Chrys visits Mr. Puffins
If Mr. Puffins thought his evening with Chrys Trickum would be an electric sexual interlude, hindsight taught him he was a fool.
There is nothing sexual or titillating about quitting alcohol.
Having a woman, even if she is physically desirable, come into your house, handcuff you to a recliner (under false promises), and then root through all of your belongings to destroy bottles of alcohol is anything but sexy. She even found the false floorboard in his bedroom and smashed its contents.
Mr. Puffins would have been justifiably angry if he didn’t think he could replace all of the alcohol at a moment’s notice—and then enjoy it all for the next 30 days. Then came a large, nasty surprise. Chrys Trickum had heard of his suspension and she intended to stay with him to help him ‘beat this thing’. If Mr. Puffins had been in a better mood, he might have laughed at the obvious sexual innuendo, but he was not in a good mood and he practically shook his reclining chair to pieces in his fury.
Mr. Puffins was not in denial and knew he needed help. Mr. Puffins was not suicidal and actually wanted help. But to have help forced upon him was unbearable. Who was she to sober him up? He had half a mind to drink himself to death just to spite her the moment she uncuffed him.
As she squat in front of him, the seams of her skirt holding on for dear life, watching him shake with anger, she said with a serene smile, “You look like a bratty little boy who’s had his favorite toy taken away. It’s probably best we keep you handcuffed to the chair for a little while longer.” Mr. Puffins blew raspberries at her while she spoke. He looked at her sullenly as she stood up. “I’m doing this for you, for both of us.” She looked around at the giant mess she’d caused.
“What about Amanda and Theodore?” he asked drily.
She turned her eyes back to him, “Hmm? Of yes, of course. Them, too.” She turned her attention back to broken bottles, ruffled furniture, books on the floor, and liquid, liquid everywhere.
“I’m going to clean this mess up. You sit there…”
“As if I have a choice.”
“…and calm yourself. When I’m done I’ll undo the handcuffs and we’ll talk like civilized people—but only if you’re calm!”
When Chrys finished cleaning, two hours later, Mr. Puffins looked reserved so she undid his handcuffs. He smoothed back his hair, stood, and walked with stiff dignity to the bathroom to relieve himself. He returned to find Chrys in his kitchenette putting water on to boil.
“I’m making tea…and a plan.”
Mr. Puffins just stood watching sedately, wondering what she would do if he bodily picked her up and threw her out of the house. She took out two mugs.
“Do you have honey?”
She looked at him, “What do you take with your tea?”
“I don’t have any tea.”
She pointed to a glass canister on his counter, “There are tea leaves over there!”
“That’s not tea. It’s marijuana.” Mr. Puffins began to smile, “Perhaps I should have just told you I liked my tea plain. The conversation would have been more relaxing after we’d had our ‘tea’.”
She snatched the canister up, dumped the contents into the drain, and rinsed it down. She turned the pot of water off. “It looks like I need to go to the store.”
“Could you pick me up a bottle while you’re out?” Mr. Puffins still smiled and he leaned on his counter pretending to be calm. She looked him up and down and sighed.
“You must be famished. You didn’t touch your lunch.” She looked into his refrigerator and tcched.
“I was going to come home and fill my belly with drink. It has a greater effect when my stomach is empty.” He straightened and walked toward her quietly, slowly. If he was quiet enough, perhaps, he could grab her without her suspecting anything and keep her from reaching any weapon she had on her. She spun around unexpectantly and came nose to nose with Mr. Puffins. She didn’t shrink back but blinked rapidly.
“There isn’t a thing in there to eat.”
He craned his neck and looked over her shoulder, “I was sure I left cheese in there.” He took another step forward.
“It’s all moldy.” She said softly into his ear.
He looked back into her face, his eyes meeting hers in a smile, “What? That’s the best part.”
Her eyes became wide pools as she said softly, “That’s disgusting.”
The smile slipped off of his face as he angled his nose out of the path of hers, “I usually eat out anyway.”
She brought her mouth up to meet his and made a small noise at the contact. A shock went through Mr. Puffins as a soft wetness invaded his senses. Unable to resist after a few seconds, Mr. Puffins wrapped both arms around her shorter, plumper frame and crushed her toward him and pressed his mouth deeper into hers. She complied willingly, her arms drifting upward and encircling his neck, one leg hiking slowly up his thigh.
‘Oh Amanda…’ his mind moaned as he slid one hand down to her buttocks. His mind paused, ‘Wait, this isn’t Amanda. This is that psycho that just dumped all of my liquor.’ Mr. Puffins’ ardor cooled and his grip slackened but hers strengthened. She broke the kiss to plant another and another, then kissed beside his mouth, his chin to his neck. Mr. Puffins smiled to himself as her kisses tickled his neck. He knew exactly how to calm her down. He leaned toward her ear, gave a loan moan, and whispered,
She froze and Mr. Puffins forced the smile off of his face. He left his hands lightly caress her back and she pushed them away and stepped back, not meeting his eyes. Mr. Puffins watched her disappointment with a burning glee; now she knew how he felt about all those broken bottles. Then his hardened heart knew of a way to get rid of her.
“I think maybe you should go, I can’t help but think of Amanda whenever I think of a woman…in that way. And I’m sure I made you think of Theodore.”
“Actually, you made me think of a wet seal that licked me when I was four years old.” She closed the refrigerator door. Her voice was flat. “Really, Gene, did you kiss absolutely no one in the last ten years?” she turned and looked at him with one eyebrow raised. He was flabbergasted. “Well, you seemed to like my wet seal kiss! You didn’t stop with the one.”
“I was trying to improve the whole sloppy situation. Is that the way you kissed Amanda? Goodness knows we all like our own thing. She must really have been in love with you. She might not be that impressed now though. That’s really something we should work on before the meeting.”
“Meeting?” Mr. Puffins chose not to acknowledge how Amanda might have taken his kisses since she’d never had them.
Chrys walked past him back into his small living room. “Yes, I’ve set up a meeting for you with Amanda in 3 weeks. And I’ll need every second of those weeks to get you fit to be seen.”
“What are you talking about?”
The smile that Chrys flashed made Mr. Puffins uncomfortable. It said that she intended to change much more than just his drinking.
“There’s no need to look afraid. In three weeks every woman within ten miles of you will want you, just like when you worked at PWS.”
Mr. Puffins squinted his eyes, “What exactly do you get out of this?”
“I told you. I get Theodore Roach.” She was no longer smiling and her voice was hard. Chrys did indeed sound as though she wanted Theodore Roach, but not for romantic reasons. That was intriguing.
Mr. Puffins folded his arms, “Just what are you planning to, ah, improve about me?”
Chrys faced him squarely and looked him up and down with her hands on her hips, “Besides stopping the flow of alcohol, you look little thin; you need fattening up. A different suit of clothes, maybe a haircut. And of course, we need to work on your kissing.”
“You intend to feed me, dress me, and kiss me daily?”
“Something like that. Will you agree?”
“No.” Mr. Puffins snapped. He grabbed her by the arm and pulled her to his front door. “Get out.” He tossed her through the opened door.
“But love is waiting…!”
“Shut up! I don’t want to hear anymore of your nonsense about fighting for love or second chances or anything. You’ve played up to my loneliness for way too long! I haven’t believed a word you’ve said since you told me you were in love with Theodore Roach. I don’t know what any of this is all about but I’m sick to death of your lies. You bust up all my booze, the least you could do is keep me entertained with the truth. You! Miss I-can-barely-stay-in-my-clothes-but-I-like-to-act-like-a-nun, you want to teach me how to look. You want to feed me, dress me, and teach me how to kiss! You?! You liked that kiss in the kitchen, admit it. Admit it!” Mr. Puffins had been shouting and gesturing wildly and ended with a sharp pointing in Chrys’ face. “Admit it!”
She stared at his finger with a twisted mouth. “Alright. I liked it.” He voice was low and flat but he heard it clearly. He lowered his finger and straightened his appearance. He felt quite wild. It took a moment to swallow the delirious laugh of triumph that came into his throat. As he smoothed his shirt, his breath came more easily and he felt more himself, “Be honest now, there is more to all of this than lost love, isn’t there?”
“There is more.”
Mr. Puffins nodded with satisfaction and put his hands in his pockets.
“Please, Gene, I’m hungry. Take me to dinner. Some place nice and quiet where we can talk privately.”
Love refuses to give up
There were summer classes at the Platt School for Boys. Mr. Puffins’ class was available year round and every student always had his course at least once during the year. During the summer all the miscreants and rejects congregated there and took turns trying to enliven the deadpan teacher. Monday morning was no different, only…Mr. Puffins didn’t seem to react, not even in his condescending, cold manner, to any jibe, prank, wrong answer, anything! And that day was a test day.
Most teachers, having a heart, might postpone a test due to the traumatic nature of the passed weekend, but not Gene Puffins. He’d stumbled in as usual, bleary and mumbling about getting ready for the test. Some boys had begged to be given a break, not having had time to study due to the many imagine injuries from the passed Saturday. But Mr. Puffins didn’t respond, didn’t acknowledge one word, in fact he didn’t even look at them. They did look at him, though, and saw he’d been drinking too much the night before. So they resorted to talking extra loud, slamming books on the floor, causing as much auditory noise as possible, all to no avail. Mr. Puffins didn’t so much as shrink from the noise unconsciously. It was as though he were embracing the pain. One student got a brilliant idea and opened all of the blinds in the classroom, flooding the space with light. Mr. Puffins paused only momentarily as if forgetting what he was doing then resumed bringing out the test worksheets.
He ordered desks to be cleared then handed out pages before the task was completed. Some boys did not clear their desks at all but watched with fox eyes what would happen. Mr. Puffins only sat down. The naughty boys opened their books and began to consult them for answers, sending nervous glances to the head of the room. Mr. Puffins merely sat staring at them all with a bland look, saying nothing, showing no emotion. More boys pulled out books and flipped through, happy at a chance for absolute excellence on at least one test in the class. Though they brazenly searched their books for answers and a few bravely whispered to one another, trading answers, the noise never rose above the rustle of paper or occasional whisper. There was a general hurried satisfaction rippling through the room; this was going to be the best test for all of them.
