"Forty-seven," Gladys Kravitz sat in front of the mirror at her dresser brushing her hair. "Forty-eight, forty-nine, fifty!" She put down her brush, fluffed her hair, and shook her head to see if her curls bounced like in the shampoo commercials. They didn't. She made a sour face and started sorting through her meager collection of jewelry.

"Abner," she called to her husband in the next room. "Abner, do you think I should wear my green or my white earrings?"

"Yeah," Abner responded through the door. "Yeah, sure! Great!"

She sighed and rolled her eyes. "If I wear the green ones I can't wear my blue dress and the blue dress is the nicest one I have..."

Abner emerged in a dress shirt and jockey shorts. "Gladys, have you seen my cufflinks?"

She sighed, got up, grabbed the cufflinks from a pocket in his suitcase, and handed them to him.

"Thanks," he said, disappearing into the next room. "I dunno why we have to get all dressed up just to go to some dumb show anyway..."

"Oh..." Gladys sniffed, inadvertently putting on one white and one green earring. "Because it's a rare performance by the world famous Funt and Mundane, that's why!" She set to work applying her false eyelashes. "And there's going to a musical show and it's all going to be hosted by Jackie Jokers, that's why!"

Abner stuck his head out the door. "Jackie who?"

"Jackie Jokers! You remember! That kid comedian! We saw him on Colbert!"

"Oh yeah," Abner rolled his eyes. "His jokes are holder'n he is. And those two ham actors..."

"They're cultural and sophisticated!" Gladys insisted. "And it wouldn't hurt for you to..."

Abner had disappeared into the next room again. Gladys was removing her dress from its cellophane wrap when she heard a knock on the door. Just one, but very hard. She ignored it and there was another loud knock.

"Oh, fine!" Tying her robe tighter, Gladys answered the door. "What is...?"

The old, old woman stood there, her dark, wrinkled skin like burnt leather, her dead white hair hanging limply around her shoulders. She leaned on a staff almost as gnarled and withered as she was. She stared at Gladys with wide, glowing eyes and whispered in a cracked voice like rustling leaves.

"You are the one in my dreams of blood!"

Gladys' mouth opened and closed and she made random squeaking noises.

The old woman looked closer. "No. Wait. No, you're not. Never mind."

She reached past Gladys and pulled the door closed. When Gladys opened it again, she was gone.

Abner emerged from the next room in a respectable if outdated suit. "Well, what's the hold-up? Y'wanna go to this thing, hurry up and get ready!"

"Yeah..." Gladys sat down, staring into space. "Yeah. Just give me a moment..."

#

Omar was sitting in the hall waiting for Orla to finish up in the restroom and playing games on his phone when he heard them.

"YOU!"

A bald, aggressively Prussian man wearing an outdated tuxedo stormed over to him.

"You are one of the agents of the Odd Squad, aren't you?"

"Uh... Yeah..." Omar put his phone away. He was pretty sure this was going to take awhile.

"And you are in communication with the one who is writing this?"

"Well, kind of..." Omar admitted. "I'm still kinda mad at him for that Little Rascals thing. But..."

"But nothing!" The bald man ranted. "How can he write a story featuring the great and near-great of the history of entertainment and neglect the Great NORA DESMOND?"

"Wait. You consider LEGENDS OF THE SUPERHEROES great or near-great?"

Some distance away, a voice bellowed. "MAAAAAAAAAAAAAAX!"

Then Omar saw her. He blinked several times but it did no good: he still saw her. She was a bizarre figure, at once regal and ludicrous, dressed in spectacularly inappropriate flapper-vamp garb, with trailing sequined veils and tattered, askew feathers protruding from her turban.

"MAAAAAAAAAAX!"

She half-glided, half-stumbled towards them on garish silver platform heels a person her age had no business wearing, her kohl-smudged eyes wide and crazed, her caked-on lipstick creating a bizarre clown mouth. Her breasts swayed like pendulums.

"MAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAX!"

She fell forward. Max caught her and propped her back up.

"You called, Madame?"

"Um..." Omar looked from her to the Prussian. "I'm not the one in her dreams of blood either. So..."

"IT IS NOT THE SAME PERSON! BE SILENT, CHILD!"

"Max," the woman demanded in a breathy hiss. "Max, have you learned why I'm not in the story, Max? Why he's gone ten chapters without mentioning me, Max? Is it... Is it possible I've... I've been... forgotten, Max?" She buried her face in his jacket.

