Chapter 7
In Which Someone is Excited, Someone is Sad, Someone is Frightened, and Someone is Bad
"…at Vitello's, all our flowers are arranged by hand just prior to delivery. Yes, thank you for calling."
Arnold half-listened to the conversations in the front of the store as he swept out the greenhouse. His mind wasn't exactly on the job. He was thinking about his two best friends, Gerald and Phoebe. More specifically, he was thinking about what he had told them – that he was fine.
The thing was, he wasn't entirely certain that this was true.
It wasn't anything really, just something on the outside of his conscious mind, something nagging at him. He loved the boarding house, and his grandparents, and it was wonderful to have so much time to paint. He hadn't had a lot of the opportunities that many of his friends had, but that didn't really bother him. And it wasn't as if he spent all his time wishing a certain red-head was around. But somehow, he just felt a bit…lost. Like he had borrowed someone else's life for a while and now that he had given it back, he wasn't quite sure what to do with his own.
When he was younger, life had always been one adventure after another, because he had made it that way. Arnold the Optimist, that was him. Always looking on the bright side. And I still do, he decided, after all, someone has to. But lately it had seemed more and more that he had to, rather than just wanting to. Bit by bit, he had lost hope in a few little things that he had always believed as a child. He had given up on his parents shortly after finding their journal so long ago. At first it had seemed like such a clue, but in the end nothing had come from it. He and Gerald weren't as close as they used to be. Oh they were still best friends, but time and distance, plus the fact that Gerald was a terrible correspondent, had all left their mark. He didn't know everything that was going on in his life anymore. The fact that Gerald was having adventures in the FBI without him caused a strange, cold feeling in the pit of Arnold's stomach.
But the main thing, he knew, was that he wasn't a miracle worker anymore. He still gave advice like he always had, but he had to rely on his own devices. Once, if he was really stuck on something, he could always count on a last-second save from somewhere. He sort of drew good things to him, as if he were some sort of luck magnet, or an angel that God decided to help out from time to time inexplicably. Now…well if he was stuck, more often than not he was just plain stuck. Not everything had a happy ending. He couldn't fix everyone.
Arnold gave his head a shake and started sweeping again. It wouldn't do any good to dwell on it, besides, it was probably just his imagination. The bright side Arnold. You remember.
The wind whistled briskly outside, stirring up a few leaves which had already begun to fall. His broom made a criss-cross pattern in the dirt spilled on the floor. He tried to match each stroke, making a diamond shape every few feet. He was so busy doing this, in fact, that he didn't notice Mrs. Vitello standing at the doorway until she cleared her throat meaningfully.
He jumped. "Oh, ah, I was just sweeping this up." He gave her his best sheepish grin.
His boss just shook her head and smiled a bit. She waved her hand at the design in the dirt. "Try and save the artwork for the flowers, ok Arnold?"
"Ok."
She went back to helping a customer, and Arnold quickly finished sweeping. He checked the clock. Time to head home. Arnold washed up in the sink at the back, hung up his green florist's apron, and walked out front to tell Mrs. Vitello he was leaving.
She was saying goodbye to what looked like the last person left in the store. She smiled and waved as they left, flipped the sign on her door to "Closed" and turned to face Arnold.
"Next week we'll start getting a Christmas window design going," she told him.
"Already?"
"We won't put it up yet, I just like to know what we'll need in advance. Speaking of which I have a favor to ask."
"Anything." I hope she doesn't ask me to work on Christmas.
"I'll need a nice Christmas-y backdrop for the display. Would you consider painting me something? I'd pay you of course—"
"You don't have to do that," Arnold said quickly, "I'd be happy to do it for free. It could be your Christmas gift."
"Oh no you don't," the old woman narrowed her eyes at him, "I'm not hanging a personal gift in the shop, someone might want to buy it off me. No, I'm commissioning this piece and I expect to pay for it. You won't get out of buying me a present that easily."
Arnold laughed what he hoped was a normal sounding laugh, hoping she couldn't hear his heart pounding. "What did you have in mind?"
"Oh I'm no good at these things. Just make it big enough to be seen from the other side of the street and small enough to fit in the window. Paint Christmas," seeing his look, she added, "I don't know, a snowflake or toys or Santa or something. I told you I wasn't good at this."
Arnold's eyes were suddenly brighter than his boss could remember seeing them for quite a while. "No, you're great at it. I'll have it ready in two weeks. Thanks Mrs. Vitello!" He called this last part over his shoulder as he dashed out the door and down the street. My first real commission! Maybe I've got a miracle or two left in me yet. He thought his heart was going to burst right out of his ribcage with joy.