The knock on the door was soft but everyone heard it, except for Mr. Puffins. He kept his eyes blank staring at his students. The knock came twice before one of the boys ventured out of his chair to open it. To his and the entire class’ surprise, in walked a curvy woman. She wore a tight shirt and skirt of marching red and lime green, if two such colors can match, and she seemed to make it work. Her hair was piled up on her head and a cascade of brown curls toppled down the back and both sides of her head. She had no bangs but a fine forehead that would have shown the boys she was a sensitive soul, had any of them been looking at her face. She had a busty chest and that is where all eyes stuck. She wore sunglasses but she took them off when she entered, not that anyone noticed. She glanced nervously at the stunned boys in the classroom and then the statue sitting at the desk at the head of the room.
“Mr. Puffins? Gene?” Chrys Trickum called softly.
The sound of a soft feminine voice pulled Mr. Puffins from his dreary depressive thoughts and as if in a dream, Mr. Puffins slowly turned his bloodshot eyes to her. She skittered over to his desk, bouncing a little and casing a few gasps with her quick movement. Mr. Puffins rose slowly and adjusted his clothing.
“Ms. Trickum. Good morning. I—I wasn’t expecting you.” He put on as kind a smile as he could.
It was then that one of the boys noticed Mr. Puffins, and how the pretty bouncing-boobed woman got him to do more than mumble or grunt. He pssted another boy who shoved another boy and so on and so forth. Soon the whole class was delighted to see a faint coloring to Mr. Puffins’ face.
A balled up piece of paper sailed through the air headed for Mr. Puffins’ head. The middle aged, hung over man caught the wad just before contact. Mr. Puffins turned and said,
“Jimmy, meet me after class.”
There was an appreciative murmur through the class.
“That’s enough. Get back to your open book test. You have twenty-five minutes remaining.”
Mr. Puffins returned to smile at Chrys,
“I am very glad to see you again, Ms. Trickum. Ah, now is a bit of a bad time…can I meet you at a different time?” he said.
“Oh yes, of course, I am sorry. I just had to see you again. How about noon at your cafeteria? That is your lunch time, yes?”
“Yes, that would be fine.” He nodded and smiled widely. She briefly touched his arm and said, “Thank you for seeing me.”
She jiggled over to the door then waved to the boys, “Good luck!” and she was gone.
For the rest of the morning Mr. Puffins was snippier and snappier with an undeniable flush to his cheeks.
Mr. Puffins and Ms. Trickum met in front of everyone, shocking faculty and students alike. The passing stares and stopped whispers weren’t hidden and caused Ms. Chrys Trickum to glance at the gawkers momentarily. Mr. Puffins did not mind in the least; he had work to accomplish and he was determined to do so.
They sat at a back corner booth out of the way of all foot traffic (though everyone found reason to blatantly walk slowly by the booth and stare). Though out in the open, the corner still afforded them some privacy and Mr. Puffins was sure to keep his voice gentle and low. Their words could not be overheard, to everyone’s dismay. There were some who were so insistent on knowing, that they devised a way to find out.
It was an elaborate plan built by the nosy little boys concerning a hairbrained distraction in attempt to get the conferencing couple up and away from the table just for a moment.
Jimmy Stalwart, who was already in trouble for having thrown the wadded paper, volunteered to sacrifice more of his freedom by perpetrating the distraction. His brilliant plan consisted of pouring a pitcher of water onto Ms. Trickum’s bosom by some strange walk-by accident. He was to dump, give quick apology, and run. He was a tall gangly thing and thought he could give Mr. Puffins a run for his money. His mistake was being unaware how the sight of wet breasts in a tight wet shirt would affect his ability to run. He splashed the poor unsuspecting woman, began his apology, but one glance at her glistening cleavage froze his voice and feet. Mr. Puffins rose sharply from his chair, grabbed the unmoving, stammering boy by the back of the shirt collar, and lifted him from the floor.
“Jimmy.” Mr. Puffins said Very Sternly and he shook the miscreant slightly with a grimace.
“Ms. Trickum, I will get you a towel directly.” He left, dangling the boy in front of him.
The distraction worked as a distraction, but left the woman sitting in the booth. The boys regrouped and replotted. A mass of them grabbed a mess of napkins and went to the table where Chrys Trickum dabbed fretfully with her own lonely napkin. The group crowded the table, unnerving Ms. Trickum somewhat, as they did not speak, only handed her napkins one by one. The silent offering lasted two to three minutes, giving little Jeremy Dithers (aka Mouse) time enough to crawl on the floor on Mr. Puffins side, to crouch at the far end under the table of the booth.
The entire faculty, who had been watching the proceedings, saw all of this, of course. Being just as nosy as the boys, the administration decided to allow the boys their “prank” then would capture them afterward and grill them about the secret conversation. In the meantime, all adults turned a blind eye and pretended intense interest in meatless tacos.
The mass of eerily quiet boys moved off as one just before Mr. Puffins came back with four fluffy towels. Mr. Puffins watched the small group synchronizedly sit at a table and stare back at him with very large eyes. Mr. Puffins narrowed his eyes at them.
“They didn’t…do…anything, did they?” he asked Ms. Trickum without taking his eyes off the boys.
“They piled napkins in my lap. In silence. I don’t trust those boys. They seem rather slow-minded and prone to mischief. It’s quite a dangerous mix.”
Mr. Puffins smiled down at Chrys Trickum and handed the towels to her.
“Ma’am, I must warn you. I will be forced to fall deeply, madly in love with you if you say anything like that again.”
Chrys giggled and dabbed away the water on her exposed neck and cleavage.
“Seriously, though, Ms. Trickum…”
“Please call me Chrys.”
“Chrys, I am very sorry for their behavior toward you. I don’t know what Jimmy was thinking. Perhaps it was love at first sight. Boys do quite stupid things when they like a girl. Last summer one of the boys saw a girl in town that he took a fancy to. Instead of simply telling her, he chased her around throwing small pebbles at her. She tripped and broke her arm, delicate little thing. Her parents almost shut the place down; they were pretty high and mighty, burning hundred dollar bills to light cigarettes. But the girl begged them not to. Appears the girl had a thing for the boy too. I believe they write each other letters now.
“Strange, boys do stupid things to try to impress girls and girls encourage them to do so. I don’t know who’s dumber.” Mr. Puffins began to muse moodily over his cold lunch.
Chrys watched him for a minute, as he slipped into angry silence. She wrapped a towel around her shoulders.
“We all make bad decisions. Love is an excellent reason to forgive and carry on.” she said. He lifted tired eyes to her.
“Have you ever been in love, Chrys?”
“Deeply. He didn’t even know I was alive. But I won’t give up on him. And I won’t let you give up on Amanda Sloan. Love is always worth fighting for.”
“Is that right? And this oblivious lover of yours, where is he now?”
“He’s trying to convince someone that doesn’t love him that she does love him.”
“And who is he?”
Mr. Puffins straightened up completely in his chair, “Is that right?”
“But she doesn’t love him; she loves you. Do you know they are always on the verge of getting married—have been for years—YEARS!—and then she always cancels at the last minute?”
“They are still engaged?”
Chrys slowly shook her head, “Not anymore.”
They sat in silence and stared at one another. Mr. Puffins leaned toward her and said gently, “Chrys, I can’t guarantee that he’ll notice you just because I get Amanda back.”
Chrys waved a hand and laughed outright, “Oh, don’t worry about that. I know how to get a man to notice me.” She pushed up her breasts and he turned away his eyes with a small cough. “Yes, well…”
He looked back at her wide-eyed.
“Is it my imagination, or are your eyes bloodshot?”
Mr. Puffins lowered his gaze back to his plate. “I did not sleep well last night.”
“Yes…and you have a scent…a slight smell of alcohol about your person…”
Mr. Puffins did not reply but pushed food around his plate.
Abruptly Mr. Puffins looked up and asked, “Exactly how did you come to know Theodore Roach anyway?” It was obviously a diversion, but Chrys’ stuttering made his curiosity rise.
“Well, he came to the offices pretty often, as you know. I saw him, and, well, uh, most girls were pretty batty over him, you know? And-and-and I am a woman, just-just one of the girls that is, uh, highly influenced by intelligence, good humor, tall, commanding stature….”
“Theodore was five foot six. I’d hardly call that tall or commanding.”
“He, ah, he did command people a lot.”
“Granted. But he certainly wasn’t gracious or kind about it. Only fools like me think something like that was important. I always thought my great personality would get me noticed, appreciated.” He snorted and looked back down at his plate, “Girls don’t like nice guys though, do they?” he dismally continued to bully his food with a pristine fork.
Chrys leaned forward, put one hand on his lax hand that lay beside his plate. Her soft gaze caressed him as she spoke gently, “There are women who would love to take you into their arms, hold you, and never let go.”
With a sardonic smile Mr. Puffins glanced up at her and did a double take at the warmth emanating from her. His pink eyes widened a little, the sarcasm slipped out of his face, and he sat up fully as he regarded her.
Chrys coughed, let his hand go, and leaned back, then said quickly,
“And Amanda Sloan is one of those women.” She readjusted her towel, which had slipped off her shoulders, as she readjusted her face to look cooler. His own seemed calmer, his eyes hooded. Feeling safe, she looked him in the eye again,
“That is why I am here. Because I believe love deserves a second chance and you deserve happiness. Are you happy, Mr. Puffins?”
“Call me, Gene.”
“Are you happy, Gene?”
“No.” his admission was short and clipped but Chrys did not register any extra anger about it. His face was still calm and guarded. He raised one eyebrow slowly and spoke in a measured logic, “With all your concern for me, it is a wonder you did not fall in love with me instead of Theodore Roach.”
Chrys Trickum’s face filled bright red and she could not keep from swallowing loudly.
“You and I, uh, we…there never was a chance, ah…” Chrys fumbled for words. She diverted her eyes in embarrassment.
“I’m just messing with you, Chrys.” She looked up to see a wide smile on Gene Puffins’ face though his eyes were still hooded. Chrys laughed nervously trying to calm her racing pulse. Her mind rushed around its corners looking for a topic in her favor. Due to her own discomfort, the question she decided to ask came out harsher than she intended.
“Are you an alcoholic, Gene?”
The smile left him and his face closed completely. Chrys waited but he simply didn’t answer. She opened her mouth after a minute to speak, but a small sneeze, coming from neither of them, stopped her. Mr. Puffins frowned then sighed and blinked slowly. He looked under the table and pulled out a little boy rubbing his nose.
“Jeremy Dithers.” Mr. Puffins growled at the terrified little boy.
“Sir!” the child squeaked. His eyes were impossibly large and pleading but the effect was lost on Mr. Puffins. It was not, however, lost on Chrys. She put her hand to her bosom and felt compelled to defend the snooper from the menacing Mr. Puffins.