"Impossible, Madame!" Max assured her. "How could the world ever forget the greatest star the silver screen has ever known?" He turned to Omar. "Certainly you recognize the Greatest Star the Silver Screen Has Ever Known!"

With a flourish, he gestured to her.

Omar took a guess. "Bela Lugosi?"

Max seized him by the throat. "SHE IS THE GREAT NORA DESMOND, YOU LITTLE TWIT! HOW DARE YOU..."

"Max! Max!" She restrained him. "You mustn't throttle children, Max. You'll lose audience sympathy." She stared ruefully out in space. "Lord knows I learned that the hard way..."

Max sucked air through his teeth. "Very well." He threw Omar back in his chair. "Ignorant peasant! You are honored to be in the presence of The Great Nora Desmond! The queen of Hollywood! The toast of the film-world! The grand dame of cinema!"

Omar nodded politely. "Okay..."

"Yes, Nora Desmond! The woman who gave Gordon Griffith his first on-screen kiss in that high-minded social drama A Moment of Pleasure, A Lifetime of Itching!"

"Yes! Yes, Max!" She clutched his arm, a deranged gleam in her eyes. "And remember my dance of seduction in the epic war drama Salome On the Rhine, Hold the Pickle?"

"Which war?" Omar asked. "I or II?"

She looked puzzled. "There was a second one?"

"Never mind that!" Max swooped in. "You were glorious, Madame!"

"I was! I truly was!" She stumbled to one side, emitting a choked sob. "But now... Now I am forgotten! Cast aside! A... A has-been!"

"NEVER, Madame!" Max turned to Omar. "You will explain why Madame is not in this story!"

Omar blinked. "I'm pretty sure she is now."

"What?" He seized Omar. "Is this some sort of joke?"

"Nah, man," he detached Max's hands from his person. "This whole thing is another part of the story! And you're in it!"

"Is it true?" Max embraced the sagging star. "Madame, we ARE in the story! We are in it right now!"

"We are? I am?" She looked around. "And am I magnificent?"

Max glared at Omar.

"Uh, sure," he shrugged. "Why not?"

She was overjoyed. "Max! Max, this is the start of my comeback, Max!" Her eyes were wide and mad again. "The little children will read of me and they will love me! They will demand my return to the screen! And I will not disappoint them! I will make a great epic! They will adore me! And then I will make another! And another! And... And it will be..." She started singing. "As if we never said goodbye..."

Orla came over. "Omar, what is..."

Omar shushed her. "Just back away slowly. And when we're far enough away, run for it!"

They fled down the hall as Nora Desmond sang and Max struggled to keep her upright.

#

Meanwhile, Oswald was conversing with another difficult Carol Burnett character in the dressing room she shared with her partner and co-star.

"Honestly, darling, you are just TOO precious!" She patted a fuming Oswald on the cheek with a bejeweled hand. "Cursed death whistles? How adorable!"

Oswald took a deep breath and nearly gagged from her perfume. "Ma'am, we're just trying to warn you..."

"Well, you've done so!" A foppish man in a dressing gown sat before the mirror adjusting his toupee. "And I assure you, we shall give your 'warning' all the attention it deserves! Now leave! We have a show tonight and we must prepare!"

Oswald sighed, realizing it was futile. "Ooooookay... We'll try to keep an eye on things..."

"Yes," the woman sneered sarcastically. "DO that, won't you?"

"But do NOT get in our way!" The man added. "I want tonight's performance to be especially memorable! I want every eye to be on me!"

A plethora of eyes, some on stalks, erupted from the back of the man's head. Oswald quickly zapped them away before anyone else noticed.

"Yeah..." Oswald muttered. "It'll probably be memorable, all right..."

The woman, meanwhile, was smirking at her partner. "Every eye on you? Darling, you must be joking! Why would anyone look at you when they could be watching ME?" She consulted her collection of wigs. "Now what look am I going for? Stylish, sensual, seductive, sensational?"

"How about just insipid?" He chortled to himself while combing his eyebrows.

"Well, I'd go for saddle-sore but you have that covered..."

Defeated, Oswald left the dressing room. The young stage manager smiled wanly at him.

"I tried to warn you..."

Oswald sighed. "My partners and I will sit in the audience and try to keep things under control."

"Don't try too hard," he suggested.

