TaleSpin
and its characters are the property of Buena Vista Television/Walt Disney
Co. This short story was adapted from
the televised episode written by Dev Ross. No profit was made, so please don't sue me. Some extra parts were written and minor changes were made in
order to improve the narrative flow for the written page. I would also like to
thank my good pal Ted for his invaluable feedback and advice.
by Michelle "Gidget" Beaubien
(June 1999)
During the daylight hours, the downtown
streets had been bustling with cars, people rushing in different
directions to work and shop. But now,
the nocturnal sky blanketing the metropolis was so infused with the neon signs,
softly-lit street lamps and the occasional vehicle's headlights that it became
a ghostly blue, almost violet. It was
Saturday evening and Baloo and Rebecca Cunningham had decided to try the newest
five-star restaurant in Cape Suzette.
Last week, Baloo had delivered his cargo to
their various destinations on schedule. Much to her surprise and pleasure, Rebecca Cunningham was able to
deposit ten thousand shaboozies into the Higher for Hire bank account. For once, the habitual scowl was absent from
her expression as Baloo at last came in shortly after six o'clock that Friday
evening. Without pausing to say hello,
he headed straight for his favorite faded green armchair with an exhausted sigh
and closed his eyes.
"Man, my dogs are barkin' somethin' fierce
tonight," he complained, rubbing his aching feet. "And my back's killin' me too. All them crates of anvils I loaded onto the Duck did me in."
"But you did
deliver everything I gave you on time,
and that's the important thing!" Rebecca
assured him. "Oh, Baloo, I'm so happy I
could just kiss you!" Baloo opened his
eyes and gave her an odd, almost wary look. She flushed and amended, "I mean, you do deserve a reward...um...you have been a model employee this
week." An awkward moment passed, then
an idea formed, and relieved, she snapped her fingers.
"I've got it. All right, Baloo, tomorrow night I'm taking you to dinner!" she
said, grabbing her blue raincoat from the coat rack.
He brightened. "Dinner? At Louie's? Or Joe's...aw, I keep forgettin' that Joe
went out of business. Man, I sure do
miss his chili...."
"Let's try that fancy new restaurant on
Della Street. It's getting excellent
reviews," Rebecca suggested. She
slipped her coat on and picked up her purse and briefcase. "Goodnight, Baloo. I'll come by the office at seven."
"Solid! Thanks, Rebecca." Baloo never turned down a free meal.
"You're welcome. Oh, and wear a clean shirt and tie too. Without stains this
time."
"Awww..." he moaned as the front door closed
behind her. "I knew there hadda be a catch!"
.....
Saturday night, 6:00pm
Kit couldn't believe it. He sat on his bed watching as Baloo got
ready. "You're going on a date with Miz Cunningham?"
"It ain't a date, Kit," Baloo said defensively. He sucked in his breath and buttoned his
best white shirt. The buttons held, but
barely. "It's just dinner--a reward for
a job well done, she said so. Ol'
Baloo's gotta take care of the big guy." He patted his large stomach. "So, kiddo, which tie should it be?" He held up two, the only ties he owned. They were identical, both olive-green with brownish-yellow spots here
and there. One was a pattern; the other
used to be solid green at the time of
purchase.
The boy hid a smile and pointed to the one
without food stains. "Are you
sure? Maybe it's a excuse to get to
know you better."
"That gal knows me far too well as it is."
The boy sniffed the air. "Gee, is that the
scent of soap? Did you actually take a shower?" Kit
marveled, hands clasped to his chest in mock amazement.
"Yeah, yeah, yuk it up, kid," Baloo admired
his reflection in the portable oval mirror propped in a corner. A
sight for sore eyes, he thought approvingly. Aloud, he added, "and don't
tell her nothin', either, got it?"
"Got it, Papa Bear." Kit said. He glanced at Baloo's favorite battered old
brown bomber jacket laid out on the other bed; next to it was his brown flight
cap, complete with a buckled chin strap. All he needs are a pair of goggles
and a scarf, thought Kit. It was hardly suitable for a fancy eating
establishment. "Uh, Baloo..."
Downstairs, they heard the sound of
Rebecca's key in the lock and her voice rose, floating up the stairs. "Knock, knock, Baloo! Taxi's waiting."
"COMING!"
Baloo bellowed back. Quickly he slipped
on the jacket and cap, checked himself in the mirror once more. "Wait'll she
gets a load of me, eh, kiddo?"
"Yeah," Kit smiled weakly but gave him a
thumb's-up signal anyway. "Have fun."
"Probably not, but thanks anyway." Together, they headed downstairs.
Rebecca's expression when she saw him
descend the stairs was similar to Kit's. "Is that soap I smell?"
"Nope, just pure Baloo," he said, then,
changing the subject, "My, Rebecca,
don't you look nice!" The taxi driver
honked his horn outside.
She wore a smart, rather prim mauve frock,
long-sleeved with a prim neckline. A
jaunty lavender bow was tied at the collar, softening the severe outfit. She did own a couple of strapless gowns, but
didn't think them appropriate attire for dinner with an employee. Was this a mistake? She smiled at him. "Thank you. We'd better
get out there. Good-night, Kit."
Kit gave them a devilish grin. "Have a great time, you two!" he said.
"Don't be late. Baloo has a
curfew." Both rolled their eyes and
headed for the taxi.