I've told him to call me Rosemary. Oh well, old habits die hard. Mrs. Vitello finished closing up the shop and started towards home as well. That along with the Christmas bonus I'm going to give him should help, she thought to herself, as long as he doesn't give it away to someone less deserving. She shook her head, thinking fondly of the boy who had grown up, but was still just as loved.
*************
Helga hurled her cell phone against the wall.
CRASH! Plastic pieces went flying. Gerald could hear it trying to play a few notes from "The Nutcracker Suite" almost pitifully.
"You know, where I come from those things cost money."
"I get one every time my dad has a sale. I've got about twenty more in the other room, I just have to activate it to my old number." Helga muttered and stalked from the room in search of a new phone.
Secretly, Gerald wished he could do about the same thing to his beeper. Ever since they had found the keycatcher on Helga's computer, both of them had been trying to get ahold of their superiors. And neither of them were having much luck. Veronica the Secretary of Death had promised to give Simon Gerald's message about fifty times now. He had even driven over and checked to be sure his car wasn't in the lot. But Simon just wasn't there. Helga only had one number for Moria, one that she almost never was absent from, but today she had had to leave her a voice mail. Sixty-seven times.
Trying to act casual when you know in a matter of hours the enemy will know who you are is not easy, and both Helga and Gerald had been glad to leave the office today. They had at first gone to their separate homes, but after about an hour Gerald had showed up on Helga's doorstep with a packed duffel bag. It was no good to wait alone, he reasoned and they would probably be ordered to head to New York soon anyway. Plus, he was wearing holes in his carpet pacing. Helga had rolled her eyes but let him in, and Gerald thought she probably didn't like being alone right now either.
Although he was exceptionally glad that she had thrown the phone at the wall opposite where he was sitting.
He could hear rummaging noises from the other room, accompanied by various things Helga was saying under her breath, which, Gerald figured, it was probably good that he couldn't understand. I need coffee. He had already noted that she didn't have a coffee maker out, but that was ok. He had a travel kit for just such occasions.
Unzipping his duffel bag, Gerald unpacked a tiny coffee maker, only big enough to handle two cups at a time. He took out a filter and some ground coffee beans and happily busied himself preparing to feed his addiction. By the time Helga reappeared, the heavenly aroma was already drifting through the air.
Helga wrinkled her nose. "Ugh. Are you really that desperate for caffeine? Because I do have tea you know."
"Tea? Tea??" Gerald was aghast, "Don't you know why we fought for freedom in this country?"
Helga got a dangerous look in her eye. "There's nothing wrong with tea."
"No, no of course not. Not as long as you mix it with a good amount of coffee."
"Coffee drinkers are just people who have killed off their taste buds so they need something horrid tasting in order to taste anything at all."
"Tea drinkers are just people who are too lazy to make coffee."
"What!"
"With tea," Gerald explained, "You just boil water, add tea and you're done. Coffee takes skill, it takes talent, it takes finesse—"
"It takes pressing the button on the coffee maker."
Gerald sniffed. "You wouldn't understand."
"I hope not. Although I will admit that you seem to have finally found a technology at your level." She indicated the machine's solitary button.
Gerald didn't say anything, but when he sat down on the couch later he made sure he blew on his coffee so that the scent wafted towards Helga. Helga gritted her teeth but ignored it.
After a few moments of silence, Helga got up from the couch and started pacing again. "Where the heck is Moria? For all we know, Phil's already checked the keycatcher and knows that we found his little smuggling scheme! He could be outside, watching the apartment right now!" She stopped and ran her fingers through her hair nervously.
Gerald blinked and shook his head slightly, as if to clear it. "You know, that's not even the worst problem."
"Are you saying that we're endangering something more important than our lives?"
"Yes. Well, no. Sort of."
"Make sense Geraldo."
"Look Helga," Gerald put down his coffee with difficulty and looked at her, "If you were Phil, and you knew that your smuggling operation was about to go bust, what would you do?"
Helga thought a minute, then her eyes widened. "Get rid of all the evidence. Which means—"
"When does the Revel come into New York?"
"9pm. Tonight." They both looked at the clock hanging on the wall. It was 6:15.
"So if we don't get there before he does…" Helga groaned. "We're not going to have a legal leg to stand on. Not to mention we won't be any closer to figuring out where this "hot air" stuff is going. They'll change everything if they've any brains at all."