“Oh, I’m sure he was just…curious…”
Both pairs of eyes looked at her, one angry and dissatisfied with her reasoning, the other pair large and grateful.
So grateful was little Jeremy Dithers that he blurted out to Chrys,
“Mr. Puffins is a terrible drunk, miss. He’s hung over two to three days during the week and always on the weekend. He’s mighty bad off and could use your special help…if you got any.”
Mr. Puffins would have immediately snapped Jeremy’s neck like a twig had the lady not been present. So he got up to go do the deed in private. To his chagrin, Chrys got up with him and followed him out of the cafeteria. Just outside the lunch room doors Mr. Puffins dropped the little vermin on the ground. The boy began to run off but Mr. Puffins warned, “I wouldn’t do that if I were you.” And Jeremy stopped. Presently one of the administrators walked out to ‘find out what was going on’.
In clipped tones Mr. Puffins told the VP that the boy had hidden under his table with the intent on spying on his conversation with Ms. Trickum. Ms. Trickum begged mercy for the boy, he couldn’t have meant any harm. Mr. Puffins look at curvy Ms. Chrysanthemum Trickum and decided he would hate her for the rest of his life. Ms. Trickum caught his glance and understood its meaning. She sent one of her own but it was impossible to read. The vice principle was apt to agree with Mr. Puffins that the boy needed strict discipline (though Mr. Puffins hadn’t said anything of his sentencing yet) and the shorter, fatter man grabbed poor Jeremy Dithers by the arm and pulled him in the direction of the main administrative building. The vice principal threw a casual apology over his shoulder to Ms. Trickum but was much more anxious to get that young man to his office for a stern talking to. Mr. VP was certain the boy could enlighten all of the faculty as to who the curvy woman was and what she wanted with Mr. Puffins.
Mr.Vice Principal was desperate for scandalous information on Mr. Puffins. That morning there was a newspaper article about the Motivi di sole restaurant tent fire concerning all of the boys. The school needed to blame the irresponsibility of the entire incident on Mr. Puffins before the flood of parental calls came in after getting wind of the happening. The faculty already knew to disclaim any knowledge of Mr. Puffins taking the boys out all by himself. They knew of the trip, of course, but Mr. Puffins was to have arranged the details all on his own…but the school needed solid bad behavior from Mr. Puffins that amounted to more than drinking in excess when off duty.
Mr. Vice Principal shook little Jeremy around til his teeth rattled. The story that came from the boy’s mouth was hardly helpful to the school’s plight. A vague love story was no credit to anyone, not even Mr. Puffins. The man ought to be embarrassed to be discussing such things as love and that fighting for it nonsense. There were much more important things to discuss, money to be made, and he and his eccentric girlfriend needed to find other times-and more appropriate places- to be romantic. The vice principal was so disgusted that he sent Jeremy Dithers on his way without even a lecture.
Mr. Puffins was eager to end his acquaintance with Ms. Trickum since the curvy muffin had dared mention his current love: alcohol. Sure he would have loved to reclaim an old lost love, but the thought of having to give up his more giving amour, Lady Jack Daniels, repulsed him. What was Amanda Sloan to him anyway? His relationship with her had only caused pain. His affair with Lady Jack healed all wounds. What maniac would give that up?
A whisper at the back of his mind said: you would.
He did not want to remain a drunk until the day he died.
The thought was the truth but even as it was realized he felt a strong thirst. He needed to quickly get to his bungalow for an afternoon delight.
Oh, that’s right. Ms. Trickum. Ms. Fight-for-love-that-ended-ten-years-ago-Trickum. Ms.-I’m-in-love-with-a-Boob Trickum.
Mr. Puffins turned his full attention to Chrys and gave a wide smile. He did not want to continue the conversation but instinct told him if he played good he could probably get away faster. He glanced at her soaked outfit. That one pitcher of water had wet her up good. Her lime green and red shirt clung to her and he could see the outline of an overly full brazier. Her tight lime green and red skirt was tighter and he could see a frame of underwear, bikini style. Mr. Puffins wondered if he played perverse would she run away faster. She had looked at him at the table with such interest. Would she run or would she invite him to meet her friend in the tight bikini?
“Yes, Chrys?” he replied absentmindedly.
“Do you want more?”
Mr. Puffins’ eyes widened and he looked left and right before leaning in and saying, “Well, honestly, yes, I do.”
Chrys walked very close to him and took both of his hands. She looked up into his eyes and he admired her deep sea green sincerity.
“Alcohol is not going to give you more.”
Immediately his warm fuzzy feelings dispersed and he pulled his hands back. Chrys stepped closer pressing gently against him and grabbed both of his upper arms.
“Gene, please. I can help.”
“Can you get rid of the thirst?” he gave a lopsided smile down at the curly little baked good with deep cleavage. His previous thoughts nudged him and his desire for a drink egged him on. His next class was not until two. If he hurried, he could get a full hour to drink. He leaned down to her ear and whispered, “You have very nice breasts.” He put one hand lightly on her lower back and applied light pressure.
She didn’t move.
He strengthened the pressure and continued, “And you have a very nice, round…”
“Mr. Puffins!” came the warning shout of a faculty member.
Mr. Puffins straightened immediately and mortification washed over him. A very large, very wide-eyed, very deep breathing, and very silent group of boys had crowded around Mr. Puffins and Ms. Trickum. They stood still as statues trying to fuse their gazes with Mr. Puffins’ hand or his chest, earnestly wishing, for the very first time in school history, that they were he.
Mr. Puffins could feel the blood rise from his neck to his ears to his cheeks. He glanced down at Chrys but she stared downcast at his chest, a deep blush on her cheeks. He could do nothing but sigh. He’d not only given her the wrong impression (to no avail); he’d given every one in the school (he knew the incident was going to shoot around faster than the flu) the impression of…what exactly? He wasn’t sure what the students would think since Ms. Trickum still clung to his arms and had not resisted his…his clumsy idea at frightening her.
The faculty member who shouted from the back of the crowd had finally worked his way to the front and surveyed Mr. Puffins and Ms. Trickum severely.
“Mr. Puffins!” the short man said again. This shout said more than the economic teacher’s name. It said: Mr. Puffins, how dare you display such wanton behavior in front of these young impressionable boys! You should be ashamed of yourself—deeply ashamed. No one should be so exposed to such perverse behavior! Something, some discipline, should be done about this!
Another administrative personnel heard the shout and came to see what caused the call and the crowd. He, slightly taller and slimmer than the other man, peered at Mr. Puffins and Ms. Trickum with deep curiosity. Ms. Trickum was still holding onto his arms, unmoving.
“Mr. Puffins?” was the question which really conveyed: What’s going on here? Why are they standing here watching you? The young lady, is something wrong? I heard Mr. Tilly, he called your name. Is assistance needed?
Mr. Puffins only shook his head at the admin and ignored Mr. Tilly. He gently pulled Chrys’ hands from his arms.
“Ms. Trickum, under the circumstances I think it best we part for now.”
Chrys snapped back to attention and said to Mr. Puffin while looking him directly in the eye,
“Gene, I will visit you at your place this evening so we can discuss what can be done.”
She stepped back abruptly, causing the close circle around them to shuffle backward. She face a gawking pimply boy with a solemn face, “If you will excuse me.”
He moved to the side as did the person behind until she had a narrow corridor of young men through which she walked with quick dignified steps.
Left alone, the students lost all interest in Mr. Puffins, giving him only a slight glance before wandering away to find another student who had missed the spectacular beginnings of a mating ritual. Many were the grumbles about Mr. Tilly’s interference. They could have learned so much more! There was an even divide over how Ms. Trickum would have reacted. Was she going to slap him or embrace and kiss him? If such lame moves could work for the Gep…
Lunchtime is only a pause in the school day. Mr. Puffins had three more classes to torture with a test that would torture him with their whispered discussions of the lunchtime love scene. Mr. Puffins was sure to receive a lecture on appropriate public displays of affection at the end of the classes. Instead of being able to wash away the days worries with a thirst quenching whiskey or cognac, Mr. Puffins would then be subjected to another lecture from a source which he had not yet gotten used to hating quite so thoroughly as he did the other. Considering the mishap at lunch, Mr. Puffins decided it best to remain on campus, without a drink, and await his execution all afternoon.
After his behavior to her at lunchtime Ms. Trickum decided to come to his abode close to night time, alone! He nervously drummed his fingers during all three testings. What was she thinking? He bounced his knees. What was she expecting? He paced about the room. What was he expecting? A lecture, a lecture. Nothing but a lecture. He sat back down. She obviously intended to stop his drinking. He pushed his hands through his hair. But she couldn’t force him to stop. He chewed his nails and rocked in his seat. Unless she stayed all night. He got up, circled his chair, sat down, popped back up, and walked to a window to stare out at the rose bushes outside the window. All of the students in the afternoon classes failed the test. Mr. Puffins put on such a wonderful display of nervous antics and they all knew why. How could they do otherwise?
The administrative lecture held a surprise: a suspension. A 30 day suspension, due to his lack of supervisory skills the Saturday before which allowed for a near fatal fire and had completely destroyed parent’s trust in the school…as long as Mr. Puffins remained undisciplined. Within those 30 days the administrations would be considering his dismissal. Though it could not be proven, past behaviors had shown Mr. Puffins loyalty to be with the bottle instead of his place of employment. Though it was not evident, it was believed Mr. Puffins’ addiction may have come before the students safety hence he was unable to do what a B-rate actor did and save the children in his charge. It was noted that Mr. Puffins was seen with Ms. Tricky by a few of the students during the fire, talking and smiling. And today, in front of faculty and student body, Mr. Puffins had practically made love to a woman.
There had been parents in the room listening to the entire spill. Mr. Puffins knew that meant the words had been very carefully measured and weighed and he was not to show any fight to them. He did not. He played his part of red handed fiend and sat stonily silent. The parents were apologized to profusely and then allowed to leave prior to Mr. Puffins (with understanding that the flogging would continue once they were gone). At their disappearance, the principal plopped into his chair and took out two glasses and a sniffer of alcohol. Brown liquid poured paltry amounts in glasses. He handed one to Mr. Puffins,
“Gene,” he said after a tiny sip of drink (Mr. Puffins drank his down in one gulp and banged the glass on the desk). “You really should have told us about that fire on Saturday! We were blindsided by calls from parents today. We had to come up with something or they would have had the school shut down.”
