. So far, so good, but they were only fifteen seconds in. Muffy was quick to feed his father a line about how the floors of the mansion were being stripped and waxed this week.

"It stinks," she said. "I'm not kidding. It smells vomitrocious. I hope you don't mind us working here, Mr. Powers."

"Not at all, as long as Alan takes it easy on you," he said kindly, ambling over to Alan's chair, clasping a hand over his right shoulder in a high-spirited manner. "This kid corrects the grammar in my text messages, so I feel your pain."

Muffy flashed Alan's father a brilliant smile.

"If he took it easy on me, I wouldn't be where I am today."

"Why don't we stop for a second?" said Alan. "You can take a break, and I'll help Dad with the groceries."

His father waved a hand as he hurried back to the counter.

"I've got this. You two keep doing your thing."

"How about a snack, then?" Alan said to Muffy. "Is there something you'd like in particular?"

"I don't care…" Muffy said nonchalantly. "Got any popcorn?"

"I'll have it ready in a jiffy," Alan said, trying to sound pleasant but casual.

The setup was close to commencing. This was the prelude.

"Hey, son, why don't you make that green tea beverage you created? I bought ingredients to make more of it. Just a suggestion."

"Um, sure, I can do that… Would you like one, too?"

"Would you mind?" his father said, looking as if he did not want to admit how much he wanted one.

"You got it. Coming right up."

Alan grabbed the air popper from a cabinet and set it to make popcorn. From the grocery bags he took cans of coconut milk and mango nectar. He measured the ingredients in the blender's jar, added ice, chilled green tea, honey, and then allowed the mixture to spin for several seconds. Once finished, he portioned the drink among three glasses. He served Muffy first, then his father. Muffy's expression lit up upon her first sip. She took another one, drinking deeper. His father had already downed a third of his glass, stopping a moment to savor it before putting away the groceries.

"No matter how many times I try to make it, it just doesn't taste as good. Guess I don't have your magic touch."

"That's because you stir it up in a glass, Dad. Each ingredient possesses a different density. Plus, the coconut milk is fatty. You need to blend everything together, create an emulsion so the flavors become one and the ingredients won't separate. That's when the magic happens…well, science."

His father stopped in the middle of sorting the bulk dry goods. He shook his head, sporting an impressed smirk.

"One of these days I'm going to teach you something instead of the other way around," he said.

"He doesn't know how to drive yet," Muffy offered. "You could teach him that."

"True," his father laughed.

Alan fetched the salt shaker and seasoned the popcorn, catching Muffy out of the corner of his eye. She slumped in her seat, arms crossed on top of the table. As he placed the bowl down between her and himself, she sighed heavily.

Let Operation: Date Night commence, Alan thought.

"Is something the matter, Muffy?" he said.

"Oh, it's nothing," she said glumly. "Kind of silly, really."

"What is it?"

"Well… My brother wanted to surprise his girlfriend with a romantic night out at Erie Botanical Gardens. The Splendor of Light Festival is going on, and he bought tickets for Saturday night… But he didn't know Ca— that his girlfriend would be out of town this weekend. Now his plans are ruined, and he can't refund the tickets."

"Oh," Alan said, trying to sound as if Muffy had not given him a rundown of her spiel yesterday evening. "I'm sorry to hear that."

"Yeah. Chip gave the tickets to me and told me to find someone who could use them, but so far, I've had no takers."

"What about your parents?" said Alan. "Can't they go?"

"No. They have a costume party to attend. It's a charity event. My parents and our next-door neighbor helped organize it, so they kind of have to be there. It's such a shame these tickets are going to go to waste."

Muffy cupped her chin in her hand as she stared down at the tabletop, circling her fingertip around the lip of her glass. She put effort into her pensive stare, waiting the few seconds she promised to wait before jumping into the next phase of the operation. First was the set up, and now it was time for the sell.

"Ohmigosh! Mr. Powers? Why don't you take them?"

His father turned around in surprise.

"Me? Oh, I don't think I could do that, Muffy. What would I do with them?"

