For the Love of Mommy
Part 1
by Laurie Braithwaite
Courteous Disclaimer: It is recognized and appreciated that the characters in this story are the protected property of NBC's program 'The Pretender'. No infringement of copyright is intended.
* * *
One could almost detect a rhythm of cheerfulness in the pace of her walk. And when the leggy brunette entered the room, she greeted the occupants with a smile. "Good morning, Gentlemen."
Broots and Sydney exchanged puzzled glances. "Uh...morning, Miss Parker," Broots replied.
"Good night's sleep, Miss Parker?" Sydney questioned, ever suspicious of a spirited mood from his young rancorous friend.
Miss Parker grinned mischievously. "No...sleep, Syd," she replied, with a cocked eyebrow.
Broots scratched his balding head. "Usually when I get no sleep I'm..." He caught Sydney smirking at him. "Oh!" he said with an embarrassed grin. "Oh oh oh. 'No' sleep. Oh, I get it."
Miss Parker roller her eyes. "I doubt you *get* any." She stuck a cigarette between her full lips, and lit it. "What's up?"
"Uh, another gift from Jarod," Broots answered, holding up a large manila envelope.
Miss Parker took the envelope from Broots, and peered inside. "He is one sick puppy," she sneered. She took a pencil from off of the desk and fished a newborn size disposable diaper from the envelope. "A little birdie must have told Jarod about your bed-wetting." She flung the diaper at Broots.
It hit him in the face, and then fell into his hands. He examined it. "Look!" he exclaimed, unfolding the unsoiled diaper. "There's a message inside."
Miss Parker snatched the diaper back from Broots. "Psalms 127:3." She glanced at her colleagues. "Either of you happen to have a Bible on hand?"
"I don't have a Bible, on hand, per se," Broots answered as he scurried behind his desk. "But I can get one... on-line."
Miss Parker rolled her eyes. "Not surprising."
Broots clicked away with the mouse, and then typed something on the keyboard. Within seconds he had the Holy Scriptures displayed on his monitor. "Psalms 127:3. 'Lo, children are an heritage of the LORD: and the fruit of the womb is his reward.'" he quoted.
Miss Parker looked at Sydney. "What's the sea monkey trying to tell us now, Dr. Spock?"
Sydney shrugged. "I have a son. Broots has a daughter. Maybe Jarod's going to be a father." He considered Miss Parker, and then surmised. "Or maybe he's telling you... it's your turn to have a child."
"Ugh!" Miss Parker groaned. "When hell freezes over." She mentally reviewed each morning's routine: A cigarette, a shower, and a birth control pill. The preceding evenings' activities did not concern her. "Not 'even' when hell freezes over," she reemphasized. She slammed the diaper into Sydney's chest and turned to leave.
"You'd make a good mother," Sydney called after her.
"My little Debbie thinks you would," Broots echoed. "Though I'd have to disagree with her," he said under his breath.
Miss Parker stopped to face her two colleagues. "Your little Debbie is a child, Broots," she derided. "Brigitte would get an 'A' on her Mother's day card if the mad cow spared your kid a lollipop."
Broots shook his head. "Not true, Miss Parker," he countered. "Kids are very perceptive."
"Broots is right, you know," Sydney concurred.
Miss Parker took a long soothing drag from her cigarette, and slowly released smoke towards the men. It raked her insides raw when they sided against her and prattled on ridiculously like two misfit schoolboys. "Just find out what... *Sydney's baby* is up to," she ordered, with raised eyebrows. She quickly left the room before either man could resume the nauseating conversation of childbearing.
* * *Jarod strolled down the maternity ward. He stopped at the nursery and peered in. Rows of newborns lay snuggled in their respective baskets. Jarod retrieved a red notebook from his inside pocket, and flipped it open. A recent newspaper headline read: "Infant Deaths at Hospital Mysterious". He turned the page and read a related news article. "Doctor Vindicated in Charges".