“So I get hung out to dry for 30 days without pay.”
“Oh no, you still get paid.” The principal sipped his drink.
“But I lose my job?”
“Nah!” The principal finished his drink then sighed. “You need to wrap up that business with Miss Tricky, whatever it is…”
“Right, that’s what I said, Tricky. It’s not that I don’t understand the interest, I am a man. But we don’t need the boys seeing a lot of that kind of thing. It would devastate the towels and heaven knows there enough of a mess as is!”
The way things Were
Amanda Sloan had expressed very different feelings to Gene Puffins when he’d arrived at her home.
She’d received him coldly. He spilled his heart to her about his deep love for her. She remained cold, unmoved by his words. He told her of all of Theodore’s dealings with his downfall at PWS. She did not seem to want to answer, but at length she said,
“I already knew that.”
Gene stood shocked; it must have shown on his face.
“What do you want, Gene? A fairytale? You want the pretty princess to fall for the pauper? You want the rich king to be really evil to make the good pauper appear even more good? He is not evil and I’m not going to leave him for you.”
Gene stood silent knowing that she would be miserable. He could have argued that he was not a pauper. He could have said anything in warning. Instead he decided,
“He deserves you and I deserve better.” And he walked out, and left town.
Despite his bravado, he kept his eyes on the newspaper wedding announcements. Theodore Roach’s wedding would surely garner attention since so much money would be thrown around for it. The announcement never showed, not after one year, not even two. Gene assumed something must have happened to either put Theodore off of Amanda or put her off of him but Gene decided he no longer cared. By that time he was fully engrossed in becoming a drunken professor to young, stupid boys.
Return to things as they are
“That is all in the past.” Mr. Puffins brushed off his arm in absent dismissal. His eyes searched the crowd. The green tide was on the move behind Monty Spade.
“If you will excuse me, ma’am. I am not on holiday. I have work to do.” Without giving her another glance, he walked in the direction of the front of the building, cutting around the restaurant, hoping to reach the front before the tide. He made good time and was able to separate the boys off to the side, close to the buses. They complied without complaint, chattering amongst themselves about the exciting afternoon events. Some had actually gotten to touch Monty Spade and the actor had smiled at them. One smallish boy walked happily with a limp, recalling how their idol had tossed him away from the fire into a rocky patch of grass. He bled with pride.
Mr. Puffins bullhorned them onto their buses, marked starkly in black against the white: Plat School for Boys. He got onto the first bus when all was loaded and ordered the driver on without a backward glance. He pushed the entire episode out of his mind, including the fire and, almost horrific, demise of the boys in his care. He kept his mind perfectly still and quiet, determining to have an extra dose of alcoholic binge that evening to compensate for the irritation of his nerves. Nothing quite calmed the nerves like a numbing agent. He could barely wait for the sun to go down. In fact, he decided to drop the boys off and go directly to a bottle.
He had one ready for himself on his kitchenette counter waiting. There was a cola and lime to mix with the drink, but why dilute the medicine?
The hour and a half drive back was a long journey for Mr. Puffins but almost instantaneous for the boys. They traded stories about the day, embellishing with every telling. They worked hard on perfecting their storytelling abilities so that they would be able to paint an impressive picture of the circumstances for their parents. Never had so many been so excited about writing a letter home.
The buses arrived and relieved themselves of very happy occupants. Each went about his business with purpose; the boys to their papers and pens, and Mr. Puffins to his drink. No one thought to report to the school administration the day’s happenings. The bus drivers shook their heads and minded their own businesses.
It was early Saturday evening so Mr. Puffins had plenty of time to try to drown his insatiable thirst. He only managed to drink himself into a stupor within one hour and sat in a large chair mumbling snatches of conversations from bygone years, for the rest of the night refilling the numbing agent as needed. At approximately one the next morning his body could take no more and he threw up on his living room floor. He stared bleary eyed into the vomit for what seemed like eons and learned great wisdom from the lumpy, smelly liquid soaking into the carpet. Then he collapsed beside the pool into deep unconsciousness.
He awoke much too late to make himself presentable for the school chapel. He sat melancholy on his haunches smelling of vomited alcohol and knowing his behavior was going to forever curse him to damnation. He snorted as he grunted to get up and knew he was already living out his sentence.
The vomit stain was dry and still on the floor. He half-heartedly rubbed at it with a warm, damp cloth. Then it was abandoned, another addition to the pock marked floor.
He spent the day refusing the silent cry from his body to imbibe more medicine and make the pain go away. He refused because it was Sunday and he’d made the carnal mistake of missing church. He must flog himself somehow and abstinence was his most effective method of self-torture.
At night, still under self-inflicted punishment, he tossed and turned in bed, sober and fighting the voices in his head.
‘You had a shot with her.’
‘I’m not going to leave him for you.’
‘She harassed everybody to find out where you’d gone.’
‘What do you want Gene? A fairytale?’
‘She said she made a horrible mistake.’
‘I already knew.’
‘She needed to find you and tell you.’
‘I deserve better…
I deserve better…
I deserve better…’
Mr. Puffins sat up in his bed. What had he been thinking to dismiss his one chance at love? What does a middle-aged drunk really deserve, anyway, but death?
Everyone who had anything to do with him hated him or had nothing but contempt for him. And they all had good reason. He wasn’t worth anything. Amanda saw that…but she had changed her mind! She had loved him in spite of it and he’d not grasped at the one chance he had in the last ten years. Ten years! He’d lived alone and miserable believing all love was just a lie. And when his love had come looking for him he’d brushed it off his sleeve like dust from a passing car.
He could feel the tears welling in his eyes in the dark. He rushed out of bed to the kitchen cupboard and shakily poured a drink. Better to be intoxicated than alone and crying in the dark.
Things are they Are
Mr. Puffins forced his mind back into the present; the past memories being too painful to relive. He was suddenly acutely aware of light flowery perfume and Ms. Trickum’s bulging cleavage leaning toward him. His eyes modestly turned away. Chrys glanced into his slightly flushed face. She repeated her words slowly and clearly, unsure if he’d heard her over the excited crowd gathering around Monty Spade and shouting his praises about saving careless boys lives.
“I said ‘Amanda Sloan never married Theodore Roach’.” Her words were husky with just a trace of contentment. She looked further into his face with a smile, her eyes searching for a sign of happiness in his. To her surprise he turned cold eyes to her.
“I am well aware of that.” He said in the more regular calm and condescending voice of Mr. Puffins. Chrys felt the cut of the words and visibly gave a hard blink at them.
“Oh. I—I—I thought…”
“You were mistaken. She was not truly my type.”
Mr. Puffins straightened his back completely, towering over her in at least a foot. He returned his attention to the crowd around them, searching for the neon sea of green in particular. They all appeared to be moving toward the front of the restaurant. Monty Spade’s smiles were still wide and genuine but worn at the corners. Mr. Puffins was certain the actor was trying to make a get away. Perhaps he needed a cigarette to calm his adrenaline frayed nerves. This thought cheered a downward spiraling Mr. Puffins and he gave a small smile to himself. The middle aged school teacher desperately hoped the shorter man smoked and was rotting to death slowly from the inside out.
Chrys saw his small smile directed at Monty Spade and raised a brow.
“Monty Spade is quite handsome. I have a bit of a thing for him myself.” She commented politely. This startled Mr. Puffins into looking at her in surprise; he’d quite forgotten she was there.
“That so?” he murmured forgetting to add ice to his words. He looked at her curved lovely face and began to hate Monty Spade just a little more.
“Mm-hm. You’ll note I’m wearing an outfit from one of his nemesis in Forever Your Hero.” She opened her aviator’s jacket completely and proudly exposed a top just as frilly as the bottom of her skirt, only bringing further attention to her deep cleavage. She’d readjusted her cap and put on goggles, then put her hands on her hips, and jut out her chest, making her breasts bounce a little. Her face was quite stern and she obviously took her look very serious. Against his will, a smile spread slowly along Mr. Puffins mouth, starting from one end to the other. Her peacock display was more amusing than Monty Spade smoking his lungs away.
“What was the name of this nemesis?” he asked in an attempt to suppress a rising chuckle in his chest.
“The Fluffy Cock.”
There was a pause as Mr. Puffins eyes widened before he began babbling loudly hoping his words covered up his broad smile and that his words didn’t trip too hard over the undeniable laughter.
“Well, I must say I am really quite take, over taken, with surprise and the delight of it. Your outfit is really something. I thought that the moment I turned and saw you. No wonder I didn’t recognize you right now. Dressed as you are as a male villain…”
“The Fluffy Cock is a woman!” Chrys whipped off her goggles and looked affronted.
“Is it really?” Mr. Puffins asked in a very high pitched voice. “Well, who cares for gender appropriate names for villains anyway?”
Chrys snatched off her cap and curls bounced. Her eyes were narrowed,
“You are laughing!”
The fluffy little muffin looked so cute when it was offended that Mr. Puffins felt chastised enough to stop laughing outwardly. He straightened his face but it still held amusement.
“No, no, I was just…”
“Monty Spade isn’t gay, you know, so you don’t have a chance with him!” she snapped.
Mr. Puffins’ humor evaporated in confusion and he frowned, “What?”
“Monty Spade may be truly your type more than Amanda Sloan but you don’t have a shot with him. You at least had a shot with Amanda!”
Understanding replaced Mr. Puffins’ confusion with cold contempt.
“I am not a homosexual. And I never had a chance with Amanda Sloan, whether she married Theodore Roach or not. She made that quite clear to me before I left town.”
“I don’t know what she said to you before you left but after you’d gone she harassed everybody she could at PWS to try to find out where you’d gone. She told everyone that she’d made a horrible mistake and she needed to find you and tell you so.”
Background Part 3
Gene Puffins continued forward with his life but work had become stale. He no longer spent any time with Amanda and rarely did he spend time with anyone. He made quite clear to HR that he was no longer available to help new hires as his own schedule had picked up pace. He worked harder on his degree. Amanda pointedly avoided him. This was noticed by everyone. If she needed any simple worked done that could only be done by him she sent her assistant with details. She did not even communicate through email. Then Theodore Roach transferred his business to PWS and he began showing up to the office on a regular basis. The management happily welcomed his millions and granted his request to have his account handled personally by Gene Puffins.
