Hansu sighs loudly and surveys the half-empty dance floor one more time.  She is finding her search for a suitable father to a child to be dull and unrewarding.  She has considered giving up but then her mind drifts to the scene in her bathroom that very morning.

Had she not discovered multiple gray hairs sprouting from her scalp?  The finest hint of wrinkles around her eyes?  Aging is simply not a reality she is prepared to face.

Hansu abandons the discotech and heads back to her small home at the edge of nowhere in Hidden Springs.  Though she has lived here for awhile, she never took the time to get to know anyone very well.  Her secret life, visiting and revisiting the Fountain of Youth, has made her paranoid and suspicious.  But she decides to let her guard down and tentatively enters a dating site online, in hopes of finding someone, anyone as long as he is fertile and willing.

After leaving multiple requests on the profiles of potential mates, she is pleased to receive a phone call first thing the next morning.  A stuttering, nervous voice on the other end of the line asks for her by name and proceeds to fumble through a long explanation about who he is and why he wants to date her.  Hansu responds with what she considers to be appropriate answers, trying to sound flirtatious but not desperate–even though she is starting to feel a little frantic without her magical, restorative waters.

At last she is able to get her suitor off the phone.  He has closed the conversation revealing his name and Hansu mulls it over.  Bert Alto, could he be related to the Altos from Sunset Valley?  She wonders if her brother Sigismund had managed to alienate his neighbors in some fashion, as he was prone to doing.  If this character, Bert, was in fact related to Vita, would harsh words travel between them regarding the Notorious family?  Because a little simple math would result in the discovery of Hansu’s true age and she didn’t want to scare this guy away.  It is a good thing they made a date for that very afternoon.

Hansu proceeds to the Diner and finds a comfortable spot to wait for Bert’s arrival.  She carefully surveys each man that crosses her path wondering if it could be him.  Suddenly she hears an annoyingly familiar tune–’Musicbox Simmer.’  She knows the ice cream truck cannot be far behind.  Sure enough, the sunshine yellow vehicle decorated with a mural of the treats for sale lumbers into view and parks right in front of her.  A man climbs out and Hansu is shocked to see he has the trademark Alto salt-and-pepper hair.  She considers bolting but time is ticking away for her–if this guy is the guy she is going to hook up with, so be it.  She doesn’t even hesitate but immediately walks towards him, her hand out and a seductive smile on her face.

They make formal introductions and a few stabs at small-talk but Hansu senses right away that Bert is painfully shy.  She isn’t sure what to say to loosen him up.

Hansu notices Bert is wearing a very expensive Simex timepiece on his arm.

“My goodness, what a beautiful wristwatch!  I’m surprised you can afford it, driving an ice cream truck,” Hansu says, her eyes twinkling.  She means it in a light-hearted manner and she hopes interjecting humor into their first meeting will ease the way towards quick romance.

But Bert does not seem amused.  In fact, he seems pretty shocked.

“I…I inherited it!  What are you implying, that I’m some kind of bum?”  He looks horrified.  Hansu realizes she has stumbled onto shaky ground with her lame attempt to be cute and hurries to make up for it.

“Did you inherit the ice cream route as well?” She asks, trying to sound sincerely fascinated by his career choice.  ”I’ve always wanted to see the inside of the truck, could you show me?”

Bert eyes her with doubt but Hansu turns up the wattage of her smile.  ”Pretty please?”  she says in a low tone that implies intimacy.  He falls for it and leads her around the back.

Before long, they are rumbling off in the truck, the repetitive tune chiming away and Bert blathering on about his life-long dream to make people happy with frozen delights at affordable prices.  They pull up in front of the Hidden Springs police department and within a few moments, uniformed officers and plainclothes detectives are lining up.  Bert reaches under the seat and produces a box of glazed donuts.  ”I offer them special, just for our boys in blue,” he explains with pride in his voice.

Hansu nods and fakes enthusiasm, telling him how clever he is.  She is thrilled to see Bert eat up her compliments, which she bestows at every opportunity.  She asks in detail about every aspect of his job and the truck and his customers.  Engaging a man in a conversation that virtually centers on himself will surely make the impression Hansu longs to make–that she simply cannot get enough of him even though they have just met.

Bert’s voice rings out strong and confident when he talks about ice cream but after awhile, they lapse into silence, the only sound the cloyingly sweet notes of the truck’s tune on an endless loop.  Hansu is not sure how much more of ‘Musicbox Simmer’ she can take and makes a big show of pointing out they have climbed the hills to Hidden Falls.  ”I love it here, it is sooooo romantic,” her voice gushing with enticement.  Bert pulls his vehicle into the parking lot of the viewing station.  ”I can’t leave it turned off for too long,” he apologizes.  ”But I’d love to take a quick peek.”

“Of what?” Hansu asks, her eyes locked onto his with a come-hither look.  Bert blushes furiously and with a twitching grin, takes her hand and leads her to the deck.  They look out over the verdant valley in silence and then Hansu grabs Bert into an embrace.  She can sense immediately that he is turned-on by her aggressiveness.  ”When can I see you again?” she growls into his ear with desire.  He giggles nervously and stammers something about tomorrow.  ”You’ll need to ditch the truck because I like to do the driving,” Hansu insists, her voice both forcible and provocative.

The next day, they meet again at the Diner, as early as Hansu can get herself together.  It is getting harder and harder for her to pull herself away from what seems to be excruciatingly harsh lighting in her bathroom and a mirror that mocks her rapidly aging face.  Just this morning, she could not help notice frown lines across her forehead and little etches in the skin around the corners of her mouth that were not there the day before.

So the minute she sees Bert, dressed in a chalk-striped suit with a loud pink shirt and garish coral tie, she virtually runs to grab his hands and tell him how devastatingly handsome he looks, how his taste in fashion has her swooning and his distinctive hair color makes him seem so distinguished.  Her date is so overwhelmed by her barrage of flattery, all he can do is shrug and thank her.

Hansu suggests they take a tour of a history exhibit at City Hall and Bert agrees.  ”I just love old things, don’t you?” he asks and she cringes, hearing the word ‘old’ and her mind flashes to the soothing, sparkling waters of her secret fountain.  How much longer can she wait to revisit it and rejuvenate herself?  Not long.  Once inside the venerable building, she pretends to be engrossed in the antique photographs that line the walls, showing scenes of the town as it was built up.  The tiny former post office, an ancient gasoline station, broken-down shacks where mansions now stood.

Bert is especially intrigued by a picture of a snack shack with a long line of customers at Hidden Falls.  ”I wonder what happened to it?” he says aloud.

“I wonder what’s behind that door?”  Hansu replies, pointing to what appears to be a storage closet.

“Maybe some kind of records or archives?”

She pulls Bert by the arm.  ”I bet someone who works here could answer your question.”  She opens the door quickly, shoves Bert inside, crowds in behind him and pulls the door shut.

Inside, as Hansu suspected, is a jumble of things that are being stored or simply forgotten:  stacks of unopened crates, an abandoned trophy case, dusty signs of businesses that no longer exist and holiday decorations.  Fortuitously, she sees a tri-folded privacy screen; in spite of his feeble protesting, Hansu leads Bert behind it and embraces him with a hungry whine.  He responds with a helpless moan and falls against her, nuzzling her neck.  ”We shouldn’t be back here,” he mutters, his voice thick with lust.

“What’s the matter, loverman?  Afraid we’ll get caught?”

Those seem to be the magic words because in just a few short moments, Hansu accomplishes her ultimate goal.  Over the sounds of Bert’s heavy panting she thinks she hears the faintest chimes and then her head is filled with a rush of swirling, magical liquid, calling her name, calling her back to take drink after drink of sweet cool water.

“Don’t give me that speech again about clean living and no stress.  I know, dear sister, that you have had a facelift.”  Lyssandra Notorious minces no words as she steps inside her twin’s modest bungalow.

“We’re fraternal twins, sweetest.  We don’t necessarily have the same genetics.  I just got lucky in the aging department.”  Hansu smirks.

“I’m not sure I’m buying that answer,”  Sigismund jokes as he settles into a dining room chair with a loud crack from his bones.  ”I look like your grandfather, not your older brother.”

“You look very distinguished,” Hansu assures him.

“Well, I’m going to take a long look inside you medicine cabinet before I leave,” Ariane declares shamelessly.  ”I imagine your secret weapon resides in there.”

Hansu gigggles.  ”I’ll never tell!”

The quartet sits in weary silence for a moment.  It has been a long day of signing legal briefs and listening to attorneys bicker over the future of the Notorious Talent Agent.  The family is grateful to have sold away their shares, as none of them were interested any longer in the world of fame.

“How about some coffee?”  Hansu suggests and everyone heartily agrees.

“So, fill us in on our nieces and nephews and your adorable grandchildren,” Lyssandra demands and Ariane and Sigismund are only too happy to report on their children Mariposa and Vereen.  When she gets to Sebastian, Ariane smiles a wide grin and turns to her husband.  ”Tell them about his promotion.”

“He’s a Colonel at the Air Force base!”  Sigismund gushes with pride.

“You should see him in his uniform, so handsome!”  Ariane adds.

“And their kids?”  Hansu asks, struggling to come up with the names of her nephew’s twin boys.

“Hewitt and Ferdinand aren’t living at home right now,” Sigismund begins.

“There were some problems,” Ariane explains.

“Their mother had to go back to work at her parents’ bar.  Mr. Hart was too old to continue to work and you remember Dorie Hart was a bit, well, off her rocker.  So that left Bebe to run the bar while they tried to sell it.  And that left Sigismund and I to mind the boys.”

“We had a lot of talks on discipline but nothing ever seemed to sink in,” Ariane continues.  ”And I do believe those boys are a bit touched, maybe something they inherited from Dorie.  Because they were continuously talking to themselves in strange little whispers that quite frankly, I found unnerving.”

“Hewitt would grow so frightened when I confronted him about the whispering, like he had a secret he didn’t want me to find out.  He would try to talk to me…”

“…and then claim to be sick to his stomach.  And if Ferdinand heard us discussing it, he would go ballistic!”

“The backtalk was worse than the whispering.  I just couldn’t take it anymore and Sigismund really had the best solution when we had the same difficulties with Sebastian so long ago.  Boarding school.  But we didn’t send them to Military School.  We tried the Peace and Love Community School instead.  They really thrive there and they are completely different young men now, really mature and quite well-mannered.”

“We couldn’t be more pleased with the results,” Sigismund chimes in.  ”So, speaking of children, am I ever going to be an uncle?”

Lyssandra rolls her eyes.  ”Give me a break.  We’re too old, well at least I am…can’t speak for Plastic Face over there.”

“I find it ironic, darling sis, that you illustrate children’s books for a living but have no interest in the little tykes yourself.  But the maternal department must be where we do share genes because I have never had any desire to be a mother.  Now, as far as my anti-aging secrets go, take a quick look, Ariane.  I hate to run y’all off but I need my beauty nap.”

As soon as Hansu is sure her sister, brother and sister-in-law have driven far enough down the isolated dirt road she lives on, the woman changes out of her dress and into a loose linen tunic and then enters the hushed fir forest behind her home.

The farther Hansu walks into the quiet, dense woods, the darker her surroundings become.  A deer is startled out of its den and bounds fearfully across her path.

At last she arrives at her destination.  Nestled among the majestic evergreens is a strange pile of rocks housing a swirling pool of water.

Hansu kneels and dips a cupped hand into the sparkling blue liquid.

She brings the water to her lips and drinks.  Instantly, a tingling sensation begins to spread throughout her body.  At the same time, she feels all the tensions of the day melt away and her body relaxes and she releases a contented sigh.

“At it again?”

A deep voice resonates from the depths of the forest and Hansu clasps at her heart in absolute panic.  She whirls around to see the one and only person who knows her secret.