The brown eyes narrowed in suspicion. Each purported infant death case involved the same doctor. And always it was a single, low-income mother who lost her child. It was too coincidental; minutes after the stillbirth a wealthy couple welcomed the adopted newborn into their family.
A young woman stood beside Jarod, and gazed longingly at the babies in the nursery. "Precious, aren't they?" she whispered.
"Yes, they are." Jarod turned to the woman, and smiled.
She didn't return the pleasantry. She was closer to tears, than a smile.
"Are you all right, Miss?" Jarod asked, solicitously.
"No," she answered, truthfully. "But then, that's life." She put her hand on the windowpane and waved good-bye.
"My name is Jarod," the concerned stranger introduced himself. "Is there some way I can help you?"
The young woman looked up at him, with sad brown eyes. "Not unless you can perform resurrections."
Jarod shook his head. "I'm sorry."
She shrugged. "No matter. Thanks just the same." She walked away.
* * *
Miss Parker stood in the washroom, and stared at the calendar. She counted back the days, flipped the calendar to the previous month, and counted some more. The more she repeated the count, the more her stomach churned.
It wasn't unusual for her skip a cycle every now and then. The delay could be attributed to her stressful lifestyle. The sickness in the mornings was credited to an irritable ulcer, and the ever-increasing fatigue she blamed on Jarod.
However, on the third day of her second consecutive missed cycle, she couldn't rationalize away her fear. She made an appointment with an out of town doctor.
"I'll be in late," she told Broots, over the phone.
"Again?"
"You got a problem with that?" she hissed, as she buttoned up her blouse.
"No...it's just..."
"Have you located Jarod?"
"Uh...no...not yet."
"Then there's no reason that I torture myself with your mundane company until it's absolutely imperative." She contemplated her reflection in the mirror, and gave herself an evil gape.
"Well, it's just that...."
"Just what, Broots?" She roughly passed a comb through her hair.
"Um...you've kind of been late all week, Miss Parker," he remarked, sheepishly.
"And that bothers you?"
"Hell no," he rushed. "But..."
Miss Parker threw the comb down. "Broots!"
He immediately fell silent, anticipating her caustic tongue.
"I don't ever have to explain myself to a peon. Got it?" She hung up.
"Yes Ma'am." Broots hung up the phone. "Probably wouldn't understand you even if you did explain yourself," he said bravely after the fact. "Even if you painted me a picture, I wouldn't understand you," he continued. "Even if you had a shrink try to explain..."
"Who are you talking to Broots?" Sydney interrupted, as he entered the mumbling man's workspace.
"No one." He scratched his head. "Miss Parker's going to be in late."
"Again?"
Broots held up his hands, and backed away. "Hey, if you have a problem with that, take it up with the dominatrix. I dare you."
* * *
Jarod entered the prestigious Dr. Gamble's clinic. He went directly to the front desk, and rang the bell twice, even though the receptionist was present.
"May I help you?" she asked as she moved the bell out of his reach.
"I hope so." Jarod placed the briefcase on the desktop. "I'd like to adopt a baby."
"Do you have an appointment with the Doctor?" the receptionist asked.
"As a matter of fact, I don't," Jarod said. "But I'd like to make one, if I may." He patted the heavy briefcase.
The receptionist smiled. "Well, we can get you started on the process." She handed Jarod a clipboard with a small bundle of papers attached to it. "Fill out these forms, and I'll go see if the doctor has a moment to spare."
"Thank-you."
She disappeared.
Jarod quickly scanned the appointment book for names. He had to do follow-up research.
The receptionist returned. "How's it going?"
Jarod shook his head, and sighed. "This is a very detailed questionnaire. But we can't be too careful where children are concerned." He handed her the finished sheets of made-up facts.
She briefly scanned the pages. "So, you're Mr. Rogers?" she remarked, with a grin.
"Jarod." He held out his right hand. "And you are?"
"I'm Angela," she offered, shaking his hand. "'Mom' to my girls."