.....
The French doors of Chez Juliette l'Enfante
suddenly flew open; Rebecca charged through with swift, angry strides.
"I have
never been so embarrassed in my entire life!" she yelled. Baloo dutifully followed her, a few steps
behind. The clean white shirt he wore
strained the buttons fastened across his middle even more than before
dinner. Sure would be nice if my ol' pal Buzz could invent an elastic shirt for
such occasions. At least he didn't spill anything on his
tie. During appetizers, Rebecca had
commented that he looked almost respectable.
"Aw, sure ya have!" he said helpfully,
spreading his beefy hands in a placating gesture. "Remember the last time we went out?"
Furious, Rebecca wheeled to face him. With one accusing finger, she jabbed the air
at his chest, punctuating each word.
"Tonight you turned a perfectly charming
dinner into a football game!"
"Yeah," The gray bear preened, pleased with
himself. "And I think some thanks are in
order, Becky."
"That's Rebecca. Ree. Beck. Kaa." she bit out the
syllables. Suddenly, an unwilling
chuckle escaped her. "Though...the look
on Mr. McSibble's face when you
tackled him into the caviar...he always did have egg on his face. Get it, Baloo? Caviar? Egg on his face?" Her
chuckle erupted into a full, throaty laugh at her own joke. Baloo grinned, relieved that Rebecca was
back in good humor. Man, that gal gets mad quicker than swarm of
wasps during tree-prunin' season.
Mr. McSibble, a badger and an unpleasant
business rival, had also opted to try the new restaurant that night. Seated at a table next to theirs, he had lit
up a cigar after supper and casually blew the noxious fumes in their direction. When asked to extinguish it, he had nonchalantly
snuffed out the offensive object in the middle of Baloo's triple-scooped
strawberry liqueur ice cream smoothy, melting the center with a loud, wet hiss.
Baloo was incensed; this fancy dessert was
no Krakatoa Special, but a person just didn't do that to a poor, helpless
dessert. Ever. So he stood up, backed up a few steps down a
small aisle between the tables. Then,
with a bellow, he charged into the startled Mr. McSibble, plowing them both
into the hors d'oeuvres cart. Rebecca
had watched the entire thing with openmouthed horror.
But now it just seemed --- funny. She could never stay mad at Baloo for
long. Baloo would never know that her
threats were empty, that in a way, he had as much power over her emotions as
she did over his future. It galled her
to no end. It was better to keep him
off balance, to make him wonder what she was capable of if he pushed his luck
too far. But not tonight.
My paperwork is caught up and we've got ten
thousand shaboozies in the bank. Life
is good. Baloo grinned
at her mischievously and a reluctant smile tugged at her lips. Oh, hell, she thought, not tonight. It's been ages since I've gone out with a ma--she aborted the
thought and revised it: It's been ages
since I've gone out for an evening. Satisfied, she relaxed into an easy stroll and fell in step with
Baloo. It was a lovely starry night,
Wildcat was babysitting Molly, so she was free to enjoy the company of adults
for a change.
Adults? No, she thought wryly, regarding Baloo's attire
with mildly annoyed amusement, but
tonight I'll take what I can get. Baloo and fancy restaurants don't mix. You knew what could happen the minute you
saw him in that get-up.
"Whoa, Becka--er--Rebecca," he said,
slipping his arm comfortably around her shoulders. "You're startin' ta have a good time." Absently, Rebecca let it stay; it was a familiar, almost
brotherly gesture and she didn't mind. Rough around the edges Baloo may be, but at least he wasn't a wolf in
bear's clothing. She could trust him.
Rebecca relaxed against him as they walked
down the neon-lit sidewalk. "Yeah, well, maybe I am. So?"
"Well, you better be careful. Or someone might mistake us for friends."
Her voice softened. "Maybe we are, a little...Baloo."
"Well, stranger things have happened,
Rebecca..."
"Becky," she corrected him, smiling. The faint sound of voices reached them. They were approaching a small group of
people talking animatedly to each other.
"Becky. Just think of it, you and me --- friends! We'd talk more, trust one another, help each other out, and stick
together through thick and thin ---!" Suddenly, Baloo gasped and dashed forward --- and in doing so --- his
arm resting across his boss' shoulders sent poor Rebecca spinning like a
demented top on a freshly polished linoleum floor.
Finally, she staggered to a stop, holding
her head to quell her dizziness.
"B-Baloo?" She blinked, staring after him.
Baloo turned his head to call back
excitedly, "A movie, Becky! They're shootin' a movie!" He pushed through the throng of onlookers,
earning several glares. Oblivious, he
made his way to the front. "Move it,
folks...comin' through...MEDIC!"
Filming a movie was always a huge event,
ever since the first talkie, The Jazz
Swinger. A visit from Starrywood
was a taste of magic. Everyone on the
set was hard at work, adjusting spotlights, adjusting a large, dimly lit street
lamp, focusing cameras or memorizing their lines. It was a world far removed from the everyday one of Cape
Suzette, with access granted only through the purchase of a movie ticket. The director, a short, portly platypus,
watched the proceedings with a critical eye. Standing next to him was his assistant, a lanky gander, wore a large
cylindrical megaphone strapped around his long neck. He seemed nervous and kept glancing at his boss every couple of
seconds.