“Pater, why must you always sneak up on me and scare me out of my wits?”  Hansu asks though she knows it is beyond his diabolical nature to make any other kind of entrance.  He ignores her question and begins to grill her about the day’s events.  Pater is keenly interested in the children of Sebastian Notorious, seeing as they are potential heirs to his dream of a ten-generation reign of terror over Sunset Valley.  Hansu finds this most amusing considering what she has just discovered.

“Those boys have been shipped away to the Peace and Love Community School.  They are being raised by hippies!”  Hansu recounts with a twinge of glee.  She has always resented being passed over as an heir and it gives her a certain amount of pleasure to see Pater’s plan go awry.

The Godfather of the Notorious Clan is seething with anger.  His rage rolls off him in waves and Hansu almost regrets revealing the truth about Hewitt and Ferdinand.

But he quickly collects himself, as Pater is not a man who likes to emote.

“Hansu.  The time has come for a new heir.  Which means the time has come for you to repay me.  I have shared with you my greatest gift, the gift of eternal youth.  I knew someday the lineage I have chosen, so carefully guided might go sour–well, in the case of those boys, go good.  So now it is up to you to bring forth life from your womb, life that is riddled with evil DNA so that my legacy may live on and live up to the Notorious name!”

“I never agreed to that!”  Hansu insists, throwing her arms up in protest.

“You never agreed to anything.  I told you about this magical pool and you said ‘take me to it.’  Did it never occur to you that this situation was quid pro quo?  Listen to me.  The duality of those boys’ natures will leave them crippled between a world of good and evil.  But your spawn will know nothing but the deepest desire to wreak havoc on all it surveys.  I will personally see to it.  Now I’m giving you a choice, little Hansu.  Have a child or the fountain dries up.”

“Suppose I accept this deal.  Where am I supposed to find a willing mate?”  Hansu queries.

“Entirely up to you, my dear.  Just try to avoid a good-hearted soul, I don’t need that element of the gene pool involved.  You may return to this spot all you desire but until you produce an heir, the effects of the water will be nullified.”  Having made that declaration, Pater disappears into the woods as stealthily as he appeared and Hansu is left alone to make her choice.

But their truly was no choice to be made.  For once one began to drink from the Fountain of Youth, there was no turning back.  In fact, Hansu knew she must get to work on finding a man for she did not want too much time to pass before she could sip from the rejuvenating waters again.  She slyly considers all the eligible bachelors in her town…which one?  Which one would it be?

The enormity of love I feel for Bebe is nearly impossible to put into words.  I waited so long to make her mine and now she is and I am over the moon.  Well, not yet…literally over the moon.  Which is where the difficulties took hold between us.

Trouble began one night at a party at my superior officer’s home.  Colonel Bunch did not often invite his men over to his home, but it was a very special occasion.  SASA, the Sims Aeronautic and Space Agency, had selected Fort Gnome as the new launching pad for a space station.  Only a select few pilots were in the running to fly to the new outerspace hub and I was one of them.  Colonel Bunch spent the evening talking to each of us about the impending mission.  Bebe listened without comment and I got a little nervous when the Colonel began to discuss the dangers of the endeavor.  I suspected my wife would not want to hear about it, much less acquiesce to her husband adventuring beyond the ozone.

Sure enough, when we got home, Bebe had a lot of questions.  She was proud of me for being an accomplished pilot but she did not know I had ambitions of becoming an astronaut.

“As a child, I spent a lot of time in my treehouse, imagining what it would be like to sail through the stars,” I began with enthusiasm, telling Bebe about the time I nearly fell out the window trying to follow the path of an overhead satellite.

“When I was fifteen, my parents brought me a proper telescope and astronomy became the only thing that kept my mind off of pranking.  I longed for a career as an astronaut but it wasn’t until I went to the military academy that I realized my dream was a possibility within my reach.  Now it is, Bebe.  But I need your support.”  She nodded but said nothing more on the subject that night.  I could not help but sense her disapproval.

Flying in and of itself is not the issue.  I know because I clearly remember the day I came home to tell Bebe I had been promoted to train on the supersonic jets at Fort Gnome.

Bebe was incredibly proud of me and kept telling me how sexy I looked in my gear.  I had finally managed to procure a reservation at Immaculate Consumption and we had a wonderful dinner out and some amazing lovemaking when we got home.

I’m not really sure why the thought of me going into space was all that different from flying planes but I chose not to broach the subject with my wife again for some time.  Meanwhile, life is wonderful.  I have the most beautiful, desirous woman at my side that I could ask for and an pretty impressive career to boot.

I am surprised to wake up and find Bebe out of bed.  I rise at 4:30 am and no one in the house is usually up.  The bathroom door is closed and I can hear water running.  Then I am startled to hear a terrible retching sound coming from behind the door, so loud and pitiful, I quickly jump up and run to Bebe’s rescue.

Inside I find my wife huddled on the tile floor, her head resting against the toilet seat.  Her face is pale and before I can ask her what is wrong, she begins vomiting again.  My heart is breaking for her and I stroke her braided head, then get a damp washcloth and carefully wipe her mouth.

“Are you going to live?”  I say in a hushed voice as I help her rise to her feet.

“I must have food poisoning,” she whispers, leaning against me as I help her back to bed.  I get a different washcloth, run cool water on it and place it on her forehead, then put one large bath towel next to her on the bed, and another on the floor.  ”Don’t worry about getting up.  I’ll clean everything up if you get sick again,” I offer.  She faintly nods, her eyes squeezed shut.

Eventually, her breathing slows down and she drifts off to sleep.  I go ahead and take my morning run, trying to remember if Bebe ate something at dinner the night before that I didn’t.  When I return, I wake my mother and ask her to keep an eye on my wife.  I would like to stay home but everyday at Fort Gnome is a competitive one with each guy vying to be the top gun.  Though I have not discussed space travel with Bebe any further, I have not withdrawn my name from the potential list of candidates to man the space station.

It is a good thing I did go to work that day because the shuttle that would fly to the space station was finally completed and delivered to our base.  On this day, Colonel Bunch posts the final cuts for shuttle-flight training and my name is on the list of those lucky men who will move to the next stage.  I am standing among this elite group, admiring the gleaming hulk of metal we would be learning to manipulate when my phone rings.  I am pleased to see it was Bebe, she must be feeling better.  But my heart sinks when she asks me to meet her at the hospital.

The sight of Bebe standing at the front doors of Sunset Valley General Health is a relief.  I was expecting to find her ensconced in a bed, too weak to communicate but here she is, wearing unfamiliar, rather loose clothing and grinning like a Simshire cat.  ”What is it, sweetest?”  I ask.  ”I guess you are going to live after all?”

Bebe chuckles and then grabs me into a tight embrace.  ”Yes, it seems I’ve only come down with a case of baby flu.”

I stand there completely confused for a moment and then it dawns on me what my wife is saying.  I pull her close and kiss her on the forehead.  ”I though I’d already heard the best news I was going to get today.  But you just topped that.  I love you so much.”

“I love you, too.  What other good news did you get today?”

I debate what to do and decide now is not the time to tell Bebe I am spacebound.  ”It can wait,”  I assure her and walk her to her car.

Bebe and I revel in the joys of becoming new parents.  She discovers some old pregnancy books that belonged to my great-grandmother and we read them voraciously.  The volumes are a little old fashioned but we find lots of good tips that help ease our minds.  Except nagging in the back of my mind is that I have something important to tell Bebe and something I sense she isn’t going to like.

One night after dinner, while Bebe is washing up the dishes, my mother comments on how large her belly is getting and they discuss the due date.  I realize my news can no longer wait.  When Bebe and I retire to our bedroom for the night, I begin the difficult explanation about space shuttle flight training.

Her reaction is worse than I anticipated.  She is shocked at first…

But then the fury kicks in and I have to say, I never knew my beloved wife was capable of being so angry.  Her language would put a sailor to shame.  I know yelling and screaming cannot be good for her blood pressure, which is already being monitored closely by her obstetrician.  But I think it is best to let her get her rant out.  Then maybe I can reason with her.

“Shuttles have been launched into space dozens of times, Bebe.  Flying a shuttle isn’t that different from flying a plane.  It just goes a lot farther,”  I say, which sounds lame and decidedly non-reassuring.

“I don’t want you that far away, Sebastian,” Bebe cries.  ”We have a new baby coming and I want you right here with me.  But from what you told me, the first mission lift-off is right when the baby is due!”

“Can we compromise?”  I ask, though it pains me to consider what I am about to propose.  ”Will you let me talk to Colonel Bunch?  Maybe I can continue to train but just not be the first guy to go up.  I can go on one of the later missions.”

“I just have a bad feeling about you traveling to space and I can’t shake it, ” Bebe whispers, her voice trembling with tears.

“But you know how important it is to me, sweetest,” I answer quietly.  ”Its my dream.”

“I thought I was your dream?”  Bebe responds.  I can’t argue with that.

“Okay.  I’ll take my name off the list.  For now.”  I sigh and then pull her into an hug.  ”You are the best thing that has ever happened to me and this baby is going to make our life even better.  I promise, I will be here for you.  But maybe when the baby gets older, I can try again?”

She pulls back and wipes away the last of her tears.  ”Okay.  Maybe.”

When the day finally arrives that I become a father, I realize that Bebe’s ‘maybe’ was more likely to become a ‘never.’  For we welcome not one beautiful baby boy into the world…

We welcome two!  Ferdinand and Hewitt are our darling little twins.  What isn’t so darling is what I discover in their cribs when we bring the twins home from the hospital.  Two hideous-looking dolls have arrived in the mail exactly on this day and the return address is someone I don’t know but assume is a distant relative–Pater Notorious.  The note attached with the dolls reads ‘To Help the Notorious Get Back To Their Roots.’ What does that mean, I wonder, examining the creepy creatures.  What is even stranger is that when I remove the dolls from my sons’ cribs, the babies begin screaming.  But when I return the dolls to the crib, my children fall silent.  I am sure it is just a coincidence but to keep the peace, I keep the toys in the cribs.

I did not realize what a blessing it is to have grandparents living in the house until the little ones came along.  Mom and Dad are home a lot and are unbelievably helpful to Bebe.  Dad has come out of retirement as a talent agent to be a motivational speaker and he spends a lot of time rehearsing in front of the mirror while Mom polishes up his speeches on the computer.  But both are willing to drop whatever they are working on at anytime to assist with their grandsons.

Two boys meant no end to diaper changes, feedings, and burpings but someone is always there to make sure the kids are alright.  Mom told me in private she is especially surprised by Dad.  ”Sigismund worked all the time when Mariposa and Vereen were growing up,” she says, referring to my older siblings.  ”He was helpful with you but he is just head-over-heels in love with his grandsons.”

Those two little guys grew awful fast and before we know it, we have two toddlers in the house.  Bebe couldn’t be happier.  She tells me she used to miss bartending but since the boys have come into our lives, she hasn’t given it another thought.  Her parents aren’t getting any younger and one day her namesake bar will fall into Bebe’s hands but it is hard for me to imagine that she will do anything but sell it.  Motherhood seems to be her truest calling and I am pleased my beautiful wife has proven to be such a nurturing caregiver.

Aside from Ferdinand’s red hair, my sons most resemble Bebe.  Especially in temperament.  They are both as sweet and good as can be.

I know they didn’t get that sweet goodness from me.  When I interact with my children, I get an old familar feeling that I simply can’t ignore, no matter how hard I try.  Today, Ferdinand is the target.

He is so trusting as I take him out of the crib.

I set him on the floor and he looks up at me with those big brown eyes he inherited from his mother.  Clasping my hands in anticipation, I flash Ferdinand a disarming smile.

Then swoop down and snatch his prized lollipop, proving the old adage true…it is just that easy.  But why do I do it?  Why can’t I control this impulse?

Naturally my baby does not like being pranked.  He is too little to remember that I always give the lolly back so he screams and flails his chubby little arms and legs.  I realize I better return the candy quickly because Bebe, Mom or Pop are going to come running any second.