"Treat yourself, of course! It'll be wonderful—you and Mrs. Powers, together on an enchanting romantic evening in one of the most breathtakingly beautiful settings in the state. Have you ever seen the Splendor of Light Festival? You're in for something really special. "

Muffy hopped out of her seat and pretended to rummage around inside her handbag for her Infinity, though she knew exactly where it was. Once it was in her hand, she spent a couple of seconds pulling up the Splendor of Light feature on the Gardens' website, though she had the page saved and ready to go in a heartbeat. Muffy hurried over to his father and enthusiastically began showing him pictures of all the festival had to offer, allowing him to gaze upon the wonders that awaited his parents should his father decide to take the tickets.

"You'll also gain all-inclusive access to a party at The Crest. That's the rooftop restaurant. Très chic, especially when bathed in the evening lighting. I'll show you!"

There were many more pictures. To Alan's astonishment, his father had not stopped Muffy. He figured he would have by now, had he not been at least a little interested. Alan felt as if he could hold his breath, waiting for the hammer to fall.

"We're talking dinner, free champagne, exquisite, delectable desserts, and an extraordinary view. Even your parking fee is taken care of. And if that wasn't enough, the Gardens are located a quarter mile from the boardwalk, if you're looking to end your evening with an intimate nighttime stroll. There's nothing like watching the lights of the city dance across the reflective pool of the rippling bay. Imagine, the lapping of the water, ship horns far off in the distance. You have to take them, Mr. Powers. I insist!"

His father looked genuinely torn.

"That all sounds very tempting, Muffy, really wonderful, in fact, but I don't think it'll be possible."

"Oh? Why not?" she asked with a wide-eyed innocence.

"Well, Mrs. Powers won't be able to close the shop until well into the evening, and I highly doubt we'll be able to make it to the party in time after that, especially once you factor in travel time."

Now was Alan's time to chime in.

"You know, Dad, if you really want to go, I'd be happy to close up for Mom on Saturday."

His father looked uncertain, though is eyes darted back to Muffy's phone screen.

"You're mom probably won't go for that," he said.

"I don't have to work the entire shift, just the last couple of hours. I can close, clean up, prepare the deposit, and balance the till. That should give Mom plenty of time to change for the party so you can make it to Erie. Let me help. I don't mind."

"And Bailey can pick Alan up when he's done. He can hang out at my house for the evening, if you two want to take your time. We'll get some friends together and have a movie night! Just text when you're on your way home, and Bailey will drop him off. No sweat."

"I…uh…I don't know, Alan."

"I think you guys deserve a night out, just yourselves," Muffy said, making her way toward the fridge. "Tell you what—you discuss it with Mrs. Powers, and in the meantime, I'll leave these here."

Muffy pinned the tickets to the fridge with a magnet.

"It really would be such a shame for them to go to waste…"

Muffy took her seat and grabbed a handful of popcorn.

"All right," she said, giving Alan a wink once his father could no longer see her face. "Let's get back to work!"


"ONE—TWO—THREE—FOUR—Whoa! WHOA!" Binky yelled. "Just stop! What are you doing?"

It was Tuesday afternoon in the MCM auditorium. If Buster was being honest, rehearsal could be going better, but he was having fun watching Binky lose himself while trying to teach everyone the "Shipoopi" choreography.

"If you guys knew how much you look like dogs at fire hydrants when you kick…"

Binky demonstrated by bending forward and lifting one leg straight out to the side. It was overdone, but he was trying to get his point across. It looked comical, and Buster tried not to laugh.

"…you'd stop doing it."

"Give us a break, man," Alex piped up. "Not all of us are classically trained dancers. You can't expect us to have the same skill level as George."

There was a murmur of agreement among the students on stage. Binky gave an irritated wince. He looked offended, as if he had expected Alex to say "as you" in stead of "as George". Before he could retort, Jenna chimed in.

"Yeah, can't we do a million box steps and call it a day like every other middle school theatre production?"