Oh,
boy, thought Baloo. I hope they're doin' an airplane
picture. Maybe Airol Flyin will be in
it!
The director suddenly grabbed the handle of
the megaphone around the gander's neck, jerking it toward him like reins,
nearly strangling him. A reverent
silence fell over the crowd. He raised
the mouthpiece to his beak and barked, "Quiet on the set...lights...cameras...ACTION!"
A crew member snapped a "Take seventeen!"
clapboard shut.
Then Baloo's heart skipped a beat.
Moving so fluidly that she seemed to float,
a beautiful blonde feline emerged from the darkness and leaned gracefully
against the set street lamp. She gazed
out at the audience dreamily, with a small smile at no one in particular. Her long, blonde hair fell down her back in
a smooth tumble. The numerous sequins of her indigo blue gown sparkled like a
thousand stars; the fabric clung to her curvaceous figure as though painted
on. Her gown was long-sleeved,
high-necked yet daring, emphasizing every luscious curve and her skirt was slit
high, displaying one long, shapely leg. She was the envy of every woman and the desire of every man present. And she knew it.
Baloo gazed at her longingly. Oh,
baby, I musta died an' gone to Heaven 'cause I see an angel.
Then her lips parted like two pale rose
petals and, sirenlike, she began to croon in a husky, sultry alto: "La, la-la-laaa...la, la-la-laaa..." She began to stroll down the walk, still singing
to herself. Her honeylike, dulcet tones
soothed and teased, seeming to wrap themselves around Baloo's slowing brain
(never quick to begin with), overwhelming all thoughts except, Oh, man….He swallowed until his mouth
went dry. "Ohhh, Kitten-ka-boom!" he
breathed aloud, "It's Kitten Kaboodle!" He leaned forward, resting his elbows on the
shoulders of a man and woman on either side of him and rubbed his face with
both hands. It was the woman whose face
was the last he saw at night (when he wasn't thinking about flying or enjoying
a juicy hamburger). In his daydreams,
Baloo would save the tightly bound Kitten from oncoming trains, buzzsaws,
man-eating sharks, angry bosses...Baloo flew the Sea Duck above endless clouds,
while the lovely Kitten kissed him between regular servings of hamburgers,
fries, cookies, a Krakatoa Special with sprinkles. Mmmm, sprinkles.
Directly over the actress's head, one of the
overhead spotlights creaked loudly, then snapped! Kitten Kaboodle gasped, looked up and pointed.
"Oh, no! Another accident!" Her eyes
widened with fear and she seemed rooted to the spot.
"I-I'll save ya, Miss Kaboodle!" People cast startled glances for the source
of the rough voice. A big, burly bear
broke their ranks, charged forward and dove into the obstacle's path! Kitten found herself scooped up and lifted
out of harm's way. The heavy light
struck Baloo squarely on the head.
Still gazing adoringly at Kitten, he felt a
dull thud on his tough skull, but no pain.
"Oh! My hero!" Kitten sighed as she raised a hand to her dainty brow,
eyelashes fluttering. Then she swooned
in Baloo's arms. Dazed, he couldn't
have been happier than at that moment.
Suddenly, a swarm of photographers
surrounded the two of them; an explosion of flashbulbs dazzled Baloo and bright
spots danced before his eyes. Then they
were gone in a cloud of dust. Disoriented, he shook his head to clear it and gently laid Kitten's
unconscious form on the ground. Then a
familiar female voice cut through his fuzzy thoughts and he winced at the
sound.
"Baloo! Are you all right?" Becky had
fought her way through the spectators and was at his side in an instant. She caught his shoulders. "Speak to me --- say something!"
He blinked; his head felt like it had been
rammed repeatedly into a stone wall. He
peered at her blearily. "Cowabunga! Did--did anybody get
the license number of that piano?"
.....
When he came home at eleven that night,
Baloo entered the bedroom, singing softly to himself "Dooby-dooby-dooby-doo-wah..." His head still throbbed, but Kitten's sultry voice made it a pleasant
sensation. My hero. My hero. My hero.
He took an aspirin and flopped into bed, not bothering to change into his
nightshirt. Kit was already in bed,
reading his favorite flight manual. He
looked up.
"So how was it? Didja have a good time?"
"Oh, yeah, great. Played football and saved her from a knock on the noggin." Baloo
said dreamily.
"What?" Kit put down his book. "Baloo,
you're not making any sense. Football?"
"Sorry..." Baloo yawned mightily, exposing
his back teeth. "Big night with the
most gorgeous gal in the world. Long
story. Tell ya tomorrow."
"Wait! Does that mean that you and Ms. Cunningham...?"
"Who?" was Baloo's sleepy reply before the rumbling,
loud snores began. Sighing, Kit
inserted his earplugs and clicked off the lamp.
.....
Higher
for Hire, Monday, 9:05 am...
A very excited Kit Cloudkicker ran into the
office, that morning's Daily World
tucked under his arm. The headlines screamed,
"Pilot Saves Movie Star!" and a large
picture of Baloo, holding the swooning Kitten Kaboodle dominated the front
page.
"Hey, did you see this?" he shouted. Then he
stopped short. No one was here. Piles and piles of today's newspapers were stacked all over Rebecca's office;
on her desk, the floor, and the chairs. Two stacks of papers toppled over the edge of the desk, revealing
Rebecca, her expression that of puzzlement at being surrounded by a fortress. Kit was somewhat crestfallen. "Oh. I guess you already have."