But before I can return the treat, I hear a long, low growling and hissing.  I whirl around in shock, expecting to see some wild animal behind me.  But it is only Ferdinand’s creepy toy looking back at me.

Just as I realize the frightening noises are coming from the doll, I am overwhelmed by a flood of nausea.  The candy slips from my grasp as I double over and cover my mouth to keep from getting sick.  Ferdinand stops crying and picks up the lolly, his face tear-streaked but delighted.  And the instant the candy is back in my son’s hands, the hissing and growling cease and my stomach returns to normal.

What I do next is hardly rational.  But I know what I saw and felt.  That doll made noises like a deranged tiger, I heard it.  The sickness I felt?  Well, maybe that was guilt from what I had just done to my son…but it was just a prank.  No, I believed that doll made me sick.  I walk over to the crib and snatch up the one that Ferdinand inexplicably named ‘Hesper.’

Then I find the one called ‘Pat’ that Hewitt is always singing to in his baby-voice.  Frankly, the attachments my sons have to these dolls are bothersome.  And who is this Pater Notorious, anyway?  What ‘roots’ is it that my family is supposed to get back to?  I don’t know and I don’t care, I don’t want the crazy things in my house one minute longer.

I make a quick, determined trip to the trash can.  Goodbye, Hesper, Goodbye Pat.

Imagine my shock when I pass the nursery window on the way back to the house and their are my boys and with them…the dolls!

I couldn’t believe I was standing here waiting for a cab to take me to a destination I wholly dreaded.  I was miserable about my father’s decision to send me to Fort Starch Military School.

But my mother was inconsolable.  Our conversation that morning was not much more than tears and hugs.  The old man stayed out of our way.  He had barely spoken to me in anything more than grunts since he laid down the law.

The waiting taxicab had blown the horn relentlessly and finally, I embraced my mother for the final time.  I had no more words nor did she and as I walked away, I could hear her desperate, heart-wracking sobs.

On that day, a confused and, frankly, terrified young man left his home with only the murkiest expectations for what lay ahead.  All I knew is that my unquenchable desire to pull pranks had broken up my family and landed me in what might as well have been a prison, at least that is what I anticipated.

Six years later and at last I was returning but not with the stench of a sentence served nor with the guilt of destroying my family.  I am pleased to report that the terrified boy was gone and in his place was a confident, disciplined young man.  Even I never thought the day would come where I would admit it, but military training was the best thing that could have happened to me.  The first year was rough and I learned more about pranks than I could ever want to know, whether it be a short-sheeted bed or being on the receiving end of a swirlie.  But I also discovered I could take pride in accomplishments that did not involve taking apart and reassembling a full jeep on the roof of the barracks.  I am in the best physical shape I could be in and my mind is sharp and filled with ambition for what the future holds.

I enter a silent house though I notice right away it seems to be set up for a party.  Outside, the barbeque is fired up but Dad is snoozing in his grilling apron.  I just saw Mom and Dad at my graduation but it is still a shock to see the age on my father’s face.  I have become a man and he is fast becoming an old man.

I find Mother in her usual place in the garden, as always in her white bathrobe.  Her face also shows weary wrinkles but she still chooses to wear her hair long and free.  I have missed my parents so much and at the same time missed out on so much of their lives.  I wonder, do they feel the same way about me?  At that moment, Mom looks up and sees me and the light in her eyes answers my question.  I have been missed and it feels good to be home.  She embraces me.  ”Sebastian, you are here just in time for your welcome home party!”  Mom announces.  ”But you’d better get your father up so he can start on the hamburgers.”

Dad isn’t too happy about being woken at first but when he realizes it is me, he grins and stands up, offering me his hand to shake.  ”Dad, the grill is smoking, I think Mom wants you to start cooking,” I suggest and he gets right to work.  ”We’ve got a big party set up, son.  Can you grab some nectar from downstairs and stock the bar for me?”  I nod and head to the basement.  Thinking about the bar takes my mind in one direction only…I may have grown and changed but there was one constant that had remained in my mind all these years:  Bebe Hart.

I let my mind drift as I took care of the last-minute details of the party.  As soon as this welcome-home gig ended, I intended to light out to Bebe’s bar so I could finally apologize for not showing up for work so many years ago.   I imagine she knew I had been shipped out to Fort Starch; we lived in a small town and she surely would have heard from someone.  But I was looking forward to setting things right and then setting the stage to ask her out.

Imagine my shock when I answered the doorbell and there, standing on my doorstep, the woman herself, looking as beautiful as ever.  So beautiful, in fact, that I am left speechless.  How many times, laying in my bunk in the barrack, had I replayed this very scenario, our reunion at long last?  But in my fantasy, it was only the two of us not three.  Yet here she was with a date!  Geoffrey Landgraab, of all people.  Wasn’t he married?  Wasn’t he a little old?  What was he doing at my house with my girl?

I am not the only one surprised.  Geoffrey’s estranged wife, Nancy, is apparently not expecting to see him either.  After nearly choking to death on her hamburger, she flings down her food and storms out.

Bebe and Geoffrey don’t let Nancy’s departure affect them one bit.  After downing a drink or two, they hit the dance floor.  I try not to stare but it is making me crazy seeing the woman I have been dreaming about for six years with my neighbor having such a good time.  I don’t know what I expected to happen in the years I was gone–it wasn’t as if Bebe knew I was pining for her.  Geez, I was just a teenage kid when I left.

But the more I watch them dancing and laughing and drinking–clearly loving each other’s company–the more furious I become.  I find my mind drifting in a direction it had not gone in some time.  Suddenly, I am thinking of all the ways I can avenge myself on Geoffrey–how would he like to find his car dismantled on the roof of his house?  But that was a child’s game and I didn’t need to play those kinds of games anymore.  I decide to take a more manly and forthright approach.

“Hello, Bebe.”  Well, not the most exciting opening line ever.  But the generous smile she gives me makes my stomach do flip flops.  ”Thank you for coming to my parents’ party.”

“I wouldn’t have missed it for the world.  I can’t believe your all grown up, Sebastian, and so handsome, too!”  My cheeks feel like they are engulfed in flames when she says those words.  Me, handsome?  To her?  What would Geoffrey think?  I decide right then and there that I don’t care what he thinks.  My goal has not changed.  I am going to make Bebe Hart my woman no matter what.

I spend long, hard days at the Officer’s Training Center at Fort Gnome, the military base in Sunset Valley.

But my nights are spent at Bebe’s bar.  She is always happy to see me but then it seems like she is always happy to see all her customers.  I don’t know how to make it clear to her that I am only there to see her.  Sometimes, she lets me buy her a drink when it is slow and we talk.  But we are inevitably interrupted by a customer demanding her full attention.

Then Happy Hour comes to an end and I know what is next.  Bebe will receive a phone call and she will talk quietly into the phone with a goofy smile on her face and I just know it is him, my rival, Landgraab.  What a jerk!  Why can’t Bebe see he is a two-timer and that he will hurt her just like he hurt Nancy.  I wish I had the guts to say it to Bebe’s face.  But trash-talking her boyfriend won’t win me her affection.  I have to top him, somehow…someway.

Now my next choice might seem a little odd but it seems that one things women like is a man with a sense of humor.  I decide to test that theory when Bebe invites me to a pool party at the bar.

The delighted sound of giggling meets me at the front door.  Bebe thinks my attire is very funny and that is the exact reaction I am looking for.  I want to catch her off her guard so my next move will come as a complete surprise.

“Oh, Sebastian, they’re so lovely!  And so thoughtful, you shouldn’t have,” she exclaims with  joy.  I’m feeling pretty pleased with myself.

So good in fact that Geoffrey’s disparaging look and snarky remark have no effect on me.

“Bebe, is this clown bothering you?”  he asks, muscling his way between us.

“Not at all.  He brought me a wonderful gift, see?”  Bebe holds up the flowers for Geoffrey to see.

“Why is this punk bringing you flowers, might I ask?”  Geoffrey gives me the stinkeye but I hold my ground with a self-satisfied grin.

“He is just being nice, Geoffrey.  Sebastian’s a good guy, he’s not a punk.”  Bebe says with sincerity.

“When you’re done being played by this moron, I’ll be at home,”  he says, clearly blowing her off.

“I’ll be here…having fun, Geoffrey, something that is harder and harder to do with you!”  She calls after him.

As soon as he is gone, Bebe takes my hand.  ”Come on, I’m going to fix us the wildest drinks I can dream up.  Who needs that stick in the mud when I have my good old friend, Sebastian?”  She leads me to the bar and then goes through some fantastic moves, spinning bottles and blowing fire.  I watch, fascinated by her technique and just how fantastic she looks in her bikini.

I’m not sure what is in the drink but I have one, then another and then another and the next thing I know, I am inviting Bebe into the hot tub.  I’m amazed when she waves to another bartender to take over and steps out from behind the bar and heads to the deck.

Strangely, her phone rings and rings but she never picks it up.  I know it must be Geoffrey wondering why she hasn’t come back to his house.  But we are having a wonderful time, laughing and talking.  Finally, the other bartender shouts “Last Call” and I turn to Bebe, thinking now might be the time to steal a kiss.  But she is climbing out of the hot tub and now she is talking on the phone.  ”No, I don’t think I will be, Geoffrey,” she says and hangs up.  ”Wow, its late!  I had such a great time with you, Sebastian.  It is wonderful to hang out with my old friend!”  I nod, smiling.  Friend, is that a good thing?  Maybe all she thinks of me is a friend…should I ask her out?  But before I can, she is out the door, waving good-night to her co-workers and the other patrons.  I lost my nerve and lost my chance.

The next day is a tough one at work, the training really wears me out.  But I don’t let my weariness stop me from going to Bebe’s in search of her.  The other bartender is there and before I can even ask, she gives me a sly grin and says, “I know you don’t come here for the cheap drinks, buddy.”

“What makes you say that?” I ask, trying to sound innocent.

“It’s her day off and you can find her at the gym!”  The bartender replies, smirking.  I sheepishly nod and wander out.  If my feelings for Bebe are so obvious to others, does she know how I desire her?  Maybe I’m the one getting played?

I arrive at the three-story gym and begin looking for her.  Will she be glad to see me?  Is she waiting for Geoffrey?

I spot her napping on a lounge chair.  I don’t see Geoffrey anywhere in sight and that gives me a little confidence but not enough to disturb her.  I feel foolish coming here to seek her out and decide I might as well get a workout in.  Maybe I can catch up to her at the bar, later.

I think about her every time I lift a barbell or do a leg lift.  I wish she would walk by and see how hard I am exerting myself.  I want to tell her that it is for her, that I want to look as hot to her as she does to me.  But that would make me sound like a meathead.  Its bad enough that I’m practically stalking her, I think as I head to the showers.  Then I pass the exercise room and see her doing aerobics.  My heart flips.  I’ve got to say something, I can’t let her get away again.

“Bebe!  What a surprise, I mean, haha, seeing you here…instead of, haha at the bar!”  I sound like a complete idiot.

“Sebastian!  If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were following me.”  Bebe is smiling in her generous way and I feel very encouraged.

“Would you be mad if I was?  Following you, I mean.  Because…I kind of am.”  I feel my face getting flushed and I have a hard time saying the words out loud, will they make me sound like some kind of weirdo?

“Kind of?”  She laughs.  ”Are you kind of in love with me, Sebastian Notorious?”

My mouth is completely dry.  I open it to form words but all that comes out is “…kind of…”

She laughs again.  ”Well, maybe you’ll kind of like–” and Bebe, my gorgeous dream girl, leans in close, so close I can feel her sweet breath ruffling my mustache and then her warm, sensuous mouth is next to mine and for the first time in my life I kiss a woman.  It was definitely worth waiting for Bebe, her kiss is the most wonderful thing I have ever experienced.

“Now are you going to ask me on a proper date?” she asks and we both laugh.  ”Seriously, Sebastian.  A date?”