"Are those your daughters there?" he asked, looking past her to a portrait on her desk.
"Those are them." She retrieved the 8 x 10 glossy, and handed it to Jarod.
"They're beautiful," he praised, returning the picture. "Dr. Gamble came highly recommended."
"It's no gamble with Gamble," she recited.
Jarod grinned. "That's cute. 'It's no gamble with Gamble.' I like that. It's a play on his name," he remarked. "One would think choosing a Doctor by the name of Gamble would be risky. But your slogan says 'It's no gamble with Gamble."
Angie nodded, politely. "Names are funny things, Mr. Rogers," she said, with a broad grin. "For instance, the name Mr. Rogers."
"Does my name amuse you?" he asked.
"Well, you don't look like Mr. Rogers."
He swallowed trepidation. "I don't?"
"Not unless you break into a song about being my neighbor."
Jarod blinked his eyes, perplexed. "Is that what men by the name of Rogers do in this town, Angela? Vocalize melodiously about being neighbors?"
She shook her head, and smiled. "You know...'Mister Rogers'? Won't you be my neighbor?" she sang. "'Mister Rogers' Neighborhood'?"
He shrugged.
Angela moved her hands like puppets. "A kids' television show with puppets."
Jarod shook his head. "The people who raised me restricted what I watched on television. I've never seen a
...Mister Rogers.""You were deprived," she teased.
"Really? Please, tell me more about this... Mister Rogers."
Angela provided Jarod with details of the program while he waited for the Doctor.
* * *
Miss Parker nervously twisted the ever-present square silver ring on her left pointer finger. The smell of the antiseptic in the lonely sterile room began to pester her senses. What the hell was taking so long, she wondered? Broots could produce faster results, and he had the brains of bait. "This is ridiculous." She stood, gathered her belongings, and opened the door to leave.
At the same time, the doctor opened the door to enter. "I'm sorry for the wait, Miss Parker," she apologized.
"Please." She gestured for Miss Parker to have a seat, but was disregarded. "Okay." The doctor leant against the cupboards, and looked her impatient patient in the eyes. "When was your last period?" the doctor questioned, stone faced."I don't know," she answered. "Last month, the month before." She narrowed her eyes. "Why?"
Doctor Shay leaned forward. "The test results came back positive."
"Positive?" The word echoed in her head. "Exactly...what does 'positive' mean, Doctor?"
The doctor smiled. "You're pregnant, Miss Parker."
Miss Parker's mouth fell open. The throbbing in her ears gave her an instant headache, and muffled the doctor's words. "Excuse me?"
"You're pregnant," the Doctor repeated, slower, louder.
Miss Parker lowered herself onto the chair, before her legs gave out under the weight of the announcement.
"Pregnant?" she gasped, inaudibly. "You can't be serious.""I am serious," Doctor Shay confirmed.
Miss Parker regarded the doctor with a look of annoyance, as she fought to maintain some level of civility. "I...I came in here for a checkup on my ulcer, Doctor. Not for a bloody pregnancy test," she hissed, feeling betrayed.
"You wanted to know why you've been feeling so poorly of late," the doctor stated, mirroring Miss Parker's sober gaze. "The reason being you're pregnant."
"I was hoping I had cancer," she confessed.
"Most people are relieved to find out they don't have cancer, Miss Parker."
"Most people don't have my father as a parent." Miss Parker smiled, wearily. "My father...would accept... prefer...my having an incurable disease. He will not tolerate a pregnancy." She looked away forlorn, and wrapped her arms tightly around herself for ineffective comfort. "There must be some mistake," she refuted, desperately. "I take the pill, faithfully."
"Well dear, I'm sure you know by now, the only foolproof birth control is abstinence," Dr. Shay informed.
"Where's the fun in that?" she droned. "I don't even have an eventful sex life, Doctor," Miss Parker declared, with an incredulous laugh. "In fact, it's pathetic. Nerd-man Broots probably gets more virtual action than I do in reality."