Wildcat walked in triumphantly, carrying more newspapers. "Wow, I didn't even
have to pay for these! I just found
them lying on a bunch of doorsteps." Rebecca and Kit exchanged amused glances and Rebecca shrugged. Wildcat was...Wildcat. Kit grinned.
Baloo came in next, and it was obvious that
he was still in high spirits from his brief brush with a certain glamorous
movie queen. "Hey-hey, Becky! Do ya think I could get these bronzed?" He regarded his hands, the very ones that had held Kitten for an
enchanted moment with wonder. He hadn't
washed them since Saturday night.
Rebecca was disgusted. "I'm gonna get your head bronzed, Baloo, if you don't get to work." She shoved one pile of papers off her desk
onto his hands. He staggered a little
under the weight.
"Aw, yer just jealous 'cause ya didn't get your picture in the paper."
"I am not."
"You are, too," Baloo sang, leaning towards
her, enjoying himself. Sometimes I just
can't help it. There were days when
it was just plain fun to rile up ol' Beckers.
"Am not!"
"Are too!" Suddenly, the telephone rang loudly, unseen. Kit, who sat on one paper pile reading the article, finally found
it on a neighboring pile, under the top page, and picked up the receiver.
"Higher for Hire...what?...sure, we'll take the deal!" He hung up,
excited once more. "Baloo, Tantamount Studios wants you to fly a big, important stunt in Miss Kaboodle's film!"
Baloo couldn't believe it. "Wha-? Yahooey!"
he threw up his hands, tossing the newspapers he'd been holding into the
air. They floated back down and a
couple of pages landed on Rebecca's head. "Starrywood!" he sang, "Hoo-hoo--and I'm gonna be with Kitten!"
"You think maybe I could get a part in a movie?" Kit asked eagerly.
"And I could see a star?" Wildcat added. Baloo
caught them both around the shoulders under his massive arm.
"Oh, you better believe it. In Starrywood, anything's possible!" Baloo swept his other arm before them, in a 'can you see it now?'
gesture. They could. The excitement was definitely catching.
"Ahem,"
Rebecca cleared her throat loudly, halting their celebration. Uh-oh,
all three of her employees thought, their hearts sinking, Here it comes.
"Since when do you accept a job without
asking me--your boss--first?"
Baloo thought fast. "Oh, but you're comin'
too!" Rebecca started to wave him off
and push past him, but he suddenly let go of Kit and Wildcat and caught her up
in his arms, lifting her off her feet to get her attention. "Besides, I'm not askin' my boss, I'm askin' my friend." He chucked her
under the chin playfully and set her down.
She felt a myriad of emotions---feeling
strangely manipulated by flattery, but also...pleased. Damn the man, he knew how to be charming
when he wanted to be and here she was, letting herself be charmed. "Well...."
Kit spoke the magic words. "They're paying three big ones..."
Rebecca brightened. "When does he start?" Three thousand
shaboozies. She could buy Molly piano
lessons and a piano first, of course...renovate the office...hire a
secretary...get her hair done...
The sharp
honk! of a car outside interrupted her daydream. Baloo opened the front door and poked his head outside to see an
elegant, sleek silver-gray limousine parked in front of Higher for Hire. "Wow! Talk about service."
The others eagerly followed and gaped in
delighted awe at the gleaming vehicle, the magic carpet ride to Starrywood, the
town of dreams.
.....
Tantamount
Studios, Starrywood
The ride through Tantamount Studios was a
bizarre, yet strangely entertaining one. They passed smoothly through the arches separating the real world from
one that was manic.
They passed sets, witnessed a shoot-out
between cops and gangsters with tommyguns. Like a traffic light changing from green to red, the hail of bullets
(blanks) stopped suddenly to let the limousine pass, then, without missing a
beat, resumed the make-believe carnage.
In the back seat, Kit peeked through the
right-side rolled-down window past Baloo and caught his breath. "Wow! Isn't that--?"
A half-dressed woman in curlers ran across
the street, screaming. Chasing her were
four odd-looking men, the leader chomping on a cigar and wriggling his eyebrows
and bringing up the rear was a blond fellow with curly hair and long coat,
honking a little horn. It was the hot
new comedy team, the Narx Brothers.
"Oh, yeah! It is, it is!" Baloo was
thoroughly enjoying himself, recognizing actors as though they were old
friends.
"And here's some of my favorite stars!" Two comical characters, one tall and thin,
the other short and rotund, stepped off the curb into a puddle, and sank to the
bottom, leaving two derbies floating on the surface. The only signs of Plural and Tardy were the air bubbles.
"My favorite star is the North Star,"
Wildcat confided. The limousine driver
gunned the motor and they sped off with shrieking tires.
.....
Kitten Kaboodle, leading lady and glamour
queen of the silver screen was a pirate today. Standing on a small rocking platform designed as the prow of a pirate
ship, she gripped the wheel, pretending to guide her ship home. A prop man sloshed a bucket of water on the
'deck', simulating a 'storm'. The actress wore a very abbreviated costume,
looking better than any buccaneer ever could: A low-cut white silk blouse was
tied snugly in front and her black ragged shorts displayed her long, shapely
legs to excellent advantage. Perched on
her head at a rakish angle was a large black pirate hat, adorned with a "Jolly
Roger" skull-and-crossbones motif. A
well-behaved parrot perched upon her shoulder.