“Huh?”  I am lost in a reverie of her soft lips.  But I manage to pull it together and mumble something about the new restaurant across town.

It was the longest week of my life while I waited for Bebe to have another night off.  But at last she met me at Immaculate Consumption.  I did not realize I was supposed to get a reservation for this happening new spot.

“I think you look very handsome in your uniform, Sebastian but it is nice to see you looking a little more relaxed,”  Bebe comments while we wait for a table to open.  I am stunned by how lovely my date looks and I tell her so…many times.  I have a lot of time to mention it because the wait for our table goes on and on.

We chat for awhile but I can see Bebe is getting anxious and I am too.

“Say, why don’t we come back here another time, you know…when we can get a reservation,”  I say sheepishly.  ”I’m sorry I didn’t think to make one.  If you want to come to my house, I can fix you something for dinner.  My parents aren’t home.”

“Your parents?”  Bebe sighs.  ”Sometimes you really make me feel like I’m robbing the cradle, Sebastian.  But okay, let’s head over there.  I’m tired of waiting.”

I am so pleased to discover my parents are, in fact, still out.  Bebe is too and we forsake dinner for some alone time in my bedroom, which I am so grateful my mother has remodeled with a normal size bed, instead of the loft bed of my teenage years.  Before the night is over, we have proven to each other that our age difference won’t get in the way of romance.  It is my first experience as a lover and I am over the moon with joy that at last, all my fantasies with Bebe have become reality.

Bebe is a little more comfortable with this reality than I am.  She thinks nothing of leaving my bedroom, walking right into the living room where my father is watching television.  She is wearing nothing but her slip and I leap up and pull her back into the bathroom, a wild look of fear and embarrassment on my face.

“Bebe, my Dad is out there!  I–I–he doesn’t know that you are here, that you, uh, well…you know, stayed here.”  I fumble through my explanation for pulling her back and I am so ashamed that she might think I am embarrassed of her.  I know it is stupid, I’m a grown man and why shouldn’t my girlfriend stay over?  Surely my parents won’t think any less of her or of me?  We’re in love, after all.  But maybe I should have told them that first?

“Your parents don’t know we’re dating, do they?  Is it because I’m so much older than you?”  Bebe asks in a frank manner.

“My mom is older than my dad, it is not that big a deal.  I just haven’t mentioned you yet, I guess I wanted to see how things would go before I made some kind of big announcement.”

“We’re just dating, Sebastian.  You don’t have to make a big announcement, its not like we’re getting married.”

I stare down at the floor for a moment.  I have waited so long for Bebe to be my girl.  So what am I waiting for?  Why don’t I ask her to marry me?  Probably because she will think I am a complete lunatic for asking her to be my wife on our first date.

“Okay, I will tell them.  But Bebe, I need to talk to you about something urgent.  Can you meet me tonight at the private cove behind my house?  I’ll be there when you get off work.”

As I had hoped, the cove was completely deserted.  I waited patiently, rehearsing in my mind over and over what I would say to Bebe.  I had done this so many times before, had imagined conversations with her and I’m not sure why I got so bunged up.  Bebe was the sweetest, most good woman in the world, why was I so afraid of saying the wrong thing to her?  Finally she arrived and we sat in the cool sand, gazing heavenward at the stars.

“Okay, so what is so urgent, Sebastian?”  Bebe asks and I know the moment of truth has come.  But I am besieged by a fit of nervous laughter each time I try to speak up.  Bebe starts laughing too and I am thinking this is not going the way I want it to.  ”What?  What is so funny?”  she asks, giggling like a loon now.

“Its not funny, it is very, very serious.”  Okay, I think, let’s do this right.  I stand up and pull her up with me.

I reach out and stroke the soft skin of her beautiful face.  ”Bebe Hart.  I have loved you for so long–”

“What?”  she says, genuinely surprised.

“Truly.  I fell in love with you the first time I egged your house–”

“Hmmm, more romantic words were never spoken,”  she said, her eyes twinkling.

“Let me finish, please.  Because I might not have the courage to ask you again.  Bebe Hart.  Will you be my wife?”

It seemed like an eternity under the stars that night while I waited for Bebe’s answer.  She realized how serious I was and she took my hand and then kissed me.  ”Sebastian Notorious, I would be honored to be your wife.”  We didn’t waste much time planning the wedding.  The Harts wanted to have the reception at the bar so Mom and Dad offered to host the ceremony at their home.

It was a very humble affair.  We didn’t have anyone officiate the ceremony but instead just exchanged simple vows we had written ourselves.

I am thrilled to have the blessing of Gus and Dorie Hart.  Her father watches us and he is both pleased and proud.

Likewise my parents could not be more excited.  They never once questioned the age difference between me and Bebe, instead they welcomed her into their home and made it clear that we could live there as long as we wanted.  Mom said as far as she was concerned, the house was ours now and maybe she and Dad would find something new.  But I didn’t want them to move out.  The house was large, it could easily accommodate us all.

When I finally slip the ring on my bride’s finger, I realize that I have truly become a man today.  I think about my past, all the pranks, and all the years at Fort Starch and it has all added up to this moment when I can present myself to the woman I love and say “Please take me for better or for worse.”  And she says yes and I know this is the single best day of my entire life.

I never imagined the day would come when anything was more important than pranks.  But I have a new obsession.  Bebe Hart.  I spend every waking hour thinking of her…

Every sleeping hour, too.  Thoughts of kissing her invade my dreams.

My desire overwhelms me and I construct elaborate fantasies of the two of us together on a date, in my bed, in her bed, in the shower, in the backseat of the car, at the movies.  The possibilities are endless.  In reality, the opportunity to spend more time with her looms large, if only Dad will agree to one thing.

That day we met up at the laundromat, Bebe made a proposition that Dad was still pondering.  She explained to him that her brother left for college and she was looking for someone to take his position at her bar.  It was an easy job,  just cleaning the bar up on Saturday and Sunday mornings.

Dad didn’t say yes right away but he didn’t say no, either.  He told Bebe he would speak to Mom and he wanted to check her place out.  Then he started speechifying about responsibility and maturity and totally embarrassed me.  Though I didn’t want to leave Bebe’s side, I had to drag Dad out of there before she changed her mind.

Dad tried to put up roadblocks to the idea at first.  He pointed out to me that the bar was too far from home for me to ride my bike so I begged him to teach me how to drive.

I went out of my way to show them how responsible I could be.  While Mom and Dad were out on one of their date nights, I vacuumed, washed all the dishes, did the laundry and even dusted the bookshelves.  When they get home, they are so surprised to see the house in a spotless condition.

Instead of lounging on the sofa, hogging up the TV, I tell them I am going to bed.  As I head downstairs, I overhear them making plans to visit Bebe’s bar the next night.  My heart floods with joy and excitement.  If they let me go along, it will be the first time I have seen Bebe in the flesh in nearly a week.  I can’t wait.

The discussion I wasn’t privy to took place that night before they went to bed.  It would have mortified me because while I was in my basement room, caught up in my dreams of Bebe, Dad was relaying his suspicions about my interest in the job.  Unbeknownst to me, my father was fully aware that I was crushing hard on a woman way out of my league.

Mom and Dad made a compromise.  If the bar proved a suitable environment and Bebe still wanted me for the job, I could work there.  Meanwhile,  they had a very distinct plan about getting me interested in girls my own age and if I agreed to go along with their plan, I was free to spend my weekend mornings with my dreamlover.  But they don’t reveal all this to me right away.  They just announce we are headed to Bebe’s to check things out and off we go.

Bebe meets us at the foyer with a dude about Dad’s age.  She introduces him as her father and I snap to, standing up straighter and adopting an expression I thought would make me look mature.  I even attempt to shake his hand but Gus Hart is gruff and abrupt, waving us towards the main bar and then disappearing upstairs.

Mom and Dad take seats at the bar and Bebe offers them a drink.  I start to sit as well, but Dad stops me.

“Son, here are some quarters, why don’t you play some Shuffleboard while your mother and I talk with Miss Hart.”

I reluctantly agree and wander over to the Shuffleboard, making some weak attempts at the game and wishing I had supersonic hearing so I know what my parents and Bebe are saying about me.  It is me they are talking about, I can tell because frankly, I can’t keep my eyes off my fantasy girl and it seems every time I look her way, she is looking back at me.

I am standing so far away but the air between us scintillates with passion–at least in my mind.  My parents place their respective drink orders and chatter away, a good sign they are comfortable in Bebe’s bar.  I think they were expecting a much rougher place but lulling Latin music and ambient lighting  make for a respectable atmosphere.

Bebe enchants us all with her slick moves.  Bottles sail through the air with ease and she never fails to catch them nor does she spill a drop of liquid.  She has the grace of a dancer, the hands of an athlete and apparently a lot of charm because Mom and Dad seem enraptured by her every word.

Drinks are served not once, not twice but three times and Dad helps himself to every round.  He is dominating the conversation and his voice grows louder and more exuberant but Bebe never loses her patient smile.  I abandon the Shuffleboard and head for the men’s room, though it kills me to take my eyes off Bebe, even for a few moments.

The sight I return to is unreal.  Flabbergasting, humiliating and hilarious all at one time.  So shocking, I consider running straight out of the bar and all the way home.  But like the proverbial train wreck, I can’t take my eyes off it.

My own father, on the bar, shaking his middle-aged butt with a very self-satisfied grin on his face.

Bebe is no longer behind the bar but is standing to the side with her father.  He looks furious and my heart sinks.  I’ll never get the job now.

Feeling desperate, I rush over to them and start sputtering.

“Mr. Hart, please…my dad, he doesn’t normally act this way–”

“We’re not hiring him, we’re hiring you,” Bebe gently interrupts.

Mr Hart shrugs.  ”Just promise to never bring him here again and you’ve got the job, kid.”

We all crane our necks back towards the bar and with immense relief, I see Mom has managed to get Dad down.  I hate to leave the presence of my guardian angle, but I know I’ve got to get my parents out of there.  I cautiously approach them as Mom is begging Dad to go home.

While they are bickering, I pick up Dad’s keys where he has set them on the bar.  Standing behind him so he can’t see me, I dangle the keys in Mom’s line of vision but he hears the metallic clinking of the keys and whirls around, his face a distorted mask of drunken belligerance.  When we make eye contact, something breaks through his fogged brain and the fury is replaced with sheepishness.  Head down, and shoulders slumped, he follows Mom and I out to the car.

My father spends the next day in bed, intermittently groaning and often running to the bathroom to be sick.

I am still blissfully unaware of the compromise between my parents.  So it is up to my mother to suggest what is anathema to me:  spending time with kids my own age at the community center.  A place in my mind not far removed from day care but when she makes it clear I must go if I want the job at Bebe’s, I am off like a shot.

I arrive at dusk to find a group of strangers gathered together telling ghost stories.  I stand off to the side, pretending to be interested, but I’ve heard all these silly tales before.  Hooked hands and ghostly hitchhikers scared me when I was five but I’m practically a man now.

I am amazed when we enter the recreation room to find the walls decorated with posters of the latest Simerican Idol.  This place is goofier than I thought.

At first I make a real effort to participate.  I share in a tedious, never-ending game of fooseball, hooting and hollering with my teammate, all the while in the back of my mind, thinking about my future with Bebe, conjuring up a brand-new fantasy of us at the bar, alone in the stock room.

But my reverie is interrupted by the overly-enthusiastic counselor who wants to know everything about me.  I do my best to comply, answering each and every dumb question she lobs at me.  But I am growing frustrated and bored.  My mind wanders again yet oddly, not to Bebe this time.  Instead, I am feeling an uncontrollable urge.

Counselor Jenna peppers me with even more questions but I am answering on automatic pilot because that old familiar twinge is taking over.  I nod and smile and respond but my mind is making a mental inventory of the contents of my bookbag, which I stashed in the rear of Dad’s old surf wagon.  I haven’t cleaned that bag out in sometime so the things I need should still be inside.