Gene could not help but see Amanda then and deeply register her ignoring him. Theo even noticed,
“Wow! She’s pretty cold to you in the office, isn’t she? I mean, when she first started talking about you it’s like you could do no wrong. I even felt a bit jealous. I thought maybe she had developed a little thing for you, you know? But I had no idea your professional relationship was this professional. I was just a man in love, seeing fire where there was none, right? But she’s so distant, I don’t know how you get anything done. I can’t have a relationship with anybody and not talk—but I guess you can see that.” Theodore laughed and patted Gene companionably on the back. Gene gave a tight smile and began talking about taxes.
Then the straw that broke the camel’s back happened. Gene was going over numbers on Mr. Roach’s account and something was amiss. There had been double payment for his services when there should have only been one. However, Gene knew he had only received one payment. He went to the Payroll Services to ask for a copy for his last three months transactions.
The curvy woman with bright green eyes and wide smile happily fulfilled his request. She had chatted to him happily about nothing in particular but he was too distracted to take note of her name. He had been so busy ignoring her but pretending to listen that she had to touch his arm just to get his attention even though he had been staring directly at her.
“I said ‘Are you engaged’?”
“I’m sorry, I was thinking about something else. No, I’m not engaged.”
“Really? I thought they said Amanda was engaged. We were all invited to an engagement party in this department. Amanda is such a sweetie!”
Gene stared at the woman for a moment making her bright smile die away.
“Amanda is engaged. She is engaged to Theodore Roach.”
“Oh…” the word was drawn out excruciatingly slow. Gene took his paperwork and left.
According to the print out of his file, he’s only received one payment. Yet there were two subtracted from Theodore Roach’s account. When Gene reached his desk he received note that Pat Benton, the chief accountant, wanted to see him in his office. Gene left the print out on his desk and went to see Pat.
Pat and Green had been on friendly terms ever since Gene began work at PWS and Pat acted as his mentor. The two men had a great rapport, and before Amanda began occupying Gene’s time, they would have lunch together on and off to catch up and act as support for one another. It had been a few months since Gene had seen Pat. Now he was glad that Pat had called him in, he was interested in going over the discrepancy of Theodore Roach’s account with him. Gene walked into Pat’s office without greeting, as he had many times before, simply starting in on the conversation already in progress in his mind. Pat cut him off with one hand raised and a shocking question,
“Gene, have you been stealing from Theodore Roach?”
The questions caught Gene so off guard that he tripped, caught himself, then plopped down into a chair.
“No!” Gene said in incredulous confusion. His head was swimming and he stared wide eyed at Pat.
“I didn’t think so but that’s what all the uppers are thinking. Yesterday Theodore Roach went to an auditor to clear up what he says looks like a mistake on his account.”
“I saw today his count says he paid me twice but my account says I only got paid once. Why didn’t he come to me?”
“He didn’t want to insult you.”
“Right. It isn’t insulting to go to someone’s boss to show a mistakes you believe they made.”
“It is a large mistake and it has happened ever since he began with our company.”
“His records show double payment every month for the last three months.”
“But my account only shows one payment received each month. Where is the other payment going?”
“That’s what we’d like to know.”
The men sat staring at each other.
“You don’t seriously think I’ve been taking it, do you?”
“I don’t, no. But there are those that do. Look, we all know about your…attachment to Amanda Sloan and your need for funds to impress her but taking the cash from her fiancée is not the way to go about enriching yourself.”
“You don’t sound as though you believe I wasn’t taking it.”
Pat sighed and leaned forward, “Gene, sometimes love can drive a man a little crazy and he can do some careless things…”
“I wouldn’t use Theodore Roach’s money to impress Amanda. It’s unethical and down right stupid.”
Pat sat back and put up a hand, “I know, I know. But that money has to be found, Gene, and fast. Otherwise…”
But the money never was found. All signs pointed to payments made to Gene Puffins. They were quickly cashed. All under Gene’s name.
Theodore Roach prepared to take Gene to court and sue PWS. The lawsuit was dropped due to the pleading of his fiancée Amanda Sloan. She never once spoke to Gene of the account or the lawsuit and soon after she quit her position at Peabody Wilson and Signh.
Gene was allowed to resign due to his faithfulness to the company in previous years—and the firm wanted to keep as low a profile on the internal scandal as possible. It kept it’s professional reputation and Gene lost all of his. He finished his degree in economics, contacted his cousin that was starting a prep school for boys upstate, and packed up for a new life.
Gene was loading a moving truck when a sleek gray car pulled up beside him. The window of the car rolled down and to his surprise he saw a smiling Theodore Roach.
“I’m glad to see you’ve moving on with your life. I’m told you got a teaching position at a boys school in the mountain country. Good, good.”
Gene stared at the smooth friendly man in numb shock. The last few times he’d seen Theodore the man had refused to look in his eyes and was surrounded by beefy accountants. Now he stared at Gene warmly, happily.
“You know, none of it was personal. What happened between you and I. Nothing personal, really. I just had to tarnish that sterling reputation of yours and when you’ve got money, well, you can make people dance.”
Gene’s eyes grew wide with shock, all of the warmth left Theodore’s smile.
“She’s mine, all mine. There was no real anything between you two, you know. If there had been she wouldn’t have believed any of what happened.”
Then Theodore Roach frowned. It was the fist time Gene had seen him look malevolent and he picked up a packing tape dispenser just in case.
“I keep what’s mine. You don’t get to where I am by letting some little destitute nobody take anything that belongs to you.” Theodore leaned forward out of his window, “If I ever see you in this town again I will destroy you.”
The shaded window rolled back up and car drove on.
Gene watched the car drive off then finished packing the moving van. He got into the van and drove directly to Amanda’s house.
Background Part 2
Theodore Roach was a self made millionaire. He owned a mansion and a yacht. He had thick wavy hair and a zeal for succeeding. He spoke money a good deal of the time and Gene barely got a word in when Theo spoke. He would talk in long monologues about progress and the future. He knew he and Amanda were part of the future; all who weren’t interested in progress and success were not.
Amanda sat watching Theodore with adoring eyes; she was an avid fan. She nodded frequently at all her fiancée had to say and laughed quite loudly at his witticisms. She was in awe of the man and Gene could not understand why. They sat in a ritzy restaurant in the middle of downtown, used to exclusive clientele, for two hours drinking over-priced bitter tea and breaking molars on over cooked under sweetened biscotti. Gene was working hard at not being bored. He’d arrived earlier with Amanda. She came with him, otherwise he would not have been allowed entrance. Theodore waited for them at ‘his table’. The moment Theodore was in her sights, Amanda had eyes for no one else. Gene was immediately abandoned for the self important man in the expensive suit.
Gene could not complain of the man much; Theodore Roach was more than polite he was downright friendly, even likeable. He shook hands with Gene warmly and engaged him so deeply in conversation that for a short while Gene forgot Amanda was there. An abrasive laugh at one of Theo’s jokes brought her back to his attention.
Gene thought briefly of their own private moments of laughter. Her laugh was deep and rumbled gently in her chest. If she was really amused she made barely a sound and she cheeks turned bright pink. Gene looked at her across the table on Theo’s other side. She had her hand on her chest and she was giving and impression of a high titter. It was completely fake. Was she trying to impress Theodore?
Gene found himself disliking the man despite his powerful charisma. The conversation had become dry and brittle for him.
After the meeting, Theodore shook Gene’s hand warmly again and said how it had been a pleasure to meet one of the true masterminds at PWS.
“Amanda always talks about how brilliant you are. I was thinking of transferring all my accounting needs there. After meeting you I know that is definitely the thing I need to do. I didn’t want to favor the place just because my sweetie pie was there.” Theodore put on finger under Amanda’s chin, leaned forward, and kissed her softly on the mouth. A lightening bolt shot through Gene and he was too numb to reply to Theo’s happy goodbye. Gene watched Amanda watch Theodore walk away until he was gone. Mr. Roach didn’t turn around once.
Once Theodore was gone Amanda came out of her trance. She noticed Gene watching her and she blushed.
“Well, you met him…what did you think?”
“Why do you love him?”
“Why do you love him?”
Amanda folded her arms and looked a little irritated.
“Haven’t you been here for the last three hours? He’s really a great guy and he was more than nice to you. He’s pretty busy, too, but he was willing to meet you because I asked him to.”
“He’s really nice but it hardly seems like a reason to marry the guy.”
“No, he’s not a nice guy. You’re a nice guy. He’s incredible.” She snapped, “You’re just jealous because he’s managed to accomplish more in his life at such a young age and you’re just an accountant. Jealously isn’t attractive, Gene. It’s pathetic.”
“I don’t want anything he has…other than you.”
Amanda dropped her arms, “You’d have to work really hard to get where he is.”
“What does it matter how rich he is? Life is more than just earning money!”
Amanda laughed, a genuine rumble but it sliced him, “Gene, that’s what poor people say.”
“But what about love? Real love is not just admiration for someone’s success. Doesn’t genuine affection and compatibility mean anything?”
Amanda’s face softened and Gene moved closer, but the look quickly melted into pity and she slowly shook her head.
“I think we should take some time off from our friendship. You seem a bit…emotional.”
“It wasn’t my imagination.”
“What wasn’t your imagination?”
Amanda shook her head slowly again, “I need to go.” and she turned and left. Amanda Sloan did not pause or look back once.
In a moment Mr. Puffins’ mind raced back twelve years to his younger self, no longer Mr. Puffins, but just Gene. He was an eager accountant working at one of the biggest accounting firms in the world. Peabody Wilson and Singh had offices all over the world: clientele and employees of every nationality. He’d had the very lucky fortune to get a job there in the downtown district straight out of graduate school and he worked his way up the ladder the five years he had been there. At just the tender age of 30 he was close to becoming a senior accountant with the firm.
He was highly admired by all of the staff, admin upper management, and his coworkers. HR loved to send new accountant hires to him because he was the go to man for all knowledge and experience. There just wasn’t a kind more helpful man around. He enjoyed the fellowship with his compadres, as he called them, and working numbers was his avid hobby. If he wasn’t working on his own workload, or helping others with theirs, he was working on a degree in economics to better effectively advise his clients.
When the company had taken a publicity hit due to the faulty and immoral business practices of one of the senior stock holding accountants, there were to be massive cuts due to a crash in the bottom line. Gene had willing taken a pay cut and tackled extra clientele to help restore the reputation and honor of the company.