From inside the dressing room. "JOEY!"

The young man answered, "JOSHUA!"

"YES, JERRY. ANYWAY, PLEASE MAKE CERTAIN THE CHAMPAGNE GLASS IS ON THE DRESSER WHERE IT'S SUPPOSED TO BE! I DON'T WANT TO HUNT ALL OVER FOR IT AGAIN!"

"It was on the shelf by the dresser," the manager told Oswald. "You know, where people are supposed to have their champagne glasses..." Then through the door. "IT'LL BE THERE, MISTER FUNT!"

"WELL, IT HAD BETTER BE OR IT'S YOUR JOB! Honestly, I don't know why we ever hired him..."

"Well, whose idea was it to hire a theater school student to save money? Honestly, I cannot believe you booked us on a cruise ship..."

"Yeah," Oswald nodded. "This one, I'm kinda rooting for the whistles. I don't understand why they won't listen. Do they think that's something I would just make up?"

A voice out of nowhere: "MAKE-UP!"

Someone ran over, smacked Oswald across the face with a giant powder puff, covering him in talcum powder, and ran off. Oswald stood a second sputtering and spitting talcum powder out of his mouth. Then he started raging.

"For... THE TEXACO STAR THEATER STARRING MILTON BERLE? THAT'S his idea of a relevant cultural reference? Who under the age of eighty even REMEMBERS Milton Berle? Honestly, he's just sliding downhill before our very eyes..."

Oswald headed off to get cleaned up while the stage manager went to make sure everything was ready for the show.

#

Doctor Hartley knocked on Todd's door. A dripping wet Todd stuck his head out.

"What? Oh. Hi, Doc."

"Well Todd, looks like it's just you and me for the concert tonight. Ohlm and Olizabeth canceled."

"They... WHAT? Hold on a second..."

He shut the door and reappeared a moment later in a bathrobe.

Doctor Hartley stared at him. "What's this?"

"Fan service. I was taking a shower."

"Um..." Doctor Hartley considered. "No offense, but... Wouldn't fan service be if you were wearing a towel?"

"Are you kidding? Have you seen who's writing this?" He tightened the belt on his robe. "I'm wearing shorts under this! No WAY is he getting me in a towel!"

"Um... Okay..." Doctor Hartley decided not to pursue that. "And the fangirls?"

Todd shrugged. "I said I was taking a shower. That should hold them for awhile."

Doctor Hartley nodded. "So I take it you don't have any trouble getting dates?"

"Are you kidding?" Todd grimaced. "Would you go out with someone who begs you to father her children in the middle of an All-Ages Wiki Board?"

Doctor Hartley considered. "It... It would depend..."

"Anyway, what's this about Ohlm and Olizabeth canceling?"

"They just called," Doctor Hartley explained. "I'm not surprised about Ohlm. Actually, I'm rather relieved. But I thought Olizabeth was looking forward to it."

"Hmmm..." Todd pondered. "I gotta finish getting ready and make a few phone calls. I'll meet you at the auditorium, alright?"

Then a middle-aged man in a plaid sports coat and brown slacks appeared cradling a bottle of pinkish fluid. He leaned close to Doctor Hartley and Todd.

"Excuse me. Do you suffer from occasional irregularity?"

Doctor Hartley stared blankly at him.

Then Todd answered. "No. In fact, I used to enjoy it. But I'm over that now. I'm in therapy."

He shut the door. The man stood there, blinking, then offered the bottle to Doctor Hartley.

"Um... No, thank you..."

#

Meanwhile, John Martin was also in the shower. In the next room, Marjorie had already gotten dressed and was now getting his clothes ready.

"Honey?" She went over and tapped on the bathroom door. "Do you know if you're going as Big John or Little John yet?"

"It's not like I have a choice in the matter, honey!" John shouted back from the shower. "Right now, I'm still Little John! If anything changes, I'll let you know!"

"Okay," Marjorie went to the suitcases. "I'll put together an outfit for Little John."

A moment later, a deeper voice came from the shower. "Marjorie?"

Marjorie nodded. "Big John." She put the clothes she'd selected back.

A moment later, a falsetto voice. "Uh... Honey?"

Without a word, she got the clothes back out.

"Maybe I should just put together outfits for both of them..."

Osmerelda and Orla were sitting nearby.

Osmerelda looked around. "Is this fan service too?"