Just when I thought this gathering couldn’t be any lamer, Jenna calls out that it’s ‘Study Time!’ and the kids seem genuinely excited to begin their homework!

“Jenna, I’ll need to get my books out of the car,”  I tell the counselor.  I notice a pretty girl headed to the study-circle and for a second, that whispering, nagging word echoes through my head…CONSEQUENCES…but I shove it back into the recesses of my brain.  The old itch needs to be scratched and I’m ready to make my move.  I exit the recreation room furtively.

Upon my return, I discover some kids have already finished with study time and started dancing.  Others are still struggling over their books and papers.  I am pleased to discover no one, not even the counselor, is paying any attention to me.  Now is the time to strike.

In a rapid succession of movements, I open my bookbag, shake up the beaker inside, remove it and set it on the floor.

But nothing happens to the beaker.  It just sits there, fizzing a bit but the great billowing cloud of choking stink doesn’t appear.  My failure at a prank is a surprise but nothing like the shock I’m about to receive.

“He’s trying to poison us!”  One of the boys sitting in front of the beaker shouts out an alarm–he is close enough to smell the contents.  Jenna waves the students out while grabbing me brusquely by the arm.  Moments later, an overweight, elderly security guard enters the rec room.  Jenna instructs him to guard me and then she leaves without another word.

The longest thirty minutes of my life pass.  The security guard is silent and so am I but inside my head, a hypnotic chant goes faster and faster…CONSEQUENCES…CONSEQUENCES…I’m expecting the police but far worse, in walks the old man.  He is angry and he does a lot of yelling but it isn’t until we are home that I get the full brunt.

For the first time in my life, I am subjected to the temper that had made my father infamous back in his talent agent days.  Here is someone I have never seen before, a man wild with rage and puffed-up with scorn.  His rampage went on for what seemed like hours.  Then he withdraws his phone from his pocket.

With his eyes locked on mine, he dials three numbers.  He holds the phone to his ear.  Then he speaks.

“Information?  I need the number for the General of Fort Starch Military School.”

“This isn’t happening.  This isn’t fair!  I don’t wanna be fifteen, I liked my life just the way it was!” I bellow, shaking my head in abject denial.

The rich, buttery taste of frosting seems to have Mom and Dad in some kind of trance.  They chew the Birthday cake in synch, occasionally making ‘mmmm’ and ‘ahhh’ sounds.  It was good but not that good.  They are trying to torture me.

Dad’s fork makes a high-pitch, obnoxious scraping against his plate.

“Should we have another piece, Ariane?  Or leave the rest for the Birthday boy?”  Dad chuckles and Mom joins in, sounding positively devious.

“Oh, I’ve had quite enough, Sigismund.  I think it is time for our little chat with our darling son.”

“I am ready for a little chat, Mom.  Let’s start with why you tricked me into blowing out these candles if you knew what was going to happen?”  I huffed.

“Sebastian, don’t be ridiculous.  You have had many birthdays yourself, you have been to many birthday parties…you know the drill.  I think you are just feeling prickly because you’re a teenager.  Welcome to the wonderful world of wild moodiness and continuous uncertainty, ” Mom said, a playful smirk on her face.

“What is certain is this new decree,” Dad continues, his tone of voice quiet and serious.  ”No longer will you make anyone in this house the victim of your pranks.  If you do, I will make one swift phone call that will be painless for me but quite the opposite for you.”

“Uh…uh…what kind of phone call, Pop?”  I stutter, deathly afraid to hear the answer.

“That’s for me to know.  Let’s just say if you can’t quit these childish games and man up on your own, you will be given no choice.  But if you mind what I say and knock off these humiliating tricks around the house, you never will have to find out.”

A feeling I have never experienced, a crushing, helpless rage engulfs me.  I throw back the chair I am sitting in and rush down to my new basement bedroom, not even bothering to slide down the spiral banister as I had earlier planned.  I slam the door with all my might but before I do, I swear I hear my parents giggling upstairs.

The tone of their laughter is conspiratorial and suddenly, I am overwhelmed by hot, salty tears and a sensation in my gut like I’ve been punched.  The old man makes it sound so easy–stop pranking and everything will be fine.  But they don’t get it!  Pranks are my life, they give me a sense of purpose, they define me.  Pranks…are…who…I…AM!  I climb onto my new loft bed and sob myself into a fitful sleep.

But as restless as my sleep is, it is also refreshing and my subconscious provides me with a solution.  When I awake, I go to my dresser and rummage around for some dark clothes and a matching hat.  Dad was very clear about pulling tricks on him and in the house.  But what is to stop me from taking on the unsuspecting outside world?

I am on a mission of terror as far as my neighbors are concerned.  No one is safe.  I start closest to home at old Land-hag’s house.

Finding something fresh to stash in the paper bag is no problem.  Land-hag has a pack of lap dogs, all of which love to cross over into our yard and leave behind messes that infuriate Pop.  Well, he can thank me later for picking it up, ha!  Taking the long lighter I have pinched from our grill, I hold the yellow flame on the corner of the bag, just long enough to ignite.

When I’m certain the brown bag is aflame, I make my getaway, not even stopping to be sure I haven’t lit the whole porch on fire.  Oh, but first, of course, I lay on the door bell for a long enough time to get someone’s attention.

From a distant vantage point, sweat pouring down my brow, chest heaving with excitement, I see the door open and a face appear–it looks like Mr. Land-Hag and how sweet can it be, the dude is in a tuxedo!  Even from far away, I can see his nose wrinkle in reaction to the now acrid, billowing smoke.  Impulsively, Mr. Land-Hag stomps out the flames with his fancy slippers and then realizes, too late, what is in the bag.

The triumph of my dirty deed completed is a rush I could not have ever anticipated.  My pranks before were just childish games.  Now I’m in the majors.

I return to my trusty chemistry set to wreak havoc on a grander scale.  After searching the SimNet for hours, I have a formula to work with.  I spend another afternoon trying to perfect it and at last, I am satisfied with the results.

Stealth and a stink bomb combine beautifully to waylay those full-of-themselves Frio brothers down at the public library.  I hide between the stacks, doubled over with laughter, a cool, damp handkerchief over my nose.

Connor clutches at his stomach and as the other patrons rush for the door, he bends down awkwardly and loses his lunch all over the floor.

The look on Jared’s face is a little scary, to be honest.  I want to hang around to see what happens next but I don’t want to get my scrawny self in a brawl.

Connor’s face looks pretty scary too, but for a different reason.  He has turned chalk white.  ”Help me, Jared,”  he cries out in a raspy voice and then passes out.  I wasn’t expecting the stink bomb to render someone unconscious.  As quickly as I can, I sneak through the shelves towards the children’s room and then out the back door, hoping against hope no one will see me, especially that bruiser, Jared.

I manage to get home without being pummeled.  Mom and Dad don’t catch me sneaking in the house in my black clothes and hat, which I keep in an old pillowcase.  They smell pretty powerful from the stink bomb but I can’t wash them here, I will have to pay a visit to the laundromat.  I’m feeling so pumped from my escapade and yet…

I’m feeling conflicted, too.  What if Connor has to go to the hospital?  What if he or anyone else that was at the library gets really sick?  What if Mr. Land-Hag hadn’t come out in time to put out the fire and I had burned their whole house down?  A single word whispers through my mind…CONSEQUENCES.  I don’t like the way it sounds, so sibilant and accusatory.

I shower quickly and sit down in front of the computer.  I visit my favorite forums.  Hmmm, covering a car in baloney to remove the paint, putting hundreds of forks in someone’s lawn.  Each caper fascinates me more than the next but my mind drifts back to the library.  Who had to clean up that stink bomb and Connor’s barf?  CONSEQUENCES.

A week or so goes by and I don’t hear anything more about my library antics.  I sneak out and pull some more pranks around the neighborhood and I am always overwhelmed by the heady exhiliration of my success.  But it is getting too easy and I need to step up my game.  I shed the dark clothes but rummage around in my old costume chest to find the perfect accessory for my next adventure.

I enter the bar, only glancing at the name:  Bebe’s.  It is not a dive but not exactly high-class either.  The smell of old beer and stale smoke permeates the joint.  I have been staking it out for awhile and I time my entrance perfectly while the bouncers are in the middle of shift-change.  So as far as the bartender is concerned, I’ve shown my ID at the door.  I sit in what I think is a manly, mature posture and clearing my voice, speak in a lower octave.  ”Double Llama Head, please.”

“Llama Head, LLama Head.  What goes in that?  Oh, yeah, I remember,”  the bartender mutters.  I have not glanced up to make eye contact, I am afraid she will kick me out the minute she sees my face.  Even with my disguise, I know I look hopelessly young.  But by some miracle, she just gets right down to mixing the drink.

I cautiously take the drink off the bar.  It slightly resembles my stink potion in taste and sight.  But I have never had a Llama Head before, I have no idea what it is supposed to look or smell like.  I just want to taste it.  Pop said it was time for me to be a man, well here goes.

For the first time, the bartender looks up and at the same time, I take a sip.  ”Maybe you shouldn’t drink that, you know, it looks kind of funky,” she warns.  I swallow and begin sputtering.  It tastes worse than I ever could have anticipated.

“It is absolutely delicious,”  I say in between coughing fits.  To prove it to her I start to take another sip.

“Hold on there a minute!”  She sounds annoyed.

“Didn’t you have a mustache when you came in here and sat down?”

We both peer down into the glass I am still holding and there on top of the ice and foam is my phony facial hair looking like a wet spider.

“Bebe?”  I hear a voice behind my shoulder.  Bebe?  She owns the place?  My heart is pounding.  Do I just get up and run out?  Tell her I’m sorry?  Wet my pants and start blubbering, that is what I really feel like doing.

She motions to the person behind me and a formidable bouncer comes into view.  ”I was just about to show my little cousin out, I gave him the grand tour today, but you can do it for me,”  the bartender says and my relief is palpable.

“Oh, I can find my way out, thanks!”  I say, leap up and run to the nearest exit.

After the triumph of gaining entry into Bebe’s club, my old tricks just don’t give me the thrill they once did.  But for lack of anything better to do, I round up a carton of rotten eggs and head to a part of town I haven’t hit before.  With little relish, in almost a mechanical mode, I start flinging my missiles at a random house.

I grab the last two eggs and focus on my target, some formerly clean windows.  What I see sends my mind reeling out of control and I impulsively squeeze the shells in my state of shock, releasing the gooey insides.  They drip down my sleeve, adding an even more-powerful odor to my dark clothes which were already rank from the stink potion.  The smell should trigger a gag impulse but I am frozen, mouth agape.

In the window I can see Bebe from the bar.  She must have just entered the room because she seems oblivious to the nasty streaks of egg running down the glass.  The sheer, rose-colored fabric of her negligee skims over every curve of her perfect body and on her face is a mysterious, Mona Lisa-like smile.  I watch her for what seems like hours but in reality is only seconds because I realize how desperately I don’t want her to catch me defacing her home.  CONSEQUENCES…

Back in my room, I climb into my loft bed, not even bothering to change out of my odiferous gear.  My mind is swimming with discordant thoughts–I feel terrible that my target was the beautiful woman who gave me a pass when I broke the law sneaking into her adult establishment.  But the eyeful I got standing in front of her window!  Though she didn’t catch me, my mind conjures that very scenario:  Bebe storming out of the house in her revealing clothes, grabbing my by the arm, dragging me back into her house…

I drift off to sleep and my waking fantasy morphs into a dream like I’ve never had before.  I am back at Bebe’s bar and she is standing in front of me looking so gorgeous in a bright yellow, very revealing bikini, holding out a tray with glasses of some romantic elixir.  I reach out to take one and am startled awake by my mother’s angry voice.

“Sebastian Notorious, I don’t know what you are doing in there but the smell emanating from your room is atrocious!”