“One man’s faults should not destroy the alma mater of honesty and prudence from which Peabody Wilson and Singh sprang. One tiny spider poisoned the body but one million drops of blood will save it. Add your drop.” Those words, penned by an inspired Gene Puffins at church service one Sunday, inspired the rest of the company as they read it in the company wide email he sent out the next Monday morning. Thus encouraged, the company rose from near bankruptcy to being the number one company to work for.
Gene Puffins became more sought after for management than ever. When the new accountant recruits flooded in he was charged with the job of welcoming them all. Amongst the eager new group was Amanda Sloan.
Amanda had transferred from another firm and was no stranger to the business. There was little Gene could offer or say to Amanda that she did not already know. This dismayed Gene since the first time he laid eyes on the tall, aloof, efficient woman his heart exploded with an unnameable emotion. Gene had never felt such admiration and respect, coupled with attraction, for a woman. She was truly like no one. In meetings she initiated ideas that were practical and highly successful. She never complained about work load, clients, staying late, and never ever ever gossiped about coworkers. She was lovely within as well as without but held such a cool reserve and confidence that everyone stayed apart from her. Somehow she managed to move to higher management before Gene.
He was not angry or jealous of her but congratulated her greatly. They went out for drinks as his treat. Not a regular drinker, Gene became quickly intoxicated after two glasses of wine. Amused, Amanda took him home. Gene talked quite easily and happily about his hopes and dreams. He truly enjoyed every bit of his life and all that he did in it. He asked her about her life and she was considerably more subdued in happiness and enjoyment. She acknowledged than she had a good job and great coworkers but she paused and her face became troubled.
“But this can’t be it?”
“What can’t be what?” Gene asked confused.
“Life. This can’t be all there is to life. Working, earning money, saving, spending, working, earning money, saving, spending… doesn’t it feel like one big gerbil wheel to you?”
“Is that really all you do?” Gene snorted.
“What else is there…but it really feels like something is missing. It’s so empty, isn’t it?” She worked about his kitchen, looking for all she needed as she made him coffee. He watched her a moment then grabbed her arm suddenly. She looked at him, startled. He smiled at her in a dizzy, lazy way.
“You need to add a little life to your life.”
Amanda snatched her arm away, annoyed with him and at her own confession of dreariness. Gene laughed and walked slowly out of the kitchen and returned moments later wearing a ball cap, low over his eyes.
“Join the PWS league. We’re calling ourselves ‘The Client Stealers’.”
“’The Client Stealers’?”
“Baseball team. The company is putting one together to play against other firms for fundraising and just for fun. You should join.”
“For what purpose?”
“It’s not working, earning, or spending.” Gene spread his arms wide and gave her a wide grin. “It’s just living.”
Amanda handed him his coffee with all seriousness and wished him a good evening. She left quietly.
The next morning Gene went directly to her office and apologized in a very charming way.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to suggest you actually enjoy your life. It’s clear you enjoy your misery and one has to admit…” he looked around her office with a sharp eye, “it does appear to be taking your places.”
Amanda jumped out of her seat, incensed. “Anything I may have told you last night was under the depressive influence of alcohol! You, yourself, were hardly capable of coherent thinking. How dare you come in my office and insult me? I am your better. Now take your fake apology and get out of my office.”
They stared at each other for a moment, then Gene calmly closed her office door to shut out the curious ears that congregated by a nearby file cabinet.
“You may have a new office, a new title, and a few bucks more than you used to have but that does not give you power. And it certainly doesn’t make you better than anyone. I was offered this same position a few years back, when my new ideas weren’t so brilliant but more of a managerial threat. This is where they put the people they want to watch. Your new position is just to assure them you will do whatever they say and not make any brilliant moves that isn’t credited to them.” Gene spoke low and serious. “I love my job and enjoy my coworkers but in every office there will be politics. You’re a bit too new to know all of ours and you didn’t take the time to check out the trap before you jumped in it.” Gene paused to look at a photo she had of herself and a young man. He picked it up and examined it closer. “They don’t quite trust you, you know. You came with great credentials…from a rival firm. They aren’t really sure you won’t defect back to them, since you gave no solid reason for having left in the first place. Who is this?” Gene flashed her picture at her.
“My fiancée. Theodore Roach.”
“Hmm. Must be true love, with a name like Roach.” He put the picture back, then looked back at her, “Join the baseball team. Show a little more commitment to us outside of work. We’re due to play against your old employer in a couple of months. Might make management feel a little better about hiring you on if you physically fight against their archnemesis, your former boss. Show them you play for our team now.”
Amanda gave a short sigh and said shortly. “I can’t play baseball. I’m not an athletic person.” She looked a little ashamed of herself. Gene raised his eyebrows in disbelief.
“You’re in great physical shape! What do you mean you aren’t athletic?”
“I exercise, yes, but I’m clumsy and I have horrible aim.”
“All it takes is practice. Meet with me on Saturday mornings before the team meets and you’ll be fine.”
“Do you think I have nothing better to do with my Saturday mornings?”
“…No. What time should we meet?”
They agreed to meet at 7am on Saturday even though it made Amanda shudder to think of such a time. Gene signed her up for the team.
She found him running in place and full of sunshine that Saturday morning.
“Why on earth are you so happy and energetic? What have you been drinking?”
“I’ve been drinking life! And once you start drinking it you’ll be happy too!”
“I want to shoot you with an elephant gun.”
They began practicing swings. Amanda truly was horrible. She swung way before the ball reached her and with such force that she hopped forward a step or two and was repeatedly hit with the ball.
“Let it come to you. Stop leaning forward so much.”
After she was struck for a third time, she threw the bat down in anger.
“Stop hitting me with the ball!”
“I’m not; you’re running your body into it!”
Gene took Amanda to a nearby batting cage where the automatic machines’ balls pelted her much harder when she jumped into their path. After the second hit Amanda allowed Gene to come into the cage with her, surround her on the back, and inevitably refuse to let her thrust herself forward.
“I can’t hit, you won’t let me!”
“The ball is supposed to come in contact with the bat, not your arm, shoulder, or side. Just twist your waist to hit it, don’t pull forward.”
They practiced that way for a full hour, with Gene flush against her trying to get her used to not moving her feet but standing still and swinging the bat. In the end, Amanda complained,
“We never hit one ball and I’m extra sweaty since you were pressed up against me!”
“You didn’t hit the ball but at least the ball didn’t hit you either. Besides, we came close a few times.”
Amanda lifted the side of her shirt up to expose her toned laterals. Gene blinked then saw what she was trying to show him; she had two distinct circles, dark red, turning darker, on her side. Gene whistled low.
“That’s thanks to you.” She said.
“Oh no, that was the pitching machine. My mark is just the general redness of this entire area.” He lightly touched the larger pink circle on her side. She wiggled away from his touch when he circled a third time.
“Did I hurt you?”
“No, it tickles.”
The team met for practice and Amanda was declared the absolute worse player on the team. Not only did she leap forward to be hit by balls, she couldn’t catch flyballs. She simply covered her head with her mit and screamed. She couldn’t throw, somehow the ball would be propelled behind her instead of forward. And though she was good at running, she didn’t appear to know when to stop and was put out every time.
“I thought we had to run for home every time we hit the ball.” She hadn’t actually hit the ball but the ball hit her four times which, in pity, her team mates allowed her to walk. Instead she had tried to run for home. Every time.
She was quite battered by the end of the first team practice but Amanda was beaming with delight,
“I did quite well, didn’t I?” she said to Gene. Two coworkers stopped walking and talking and stared at her incredulously. Gene put an arm around her and walked quickly away before she could notice her teammates glare.
“And you’ll only get better from here!”
Amanda did get better, remarkably better, but she was still a bad player. Instead of getting hit by balls, she struck out every time. Instead of covering her head and screaming at flyballs, she simply moved out of their way and picked them up off the ground. Instead of throwing forward and pitching the ball backward, she turned around to throw away from the game and therefore pitched the ball forward back into play (unfortunately she couldn’t attempt to aim that way and it was often just tossed to someone lateral her). She was very pleased and looking forward to the game against her former employer and proving her worth to the PWS Client Stealers.
The game came and went. They lost by a landslide all with the help of Amanda Sloan. They went on to play nine more games against six other firms, two pizza parlors, and a retirement home. They lost all the games.
Truth be told, they all were horrible players, Gene Puffins included, but they couldn’t be told that. First in sales and service must also translate into first in intercompany games. But after the first three games Gene saw a pattern and, to keep morale up, he made sure everyone always looked forward to the after-losing party. At the end of the ten game season they were declared the all time best losers in the game. They were awarded honor seats beside the winning team of the season, at the all encompassing company banquet. The winners were The Dough Tossers of Tony’s Pizza Parlor. They silently agreed amongst themselves that youth and dexterity were on their side, making them natural winners. The Client Stealers quietly agreed that losing wasn’t so bad if it meant you didn’t have to take a job that paid only $10 a hour, in management.
Amanda thanked Gene heartily for his advice. She was delighted to have joined the company’s baseball team and come to be liked by her peers and trusted by her management. Gene laughed,
“The staff doesn’t like you and the management doesn’t trust you.” Amanda looked crestfallen but Gene cheered her,
“But that was just the first step! How about we discuss it more over lunch?”
From that point until four weeks before he resigned they shared their lunch together. At first it was to strategize the best company participation to get everyone to respect and trust her. Eventually that became a pretense as the two grew to genuinely enjoy one another’s company. There was not a company team or fundraiser that they did not join together. They facilitated programs together, won awards together, and thanked each other excessively.
The grapevine is an amazing human invention. Much information can be transported, anonymously, from one party to another without any direct contact ever being made. For even though two people can spend all of their time with each other sometimes they were too shy to impart the most important information to one another. Enter the grapevine.
There was an unseen force in the nonexistent relationship of Gene and Amanda: her fiancée, Theodore Roach. Although Gene had never met Theodore, and Amanda never directly spoke of him, besides the one time she’d given his name, the shadowy figure’s existence ruled the amount of time the two were allowed to spend together. Amanda always had to get back home before it got to late. When asked about passed time in activities apart from Gene, Amanda would always say ‘they’d’ had a wonderful time. At times, Amanda was unable to participate in an event because she had a previous engagement. What a mysterious sounding commitment that was: she had a previous engagement. It explained so much really. Why she could never be totally with him in mind and spirit. Why when her smile grew a little too wide and her eyes too star gazey she had to turn away. She had a previous engagement.
Enter the grapevine.