"What did you say to me?" Binky said, turning to Jenna. "We are the Not Ready for High School Players of MCM. We do not do box steps."

"You could at least make things a little simpler. Or slow things down."

Binky ignored her.

"Remember," he said, addressing the group, "you're making a line with your spine. Again, a line with your spine. Your chest should be up, lifted proudly so the audience can see your face. To keep your butt from sticking out like and air conditioner, your hips should be tucked under…"

For emphasis, he pushed against Buster's backside with his foot as if pressing a brake pedal. Buster instinctively tucked his hips under to get away from the sudden contact.

"…like this!"

"Hey!" said Buster in mock-offense. "Nobody touches this booty without buying me dinner first…unless it's Francine."

Buster had not been able to help himself. He felt incredibly happy today. He had successfully lightened the mood in the auditorium. Everyone around him snickered at his joke, and, of course, he had gotten a rise out of Francine.

"I'm going to uppercut you into New Jersey," Francine said to Buster with a sweet smile from across the stage, though he could see the ferocity in her eyes. "Just wait."

More laughter ensued, laced with underlying nervousness this time. Not everyone, it seemed, was used to his and Francine's playfully antagonistic banter.

"How about we take a break, everyone?" called Coach Sorrell before things could escalate. "And in the meantime, let's all think about how we can get our points across without threatening or manhandling each other."

The crowd on stage dispersed. Most headed for the small table set up in one of the aisles to get water or one of the chocolate chip cookies Coach Sorrell had brought.

"I think it's coming along nicely," Fern said as she and Buster walked away from the table. "Binky is just a stickler."

"Yeah. Can you imagine him as a choreographer when he's actually motivated by a paycheck?"

"You're right—he is doing this just for fun, isn't he?" She shuddered. "Would you like to come over Saturday and rehearse lines? There's a hefty dialogue exchange between Harold and Marian, so I think it's crucial we get this down."

"I…can't. Sorry."

He was not all that sorry, but he did not want to let Fern down, which he had already done, judging by the look on her face.

"I've got some stuff going on with Dad. But…if you want, I could hang a couple of hours Sunday and practice."

At this, Fern perked up.

"That works."

Buster remembered another reason why he would not be available Saturday.

"I'll be back in a sec," he said. "I need to talk to Ladonna."

He downed his cookie and hurried off to find Ladonna, sitting on the edge of the stage, talking to Arthur, Alex, and Maria, who all stood at audience level. She was in the middle of one of her stories, and they were enamored by it.

"So, like I was sayin', when he finally took his boot off and turned it upside down, two of his toes fell out. Cross my heart!"

Buster bounded up the steps leading to the stage. He crouched beside Ladonna and tapped her on the shoulder.

"Can I interrupt for a minute?"

Ladonna looked at him and nodded, smiling widely.

"To be continued, guys…" Buster told the gang.

Ladonna stood and followed him to just off stage right.

"I'll keep it short and sweet 'cause I'm sure they're dying to find out what happened to that guy's foot," Buster said. "I'm going to the Ingram Flight School Saturday to check out Dad's work. Do you want to come with?"

Ladonna's mouthed fell open, and she gasped loudly.

"And see the planes? Aw, cool… What time? I don't have any babysittin' lined up, and I'd love to go, but I have a JROTC event Saturday morning. We're working on a campaign to encourage the community to send Christmas cards to soldiers stationed overseas."

"Wow, really? That's super nice."

"It's important, that's for sure. A lot of men and women out there servin' don't have family they stay in touch with, so they get very few letters from home. Some don't get any at all. Hopefully we'll be able to brighten their holiday a little."

"Cool. Well, Dad's picking me up at the condo at three-thirty. Is that okay?"

"Fine and dandy. I'll be there with bells on!"

Buster smiled. If Ladonna was this stoked about getting to see a plane or two, he could not wait to see her reaction when he gave her the real gift.