I strip off my reeking clothes and throw them in the old pillow case, then shower and change into regular duds.  The laundromat is on the other side of town, not too far from Bebe’s house, so maybe I shouldn’t be completely dumbfounded when I discover her reading a book, presumably waiting for the washing machine to finish a load.

She sees me and immediately approaches me.  I want to run back out the way I came in but I am frozen like a statue.  Except statues don’t have hearts pounding so hard they are about to burst, or sweat pouring from everywhere possible, or idiotic expressions like a deer caught in headlights.

“I see your mustache hasn’t grown back,”  Bebe says, eyeing me sternly.  Then she starts giggling and the tension breaks and I am so relieved, I let out some sharp barks like a crazed hyena.  Out of the corner of my eye, I am startled to spot my father entering the laundromat with an angry look on his face.  What is he doing here?

“Hand over the pillowcase, Sebastian!”  Mortified by his chastizing tone in front of Bebe, I do as my father says.  He looks inside.  ”Your mother smelled a mysterious odor, you take off on your bike and head here to wash your clothes?  I wasn’t born last night, son.  I know you are up to no good!”  Then he takes a deep whiff.  ”Ugh, it smells like sulfur.”

Bebe looks at me in amazement and I see a steely flicker in her eyes.  ”Like rotten eggs?”

“Exactly, and who are you, Miss?”  Pop is confused but still angry.

Bebe gives me another dark stare but then her expressions brightens and she holds her hand out to the old man.

“Bebe Hart.  I posted a notice at the school that I needed someone to clean up my windows.  Someone egged my house while I was at work and your son was kind enough to help.”

“Egged your house, you say?”  Dad is very sympathetic.  But over Bebe’s head, he shoots me a murderous look.

But I return it with a cheesy smile.  Bebe Hart is my luscious guardian angel.  I’m not sure why she is so generously protective of me but I do know I’m madly in love.

A freewheelin’ day with nothing to do but ride around the neighborhood and plan out my devious pranks.  Mom and Dad are having a party tonight and my mind is in overdrive.  I have some pretty good stuff planned, I just need time alone to line it all up.  I park my bike on the lawn and creep into the house from the back door.  I am startled to hear my name being intoned in an apparently serious discussion between Mom and Dad.  I duck behind the living room sofa and listen intently.

“So, if Sebastian thinks it’s so funny to catch us fooling around in his treehouse, does that mean I can skip the Birds and the Bees talk?”  My Dad sets his coffee down and sighs.

Mom takes a sip from her mug and sets it on the table next to Dad’s.  ”I don’t think I can let you off the hook that easy, Sigismund.  But the talk we really need to have with him is about respecting people’s space and privacy.”

“We need to think about a punishment that fits the crime.  But frankly, I can’t think of anything until we get through the cookout tonight.  Tell me again, why are we hosting the annual meeting of the Homeowner’s Association?”  Dad sounds more annoyed than usual and it occurs to me that the punishment he has in store will only quadruple in size if I can pull off the major stunt I have in mind for the benefit of this evening’s guests.

They drink in unison and then make plans to do some shopping.  Perfect!  In their absence, I can get to work.

The plumbing is demanding  to be transformed into instant super-soakers in the guest bath.  It is a trick I have practiced on myself several times, trying to nail it down so the victim walks away in hopelessly soggy clothing.  I know Mom and Dad have no reason to use this bathroom so the fixtures should be poised to explode as soon as one of the neighbors uses them tonight.

Some jokes never go out of style and spending some simoleons at an online joke shop was a wise choice.

I could only afford three and it saddens me to think that the whoopie cushions will be confiscated upon discovery…

But the thrill I experience as I gently prop the inflated pieces of rubber on our living room chairs wipes away the thought of losing my mischievous toys in the future.  What matters is tonight!

By the time Mom and Dad return, I have the whole house rigged for non-stop hilarity–at least for me!  They find me in the backyard, innocently splashing around on the water slide we can’t get enough of.  Mom and Dad change into their swimsuits and join me and for an hour or so, we are a loving family, enjoying each other’s company.  But the entire time, in the back of my mind, I am counting off the minutes for the festivities to begin.

At last, the afternoon is waning into a warm summer twilight.  The guests are gathered, waiting for Dad to fire up the grill.  I have made the rounds per Mom’s request, saying hello to people that aren’t strangers, but aren’t friends either.  Then I spot my twin Aunts, Lyssandra and Hansu.  I have a moment of doubt–these two have always been very good to me, bringing me wonderful gifts when they would occasionally babysit for me.  I consider warning them but what if they rat me out?  I guess they will have to take their chances with everyone else.

Dad is keeping the Nectar flowing so most everyone is oblivious as I walk across the yard to my lair, what looks like our innocuous detached garage, but is in fact ground zero for a prank I’m about to pull that is unrivaled by anything I have done before.  It takes me a while to work up the nerve but then I am shedding my clothes down to my underpants and struggling to pull on the constricting satin and lace.  I balance the veiled hat precariously atop my head and take up my frilly wand, then carefully slide the fitted gloves over my hands.  Finally, I shove my feet in the plastic kitten heels and stumble about the concrete floor for a moment until I can walk right.

As I step onto the grass, the kitten heels sink in and I almost lose them as I try to move forward.  I am immediately aware that the summer heat and this polyester costume are not a pleasant combination.  I start sweating profusely and the damp material clings to my skin and itches like mad.  My heart is pounding so loud that my ears throb with every pulse.  I have never felt so conspicuous in my life.  Yet…no one seems to notice me.

No matter, I see my intended target.  Pop is having what I know is a torturous conversation with Nancy Landgrab–or Land-Hag as he refers to the President of our Homeowner’s Association when he is talking about her to Mom.  I start to walk towards them, struggling to keep the plastic princess shoes on my feet.  I can only take small, almost mincing steps and my hips sway back and forth in an exaggerated female fashion.

I’m a little taken aback when I realize the HOA Newsletter photographer is taking a picture of me but I decide to go with it and turn and give her the ‘elbow elbow wrist wrist’ wave and blow her a kiss.  The old man is so enrapt in his talk with the Hag, he hasn’t gotten a gander of the spectacle I’m making.  I’m getting a little impatient and I’m so hot, I feel like I’m going to pass out.  I decide to kick it up a notch.

I whip out my wand and begin shaking fairy dust over two people in the middle of a chess game and say in a high, wavering voice that by no accident is a spot-on imitation of Nancy’s snooty tone “My subjects of the Kingdom Notorious, I bestow my blessings upon you.”

That got Dad’s attention real quick.  Within seconds, I feel a rough hand encircling my gloved arm and I am being yanked through the open sliding glass door.  The air conditioner is sweet, cooling relief but the look on Pop’s face is even better.  I have never seen him look more discombobulated!

Out comes the finger of shame, pointing at me and pointing towards my room.

“I don’t know what you think you are doing but I can absolutely assure you, in case you have any doubt, that NO SON OF MINE WILL WEAR A DRESS AND SASHAY AROUND IN PUBLIC AND-”

The room fills with gasps, as all the guests have followed us inside and are standing around in a circle.

I look up into their faces and I see expressions of shock…

Disdain.

Disgust.

and Disapproval.  Only their expressions are not aimed at me.  Their eyes are all on Pop!

I seize the moment and start to wail.  Which sets the old man off even worse.  He starts laughing and says in a sing-song voice “Oh, did I make the little princess cry?  Poor widdle pwintheth, run off to your room now and cwy in your pillow!”

“Sigismund Notorious, that is enough!”  Jocasta Bachelor’s authoritative voice rings out over Dad’s mocking and the whole room falls silent.  ”Just because a child chooses to experiment with gender roles is no reason for you to bully him.  It is behavior like yours that leads to distortion of identity and shame and self-loathing, something no parent should want to burden their child with.”  The crowd begins buzzing in unison, and the sentiment seems to be pro-Jocasta, anti-Dad.

Pop is absolutely flabbergasted.  Once upon a time, my old man was a very important person and though he is retired, people still walk on eggshells around him.  But this public chastisement, this humiliation in front of his peers, it is amazing!  I could have planned and planned and never come up with a better outcome than this one!  Slowly, Dad turns away from me.  He looks to the furious group around him and gives a lame chuckle.  He starts to speak, then stops, starts to shrug, then hangs his head.

“My…ummm, uh outburst…was, well, I see your point…ummm, and I ah, I should apologize…” As Dad’s stutters through this speech, he backs into the living room and sits down.  Oops.  The sound that emanates from the deflating whoopie cushion is monstrous.

Like the laughter that erupts from our neighbors!  They love it!  The break in the mood gives my mother the opportunity to call everyone back outside, where she has opened more bottles of nectar and lit the citronella candles to keep pesky mosquitoes away.

“Sigismund, let’s get the steaks on,” Mom says to Dad, the amusement in her voice not at all disguised.

“Huh?” he mumbles as he rises from the offending chair, so confused about these recent events.  But he dutifully follows his wife outside and gets to grilling.  Now…I am alone in the house, as all the guests have drifted back outside…and I could do the right thing and disable my trickery to save those potential victims that so quickly came to my defense.

But I am distracted by Nancy Landgrab.  She motions for me to join her and Jocasta Bachelor.

They proceed to ooh and ahh over my outfit, asking me if I sewed it myself and do I like to play with dolls and assuring me repeatedly that there was nothing wrong with my behavior.  Then they asked me where our bathroom was.  So being the charming little princess I had become, I took them by the hands and led them straight to the guest facilities.

Jocasta went in first.  I waited outside with Nancy, and we continued our little chat.  Then, from behind the bathroom door came a familiar flushing sound followed by a not-so-familiar shrieking.  Nancy pushed past me and opened the door to discover her friend being deluged by the toilet!  Some of the water splashed on Land-Hag and she turned to the sink, crying out “My makeup, my makeup!”

But her attempt to clean her face only resulted in another massive dose of spraying water.  Both ladies rushed out, straight to the living room, crying and wringing themselves out.  My mother rushed to them.  ”Oh, I’ll get you some towels immediately, just have a seat and try to calm down, I’m so sorry!”  Mom thought she was sorry now, wait’ll they sit down.

First Nancy started to drop into a living room chair.

Simultaneously, Jocasta’s backside hit the seat.  The whoopie cushions exploded at the exact same time and the sounds were perfectly in synch and thunderous.  Both ladies shrieked again.

Dad was apoplectic.  ”Do you see what I have to put up with?  Do you understand why I get so angry?”  And he was angry, so much so, he could barely get the words out.  By now, the ladies were rounding up their purses and their family members, tossing glares back at my mother and my father.  They and the other guests couldn’t get out of the house fast enough.

Amid all the chaos of our neighbors stampeding towards the exit, Hansu and Lyssandra came towards me.

“We’ve arranged for you to stay at our house tonight,”  they whispered conspiratorially and whisked me out of the line of Pop’s fire.

Later that night, I was soaking in my aunties’ tub, reflecting on what a triumphant evening it was and feeling mighty proud of myself.  I knew things were going to be rough when I finally had to return to face my father’s wrath.  But for now, I just wanted to bask in my glory.

Had I known what Dad had in store for me upon my return, I might not have felt so glorious.

“Weeeeellllll, if it isn’t young Sebastian Notorious and look, you’re a little entrepreneuer.”

I look up from my bake sale table and spot Dad’s enemy number one, Nancy Landgraab, the Queen of the Homeowner’s Association.  Finally, a customer and all of the people to sell my wares too, it’s her!  The toasty aroma of fresh-out-of-the-oven muffins wafts on the spring morning breeze right under my nose and a loud, gurgling rumble emanates from my hungry stomach.

Nancy goes on in her snobby voice.  ”What, pray tell, did you use to make this delightful confection?”

I glance skyward, acting as if I were in deep thought, contemplating the recipe.

In reality, I am having a fiendishly delightful flashback to the night before.  Waiting in the dark in my bedroom until I heard my father’s bear-like snores from his bedroom.  Sneaking into the kitchen to my SimmyBake Oven and quietly mixing all the ingredients including the extra-special, extra-secret one that only I would know about…until it was too late.  Ha!