Orla shook her head. "With them, I would think not."

Marjorie shot her a look, then went back to digging through John's clothes.

Oona's bagel popped up from the toaster. She collected it and spread it with cream cheese.

A weary Marjorie looked at her. "Oona, are you sure there's no way you can have the cure ready before...?"

"I'm really sorry, Mrs. Martin," Oona answered, putting the tub of cream cheese in one coat pocket and the toaster in the other. "I'm working as fast as I can. But this is science, not witchcraft."

Marjorie nodded stoically. "Of course."

"Besides, the tanna leaves have to steep for exactly sixteen hours before we stir in the eye of newt and the henbane..." She wiped off the knife she used to spread the cream cheese and stuck it in her breast pocket. "It'll be ready before we dock, don't worry."

Oona walked across the room to the door. "I'll go check on it now."

She left.

"And we'll bring our clothing-adjustinator gadgets," Osmerelda assured Marjorie. "Just in case."

Marjorie sighed. "Thank you..."

#

The music started as soon as Oona stepped out of the room. As she walked down the hall, people popped out of cabin doors and sang...

"Here she comes...

(Here she comes...)

Here she comes...

(Here she comes...)

Look at that cute girl with the bright green bowtie

Eating a bagel with some shmeer

Some folks claim she's a halfwit

Others say she's bat..."

"Sssh!"

"But she's a madcap genius so we hear..."

The music picked up speed and Oona happily twirled in time to the rhythm.

"She is a master in the art of science

She earned the lab coat that she wears

Saved Otis from the X"s

Knows every space-time nexus

A brilliant gadgeteer beyond compare!"

At a nearby alcove, Oscar looked up from the newspaper he was reading. "Hey!"

"But she's at heart a girl

A gleaming white pearl

Too pure for this world

She is so lovely and bright

A beautiful sight

A perfect delight

Her dear heart is tender and strong

She'll right every wrong

That doesn't belong...

Look at that girl now, she's so strange and special

She'll save John Martin from his curse

She has all of the science know-how

She's brewing up the cure now

Let's just hope that she doesn't make it worse!"

Oona's grin faded. "They always have to get a zinger in..."

She stalked down the hall to her room.

#

And in a room they'd been given near where the van was parked, Omar was checking his hair in the mirror was Oswald was in the shower.

Omar was tying his tie when he heard the music, a soulful ballad, emanating from the next room.

"Soap... The scene opens your eyes..."

He blinked. The song echoed from the bathroom.

"Soap lather... Then you realize..."

The doorknob rattled.

"Soap is the way... to make you feel alive!

It's Soap! (Soap!)

Baby, it's Soap! (Soap!)

Try our new Soap! (Soap!)"

A dripping wet Oswald stormed out of the bathroom, a towel clutched around his waist.

"You see?" He shouted angrily at Omar. "You see?"

He rushed over to his discarded clothes, grabbed his jacket, pulled it on over his bare, wet skin, then reached behind his back and produced a gadget. Turning, he zapped the bathroom until the music stopped.

Removing the jacket, he glared at Omar.

Omar shrugged. "I think they're doing fan service."

Oswald shook his head. "Why ME? Why am I the fan service? Who wants to see ME with my shirt off? I'm the little librarian dude!"

"Hey," Omar sighed. "You know our fan base. You're cute and non-threatening."

"Yeah, well, they do that again and they'll see how non-threatening I am..."

Discarding the jacket, he grabbed a little bag containing his toiletries, tucking it under his arm.

"This... This is why I still shower in a bathing suit!" Throwing his towel over his shoulder, he adjusted his trunks, then marched over and collected a clean suit from his things.

He handed Omar the gadget. "I'm gonna get dressed. Cover me."

He disappeared back into the bathroom.

A moment later, more music.

"You and your Underoos!

Can you tell us..."

Omar zapped. The music stopped.

Oswald's voice from the other side of the door. "Thank you..."

#

"Turn left here, Richard... Oh, DO go slower, you're going to run into something... Mind the bump in the carpet..."

"Minding the bump..."

Richard pushed Hyacinth in the wheelchair he'd insisted on for her so she wouldn't overtax her injured foot wandering through the hallways. Hyacinth had a map of the ship and was theoretically directing him to the ballroom where the show was supposed to take place and Richard was reminding himself he'd chosen this.