Gerald stood up. "Let's go."
"Gerald, we're not authorized to—"
"No one else knows about this. This is an emergency situation, Moria and Simon will just have to deal with it."
But Helga had thought of something. "Wait, Gerald you might not even be in danger, you shouldn't risk it. Phil will only know about me from that keycatcher."
Gerald shook his head. "He'll put two and two together. He's been suspicious about how well we know each other for a while I think. Keeps asking me questions about you. Anyway either way the Agency will want to pull both of us out of there, not just you. No real risk."
"We'll never make it in time."
"We will if you hurry. Helga," Gerald raised an eyebrow at her, "What's the problem here?"
"The thing is…" Helga rubbed her arm and looked at the floor, "When it comes to the Agency, I uh, don't exactly have a perfect record. As far as following code."
"No one does. I have one or two black marks myself. What's a few more?"
"Well…Moria said the next time she hears about it I'll be put on probation."
"She won't hear about it until it's too late to do anything but congratulate us on a job well done."
"Gerald—"
"Ok, so we break a few," Helga gave him a look so he amended, "Few hundred rules. In the grand scheme of things, what's more important? Eventually, they'll thank us."
"After chewing our butts off."
"Well, yes." Gerald admitted.
Helga looked at clock again, then back at Gerald. She sighed.
"I'm going to change and get packed. But just for the record, this is not a good idea, Tall Hair Boy."
**************
Crouching in the near-darkness by the edge of the docks, Gerald shivered in the autumn evening air and tried to catch his breath. Helga had pulled a few strings to get them on a jet to New York and then a car to the docks as fast as possible, but even so they had just barely made it. The Revel wasn't in port yet but it was due any minute. Helga had changed into a very Pink Nazi-ish pants suit and was ready to board that ship the moment it came in. But she still wasn't very happy about it.
"Assuming we don't get picked off by snipers the moment we show our faces, assuming we can even get onto the ship, assuming they haven't dumped the contraband already, assuming they won't dump it the second we get on the ship, and assuming we find anything, what are you planning on doing? Just grabbing the evidence and running?"
"I'm not sure yet," said Gerald honestly.
"Great. Wonderful. I'm about to die, and genius here isn't sure yet!"
What? Confused, Gerald turned to ask her what in the world she was talking about, but stopped when he saw the look on her face. She's freaking out, he realized. Gerald suddenly remembered being trapped in the subway with Helga years ago. She was fine as long as she was doing something, but when she had to sit still and wait for help, she went into hysterics. Not that he had reacted much differently, but at least he was quieter about it. Even now his palms were sweating like crazy despite the cold, but he could stay silent. Helga couldn't. She needed something to do.
"Helga, is this the correct time?" He held out his wrist to her so that she could see his watch.
"What?" She was a bit distracted. "I don't know. Why are you worrying about watches at a time like this?"
"Because I think it's two minutes off." He pressed on.
Helga took hold of his wrist and examined the watch. Her hands are just as clammy as mine. Gerald hid a grin as she fiddled with the dials and knobs on the watch, trying to make it accurate. Never mind that it's already accurate to one/one thousandth of a second and I just checked it this afternoon.
After a few minutes, Helga said, "I don't know what you're smoking Geraldo. This watch is perfectly on time." But her hands were a little warmer now. She dropped his wrist and Gerald caught her hand and squeezed it lightly.
"Thanks." he said.
Helga let go of his hand and frowned at him. "Don't get all mush—Gerald look." He turned back around. The Revel was pulling in.
He stood up and straightened his tie, while Helga adjusted her suit and brushed it off. "Ready to go?"
She nodded, now perfectly calm. "Ready."
Helga led the way across the concrete and steel towards the ship. She held a clipboard in one hand and walked as if she had every right to be there. They had almost reached the gangplank when a man's voice stopped them.
"Hey! You can't just walk onto the ship!"
Helga turned and gave the man a look so withering Gerald thought he would just shrivel up and blow away. "What did you say?"
The man was less sure now. "Um, I uh, was just asking what you were doing?"
She narrowed her eyes. "I'm Mrs. Helga G. Pataki, Corporate National Shipping Director of Ical Corporation. I'm here to inspect this ship. Is that clear?" She said this in a tone which implied that it'd better be.
"Uh, yes ma'am. That is, sorry to have bothered you." he mumbled and walked away quickly.
As they boarded the ship, Gerald said, "Well done, Pink Nazi."
"Pink what?"
"I'll explain later."