“I guess I will just have to take them all, little man,” Nancy continues, her words dripping with money and stuck-up-ness, so patronizing, I want to pick up the plate and smash them in her over-made-up face.  But I will only have to wait a little while longer for my plan to go into effect.  Ideally, I will never know the results except in my imagination, I think as I watch her sashay away from the rickety bake sale table.  She turns to wave and I quickly and as innocently as I can muster, wave back.

Yesterday was such a great success, I decide to try to find another victim.  But as I am straightening my plate of baked goodies, a long, perfumed shadow falls across the table and I look up and for a moment I am frozen.

“You little monster!”  Nancy Landgraab shrieks and her lacquered, claw-like nails reach towards me.

Just then, good old Pop comes outside to check on me.  A good thing, or a bad thing…time will tell.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa…Nancy, what are you doing to my son?”  Dad’s voice is laced with genuine curiosity but I know underneath that is nothing but contempt.  How he dislikes this woman.

“The question, Sigismund, should be what has your son done to me?  And my family?  With his horrible trick!  You should be ashamed and disgusted of this boy.”

“Sheesh, Nancy, that is some pretty strong language.  What could he possibly have done to upset you so much?”  Dad was trying to be diplomatic but I could hear something else in his voice…dare I say it?  Was Pop fiendishly delighted to see his archnemesis so riled?

“That little brat put laxatives in those muffins!”  She half-shouted, half-wailed.

Oops, Dad wasn’t delighted at all.   I considered running back to the house but I saw no point, he would track me down.

“Nancy, I am shocked, shocked! to hear that my son would do this to you but I am sure it was not personal.  Please, give me some time to speak to him and I will send him to your house immediately to apologize to everyone and to share with you his punishment.”

She turns on her heel with a loud huffing noise and marches across the street to her mansion.  I do not look forward to following her over there and I brace myself for what is coming next.

First, good old ‘Pointy’ is in my face.  Jab, jab, jab, Pop’s index finger is his favorite weapon.

Along with the finger stabbing the air for emphasis, the lecture.  Blah blah blah “when I was your age” blah blah blah “don’t you know that you can put people in harm’s way” blah blah blah “that woman causes me enough grief already blah blah blah.

Finally, the punishment.  He did just what he promised old ugly Landgraab face, he sent me over to apologize and then he confiscated my bake sale table and my SimmyBake Oven.  Oh, well, the joke is over so what good would those things do my anymore.   I drag my heels all the way to the neighbor’s house but already, the wheels of mischief are turning and I’m wondering what will I do for my follow-up?

Pranks come pretty natural to me.  I was a trickster the minute I was conceived.  Mom and Dad had already sent my siblings, Mariposa and Vereen off to college and they were really looking forward to having their lives children-free.  Not so fast…here I am being born!

Mom says I was pretty difficult.  I think it was the lack of freedom to express myself in the way that would become my trademark–lowdown, dirty mischief!  But once I started walking, no one was safe.

I started at two and my first medium was glue.  Not that gooey, white paste that some of my peers think is delicious, oh, no.  I found the good stuff in Dad’s tool box and with my stepping-stool, I was able to make a mess of this dresser.

I never meant for Mom to be the receipient of my badness.  This time was the one and only time she had to suffer at the hands of her son.  From then on, I was very careful to make sure Dad was the target.

Wow, the look on Dad’s face when he realized the chess pieces were permantly affixed to the board.  But that was baby stuff.  I had much bigger and bolder plans…but how was to implement them?

Inspiration can come from surprising places and originally I was dreading our field trip to the Science Center.  How could I pull a prank in a place I was unfamiliar with.  I was not yet good on the fly, I needed lots of planning.  Another thing I hated about field trips is that I always had to sit with the chaperone.  I had quite the reputation for bad behavior.

I entered the building, passing the fountain that to me was absolutely lackluster because it wasn’t filled with suds.  To me, it was going to be another boring seminar and with a teacher or parent taking the seat besides me, what could I possibly get up to?

But I came out of the Science Center a changed young man…see, they had a gift shop…

I have the power!  No more baby pranks for me, I was taking it to the next level!

Inspiration is everything when it comes to pulling the most ingenious pranks.  One day, the old man called me into his bathroom to mop up a puddle that was never-ending, seeing Dad was having such a hard time fixing the shower.  Eventually, me managed to stop the leak.  But my mind was going a million devious miles a minute.

Some quality time in the laboratory, which Dad thankfully had set up in the detached garage for me, led to the discovery of a potion that would do just what I wanted it to do–humiliate my next victim–Pop, of course!

Now the tricky part, finding some time to get into the Master bath without my parents catching me.  I’m fast, lightening-fast–the stealth trickster!

I think I can actually make this work!  Mom doesn’t take showers, so she’ll be safe.  I just have to wait for Dad.  My only regret is that there is nowhere to hide in the bathroom so I won’t actually get to see my handiwork.  But I’ll know the scream of agony…it’ll be the thrilling sound of success!  I’ll put tape over the doorlatch so he can’t lock it and then I’ll bust in at the right moment!

“What the…what is dripping down my neck?”

(Looks in mirror)

“Oh…my…

“Ariane!  ARIANE, HELP!”

(tee hee)

Dad gets very quiet.  I am standing in the door, my hand over my mouth, but the the giggles are spilling out.  From the angle of the door I can see his head and shoulders in the mirror over the sink.  Oh, well, Pop, you know what they say…Blondes have more fun!

Through gritted teeth, comes the lecture…then the punishment.  But I don’t even hear what he is saying because Mom has joined me and we are roaring with laughter.

“Ariane, don’t encourage him,”  Dad pleads but she shakes her head.

“It’s funny, Sigismund.  Relax.  It’ll wash right out, won’t it honey?”

I shrug and wander away.  What next, what next?

Now you see them…

Now you don’t!

Get home early from school and this prank is just begging to happen!

I tip toe into the garage and shut the door, but I can hear everything from the open windows.

First I hear the Simmcuzzi jets die down, indicating that Dad is sufficiently pruned.  Then the sloshing sound of him pulling his beluga whale body out of the hot tub.  Then a pause…then

‘ARIANE!  GET OUT HERE AND BRING ME A TOWEL!”

I can hear my mother laughing softly.  ”Sigismund, if you want to parade around the backyard naked, we are going to have to build a privacy hedge or Nancy Landgraab will have you by the–”

“My lack of clothing is not my idea, it is your son’s.  Where is he?”  Dad sounds quietly furious.  I know what is coming next.

“I don’t know how to make him understand that he must respect me.  All I can do is punish him but nothing seems to sink in, it just seems to make him more insolent.  It is like a challenge to him, ” my father rants.

Moments later, I am being summoned.  I could pretend not to hear him but it does not good, he will always find me.

Dad’s in rare form tonight.  He jabs that finger in every direction, in the air, at me, and finally, the dreaded corner.

“C’mon, Pop.  I’m too big to stick my nose on the wall.  Can’t I just do chores or something?”

Dad nods.  ”You’re right.  You are too big–for your britches.   Fine, the corner is out but I want the entire garage cleaned up by the end of this weekend.  Do you understand?”

I agree with some reluctance–I’ve made a pretty big mess inside my lab–but it beats being treated like a baby.

On my way outside, I pass through the den and I make an incredible discovery.  Dad has left out his precious digital video recorder!  Do I dare?

Oh, yeah.  You’re gonna be my new best friend!

I do spend most of the weekend cleaning up the garage.  Then I tell my folks I’m off to the Paige’s house to hang out.  I jump on my bike, ride around the corner, park it in the bushes near the entrance to our neighborhood and sneak back.  Just in time, too and I get some kind of footage on the video camera!  When I’m done, I set it back where I found it.  Now it is just a matter of time before the results of this prank are known.

“Ariane,” I hear my father call out Sunday evening.  He seems especially in a good mood because I did such a good job in the garage.

“It is still storytime, Sigismund,” Mom hollers back.  ”I’m putting Sebastian to bed.”

“I want to see those home movies I took,” Dad responds impatiently.

Here’s the big moment, I think.

“We can stop here, Mom,”  I say in my sweetest voice.  ”Thanks for reading to me.”

Mom leans over and kisses my forehead.  ”Thanks for letting me, my angel,” she answers.

I don’t even feel a twinge of guilt.  Just excitement at what’s about to go down!

“Come on, Ariane.  Here you are in the garden!”  I hear Dad say excitedly.  What’s so exciting about Mom picking tomatos?

“Wait, Ariane…I, huh?  I don’t remember filming the treehouse?”

“ARIANE!  GET IN HERE NOW!”

“Mr. Notorious, we were just about to call an ambulance,” the security guard said with relief in his voice.

“I’m fine, no need to call the EMTs,”  I said, my voice a raspy croak.  I headed home and gratefull climbed into bed.  That was six weeks ago.Occasionally, I rise from the grimy, rumpled sheets to join my family in the dining room.  I sit at the head of the table, unwashed and unshaven, making eye contact with no one, mostly staring into space.  Ariane diligently sets a plate in front of me and I proceed to absentmindedly push the food around on the plate, rarely putting anything in my mouth.

During one of these meals, my eldest child, Mariposa, looks up at me quizzically and in an innocent voice asks

“What is wrong with Daddy?”“Yes, Daddy,”  Ariane says in a cold, disdainful voice.  ”What is wrong with you?”I want to say that everything is fine, that tomorrow I will leap out of bed with my old vigor and take one of the hot baths I love so, and storm into the talent agency with a fresh and exciting agenda.  But the thought of doing any of those things is terrifying to me.  I feel helpless.  Dropping my head into hands, I begin to sniffle, then to cry.Mariposa begins to cry as well.  I can see how frightened she is by my erractic behavior but I can do nothing to stop the flow of tears.

“Darling, go to your room, Mommy will be right behind you,” Ariane says, her voice now quiet and soothing.  The child leaves and my wife turns to me.  ”Get a hold of youself, Sigismund,” she snaps.“I…I can’t, I can’t” I sob, overwhelmed with hysteria.  ”Ariane, I don’t know what’s wrong with me.  I don’t want to feel like such a loser, to be dirty and smell and wear the same clothes everyday and sleep all the time.  I want to snap out of it.  But I don’t know how because I don’t know why…” the words die away in choking noises, my shoulders heave and I cover my face in shame.Ariane sighs but is otherwise silent, letting me cry myself out.  She does not move to take my hand or put her arms around me, both of which I long for:  any connection with another human to let me know I am a viable being.

“Sigismund.  I have two options for you.  Get professional help.  Or get out of this house.”  Her words ring with finality.Just to show Ariane I am not completely hopeless, I shuffle back into my dark bedroom.  I will myself to get into a steaming shower and shave my bearded face, and change into a fresh set of pajamas.  Then I slowly make my way to my elderly mother’s room.  She is surprised to see me and even more shocked when I collapse in her arms.“Mother, I am such a wretchedly horrible man,”  I say, starting to weep again.

Little by little I tell her the whole story.  My connection to Brandy Lookingglass, Brandy’s tale of the abandoned baby, how I attempted to seduce her, my anger at her rejection and then…I freeze, I simply cannot get the words out without the sensations from before, the racing heart, my forehead beaded with sweat, the surety that I am going to black out.“I did a terrible thing, Mother,”  I continue, finally finding the courage to tell her the rest.  ”I exposed Brandy.  I told the whole story to the SimQuirer.  I deliberately ruined her life because I had the power to do it.  I wanted her to suffer.  Why?  Why am I this kind of person?”