George had been using his break to perfect one of the props for the play. In addition to playing Marcellus, a character with a memorable number in the production, he had also joined the crew to work on backdrops and props. The prop he was working on now was integral to another iconic number, "The Wells Fargo Wagon". He had volunteered to construct the wagon himself since it was his idea to have a physical wagon rather than to pretend one was just out of sight by having the actors point toward an offstage area. It was one of the biggest and most complex projects on which he had ever worked alone.

He understood where Binky was coming from. Choreographer was his job, a job that allowed him to use the craft he had spent years honing. The actors were an extension of that craft. It made sense that Binky wanted them to be the best they could be, even if he could be overzealous and downright menacing. George, too, loved his craft. The wagon was an extension of it, and he wanted it to be the best it could be. And it almost was.

He sat on an upturned wooden crate off stage left, sanding the spokes on one of the wagon's wheels, prepping it for the art crew to paint. To his surprise, and secretly to his delight, Fern had strolled over and was now standing in front of him.

"How is everything coming along?" she said eyeing the wheel.

"Oh, you know, okay."

"I can't believe you actually went for it and built a whole wagon," she marveled.

"It's not a whole wagon," he said. "Mostly, it's just a façade, and it's not even functional. Uh, but with any luck, it'll look real enough so the audience can suspend their disbelief."

He dusted the spokes off with a rag and leaned the wheel against the crate. Do you want to see what I've got so far?"

He stood and motioned for her to join him backstage where the wagon lay in bare, unpainted fragments.

"It'll be about two thirds to scale once it's assembled. I'll hide casters behind the wheels so I won't have to worry about putting them on axels. A couple of crew members will pull the wagon across the stage with a black rope when it "arrives" in River City. I just need to add a structurally sound platform at the rear so Buster can leap onto it to retrieve the band instruments. Maria made that request. That will be the trickiest part."

Fern nodded in approval.

"This is very ambitious. And it looks like top-quality work."

"Well… I mean, the rear is a little wonky, and it could use a lot more sanding… It's still just a bunch of wood, really, until Sue Ellen does the paint job and makes it look like the real thing."

Why did he always do this, point out the flaws in his work whenever someone gave him a compliment? He doubted there was anyone at school who could match his woodworking skills, but that still did not prevent him from thinking there was more he could do to make it all just a little bit better.

Why can't you just take the compliment? Talk to her like a normal person? This was never a problem before.

Not with Fern. She was his friend. Over the past year or so, however, he could not help but feel nervous and self-conscious whenever she was near. He was awkward around her, always afraid he would say something dumb, always aware of just how bulky his braces felt in his mouth. He liked it better when he was only anxious about one thing at a time.

She's right there, he thought. Take your shot.

"I, um, am also working on the decorations for the Autumn Ball. Refurbishing them, I guess you'd say. You know, working on the fake trees. Binky is on the committee, and if you think he's bad here… I think they're going to look pretty nice. It was my suggestion to add some plywood apple trees and repurpose them for The Wizard of Oz this spring."

"Such a good idea," said Fern.

This was awkward city. He was all over the place.

"Yeah… Anyway, the ball sets are going to be really nice."

He closed his mouth tightly and ran his tongue over his braces, hoping cookie goo was not stuck in them.

"I probably won't even go. I don't know who I'd go with."

"Oh, don't say that, George," Fern said. "You're such a good dancer, it would be a shame for you not to go, even if you don't have a date."

"Uh…"

This had not gone at all how he planned.

Just do it, man.

He should ask her if she wanted to go. He had practiced this morning, mumbling it in the bathroom mirror.

"Hey, Fern," he had said to his reflection in the middle of his oral hygiene routine. "I really want to go to the Autumn Ball. To dance. Not for romance, or anything. And since you don't have a date—no, that's rude to assume she wouldn't have a date… If you, for some unlikely reason, don't have a date—no, I can't say that, either. What if she doesn't have a date, and I make it seem like she should by now, and the fact that she doesn't is bad? Okay, okay… Fern, I want to go to the Autumn Ball—to dance, you know. I like dancing… Um, so If you want to go and don't have a date, would you be okay with going with me? Just as friends?"