When
the limousine finally parked in front of Kitten's set, Baloo jiggled the door
handle impatiently. Rebecca, sitting at
the far left, with Wildcat and Kit between them, couldn't see anything. She watched Baloo, somewhat amused at his
eagerness to get started. That's the first time I've seen him so
anxious to go to work. This one-day job is definitely worth more
than three thousand shaboozies. The
slow-moving, slothful pilot was definitely not himself today.
Kitten saw them and her lovely face lit up
with pleasure. A bird-wrangler took the
parrot; then Kitten abandoned the ship's wheel and made her way down the
gangplank, her hips undulating enticingly.
"Ho-ho, does she shiver my timbers!" Baloo said fervently.
"Darling!" she drawled the endearment, so
that it came out as "dah-ling". The
driver depressed a button so that Baloo's door came unlocked. He tumbled out, followed by Kit and
Wildcat. Rebecca started to emerge,
only to find the door slammed rudely in her face! She started to protest, "Hey--!" and saw Kitten briefly through
the window; the other woman's face was bland and innocent. Didn't
she see me?
Kitten Kaboodle was saying to Baloo, "I'd
hoped you'd do the stunt, you big hunk of a bear!" Her drawling voice was husky and smooth, making Baloo's fur
tingle. It was a foreign, yet not
unwelcome feeling for him. He was not
used to women, yet she made him feel kind of...manly. Up close, she was even more beautiful than on a remote flickering
screen. Her long silky hair draped
gracefully past her shoulders, dipping over her right eye in the latest
'peek-a-boo' style. Her sky-blue eyes
absorbed him, gentle and sweetly alluring. Her lips were as pink as rose petals and perfectly shaped; they seemed
to beg to be kissed. A tiny brown
beauty mark on the left side of her chin accentuated her beauty.
Giddy with awe, Baloo squirmed with
embarrassed pleasure. "Hubba-hubba! Show me
where!" Laughing lightly, Kitten
reached up and tweaked his nose with a little honk!
"Silly, " she said, "that's not till
tomorrow. Let me give you a personal tour of the studio first,
hmmm?" Playfully she reached up and
patted his cheeks. She held out her hand
and dazed, he took it. Her elegant hand
disappeared into his large, meaty one. A little thrill went through him at the contact. Guess
I can't wash my hand today either.
"Oh, solid! Delighted!" Still dazed, Baloo
followed her happily off the pirate set, with Kit and Wildcat bringing up the
rear. Something in Baloo's slow brain
nagged at him, but he blissfully ignored it. It wasn't often that a beautiful woman showed interest in him. Am I
forgettin' somethin'?.nah....
"Guys! Wait for me!"
As the distance grew further between them,
Rebecca continued to struggle with the locked car door. It was locked from outside
and only the driver could deactivate it. He had seen the little group follow Kitten and relaxed in the knowledge
that his job was done until the next one came. Rebecca rapped on the soundproof window dividing the front and back
seats, yelled until she was hoarse
but to no avail. Then she noticed that
the side door window was still partly open, just enough to admit her slender
frame. Grunting, she managed to wriggle
through, lost her balance and fell flat on her posterior.
Swearing softly, Rebecca rubbed her backside
to numb the pain and started to walk. She could still catch up if she hurried...
"Excuse me, miss, you forgot to tip," a
soft, pleasant voice startled her. The
limousine driver, a monkey with large, jug-like ears and heavy-lidded eyes put
out a hand, an obvious hint.
Rebecca thought, oh, well. When in Rome...
She quickly fished around in her hip pocket for a tip. Nuts. "Can you break a ten?"
"Frankly, my dear...I don't have a dime,"
the monkey driver told her. Grumbling,
she handed the bill over and hurried away, muttering under her breath.
Kitten drove the caddie, pointing out
different parts of Tantamount Studios, a pirate queen playing tour guide. Baloo sat next to her in the front. Wildcat and Kit managed to squeeze into the
back. She drove quickly and expertly,
maneuvering several sharp turns around crates, sets and passing crew
members. Actually, she drove a little too fast, just out of Rebecca's reach as
she ran to catch up. She seemed
oblivious to the other woman's faint calls to please wait.
Wheezing, lungs on fire, Rebecca continued
to chase the elusive speeding cart. She
imagined that she saw Kitten take a quick glance in her direction but that was
all. "BALOO! Here I am, guys! BALOOOO!" Her normally clear, crisp voice was spent, could not compete
with the vroom! motor noise of the
caddie. At last she slowed to a walk
and gave up. Then: Did I hear something? It
sounded like a groan, coming closer....
"...and over here is where we build sets for
my fabulous movies, " she could hear
Kitten telling her little tour group a few feet away, when she again caught
up.
Rebecca caught a glance of the retreating
wheels of the caddie just before it rounded another pile of crates. "Here I am! Baloo--!" Suddenly, a big
bandaged thing staggered in front of
her, cutting her off and she yelped in surprise. Then she relaxed. It was
only a harried-looking elephant, his pudgy features almost completely hidden by
clumsy, unraveling bandages and even a plaster cast. "Oh! You scared me with
that mummy costume. Are you doing a
horror film?" The elephant looked at
her as if she was insane.