"Is Broots the baby's..."
"Don't!" Miss Parker pointed a finger, and flashed the Doctor an ice-blue look of utter repulsion. "Don't even," she advised strongly, killing the ridiculous hypothesis.
It didn't matter to the Doctor who the father of the baby was. "Come on. Hop up on the table," she patted Miss Parker on the knees. "I'd like to examine you to determine how far along you are."
Miss Parker shook her head, and rose to leave. "I can't have this baby."
Dr. Shay placed her hand on the distraught patient's shoulder. "Miss Parker I know this is serious news to bear. It takes time to absorb it all."
Miss Parker saw the doctor's lips moving, but didn't hear one spoken word. "Daddy's going to kill me," she whispered.
"I can talk to your father with you, if you like," the sincere doctor offered.
One sneaky tear escaped a beautiful blue eye and trickled down the cheek. It was quickly brushed away with trembling fingers. "You don't know my father." Miss Parker put her hand on the doorknob. She felt light-headed, and yet saturated. How would she ever make it to her vehicle? If men were the ones getting pregnant, the pill would be infallible. And if one of them unexpectedly became expectant, someone would be made to pay. Miss Parker would make someone pay.
"Do you have your own family doctor?" Dr. Shay asked, intruding Miss Parker's thoughts.
"What?" She shook her head. She knew a former doctor, Raines. The thought of him as anyone's physician, shrink, foot doctor, proctologist made her skin crawl. Sydney also had a medical degree. It was too weird to even imagine him as a gynecologist, putting his hands on a woman's body, especially her own. "I've got to get out of here."
"I can fit you into my schedule," the doctor offered, gently squeezing Miss Parker's arm. "Why don't we make an appointment for next week?"
"I have a busy life, Doctor." She freed herself of the doctor's hold.
"Before you make any decisions, Miss Parker, we'll need to know how far along you are."
Miss Parker nodded. She made no commitments, true to form.
"Next week then," the doctor said. "Having a baby is a blessing."
Miss Parker stared at the encouraging Doctor. "I'm sure," she whispered. Having a baby is a blessing, when you're not the one having a baby.
* * *
"Angela, please if I may interrupt?" Jarod said, after she had spoken for some time. "Let me get this straight. There's this puppet monarch, King Friday the XIII. And he has a human niece, Lady Aberlin, but a puppet son, Prince Tuesday?"
Angela nodded. "His puppet wife is Queen Sarah."
"And there's an owl named X, and an pussycat who are neighbors... in a tree... house?"
"Henrietta the pussycat always speaks like this...'Meow meow Jarod.'
Usually we can guess at what she's trying to say. Like if she wanted to say 'nice to meet you Jarod', she'd say 'Nice to meow meet you, meow, Jarod. She drove me crazy with that meow talk!"
Jarod chuckled. "And they all live in the 'Neighborhood of make...believe'?"
"Mister Rogers would take us viewers to the neighborhood of make-believe on his little trolley."
"It sounds like a wonderful show for children," Jarod acclaimed. "I also grew up in a land of make-believe. There were puppets and puppet masters. It wasn't much fun, though." He handed Angela the completed forms. "Thank-you for the information on Mister Rogers."
"Meow welcome," she said.
* * *Miss Parker sat in her car, numbed by the news. Her hands shook so much; she had difficulty opening the silver cigarette case. "Come on!" she screamed, as she banged the case on the dashboard. "Give me a break." The case flipped open, and all of the cigarettes fell to the floor mat. "Beautiful!" She picked up one of the cigarettes and stuck it in her mouth. She lit it, and inhaled as much of the nicotine into her system as she could in one breath. The drug was like a blanket. And all she wanted was to be enveloped in it. She inhaled again.
"You're pregnant," the doctor's words echoed.
Miss Parker shook her head. She examined the cigarette for an eternity, and then tossed it out the window. She turned the ignition, put the car in gear and headed for the Centre.