Mother began to cry as well.  ”Because I married a Notorious.  I should have known better.  Sigismund, I am so sorry.”I was speechless.  Did my mother’s words of sorrow indicate that there was no way to help me?  I wander through the house, lost in thought until I come to Mariposa’s room.  She is sleeping  fitfully and making little noises of distress.  This thing, this evilness that my father had passed to me, have I passed it to her as well?Next, I creep into the nursery.  Ariane has put Vereen down, but she is still awake in another part of the house.  I look closely at my son, looking for some sign of what is to come in his life.  Is the Notorious family destined to carry on this way, wreaking havoc, ruining reputations, destroying whole lives?  I don’t know but Ariane is right…I must get help.I see my doctor and he refers me to a hospital where I will be treated for nervous exhaustion.  I am calmed by prescribed medications, and I am a little better about taking care of myself.  But an unshakeable sense of doom permeates my every thought because I know in my dark heart that I cannot change my nature.The medications keep me sedate and often I find myself drifting in and out of a twilight.  When she appeared at my bedside, I thought surely I was dreaming, some wonderful dream where Brandy comes back to me and gives me the chance I long for…the chance to explain to her that everything was beyond my control, I couldn’t help myself.“Sigismund, oh Sigismund, what has happened to you?”  The drawl, slow and sweet as honey,  is unmistakable.

Leaping out of bed in shock and then realizing how revealing my hospital gown can be, I back away from her.  ”What are you doing here?” I demand.  I am absolutely mortified that she is seeing me in this state and in this place.“I’m here because your mother asked me to come here.  Please relax, I didn’t mean to get you riled up,”  she says with a little trepidation.

“Riled up?  What are you implying?”  She must know what kind of hospital we are in.  Is she afraid of me?

As if reading my mind, she smiles warmly.  ”Sigismund, I came here as your friend.  We need to talk.  I have something to tell you.”Friend?  Why would she want to be friends with me after what I had done?  Surely she knew it was me that exposed her secret.  Before I lost my mind, I had read all the tabloids and the stories were fierce, calling her every name in the book.  The music company I had negotiated with wouldn’t even release her record.  She was a pariah.  But I desperately want to hear what she has to say.“Sigismund, you saved my life.”

I look at her, dumbfounded.

“Last week…I did something so miraculous, so wonderful and it never would have happened if it wasn’t for you.”“For the second time in my life, I got to hold my son in my arms, ” she continues, breathlessly.  ”Because of the news stories, Nick was able to find me and I was able to find him.  I begged his Mama and Daddy to bring him to meet me and they were happy to do it.”“We spent hours together, learning all about each other.  Oh, Sigismund, just looking into his precious face is like looking in a mirror!  He is so handsome and smart as a whip.”“Nick brought pictures from his childhood.  He was an adorable baby and he got adopted right away.”“As a child, he got everything he needed and wanted:  a loving home, a good education, a safe environment to grow up in…all the things I would never have been able to give him.”“I knew I had to tell him the truth about what happened, about the awful choice I made.  It was the hardest words I ever spoke and I couldn’t say I was sorry enough times.  But he said he understood.  Nick is exactly the age now that I was when I gave him up.  He said he wouldn’t be able to raise a baby and he could see how I felt the same way.”“So you came here…you came here, why?  I don’t understand why you are telling me this story, Brandy.  You should hate me.”

She clasps my hands.  ”But I don’t, Sigismund, that is why I am here.  Your mother said you were tore up about what you did, and I came here to let you know it all turned out for the best for me and for Nick.”I gaze at her warily for a long time.

“So…” I start, and some old part of me reawakens for a moment, I can hear it in my voice, a certain wicked, all-knowing tone.  ”You came here to thank me.  I did you a favor, Brandy Lookingglass.  Is that what you are trying to tell me?”It is her turn to back away and her countenance is sad.

“Your Mama said you were sick and that I could help you.  I thought my story would…and if you want to believe that you ‘did me a favor’ than so be it.  But if you are ever going to be really better, Mr. Notorious, I suggest you think, and I mean really think about the people you care about.  What are you going to do for them to show them you love them?”I never answered Brandy that day.  She turned and left the hospital without saying good-bye.  It was clear she had nothing more to say to me.  I was released with the promise to my treatment team that I would find some way to lead a less stressful life.  I sold the talent agency to my little sisters, and found a relaxing hobby.Every weekend, I grab my surfboard……pack it in the car……head to the beach and catch some waves.When I am alone with the ocean I think of Brandy’s final words to me.  How can I be good to the people who love me when I am so hopelessly unloveable?  But my wife and my children have stuck by me and  I am grateful.Time passes and I get grayer and fatter…but wiser?  I’m not sure.  Then one day at the beach, something unexpected happens.  I am coming up from the shore when someone calls my name.

“Mr. Notorious, Mr. Notorious.”  I look up and see a teenage girl standing in front of me.“I’m so sorry to bother you but…but I just need a minute of your time, please.  I have my guitar here and I want–”I cut her off immediately.  ”I’m not in show business anymore.  And shouldn’t you be in school?  How’d you find me here, anyway?”

She is so wound up she can barely speak.  ”I’ve been following you here and its Saturday and if you could just listen for five minutes and tell me what you think, do I have a chance?”  Her words tumble out in an excited rush.

I sigh deeply and then nod my head.  What’s five minutes?She begins to strum nervously and then warbles a little bit.  But as she gains confidence, her voice becomes fuller and her playing better.  After a minute I realize she is quite good and has the potential to be great.  But something troubles me, it is the song…then it hits me.  The song is Brandy’s song from so long ago in that nightclub.  The song of love…of loss…of regret.I hold up my hand to indicate to this enthusiastic young lady that I have heard enough.

“Well?” She gushes, putting her guitar aside,  ”What do you think?”

I look into her eyes and I see Brandy all over again.  ”I think you should go home to the people you love and forget about fame.”Naturally the girl is crestfallen.  She assumes I am telling her that she is no good, that her chances of succeeding are nil.  I know she has an excellent chance and that if I were to represent her, she would go straight to the top.  But I don’t owe her that.  I don’t anyone anything.

But I owe it to myself to once and for all tell Brandy I’m sorry.  Maybe someday I will.

“Hello, SimQuirer?”

At last I return home.  I have never been so happy to be in my house and to see my wife and children.  Everything is intact.  I was expecting Ariane to be standing at the door with divorce papers in her hands, the kids packed and ready to move.  Actually, changing the locks would be more Ariane’s style.  But she is oblivious.  She takes my hands and gushes over me like we are teenagers again.
I pull Ariane into a tight embrace, and over my shoulder I see my wedding band.  The eternal reminder of what I am connected to, what should matter most to me.  Was I really so willing to throw it all away?  My actions the night before seem like a dream now…something someone else did, not me.  The same with that final phone call…did I really call that tabloid?
I climb the stairs to the nursery, a trip I was so loathe to make in the past because the sounds of bickering children and the smell of soiled diapers would send me into a funk.  But I am taking the steps two at a time and the closer I get, the closer the voices of Mariposa and Vereen become.  My heart leaps when I see them and I joyfully crowd them into my arms.
“Watch this, Daddy!”  Mariposa begins a game of peek-a-boo with her brother and he giggles and then covers his eyes and says something back to her, not really words but very close to words.  ”Say ‘Daddy’ Vereen!  Say ‘Daddy,’ I know you can say it,” she implores.

“Sigismund.”  Vereen chimes in and grins up at me.

I am a little taken aback.  Vereen speaks my name clear as a bell, no baby lisp or fumbling of the syllables.  I am not sure if I should be proud or offended.

“I’m Daddy,” I say, ruffling the little guy’s hair.

Ariane has been standing in the doorway watching us.  ”You’ve been gone so long, it is a wonder he even knows who you are,” she points out.
“Ariane, I have a surprise for you,” I announce, in an attempt to assuage any ill feelings that may be lingering over my absence.  ”I’ll stay with the kids so you can go to the Sharma Day Spa…I bought the Soothing Salvation package for you, I know you’ve earned it.”

Without even a thank-you, she prepares to leave, headed to her home away from home.  ”Leftovers are in the fridge!” she shouts over her shoulder.

After several hours, I receive a call from Ariane.  ”I’m out doing some shopping, could you put the kids to bed?” She sounds distracted and in the background, I can hear a someone calling her name.  Probably a saleswoman pressing my wife to spend more of my money.  Oh, well.  At this moment I am so thrilled to have a wife, I don’t care if she spends every cent.
I wash up and change into my pajamas, enter the living room and encourage my daughter to do the same.

“I’m reading my Chess Challenge manual, can I please stay up?” she begs.  Seeing as Vereen is still finishing his dinner, I give Mariposa a little while longer.  As I leave for the kitchen, she calls out to me.

“Daddy, I missed you so much, ” she says, climbing off the couch and coming towards me.  ”But I really miss Brandy Lookingglass.  When is she coming back?”

Anger engulfs me for a moment but I hold steady.  ”Who is Brandy Lookingglass?”  I ask, trying to sound confused.

Mariposa giggles.  ”Oh, Daddy, now you are being silly.  The lady who lives with us…the lady you made famous.”

I sigh.  No getting out of this one.

“She isn’t famous anymore, honey.  She-she did a very bad thing and when everyone found out, they didn’t want her to buy her records.”

I hurry into the kitchen.  My heart is racing, pounding, filling my ears with the whoosh of madly circulating blood.  Saying those words aloud to Mariposa drives home the reality that my simple phone call could have made.  A world of unhappiness for Brandy, a world where she is a pariah, a woman who would scorn her own child.  She never should have crossed me.
At last I hustle the kids off to bed and then drift off myself.  I am shocked to wake up and find my wife in our bed.  ”Hello, stranger,” she coos and we are both overwhelmed by my pent-up passion.  I fall back asleep but only for a few moments.  The sounds of Vereen float down from the nursery and startle me back awake; I run up the nursery steps to him.

I reach into the crib and lift him out.  As I lean over to set him on the ground, I feel short of breath and my heart seems to be beating at an unnaturally high rate of speed.  I clutch my chest and collapse.
Slowly my eyes open.  I am gasping for breath and my heart feels as if someone has reached inside me and squeezed it with a superhuman force.  I can hear my son chattering to himself.  Weakness engulfs my entire body.  After a few minutes, I can breathe again and the pressure in my chest loosens.  Feeling wobbly, I rise to my feet.  ”Ariane,” I call but my voice is a choked whisper.
At last I am standing upright and steady.  I feel for my phone and I wonder if I had better call my doctor.  But I seem okay now, maybe it was just running up the stairs too fast and leaning over twice, first to lift Vereen out of the crib, then to place him on the floor.  I just blacked out.  Nothing to get excited about.  Besides, I need to be in my office today before I have a mutiny on my hands.The office seems to be running smoothly despite my being away for so long.  I am pleased with my little sisters, they are coming into their own.  They had better not try to break off into their own agency, I think and then chastise myself.  Since this…ugliness with…that woman, I seem only able to see the worst in others.  Yet I remain coolly detached from my own evil desire as I call the SimQuirer again.
I have a brief conversation with the same reporter, referring to myself only as Deep Sim.  I replay the pregnancy, the abandonment, the confession.  ”You do see what kind of woman she is?”  I whisper into the phone.  ”It was the love of the crowd she wanted…not the love of that poor little infant.”  The reporter assures me a private detective has been dispatched and the sordid details will be published soon.
I hang up.  My breathing becomes rapid, shallow.  Again, in my ears, I hear the sound of pounding blood as my heart beats a crazed tatoo.  Rising inside me is a need to laugh maniacally at what I have done, to shout to the heavens that no one can defy a Notorious.  But I would only be a cliche, a caricature then.  All I want is to get my stride back, to stop feeling like I was played.  I leave the office and enter the elevator.
But when the doors slide open at the bottom floor, I slump forward and down.  I’m on the ground and the sliding doors just keep opening and closing, not quite hitting my knees.  I hear this repetitive jerking sound of the doors, I feel a dullness in all of my limbs, my ears are ringing, my throat is dry, my mouth tastes metallic…and I cannot move.
Whose life have I destroyed? I wonder and then the world fades slowly to black.