He had smiled broadly at himself.

"Nailed it."

He desperately wanted to ask her, but now that Fern was in front of him, George possessed more courage to drive a stake through a vampire's heart than he did to go through with it. Buster had returned, rounding the curtains into the backstage area in search of Fern. His expression brightened when he found her.

"Break's over!" came Binky's voice from the stage. "On your marks! We're gonna finish this choreography tonight if it kills us!"

"You heard the man, Miss Marian. The ladies' dance committee meets on Tuesdays," Buster said smoothly to Fern, semi-quoting one of Harold's lines. He proffered his elbow in a gentlemanly fashion. "Ready to make lines with our spines and tuck in our butts?"

Fern giggled a particularly girlish giggle for Fern and linked arms with Buster as they headed back to the stage.

Fern's voice trailed off as she answered with, "Do we have a choice?"

George would have given anything to be Buster right now, or Buster's arm, at the very least. He left in their wake to take his place, shoulders sagging under his self-defeat. Another day, another missed opportunity.

"READY?" Binky called out to them once everyone was present and on their marks. "FIVE—SIX—SEVEN—EIGHT…"


The sun was beginning to set as Alan walked Muffy to the limo. The session had lasted longer than usual, thanks to Operation: Date Night.

"That could have gone better," Alan said.

"I think it went very well," said Muffy, her confidence genuine.

"Yes. We got a very solid maybe. It's up to Mom, and I expect a veto from her. Maybe I should get back to Prunella tonight and figure out an alternate location."

"So negative, Alan. Reach for a little more optimism."

"I'm hoping to contact the deceased. That's not reaching enough for you?"

"I mean pay more attention to the bigger picture, to more than what your dad said. You might have heard a solid maybe, but I could see the wheels turning in his head. He wants this. We convinced him, and now he will convince her. You're golden. He adores you, by the way."

"Dad? Adores? I think you're overexaggerating."

"I'm underselling it, if anything. And you think you're some kind of burden to them… He doesn't hide it. Why can't you see it?"

"I don't know, maybe because I don't exactly feel all that adorable. I haven't been my best in a long time, and they've had to deal with it as well. That does things to one's morale."

Muffy gave a sad smile.

"I guess…but we can still love someone, even when they aren't at their best. Like, there are days when I wish I could shake Daddy or strangle Chip. And don't even get me started on Francine… But, also, I couldn't imagine my life without them. Weird, right? You're not a burden, not even close. They love you to pieces."

"I still feel guilty. I want to get better. I want to try, but it's difficult, trying to change."

"I get that. Maybe not in the same way as you, but I do. I promised Daddy I would try to be better. It wasn't just lip service, either. Since that day outside Dr. Hartmann-Krause's office, I've been trying to cure my rep disease."

She paused at the quizzical look he must have given her.

"I don't want distrust to be everyone's default setting whenever they look at me. Daddy claims to be big on accountability and responsibility and all that these days, and I guess he's right. I've been trying to do the right thing since that day, even though it's kind of hard to figure out exactly what the right thing is sometimes. Like you said, it's difficult to maintain. I fell back into my old habits really easily. I practically kicked in Prunella's door and threatened her instead of trying to reason with her. I manipulated your dad like it was nothing. Maybe I haven't changed at all."

"That's not true," Alan said. "You've evolved. Maybe you haven't been perfect, but…the bigger picture. Thank you for helping me. With everything."

Muffy looked touched to the point of near-embarrassment.

"We're Team Hot Mess," she said sheepishly. "We should stick up for each other."

"Team what? You named us?"

"Yeah. Yesterday. In my head. I think it fits."

Muffy opened the limo door, and Alan spoke a parting word before she could get in.

"I just want you to know that I do intend to keep my promise to you, come what may."

"That's great, but can you do just one more thing? Make that promise to yourself, too."

Alan nodded.

"Also, don't text Prunella tonight. I have a feeling you'll be texting me instead, and you'll have some very good news to share."

To be continued…