He said and she said. In the bathroom they thought she said. He always thought. She wouldn’t doubt it but they weren’t sure. When he talked to him on the phone, she told him. Finally everyone knew: Gene Puffins and Amanda Sloan were in love. The only ones that didn’t know it were Gene Puffins and Amanda Sloan. The grapevine decided to break the news to each in its sideways way. Casually mentioned in conversation and mock shock. ‘I thought it was the truth; everyone is talking about it!’
Their lunch was an uncomfortable affair. Both showed intense interest in their food and could barely look the other person in the eye. Gene decided to face the white elephant.
“I heard the strangest thing today.”
“Yes. It appears that people have been saying, that is, everyone thinks…”
“We are in love.”
They gazed at one another just a little too long. Amanda broke contact first.
“What did you say?” she asked distractedly.
“I said everyone thinks we’re in love.” Gene said low never once taking his eyes off of her. Amanda began to breathe deeply.
“Where did you hear that?”
“From a few different people.”
“And what did you say to them?”
Here Gene finally chuckled and looked down at his food again, “I told them you were engaged.”
“Is that all? You didn’t mention anything about your own, uh, attachments?”
Gene became serious again and looked up at her, “Well, they were right about me; I do love you.”
Unwillingly, Amanda drew her eyes up to meet his. Her eyes shone brightly and she trembled, a little. She looked down at her food again. “I am very confused.”
Gene lived with her confusion for three straight days. The he went to her office in the morning and demanded, “I want to meet him.”
“Your fiancée, Theodore Roach.”
Three hundred boys cannot fit into three buses but they can cram into four. Mr. Puffins rode the first of the four buses; he wanted to be the first on the ground as everyone else got off. They were all required to wear a neon light green t-shirt and ball cap. Mr. Puffins had the presence of mind to call ahead to the Motivi di Sole restaurant for easier corralling of the eager, energetic boys—and to just give the poor restaurant a warning that 300 under stimulated boys were headed their way for autographs.
For projection, Mr. Puffins carried a bullhorn, and he kept his eyes keenly trained on the bobbing, every moving tide of bright green.
The Motivi di Sole Italian Restaurant was a very well to do establishment with lots of very breakable glass. It was understandably nervous about having so many young energetic bodies near the dinnerware. The management concocted an idea: a tent was set up just outside the restaurant’s hall to hold the boys. Beside the tent was a line of tables stacked with plastic cups and iced water. Summertime in the mountains is generally a cool affair but the staff knew the boys’ sheer numbers would warm them to boiling. They prayed fervently the cool liquid would calm them some.
It was agreed upon by staff and Mr. Puffins that only a small about of students, say 20, would approach at the time for autographs. It seemed a bad idea to overwhelm the man with all of the boys at once. Mr. Puffins would stand with the boys for the autographs and a staff member would stay with the remainder, roughly 280+, to protect the restaurant from restless ideas.
On the third rotation, Monty Spade recognized Mr. Puffins and asked, “Just how many have you got?”
Mr. Puffins lied, “Oh, only a few more.”
Around that time the tent caught fire. No one is sure how the fire started or how long it took for the restaurant staff to notice the flames, but by the time it was addressed it was roaring out of control and the boys were in very real danger. Their danger was mostly self caused. To many boys the fire was just another toy and they began to tease and play with it, spreading the fire in the grasses around them. The news was brought to Mr. Puffins while he spoke to Monty Spade and the young actor reacted quickly. Just as in the movies, he moved quickly and decisively, jumping over the signing table, rushing out of the hall into the open to see the blazing flames. The foolish boys were still playfully causing small fires near the large one. Monty warned them away and they obeyed, amazed to see and hear from their hero. There were a few boys trapped near the tables under the soon to fall tent roof. Monty dashed into the flames, tossed boys out of the danger, and barely got out before the tent collapsed completely.
The media went crazy, as well as the boys. They all crowded around the hard breathing star. Cameras flashed showing Monty Spade being mobbed by the boys. A kitten materialized in the pictures somehow. Mr. Puffins watched it all with tired eyes. He’d followed after Monty Spade with considerable space allowing media and fans to push him further back. The boys hugged on the star with admiration in their eyes. He smiled down at them with patience. His smile for the cameras was picturesque. His good looks, his brave deeds, his millions…this man could have any woman he ever desired and Mr. Puffins stood there and coolly hated him.
The noise made about Monty Spade to the rescue was deafening but the words still came clear to Mr. Puffins’ ear,
It was his name and said by a feminine voice. It only occurred once and Mr. Puffins thought it was just his imagination, perhaps a memory haunting him from the past. The sounds of Monty Spade Praise refilled his ears and he dismissed his own name.
“Gene Puffins, is that you?”
There was no mistaking the voice that time; it was closer and had a bit of a smile in it. He turned his head to where the call emanated. A short curvy woman in an aviator cap and white and red spiral patterned glasses bounced toward him with a wide smile. She wore a leather jacket but Mr. Puffins still assumed it was woman; the chin was delicate, there appeared to be cleavage, and no adam’s apple was visible on the smooth neck. Sure, she wore a skirt that frilled at the bottom but that was no indication, there were unlaced combat boots. Mr. Puffins sighed within, why had society made it so difficult to tell the sex of a person? The person, looking more feminine than masculine, stopped in front of him. He faced (for simplicity’s sake) her with a wry smile.
“Hello. Do I know you?” he tried not to sound too condescending but his words were a little too calm and slow.
“You don’t recognized me?” she cocked her head to the side but she understood Mr. Puffins’ quick once over and small smile. She whipped off her spiral glasses and shook long curls out from under the aviator’s cap. Mr. Puffins genuinely hoped she was a girl since he found her attractive in a dumpy, little muffin sort of way. She refreshed her smile and stared up at him with ivy green eyes.
“We worked together at Peabody, Wilson, & Singh…”
Mr. Puffins’ aloofness evaporated and he tilted his head down and stared at her unabashedly. A wisp of memory flashed and showed him the same smile, same full bouncy curls, and bright green eyes. Mr. Puffins recalled feeling a moment of appreciation back then too. He had been in the payroll department gather information for something…
“Yes.” He said slowly, “You worked in payroll, right?” She nodded, extended her hand,
“Chrys. Chrysanthemum Trickum.” She smiled so widely that her eyes crinkled and she looked as though she were fighting not to shut them. Mr. Puffins, definite no one was watching them, gave her a genuine kind smile. She gave him her own long look over and then commented with satisfaction, “You look a bit ruddy here and there but you are aging well.” Mr. Puffins straightened up an inch or two.
“Yes, well, you look fine yourself.”
She heartily thanks him and offered a complimentary blush. She confessed to not being surprised at his preservation being that his past character was so meticulously healthy and not prone to excess in such as drinking or drugs. Mr. Puffins only smiled modestly and did not update her information. She assumed life had treated him well since his resigning from PWS.
“You certainly have a glow about you, rosy cheeks and all. Are you newly married?”
He was not.
There was no one. Chrys watched him for a moment then leaned forward and spoke up to his shoulder.
“There was a rumor that you’d left because of Amanda Sloan’s engagement.”
The smile slipped off of Mr. Puffins’ face and he focused his attention on the ground. Chrys moved a little closer to him, her breasts very lightly pressed to his arm. She strained upward to his ear.
“She never married him, you know.”
CAST OF CHARACTERS
Mister Gene Elijah Puffins was the economics teacher at the Platt School for Boys in the prestigious north county. He was spitefully known as ‘The Gep’ by the inmates. They constantly tormented him with pranks, incomprehensible jokes, and disrespect, with an energy only early teenaged boys can have. What irked them was the patience he bore their foolishness as though it were just his lot in life to handle idiots, coupled with a deep emotion felt, but never completely said, of pity mixed with contempt for them. At times he would stare hard at them with his large colorless gray eyes and murmur, “You have no idea.” Then coming out of his trance, he would continue with whatever task was at hand ignoring their jibes or forgetting that a piece of paper was taped to his back.
There’s something very disappointing about a taped “Old Fart’ on the back of a minimally old fart when he doesn’t care enough to remove it. Many of their pranks fell flat in the end and they just felt dirty for having tried. This only made them angrier and vow to try harder. They toilet papered his small bungalow that stood on the outskirts of the school’s expansive grounds. He didn’t remove any of it—not even after three fines and a threat from the principal. Only driving rains and a flash flood washed the wispy ghosts away from his place. They spray painted ‘Gep’ all over his gray sedan. He never had it repainted and drove about in the vandalized car as though he never saw the markings. The principal threatened him about this also (“We have a reputation to uphold Mr. Puffins!”) but the principal soon stopped.
The truth was Mr. Puffins was a superb teacher and hadn’t ‘lost a student yet’ as the school’s president remarked on Mr. Puffin’s record. No matter their attitude, or appearance of idiocy, Mr. Puffins simply did not tolerate educational ignorance. If a student did not appear to understand a lesson, Mr. Puffins would drill and lecture that student or students (as the boys, like most, tended to hand out in cliques) in and outside of class. He would find their lodgings on the campus and wake them up in the morning with lectures, lectures at mealtimes, sporting games. They weren’t even safe in the bathroom. He once lectured a young boy through a bad case of diarrhea. Seeing his calm tenacity, the boys picked up their books in his class and learned with all their might.
The Pratt School for Boys claimed to be a preparatory school but never specified what it prepared the boys for. It was prestigious, meaning it was expensive and bent toward snobbery, but due to its youth couldn’t quite reach it. It would have loved to have been nestled in the northern mountain trees for hundreds of years but it could only quietly claim ten years in a winery estate development. Mr. Puffins had been present when it first opened its doors, and perhaps that is why it tolerated his rather sad existence on its campus. There was a rumor that he was the president’s cousin and no one could kick him out on reputation alone. Regardless, the blip of Mr. Puffin’s presence did not mar the grandeur of the lands. The school was built on the hilly grounds of the Motivi di sole vineyard estate, just recently purchased by the current owner that got the 400 plus acres for a steal at three million dollars. The previous owner had gone bankrupt trying to fill the land with premade Italian villas for wealthy homeowners. It boasted the vineyard and villas as well as a seven star restaurant lost somewhere on the sprawling hills. The boys never saw any of these things just the campus laid neatly out before them with nothing but trees and open land.
Occasionally a boy would run away from school, intent on returning to the home that had abandoned him there, but within six hours he would come wandering back, thirsty and frustrated. For many, they lived in a well-hydrated colony on Mars and hope for escape was unlikely.