"Costume! Mummy!" he cried indignantly, as though she should know who he was. "I'm
the cameraman of the Kitten Kaboodle
flick. Every ten minutes---something
goes blooey!" his voice broke and to Rebecca's astonishment, he began to
cry! A large wooden set of a hotel
front creaked nearby; but both were too distracted to notice.
Rebecca laughed kindly, "You show business
types are so dramatic. I'm sure
accidents just...!"
Crash! The wooden structure suddenly swayed and
fell on top of them! Coughing from the
cloud of dust rising from the impact, Rebecca managed to step aside so that she
was standing in the middle of the square hole "window" cut out of the set
. Unhurt, she looked for the
cameraman. A painful moan came from
underneath the debris. He was sore but
alive.
"...happen." Rebecca finished lamely.
The flustered businesswoman frowned. Suddenly, she was blinded by flashbulbs. The
same aggressive group of newshounds from the scene of Baloo's 'rescue' of Kitten
Kaboodle, ever attuned to scandal and public suffering, fired their shutters at
her and the poor cameraman, then dashed off for their next scoop. Rubbing her eyes, Rebecca looked around in
bewilderment. "Then again...?"
.....
Baloo sat in a folding chair, doing his
favorite thing, relaxing.
"BALOO!"
Startled, Baloo found himself face-to-face
with a panting, red-faced boss. "Well,
Becky, where ya been?" he asked genially. Just ol' Beckers, he thought.
"Where haven't
I been?" she snapped. "I thought friends were supposed to stick together!" That
man has the attention span of a fruit fly.
"MAKE-UP!" Without warning, a gravel-voiced make-up
assistant drew back his arm and hit Baloo, full force with a giant powder puff,
emitting gritty powder which drifted over Rebecca as well, who began to cough,
her eyes and throat itching. A backdrop
of igloos and a snowy landscape magically dropped behind them. Rebecca moved to the side to avoid being in
the shot.
"Kiki wanted me to take some publicity shots,"
Baloo said. Oh boy, she thought, he's got
the same look he gets when Louie has that Two-for-One Krakatoa Special on the
menu.
She raised a cynical eyebrow. "Kiki?"
"You know. Kitten," he explained, as
though to a slightly backward child. She didn't like the way this was headed. What in the world was so fascinating about that rude, flashy
blonde? I bet she dyes it. Why on
earth was she taking such a shine to Baloo, who was someone who was, say, a
person one had to get used to? He
shouldn't be interested in such a woman. Why was he acting like such a ninny over someone like that? Typical
man, she thought sourly, and stopped.
"Ready, Mr. Baloo? He assumed what he considered to be a heroic pose. "Smile!"
Every
ten minutes...something goes blooey. The
cameraman and the near miss with the falling hotel set. She had to tell him.
"Never mind that, Baloo! Something weird is going on around here."
He started to ask what, when a sexy female
voice interrupted them.
"Oh, Baloo!" Kitten smoothly moved in front
of Rebecca, accidentally-on-purpose giving her a hard, vicious nudge with her
hip, knocking her off-balance. Rebecca
tottered on her heels, trying to stay upright. She fell and found herself sitting on the floor. Again, Kitten ignored Rebecca and batted her
baby blues at Baloo, the idiot.
"Just in time for a little lunchie," Kitten
cooed, as she caught Baloo's hand again and led him outside to another waiting
limousine. "Caio!" she called gaily over her shoulder. Baloo followed like an obedient puppy.
"Ya hear that, Becky? We're gonna chow!"
Rebecca stood up. "Good! That'll give me time to tell you about the
accidents that--!"
"I'm sorry," Kitten poked her pretty blonde
head out the back window and said with obvious regret, "but this is a private lunch." She rolled up the window, leaving Rebecca
staring back at a square of opaque glass before the silver car roared off,
leaving her choking on thick exhaust fumes. My lungs are going to be black
tomorrow.
"Hey, how do I look, Miz Cunningham?" A strange, very short gangster with Kit's
voice approached her. She stared. The
glossy brown hair was obviously a wig and his handlebar mustache was much too
big for his face. It was Kit, dressed
to kill. He was bristling with a
restless energy, eager to be somewhere else. Normally Rebecca would make a comment, but now wasn't the time.
"Listen, Kit. I've got to talk to you about---!"
"Gee, sorry, Miz Cunningham, but I'm on my
way to an audition." Kit apologized, not listening. "Maybe Wildcat can
help." He hurried away.
"Wait!" she shouted after him. "Where is Wildcat?"
"Stargazing!" he answered, before turning a
corner and disappearing into a building.
Before she could digest this, Wildcat
suddenly appeared in front of her, frantically waving a large butterfly net and
weaving around passing celebrities on their way to work. They easily eluded his net and he was
getting frustrated, which was a rare thing. Usually so sweet-natured and unflappable, Wildcat now showed signs of
breaking the pattern.
"I can't get one star to stay still long enough!" he complained.
.....
Outside stood a cityscape set. One-dimensional hollow buildings such as
hotels, office buildings and restaurants dotted the lot. Near the animation studio, Rebecca sat at a
concession stand, absently stirring her coffee. She was almost used to the insane pace around her. In yet another
take, the Narx Brothers chased that shrieking ninny all over the lot. A couple of thespians in Renaissance garb
ran through their lines over sandwiches and coffee. Lack of tables and chairs forced them to improvise, using a
large overturned crate as a makeshift table and two smaller boxes as chairs.