"Oh, be careful, Richard! I'm so afraid you'll knock over a vase or something and we'll have to pay for it..."

They stopped for a moment. near a small decorative table with a small decorative vase.

"And these vases are certainly very expensive and quite delicate. I know quality when I see it..."

Richard sighed. "Hyacinth, I hardly think they would have expensive and delicate vases just sitting out in the ship's corridors..."

Hyacinth eyed the vase. "Oh yes, that IS quality!" She looked around to make sure nobody else was watching, then grabbed the vase and stuffed it in her purse.

"HYACINTH!"

"They can afford it, Richard!" she assured him."I understand they expect a certain amount of pilfering. It's built into the price.."

"Well, with what this cruise cost, it should be," Richard rubbed his face. "So you'll be packing their towels in our luggage too?"

Hyacinth looked shocked. "Why of course not!" She sniffed. "Not the Pacific Princess. The towels from the Queen Elizabeth II are much more impressive in our guest room..."

Richard sighed. Then he looked around the hall.

"That looks like it might be a ballroom over there," he said, indicating a large set of double-doors nearby. "Wait here, I'll go check..."

He walked over, opened the door a crack, and peeked inside.

"LET'S DO THE TIME WARP AGAAAAAAAAAAAAAIIIIIII..."

He slammed the door shut.

"That's not it!"

He hurried back to Hyacinth.

"Are you sure?" Hyacinth asked. "I thought I heard music..."

"That's definitely not it!" He turned Hyacinth's wheelchair around and headed in another direction. "Perhaps we should check in this direction..."

#

In another part of the ship, Oswald and Omar were also looking for the ballroom.

Oswald spotted a custodian in a red vest wheeling his cart down the hall. "Maybe this guy can help!" He tapped the guy on the shoulder. "Excuse me..."

The guy turned around, revealing himself to be a middle-aged man with slicked back hair and a fussy little mustache. "Eeeeeeeeeyyyes?" He smiled broadly and coldly at them.

Oswald froze. "Uh... Never mind..."

He tried to slink meekly away but Omar intervened.

"Yeah, uh, sir? Do you work here?"

"No," the man replied, smile still in place. "I'm a Walmart greeter taking my toiletries for a walk. How may I help you?"

Omar was a bit too stunned to reply so Oswald took over again.

"Can you tell us where they're having the big show?"

"The big show?"

"Yes."

"Oh, I can tell you all about the big show," he sniffed. "I won't be attending the big show, of course. I have to work."

"I'm sorry to hear tha..."

"This is your chance to clean all the rooms, Frank, they say! Everyone will be at the show! You can give the cabin rugs a good vacuuming! Oh, my heart goes pitter-pat with delight! Who needs to watch a show when I can vacuum?"

"Yeah, that's too bad..."

"Then I have to change the bed linen! I don't even want to TOUCH the bed linen! Have you ever seen hotel bed-sheets under an ultraviolet light? It's horrifying! And cruise ship linen is even worse! All those incontinent old people and randy newlyweds..."

"LOOK!" Omar interrupted. "We're sorry about all that but we just need to find the ballroom!"

"We're working security," Oswald added by way of explanation.

"YOU'RE working security?" The man stared at them. "For what? Is there a ring of comic book thieves in the area?"

"We're with Odd Squad." They showed him their badges.

"Oh, very nice! Did you get those with your Crackerjacks? I got a penny-whistle!" He sighed. "The grand ballroom is down the hall on your right. Enjoy the show."

"Thanks!" They hurried off in the direction he pointed. "I hope things work out for you!"

"Oh, I'm sure they will!" He smiled. "Someday this old tub is bound to sink! And I can't wait to see the look on everyone's faces when they find out I pawned all the life jackets!"

He turned and wheeled his cart away.

"You don't think he really...?"

"I dunno. But we should probably make sure we have the life-jacketinator, just in case..."

#

And The Shape-Shifter skunk through the shadows near the room where the Death Whistles of Huehuecoyotl were on exhibit.

"There it is!" She hissed. "If I can't have love, I'll re-dedicate myself to my career! And to revenge!"

She struck a pose, then shimmered and blurred. A moment later, the image of Odd Todd appeared where she had stood.

"Todd's so pompous and self-righteous anymore..." Mean, bright blue eyes rimmed with black stared viciously from the shadows.

"Let's see him explain this!"

The figure crept toward the exhibit.

#

TO BE CONTINUED...