If she had the courage, she would just drive away, run away. She'd board a plane and head for oblivion. She'd go to Europe and maybe have the baby there. And maybe, just maybe she could give the baby a normal life. The Centre could take care of its own mess. They could get Brigitte to reel in Jarod. And if they did, Miss Parker's sympathies were with Jarod.
Miss Parker knew she couldn't outrun the Centre. They had eyes all over the world. They'd find her, retrieve her, punish her. And if she were truly pregnant, what would they do with her child?
The hour-long drive back to Blue Cove was made subconsciously. Before Miss Parker knew it, she was in her private parking stall. She sat in her car, and incited every nerve she had. The wall needed to be high and thick, to keep out discerning onlookers. A deep sigh and a yearning glance at the cigarettes on the floor of the Lincoln, and then she headed into the building.
"Anything on fly boy yet?" Miss Parker asked, barging in on Broots and Sydney.
The men turned and looked at Miss Parker. She offered no explanation for the morning's absence. Nor were they going to ask for one.
"Are you all right, Miss Parker?" Sydney questioned.
She avoided eye contact, and nodded. "So?"
"Uh nothing substantial," Broots answered. He braced himself for the usual barrage of insults when he didn't have the results she expected.
Miss Parker grabbed the back of her neck, and squeezed hard. "Okay, check all the district hospitals, Broots, maternity wards, etceteras," she directed, solemnly. "Investigate Planned Parenthood clinics. We've got files from the past on adoption agencies don't we?"
"Uh huh."
"Delve into those as well." She glanced at Sydney, who was watching her too closely. "Jarod's up to his pits in babies. I can smell it." She turned to leave. "I want information on everything having anything to do with rugrats within a 500 mile radius of us. Got it?"
"That's a lot...a lot of information, Miss Parker," Broots noted.
She gave him an impatient, hooded glare. Thank goodness for Broots, she thought. He could always bring her around to her imperious, guarded self.
"Uh...got it."
She left the office.
"That's a lot of information," Broots repeated to Sydney.
The older man shrugged. "Jarod's up to his pits in babies, Broots," he echoed the intuition. "Miss Parker can smell it."
* * *
Jarod Rogers entered Dr. Gamble's office. "Dr. Gamble, very nice to meet you," he greeted, with an outstretched hand.
The stout man remained seated behind his large desk. "Look, Mr. Rogers, I carved a small window of opportunity for you out of my busy schedule. Don't waste your time on ineffective pleasantries. Let's just cut to the chase," he suggested, coldly.
Jarod nodded. "All right. I want to adopt a baby."
"What makes you think I can help you?"
"I've done my research, Doctor. I know of the others you've helped. Money is no object," Jarod stated. "I've tried the traditional way, but it seems a single man wanting a child of his own is too unconventional. Please, just consider my case," he pleaded.
"I'm still listening, aren't I?"
Jarod clenched his jaw, and narrowed his eyes at the Doctor. He didn't like the man. And he'd rather throw his smug butt through a window than to pretend he needed this felon's help. But in order to put a stop to the anguish the Doctor's was causing, he kept his anger in check. "I was taken from my family as a young boy. I've yet to find them. But I remember my mom...giving me hugs. I just want to hug someone again."
Dr. Gamble remained unaffected by the moving story. "No lucky lady in your life?" he scoffed.
Jarod smiled. "Well, that would depend on how you define 'lucky lady,'" he said, without explanation.
Dr. Gamble pushed away from his desk. He briefly scanned the files Jarod had filled out. "If your references give you an impeccable recommendation, you'll be contacted in no later than two days."
Jarod grinned. "You mean, I could possibly adopt a baby in two days!"
The doctor didn't answer. "If your references check out..."
"Oh, they'll check out, Doctor."
"Everyone is so sure of that," the doctor said, smugly. "If your references do not verify your character, you will not hear from me. And you're not to call me. Understand?"
Jarod nodded.
The doctor eyed Jarod's briefcase. "Regardless of the results, there is an unrecoverable consultation fee."