"Baloo's some friend," mumbled Rebecca. "Something fishy's going on and he won't
even listen." She felt hot, tired and
depressed. All her friends had deserted
her, leaving her alone in this strange place, surrounding by lunatics in
Halloween costumes.
Her self-pity was interrupted by a sudden
scream from above!
Rebecca whipped her neck around and upwards
to look: A broken railing, followed by a blur of gray suit and feathers
descended from the top floor of one of the "office buildings" at heart-stopping
speed.
The Renaissance couple glanced up from their
sandwiches, unimpressed. The woman was
exasperated. "Not another accident! We'd
better move." They rose in concert,
taking their lunch with them just before the falling man hit. Crash!
Before she could register the sight, or even
cover her eyes, he slammed headfirst into the vacated crates, sending wooden
slats and splinters flying in all directions. When the dust cleared, Rebecca looked around. No one seemed concerned. They continued on their business, as though this was a common occurrence. It was probably a stunt, like the rest of
the antics around here.
She stood up and rushed to the scene. A meek-looking turkey lay in the ruins,
stunned and moaning with pain. His
cheap gray business suit was shredded, his toupee askew and black horn-rimmed
glasses hanging on one ear. Other than
that, he was alive and sore. Rebecca
shook her head disapprovingly. Actors!
"That was very dangerous!" she chided him. "Maybe you should think twice
about being a stuntman."
The turkey stood up cautiously, balancing
his weight. Adjusting his orange
mop-like toupee on his head, he tried to straighten his spectacles. They made a sickening cracking sound, then
hard little pebbles of glass sprinkled from the frames, landing on the
ground. He stared at her, incredulous
at her apparent naivete.
"Stuntman? Lady, I'm just the accountant
for the Kitten Kaboodle film," he exploded. "I'd be crazy to be a stuntman on
this movie. Oh, I sure pity the poor
bozo who's flying the big important, final stunt---he's sure to be a
goner!" Rebecca could only stare after
him as he limped away, trying in vain to fit the two halves of his glasses
together.
Oh
no! her mind screamed.
That's the stunt Baloo's doing!
.....
After asking around, ten minutes later
Rebecca managed to find out where Kitten Kaboodle had taken Baloo. She scanned the names of the buildings,
finally seeing the ornately scrolled La
Rotune Restaurant. I've got to warn him, she thought. Oh,
Baloo, trouble just follows you everywhere!
She watched and followed at a short
distance; an actress, a voluptuous, heavy sow sauntered down the blossom-lined
walk through the front doors, swinging a little parasol. It was Mae Chest, the controversially
risque actress from "My Little Piggledee", and "I'm No Cherub". Next to Kitten Kaboodle, she was considered
one of the most powerful actresses in Starrywood.
At the hat-check booth, the bored maitre d',
an obese but well-tailored hippo, perked up and hurried from his post to greet
her.
"How nice
to see you again!" Sweating and smiling
so widely that his back teeth were visible, he was not merely hospitable, not
downright unctuous, oozing good will. Rebecca grimaced with distaste, then smiled approvingly as Miss Chest
ignored his chatter and tossed her white mink stole from her shoulders, where
it landed carelessly on his head.
Unfazed, the maitre d' took it off and hung
it lovingly on one of the branches of an iron coat-rack next to the door. Apparently, this sort of treatment was
acceptable and even cherished. "and
have a pleasant lunch!" he added.
My
turn, Rebecca thought; she saw Baloo and Kitten sitting at a
table several feet away, partially concealed by large ferns. He was seated with his back to her, eating
a generous plate of spaghetti. A basket
holding a long loaf of French bread sat in the middle. Kitten had a glass of white wine in front
of her. They were talking but she
couldn't hear a thing. She marched
boldly forward, past the hippo but wasn't quick enough. He caught her shoulders, lifting her and
planting her firmly in front of him.
"Yyyessss?" Another horribly arch smile nearly split his face as he drew out the
word for effect.
Rebecca shook him off, annoyed at the
delay. Didn't he know she had to
hurry? Her next words were rushed: "I'vegottotellmyfriendaboutianaccidentthathasn'thappenedyetbutprobablywillifIdon'tget
tohimfirsttowarnhim!" She panted, barely
finishing the sentence without passing out from lack of air.
The maitre d' waved his hand impatiently,
dismissing her. "Fine, fine. Are you a movie star?"
"Movie
star? What does that have to do
with it?" she said indignantly, too disgusted by this idiot to bother
justifying herself to him any longer. Baloo needed her! She took two
steps forward before his unpleasant singsongy voice assaulted her ears and a
heavy hand clasped her shoulder.
"Brutus!"
A hulking, homely gorilla suddenly
materialized before them. He regarded
her stolidly, with hard piggy eyes and, in a businesslike fashion, began to
roll up his sleeves. His forearms
bulged with fat, hair and muscle.
"We only serve movie stars," the hippo said
primly. Before Rebecca could wonder why
he didn't recognize a celebrity without asking, she saw the huge,
hairy-knuckled paws of Brutus reach for her.
