Disclaimer: I say this and warn you now that you must have an open mind to continue. Mac and Bloo as a couple is a definite and the other couple is not one to be encountered lightly. That's all I'll say. Rakal, Los Doberman, and Mr. Blue already know what I'm talking about.
To speak like Eduardo, Foster's no es mine.
Chapter One: L'amour secret
Sighing heavily, Frankie mopped a stray strand of red hair behind her ear and leaned heavily on her vacuum cleaner. Herriman might have an office on the first floor, but he insisted on a private scouring in his ninth floor bedroom. She'd been in here pretty much since lunch time and envied those eating dinner now. Brilliant reds, pinks, and oranges streaked across the sky and its setting sun. At least Herriman had the decency to prepare dinner in her absence (though he insisted it'd be better without her anyway).
Finished tucking in the corners of his bed, her eyes skidded to a jutting journal under the corner of his mattress. Normally, she discounted any private mementos of Foster's residents, but the temptation was too great. It'd been a while since she'd gotten any good dirt on him and after spending six hours cleaning his damn room, she gladly welcomed anything, immoral or not. Besides, good dirt meant getting your hands dirty.
Glancing around to ensure no one spied on her, she snatched the small, leather bound tome out from its pinned position and opened it to the bookmark. Tidy scrawled words she immediately recognized as his script flowed freely through what she deigned was a quill. He'd never done well with ball point pens, anyway. Madame Foster had remarked, smiling, that he seemed to be stuck in the past. She often joked she wouldn't be surprised if she found out he had a crush on a long dead celebrity.
In fact, when she reached the end of the page and turned cautiously, certain he'd detected her hand oils, she discovered the object of his affections. Smirking, she read on, captivated. Surely she'd unravel "Ingrid Bergman" amidst the rambling. She was so convinced she'd find an old name, she had to reread the actual one. When she did, the book fell from her open palms and clattered to the floor.
…
Bloo yawned luxuriously and stretched out, his stomach whacking the bottom of the table. He thought he might have heard Herriman comment on his abysmal table manners, but he scoffed. When Mac left for the day, things tended to suck. Visits from his creator cheered him, perhaps more than they had in the past. In fact, pleasant butterflies erupted in the pit of his stomach now.
It's just 'cuz I'm really happy to see him, that's it. Those stupid dreams have nothing to do with it. Coco has no idea what she's talking about when she says I moan Mac's name on my sleep. Feh.
Even so, he had to admit he was very easily distracted and more prone to daydreams without his creator around. And most of said daydreams involved he and his creator locked tightly like in those soaps. The aforementioned butterflies swooped up and bounced against the mac and cheese. It'd had brown spots too, probably because Herriman had given him the ones at the bottom of the pot. Hmph.
Shoving the chair away and neatly placing it in its proper position, he collected his plates and glass. However, both slipped from his grasp upon a shriek.
…
Mac idly penciled in another answer and stifled a yawn. Though it was only seven o'clock, he'd spent the past two hours restoring order to his chaotic apartment. Naturally, his eighteen year old brother had no concept of the mess he'd generously imparted to him. Gritting his teeth, he bit back a snarl. It was times like these he missed Bloo- he'd have come up with a way to get him back by now. Instead, Mac simply fixed whatever broke and hoped for the best. He was too docile.
Was it his imagination or was Bloo blushing around him? If he was imagining it, then he was imagining his own reactions. Stomach fluttering with butterflies, he forced himself to scrutinize his math homework. Nothing unusual transpired at Foster's Home for Imaginary Friends and his imaginary friend definitely did not have a crush on him. And it wasn't reciprocated, either. Right.
…
Skirt rustling, Frankie tore out of Herriman's bedroom like a bat out of hell. Nearly upending an imaginary friend, she spurted the three staircases down to her room and then, left hand trembling, locked her door. The right, much to her chagrin, clutched his journal in disbelief. Five minutes passed until she breathed normally.
She wanted to know for certain what she was up against and if this was indeed the truth, but she didn't dare exit. Right now, she'd prefer fending off a three headed dragon with a sharpened stake. At least they never harbored any secret feelings. They were who they acted like- vicious man-eating dragons. No nasty surprises in every box, kiddies.
Sinking down, she hugged her knees to her chest and glared at it. Every cell in her body cursed its very existence. She vowed never to open it again…when it fell open of its own accord. Yet she wouldn't look; she'd ignore its alluring pages…
"Miss Frances!" Herriman's voice rang throughout the house and she buried her face in her hands. She couldn't face him, especially not after this. Her knees trembled badly beneath her and threatened to fold. No, rising was not an option. He'd have to do this himself or not at all. If he could write that, then her body could crumple under her. A shudder rocked her.