Once on the ship they were distinctly out of place in their business suits, so they tried not to be seen, which wasn't terribly difficult as the sailors were busy packing and preparing to go on shore. Getting into the hold was a bit harder, and Helga had to pull her inspection act several times before they could enter.
Most of the crates in the hold hadn't been touched since arrival in port, as the sailors tended to their personal belongings first while waiting for those responsible for picking up the packages. It was dark and musty smelling, and Gerald found himself wishing he had brought a flashlight. Helga had one, but the batteries died almost as soon as she turned it on.
"Great. How are we supposed to find this stuff in the dark?" she asked, rattling her flashlight.
"Maybe there's a light switch here somewhere. You go that way, I'll go this way and look for it."
The two of them felt their way along the walls of the ships. Gerald felt some kind of breeze around his ankles, which he thought was very odd until Helga switched on the lights. And promptly screamed.
It wasn't a breeze. The hold was filled with rats.
Out of the corner of his eye he saw Helga climbing up one of the larger crates. She was obviously trying her best to keep from screaming again. Gerald willed himself not to look down and instead read the label stamped on the crate in front of him.
MORPHINE, it said.
"Hey Helga! Over here!" Gerald began prying off the top of the crate.
Helga made her way over stepping on top of the crates. She crouched on the one next to what Gerald was opening and helped him tear off the lid.
It was empty.
"I knew it." Helga growled, "Phil told them to dump the evidence."
"But then why didn't they get rid of the crate as well?"
Helga frowned and pried open a corner of another morphine crate. "This one's empty too."
Gerald moved to another one and tried it. "And this one."
"So's this."
"And this."
"This one too."
"This one has—oh wait, sorry just a dead rat."
"Don't even say it." Helga shivered and climbed to another crate.
For the next ten minutes they opened all the crates marked "morphine". They were all empty.
"Well," Helga said in a tired voice, "I told you Ical doesn't ship morphine."
"Nope. Just empty crates." Gerald slumped against one and kicked away a rat.
Helga grimaced and opened the lid of the nearest crate again, then the one next to it. Her brow wrinkled. She held open both lids and looked from one crate to another. "Gerald…I think this crate is different."
"It's not empty?"
"No it's empty, it's just…differently empty."
"Huh?"
"It's shallower." She closed the crates and indicated which she meant. "Kick the side." Gerald did so. "Aha, see!" Helga got into the crate and began prying up one of the bottom boards. She had it up in a minute, revealing a hidden compartment underneath.
"Wait a minute, I'll help." Gerald yanked apart the side of the crate so he could get at it better, and soon they had torn off all the boards. In the bottom of the crate was another crate, a much smaller one. One precisely the measurements they were supposed to be looking for.
"Got it," said Helga with a grin.
Gerald started to open it.
"What are you doing?" Helga stopped him. "You can't just take it. One, it's probably very dangerous, two, they'll know we have it and we'll never find out where they're taking this stuff and three, they won't let you off the ship with it."
Gerald tore the lid off anyway. There was a glass tube inside, filled with a dull green liquid that was almost black it was so dark. "It's small enough. I can fit it in my pocket and no one will know. And I don't think there's any point pretending now – Phil knows, so everyone will know. They may not even send someone to pick this up. And our agents haven't been able to trace it so far, why would they now when they're being extra careful?"
"This is against every procedure in the book," Helga complained, then she shrugged. "Oh well, it's your job you're risking on this one. Just remember I had nothing to do with this."
"Right. I get the promotion." Suddenly they heard the sound of yelling outside.
"Sounds like they found us." Helga gingerly came down on the floor and they moved quickly to the exit. It sounded as though they were right outside.
"Ok Geraldo, stuff that thing in your pocket, I'll hit the lights, we'll put these on and when they come in, we'll run out, got it?" She handed him a pair of night vision goggles. "I didn't use these earlier because you can't read crates easily with them on," she explained, then added, "We may have to fight our way off the ship."
"Um…"
"What?"
"I just realized, I don't have any pockets in this suit."
Helga glared at him, then grabbed the tube and stuffed it in her inside jacket pocket. "There. Ready?"
"Let's go."
Helga hit the lights. Actually, it was more of a kick. She stood on a crate and broke the light bulb with the heel of her shoe, then climbed down to wait with Gerald, who was thinking that he couldn't have done that move if he tried.
The night-vision goggles made everything odd shades of red. Gerald had never worn them before, and he found it kind of disconcerting. Everything sort of swam around him. Helga appeared unaffected.