The boys had nothing to run from except work, discipline, and teachers that genuinely hated them. The purpose of working at the prep school was simple: money. Rich parents paid well to have their children removed from their care and put into a state approved institution that did not have the bad connotation of jail. In fact, many parents were congratulated for sending their innocent boy to the mental jailhouse and wouldn’t hear of it if junior begged and pleaded to come home. In love, they shook their heads at their weak child’s whining then threw the letter away without a response. ‘He’ll toughen up.’ they would say, and they were right. The boys, once sensitive and desiring some semblance of morals, would soon bleed their emotions away, rally together in a misery brotherhood, and denounce all morals as hypocrisy in action. It was in school they learned promiscuity to be the only true expression of sexuality and if one was truly brave and strong that promiscuity would be with one’s own sex. It was in school they learned the government was right, no matter what side spoke. It was in school that they learned that the only important thing in the world was money, and this they learned from Mr. Puffins.
Mr. Puffins, though intent that his students should learn, was not a pleasant teacher. He did not appear to care for the lost boys anymore than the rest of the faculty but he was consistent with his presence and opinion. He never failed to be present for class; for him there was no such thing as a contagious cold or inclement weather. He berated all of the students one harsh winter when the building had been buried in snow six feet deep. They complained of the snow drifts and he snapped, “Will none of you ever become men? What? No one had a shovel?” He cupped one hand and held it high, “My shovel was right here and I made it in fine. Come on, you can’t always expect servants to take care of you.” He put his hand down and said in acute disgust, “Money doesn’t make you strong; it makes you weak. I can only hope none of you actually apply the principles you learn in my class and you all become paupers.” The boys had been shocked by all the strong emotion in Mr. Puffins’ outburst that they only sat gaping, memorizing every word. The force of emotion was more than Mr. Puffins exhibited normally and he reverted back to his sighing passive aggressive drollness.
Normally, when Mr. Puffins shared his opinion it was with great condescension and much looking down of the large, sharp, thin nose. The boys hated Mr. Puffins’ looks, not because he was particularly unhandsome but his features were sharp, hawk-like. Even simple sentences like, “I see.” felt like a cut. He would make no comment when an answer to his question was correct, but if they were wrong…
“You would think that, wouldn’t you?”
“That, of course, is incorrect.”
“No, no, and again no.”
These were all said in a calm enough voice but his accompanying withering stares shrank them. At times he would say nothing at all and just give them the stare. That was when he was in a particularly bad mood or had been drinking too much the night before and had a hangover.
Mr. Puffins was a notorious drunk. He never drank during class hours or even in public but all the campus knew of his alcoholic binges on the weekends, sometimes on an odd Tuesday or so. His eyes were perpetually bloodshot with heavy lids, the tip of his nose was always pink. Due to his unrelenting way of tutoring students, many a young face had been breathed on with his alcoholic rank. Most drunks toddle about and slur words but Mr. Puffins did not ever stumble or slur. He would simply reek and speak much slower. Principal Rothchild insisted Mr. Puffins not show himself to the students in such a disgraceful manner but Mr. Puffins did not listen, and the principal soon stopped complaining.
“It does some good for the boys anyhow. Showing oneself drunk is disgusting but it does lower the chances of the boys trying to sneak drink, since it is Puffins. No one wants to be like him.” The principal reasoned.
To add to Mr. Puffins’ unpleasant smell was his unwillingness to change clothing on a daily basis. He had four suits that he would wear for the month, one for each week. He always smelled his most stale on Saturday evening when he still wore the same suit all week, stains and sweat marks all along with the drifting cologne of excessive alcohol. He was always at his best, cleanest and most serene on Sunday morning, when the suit was new and the alcohol washed away. Gene Puffins cleaned himself thoroughly every Sunday morning so that he could go and sit in the back of the school chapel, listen to the sermon, and sit with his eyes closed, head bowed until no one was in the place. The holier students and teachers simply ignored his presence, but the majority of the passersby wondered what the man had to pray about.
Mr. Gene Puffins was universally disliked by students and teachers alike and he treated them all with cold contempt. There were a few sturdy teachers that had threatened to physically do Mr. Puffins harm but it always came to nothing. By far, Mr. Puffins was the tallest of the faculty but gaunt and boney. He never stood up straight but walked with a shuffle and a slouch. Every society needs its scapegoat, the one on whom most of unwanted miscellaneous assignments went to. And since all of the faculty disliked Mr. Puffins and the boys, it fell on his shoulders to chaperone the boys anywhere they went. Both Mr. Puffins and the boys hated the arrangement. The boys hated to be seen with the angry skeleton and Mr. Puffins was very specific about rules whenever it concerned the boys. Mr. Puffins hated outings; there were too many people and usually too much light.
The Pratt School had a yearly trip to the beach, Mr. Puffins accompanying. Because they’d had a paper fight on the bus, Mr. Puffins forced them to only sit on the beach in their full uniforms, all in a row. There had been rumblings of outright rebellion but two loads of vacationing college girls tumbled onto the beach and set up a rousing game of volleyball. For the boys it was very rousing and they switched from angry mumblers to still statues patiently sweating in the sun. Mr. Puffins was pleased with their behavior, despite himself, and embarrassed at the barely dressed college students bouncing around the beach. Some were even quite flirtatious but, Mr. Puffins proudly noticed, none of the boys reacted to such wanton behavior. The boys were too stunned; they just stared. On more than one occasion, seven in fact, the volleyball slipped and slammed into a boy, knocking him clean over. The girls giggled all at once and crowded round the boy in sympathy. Mr. Puffins dutifully shooed the fast birds away. At the end of the beach visit, many a concussed boy happily stumbled onto the bus. The ride back to the school was quiet and contemplative. So, despite his presence, the boys enjoyed all outings. There were those that swore the Gep’s presence, painful as it was, actually improved their excursions. He was an extra stinky, dried up, complaining, old, good luck charm.
Whatever the case may be, the middle-aged teacher of neat morals and high alcohol tolerance always went on the field trips with the boys, and field trips were numerous since all the boys couldn’t go at once with only one man as chaperone. In one month during summer Mr. Puffins went to the beach twenty-eight times. He’d gotten sunburned badly because he didn’t tan well and had become dehydrated every week since he drank too much alcohol. It was the month of a volleyball competition, however, so the boys were in very fine manners.
None of the students or faculty were from the nearby small town of Panga Gruff, built around the main road of the same name. The town had a population of two or three thousand, depending on the season as there were many seasonal renters in the hilly country during the summer months. The town did not gain income from the Motivi di sole grounds and the boys had little interest in visiting. The town had little notoriety beyond country mountain village and being the birthplace of Montgomery Spackle, better known as Monty Spade.
Monty Spade was a well-known, well-admired film star that played in mostly sci-fi adventure blockbusters. Girls and women went crazy for his honest arrow good looks, boy-next-door manners, and his luscious hair at 37. Boys and men wanted to be him. Producers wanted him in their movies as often as possible. His hometown wanted his visits as often as possible, but he usually snuck into town, visited family briefly, and then snuck back out, all without one publicity shot for Panga Gruff. Mrs. Spackle, alive and well, chastised her son for being negligent of his own hometown.
“You tour and give appearances in so many places but you can’t show your face here? For shame Monty! Would it kill you to get Panga G a little business?”
Monty Spade did not want to show his face in the only town that knew him as Montgomery Spackle. Every time he stepped into the town, even covertly, time went backwards and he felt like the scrawny, pimple faced nobody he had always been. He was an action hero hack and thought sure the townspeople would crowd together and chant it at him. Unfortunately, soon after her first chastisement, Monty Spade now had only two choices: 1) don’t go home or 2) get attacked by his mother every visit. Publicly showing his face in his hometown became the choice. He organized a meeting with the mayor to organize an Organization of a meaningful group to support. There was a lot of phone calls and paper involved. Much head nodding and agreement. Yes, cancer was good, and so were orphans. Perhaps he could come in support of orphans stricken with cancer. It was settled. Monty Spade would make a spectacle going to his hometown, show his face, give out autographs, and then give a short lecture about the need to help cancer laden orphans in the mountainous countryside of Panga Gruff. There had to be at least two of them. For now. The fund raiser needed to be held soon, one of the orphans was gravely ill.
A whirlwind of media advertising went into affect. One of the top stars in the country was coming to town—but there was no hall big enough to house all of the fans and supporters that would show. It was decided the fundraiser would be held at the great hall of the Italian restaurant on the Motivi di sole grounds.
The boys at the Platt School for Boys were ecstatic. However, the faculty at Platt hardly saw reason for a fieldtrip to see a movie star. What would the administrators tell parents was the reason for the trip? No sensible parent would want their child to become an actor, so socializing with one was an absolute waste of time. The boys whined about the educational lecture to be given about terminally ill orphans in need. When this did not work, the boys resorted to normal tactics; they became a solid group of unholy terrors wearing down the faculty’s patience and raising the general desire to get the boys out, anywhere, to be rid of them.
Mr. Puffins saw the inevitable and drank a little heavier during the week in preparation. He had no love for movies or movie stars. The stories they told only encouraged false expectations and reinforced delusions. People like Monty Spade worked diametrically opposed to Mr. Puffins. The man never had a realistic job, nor did her ever spend wisely, in any of his films. All movies made a mockery of life and its true tragedies; comedies and romances were dressed in much drabber clothing and had less witty, straight-to-the-point lines in reality. Pain wasn’t pretty and didn’t turn you beautiful but coming from the view of the movie that was hard to tell.
The administration retracted their dissent a week before Monty Spade came to town. The boys began model behavior and study habits. Admin met with Mr. Puffins and described the circumstances to the tall, aloof man. The press conference/fund raiser would last three days with a chance of autographs on all three days. Mr. Puffins would not need to attend all three days to take the groups of boys. Since the trip was just an hour and a half away from the school, Mr. Puffins would be escorting a large group of boys alone. He would be given a cell phone in case he required back up. Luckily the event was occurring during the summertime when most of the students had been sent back home. He would only take the left-behinds, the ones that normally cause trouble (numbering only a little over 300).
Mr. Puffins only blinked. He was being sent to a crowded outside gathering to chaperone 300+ teenage boys with only a phone for help. He sniffed and sincerely hoped something horrible would happen to get the administration into legal trouble with all of the parents. Aloud he said, “As you wish.” in such a quiet and growling way that he conveyed his thoughts clearly. Regardless, the administration brushed off their fears and dismissed him.
The principal was certain everything would turn our alright and no parent would find out about this discrepancy in supervision.