"Miss Frances!" he called insistently and she rose only to collapse. This was no good. She'd have to say something, but what?
I'm sorry, Mr. Herriman, but I accidentally on purpose read your journal and discovered your terrible secret? I can't face you now? The words sounded hollow in her mind.
"Miss Frances, if you do not open this door immediately, then I will be forced to implement-"
Frankie did him one better. Opening the door wide, she tossed the book. It struck him in the forehead and knocked him out. Trembling violently, she shut and locked the door again.
Bloo cautiously sidestepped the unconscious rabbit and spurted towards his room. He only gave the book a cursory glance before deciding it wasn't anything interesting. Besides, if it belonged to Herriman, it had to be boring. It was a rule, he thought.
Coco trilled warnings at his back, but he brushed her off. Eduardo and Wilt weren't doing anything he'd be uncomfortable interrupting, she was imagining things, and he wasn't dreaming of making out with Mac, so would she stop asking? Jeez. Why was she going on about Wilt and Ed being a couple, anyway? It was ridiculous.
Prideful and smirking, he tried the doorknob only to discover it was locked. Locked? Why would they lock him out of his room? Unless there was a present they didn't want him to see? Yeah, that was it!
"(They aren't talking, Coco!)" she snapped, snatching him and nearly swallowing him. He reached for the knob, but she stomped off with him as her unwilling prisoner.
…
Twiddling a checker piece in his left hand, Wilt genially awaited Eduardo's next move. Contrary to popular belief, they were not a couple. They just preferred silence and uninterrupted peace when they played checkers. Eduardo was prone to upsetting the board and their game if someone came darting in uninvited, like Bloo.
"Frankie es upset?" Eduardo frowned, contemplating his move. Charily, he shifted one piece forward only to have Wilt capture it. Naturally, he apologized and then frowned, wondering himself. The shriek had been loud enough to hear several floors down.
"I'm sorry! And yeah, it sounds like it. Maybe we ought to find out what's bothering her…"
He trailed off, staring in astonishment at his next move. The purple furred imaginary friend grinned toothily at him.
"King me!"
…
Madame Foster had noticed odd developments in Mr. Herriman's behavior as of late. Sometimes she caught him staring off into space and slipping into daydreams. Unfortunately, whenever she tried to pry the information out as to whom, he snapped abruptly back to his normal self and denied everything. Most people might have stopped after a few unsuccessful attempts, but she was not most people. Eyes twinkling, she decided her new goal was to discover the object of his affections.
Hobbling down the hallway, she stopped and watched her creation groggily lift himself from the floor and hop away, shaking his head and rubbing his sore forehead. Cradled in his left hand was a leather-bound book. Craning her neck, she sought its title, but there seemed to be none. Ah, well. She was certain her granddaughter would love to discuss his love life and potentially embarrass her imaginary friend. Well, actually, the second part never entered her mind.
Knocking politely, she was surprised to hear Frankie groan and ask whoever it was to leave. Her voice was panicked and distressed. Reaching the doorknob, she twisted it only to discover a force wedged it shut. Putting two and two together, she surmised her granddaughter was leaning against it. The question was- why?
"Dearie, is anything wrong?" she inquired politely, banging the door again nimbly. Frankie sighed, but said nothing.
"Grandma, I'd really like to be left alone right now." Especially considering it's your imaginary friend that wrote that. I can't come out and tell you…
"That's all right, sweetie…" she said soothingly and Frankie sighed again, relieved. Unfortunately, she underestimated her grandmother's tenacity. Wielding her cane, she rapped the door smartly several times before Frankie, groaning, sprang forth. Of course her grandmother couldn't let sleeping dogs lie. She just wished she would.
"Now," she said, grinning devilishly, "what on earth are you all worked up about?"
The clock struck nine thirty and Frankie grinned, glad for a reprieve. Time for a little foul mouthed humor on CC involving four eight year old boys, including a racist, a Jew, and a desperately poor blond haired child. Ignoring any further questions, she switched on her thirteen inch television set safely nestled away from prying imaginary eyes (in other words, Bloo) and relaxed. There was no way she could think about Herriman when she was watching a kid in a parka mutter muffle obscenities.
Madame Foster rolled her eyes and decided the second best target was her imaginary friend. Smirking, she shut the door and tracked him. Curiosity compelled her forward- she loved a good mystery. Onward ho!
…
So…who is Herriman crushing on? If you read this chapter carefully, you'd know. (And, uh, if I told you already).
And, of course, Mac and Bloo surfaces again. They'll never die! (cackles)
You guys know the drill. Read and review (and if you read Stranded, I apologize for stopping and deleting it, but I cannot write flat out humor). (I struggled through the second chapter tremendously).
Until we meet again…