They didn't have to wait long. A few seconds after Helga had joined him Gerald heard the hold door creaking open, and several pairs of feet came down the stairs. Hidden by the dark and several crates, he could see three large men enter the room and start groping around for the lights. They didn't look happy.
When they had gone far enough into the hold, Helga motioned to Gerald and they snuck up the stairs. Gerald started to take off his goggles but suddenly realized that he still needed them. Someone had managed to kill all the lights in this section of the docks. This is not good.
Helga was thinking about the same thing. The ship deck didn't have anyone on it, which was strange since the hold hadn't been unloaded yet. She was about to walk out into the open when Gerald caught at her sleeve and pointed. Headed their way were two more bulky men with flashlights. And again, they did not look happy. Gerald used hand signals to tell her he thought they should split up and try to go around them. She nodded in agreement and they both started moving towards opposite sides of the ship.
Helga had almost made it to the gangplank when she found that she could go no further without being noticed. One last burly man was leaning against the side of the ship right at the entrance, and she would have to walk right past him. Oh well, time to find out how much Ju-jitsu I remember.
Deciding against the subtle approach, Helga walked right up to the man and tapped him on the shoulder. As he turned around in surprise, she punched him as hard as she could in the face. Hm. I guess I don't remember much. The man reeled for a moment, then went after her with a roar that reminded her of a water buffalo. She leapt to one side, but he caught her by the arm and slammed her into the ship wall. Ouch. Really must practice Ju-jitsu sometime. She jabbed him in the stomach with her elbow and then used the wall to push herself into him, knocking the wind out of him.
A few feet away from her, she could see Gerald having similar difficulties. Criminy, this worked well. We should have stuck together and taken out this guy two to one. Suddenly, her legs were sweep out from under her, and she hit the deck, hard. She rolled out of the way just in time as the man tried to pin her to the ground. She crawled to the wall and gasped for breath. Gerald had put one guy over the side, but the two with flashlights had found him now as well. The man she was fighting got up from the floor and rushed towards her. She froze. She couldn't get up in time. She was going to be crushed. So she did the only thing so could – dove for his legs. He tripped, lost his balance and would have fallen on top of Helga but he caught himself instinctively on the ship's wall. Quickly, Helga scrambled out of the way and finally remembered a Ju-jitsu move. She delivered a deft blow to the side of his neck, causing him to lose consciousness. He collapsed in a rather large heap.
She looked over at Gerald just in time to see another guy go over the side of the ship. Heh. He's not bad. Ruined his suit though. One of Gerald's sleeves was almost completely torn off, and he had what looked like a blood stain on his front. He'll regret that in the morning. While Gerald was still off-balance, however, the second man slammed into him before Helga could shout a warning. For moment, both of them teetered on the edge of the wall, then the man went over, taking Gerald with him into the icy water below. Helga was alone on the deck.
She stood there for a moment, trying to decide what to do, and then the dock lights came back on. She heard voices coming up from the hold. She ran.
*************
It was storming outside, but Phoebe didn't mind. The rain matched her mood. She stirred a cup of green tea as she sat in the middle of her floor and then took a sip. Hm. Too hot. She set the tea aside for a bit.
Her promotion had become official today. She had spent most of it moving her stuff from her tiny cubicle to the grand new office on the top floor. Then there had been an announcement to the staff of the lab, at which she had made a small speech which she was certain no one had listened to, and then most people had gone home early. She had wanted to celebrate with her new lab co-partner, but he had a big family thing going on, and they had only been dating for a few days so she felt uncomfortable at the thought of meeting his family already.
The Colic-Hyerdahl Laboratory. One of Phoebe's dreams. The whole top floor to herself, for her projects only. No more clocking her time. No more stupid product testing. No more 45 minute lunch breaks. Just what she'd always wanted.
So why was she feeling so empty?
I have everything I've ever wanted, she told herself, there is no logical reason for me to be lonely!
Lonely. Oops. She had said it. Well, thought it anyway. She shook her head and pulled a photo album out of the bookshelf next to her. She flipped past her family photos to her favorite picture of her friends. It was taken the last day of high school, before everyone became so scattered. Sid had taken the picture, so he wasn't in it, and of course Lila had already married Arnie and moved by then, but everyone else was there. She traced them with her finger. There she was, standing in the front of course, hands politely clasped in front of her, though her huge grin gave her away. Helga had insisted on standing next to Phoebe, despite her height, so the blonde was almost kneeling with poor Eugene trying to look over Helga's head behind her. Phoebe was wearing a black and gold oriental-cut dress which she still had in her closet somewhere. Helga was wearing a powder blue dress that was very pretty on her, though it was a color she had never worn before or since as far as Phoebe knew.