Too furious to be frightened, Rebecca jabbed
his nose with her finger, startling him. He winced and rubbed his nose, staring at her with surprise. "Hold your bananas, buster!" she hissed at
him, "I can find my own way out! Hmmph!" Then she pivoted and stalked out the door, slamming it.
She waited a moment, then cracked the door
open, and carefully peeked through the sliver of space. Brutus was gone, leaving the maitre d'
alone, writing in the reservation book. She spotted Mae Chest's discarded fur stole, still hanging on the
coat-rack.
Plan
B, she thought slyly. She tugged the garment free, wrapping it around herself, feeling a
guilty pleasure as the cool softness caressed her face. Show
your stuff, she commanded herself.
The hippo beamed at the graceful, haughty
young starlet approaching. He wondered
who she was. Her face seemed familiar,
but he couldn't quite place it. There
were so many celebrities who passed
that very spot that he had trouble keeping these famous people straight. But it stood to reason: Anyone who dressed
so elegantly and moved with such confidence had to be a movie star in this
town. Who else would dare to march past
him with such poise and quiet arrogance? They ruled Starrywood and he was their faithful servant.
"How nice
to see you again," he said automatically, as she carelessly tossed the fur
stole to him. This time he caught it
before it could land on his head.
Rebecca crouched and waddled, stealthily
making her way toward Baloo and Kitten. Keeping her head low, she staked out a spot behind the thick foliage,
behind Baloo. Through the leaves, she
could see Kitten smiling and nodding animatedly, apparently enjoying the big
bear's company. Kitten wasn't eating
but she did take the occasional dainty sip of white wine. Rebecca could hear Baloo noisily wolfing
down his food, and smirked. If she were
sharing his table, she would have died of embarrassment at his bad table
manners. Now, though, she was
perversely glad that Kitten had to suffer. I wonder if he'll tackle someone
in this restaurant. That'll show 'Kiki' for sure!
She heard Kitten say, "So, darling...about this...Rebecca?" There was a hint of distaste, the way she
spoke Rebecca's name, as though it smelled. Smug smile disappearing, the businesswoman strained to hear better,
ignoring the leaves tickling her face.
"Rebecca? Rebecca who?" Baloo twirled some noodles around the tines of his fork
with expertise, then they disappeared into his mouth with a satisfied
slurp. Rebecca winced, mentally
picturing it.
Kitten laughed softly, the sound of tinkling
bells. She leaned, one elbow on the
table, genuinely amused. Her lips
parted in a sweet smile, showing tiny, perfectly white teeth.
"Dahh-ling! Your humor is so...humorous," she said at last. "You know. Rebecca...your...girlfriend?"
Are
you kidding? Her brain
shrieked in outrage. Then: Well,
I suppose it's a natural mistake. Her seeing us together and all.
Baloo stopped eating. "Girlfriend?"
he said incredulously. "Oh no, she's just my boss."
Rebecca's head began to ring. Baloo's voice: Well, you'd better be careful. Or someone might mistake us for friends. Maybe we are, a little...Baloo. Rebecca remembered his arm slung around her shoulders, the
pleasant weight of it, making her feel safe, protected...
We'd
talk more...trust one another...help each other out...stick together through
thick and thin...Then he ran to see Kitten, leaving her reeling on the
sidewalk....
Besides,
I'm not askin' my boss, I'm askin' my friend. She had felt a strange warmth then, when he had included her. Then: Just
my boss. Just my boss. He didn't mean it, she thought bitterly, he just wanted to go to Starrywood and got
his way by sweet-talking me---as usual. He wanted to be with Kitten. Something exploded in Rebecca's brain, obliterating all reason. There was a stinging sensation behind her
eyes, but she was too enraged to cry. She stood up, roughly knocking the ferns over, scattering dirt
everywhere.
"Just
your BOSS?! Why, you---!" Rebecca
roared. Grabbing Baloo's dinner plate,
she viciously flipped it, dumping a warm mess of limp noodles and spaghetti
sauce over his head! Kitten blinked and
watched the commotion with bright interest. Well, well---drama just seemed to follow her whenever she went. She leaned one elbow on the table, obviously
entertained by Rebecca's outburst.
Baloo sat stunned, dripping in oozing
pasta. Where'd Becky come from? Why's
she so all-fired steamed?
"Becky!" he protested, too surprised to be
angry, or even to wipe his face. "What are ya doin'?"
She growled deep in her throat. He had no clue, no idea! She spotted the
loaf of French bread and picked it up, hoisting it like a baseball bat over her
head. Other diners watched the crazy
woman, enjoying the show.
The words came rushing forth. "Friends are supposed to help each other,
remember? So I'm helping you!" she
snarled. Swiftly, she swung it down
hard, connecting with his skull. Too
late, Baloo ducked and crossed his arms over his head, trying to shield
it. It didn't hurt, but man, it sure
didn't stop either! Crumbs flying, she
rained blow and blow with relentless fury and kept whacking until someone
grabbed her roughly from behind. Powerful arms wrapped themselves around her in a steely grip, wrenching
her off her feet.
Brutus held her, stifling her struggles,
turning so that she faced the officious maitre d'. The hippo looked down at her, his expression that of one who sees
a worm in his salad. Brutus's piggy
eyes narrowed. Oh yes, he was going to
enjoy this.
"You again!" the maitre d' spat. He jerked his thumb at the gorilla, a
definite signal to let the games begin. "Get rid of her."
End of Part One