She looked for Arnold and found him standing near the back, having almost grown into his odd-sized head by then. He and Gerald were next to each other, goofing off and making funny faces at the camera. Actually most of the boys were making faces at the camera. Typical.
What had Arnold said Gerald was doing now? She couldn't remember. Helga and he were both in New Jersey and neither of them liked it there, that much she had gathered. So why stick around? Why was a town they hated better than the town they grew up in? Why not come home?
There were flowers all over in the picture. Nadine had wildflowers from Peapod Kid. Eugene had apparently gotten the same idea since Sheena was grasping a bunch of freshly picked daisies and Queen Anne's Lace. Most of the girls had roses of some kind, as did several of the guys. Arnold had a roseb—no, Phoebe looked closer. He had two rosebuds in his buttonhole, one white and one pink. Funny, she'd never noticed that before. And of course Rhonda had some kind of tropical flowers from…hmm, who was it that year? Surely not Sid, that was over by then. Probably Lorenzo. Even Helga had gone so far as to stick a white lily in her hair.
But the Phoebe in the picture just smiled at the camera and clasped her hands. She wasn't holding any flowers.
Phoebe closed the book firmly and picked up her tea before it got too cold to drink. Of course, she hadn't been dating anyone at the time that picture was taken. But then, neither had several other girls, and they still got flowers. But it doesn't matter. I have flowers now. She smiled a little at that and looked at the corner of the room, where she had put several bouquets friends and family had sent her with their congratulations. Even Dr. Colic had given her a carnation, though really it was his celebration just as much as hers. Arnold had sent a beautiful basket that no doubt Mrs. Vitello had given him a substantial discount on. Almost everyone she knew had at least sent a card. It was nice to know they cared.
But it would have been nicer if they had showed up to tell her so in person.
What is wrong with me tonight? Phoebe downed the rest of her tea and decided to go to bed. She would feel better in the morning, and maybe go out to a late celebration with someone since it was Saturday and easier to get in touch with people. Even the ever-present Arnold had had to work late tonight.
She rinsed out her cup in the kitchen and put away the few things she still had lying around the house. Stretching and trying to make herself believe she felt tired, she headed towards her bedroom. But when she walked past the front door, the doorbell rang. Puzzled, Phoebe glanced at the clock on the way over. It was almost midnight. Was something wrong?
She opened the door to find that the storm was still going strong. The wind was howling and the rain was coming down in sheets. And in front of her, shivering and soaked to the bone in a bedraggled looking pants suit, was Helga.
"Pheobe," Helga said quietly, "I need your help."
A/N: Ok, so it's not Monday. Still, Tuesday isn't bad for a ten-page chapter, eh? :) Thanks to the people that reviewed (I had seven by Sunday, so close grin) it is very much appreciated. The next chapter will be hopefully rather shorter and will come out next week at some point.
Miss Matched: Yay, laughter! One of my favorite things to do is to make people laugh. That and eat chocolate kudos bars of course.
Zarius: Wow, thank you very much. ::hides Spy Kids DVD:: Erm, I mean, what DVD? (Come on give me a break, Antonio Banderas was in it…at least I haven't seen the second one right?)
Maxine: Lol. Yes I see! Thanks for taking the time, grin.
Sennical: For some reason when I think of Gerald grown up, I think of Will Smith. I think that's where the MIB thing came from, lol. And I think the morphine-or-lack-thereof question was answered in this chapter, but let me know if not.
TADAH: Thanks, will do!
DropsofJupiter: Lol. I didn't say there would be a G/H romance. Of course, I didn't say there wouldn't either. I see your point, but then Helga hasn't seen Arnold for a while either. She doesn't tend to think of him in sexy painter mode, lol. I laughed hysterically while I wrote the cell phone scene, so I'm glad to see people liked it, that means there's hope for me yet!
pokey: Yep, real joke, odd huh? I love it! "Herring" is one of those words that is automatically funny, like "weasel" or "accordion". Well I think so anyway.
miss amyami: Yes I love the tension you automatically get with Gerald and Helga as main characters. I've promised myself that I'm not going to start giving away plot so I won't answer your questions either way…except to say that at some point in this 4-book series, there will be kissing by someone with someone else…but at a purely PG rating, of course. How's that for vague? :)