"I'd expect nothing less from a man of your repute." Jarod placed the briefcase on the doctor's desktop, flipped it open, and retrieved two stacks of bills. He closed the case, and headed out of the office. "In two days, then, doctor."
* * *
He was a loser, duller than a box of hair, and yet for some inexplicable reason, she ended up in his arms. Maybe she was lonely. She hated herself for that weakness. Was it even worth it? Of course it wasn't. No amount of gratification could justify this end result.
The ringing of the telephone brought Miss Parker to the present. She pressed the speaker button. "This better be good," she threatened.
"Or what?"
"Or I'll put a bullet in your knee."
"Tsk tsk, Miss Parker," Jarod chastised. "Violent threats are not considered traditional forms of lullabies.
Although... 'Rock-a-bye baby' is rather barbarous, don't you think?"She closed her eyes to reflect inside. "What are you driveling on about now?"
"Rock a bye baby," he answered. "'When the wind blows...the cradle will fall, and down will come baby...''
"Cradle and all," she cut in. "Yes, I'm familiar with the bloody bedtime song, Jarod. So what?"
"I know about the baby," he stated, concerned.
She immediately picked up the receiver. "What did you say?"
"I know about the baby," he repeated. "Have you told your father?"
The way he unearthed thought to be hidden truths both amazed and exasperated her. She swallowed the bile bubbling up from her stomach, as panic began to consume her. "I don't know what you're talking about," she lied. She reached for the bottle of pink medicine.
"Do not let your father know you're pregnant, Miss Parker," he warned sternly.
Her defense shifted from stunned apprehension to indignation. Who did he think he was telling her what to do? "If I ever choose to get pregnant, which is about as likely as Raines sprouting hair, I'll tell whomever I want, Jarod," she informed, defiantly. She slammed down the phone. "Damn it!" He did it again. She attempted to pour herself a dose of medicine, but her hands trembled. Instead of filling the cap, she spilled the pink liquid all over her desktop. "Beautiful!"
The phone rang again, and made her jump, causing her to spill even more medicine. She pressed the speaker button. "Drop-dead!" she yelled.
"Angel?" her father's voice called over the speaker.
"Daddy?" Miss Parker quickly picked up the receiver. "Daddy, I wasn't..."
"In my office. Now." He hung up.
"...talking to you," she finished her interrupted explanation. She hung up the receiver, and stared at the pink mess on her desktop. She rang up her personal aide and ordered him to have her desk clean by the time she returned to her office, or else.
Miss Parker rushed to her father's office. "Daddy, I'm sorry. I thought you were someone else."
Mr. Parker narrowed his eyes. "Jarod?"
"Just a prank caller."
"Do we need to get Centre Security involved?"
She shook her head. "I can handle it." She clasped her hands behind her back. "Was there something you wanted?"
Mr. Parker grunted, and shuffled through the papers on his desk.
As his attention was distracted, Miss Parker looked down and noticed her stomach. In reality it was as flat and as toned as always. But in her mind, she had the belly of a pregnant horse. She folded her arms in front.
"Daddy?"
"Mm?"
The anxiety she had been bearing for the past two days filled her whole being with its presence. The dread manifested itself in physical discomforts, a tight throat, sweaty, jittery hands, a constant headache, and an implacable ulcer. "I had the most ludicrous dream the other night." She doubted if he were interested. Still she had to feel him out.
Mr. Parker glanced up at his daughter. "Did it have anything to do with capturing Jarod?"
She shook her head. "I dreamt I was pregnant," she said with a nervous laugh.
Mr. Parker stared at the young woman. "You mean, a nightmare."
Miss Parker tilted her head, confused. "Excuse me?"
"You said you had a dream," he repeated. "In actuality it was a nightmare."
Her eyes widened, and she nodded ever so slightly. "Wouldn't...wouldn't you want to be a Grandfather... Daddy?"
The older man scowled. He didn't even want to be a father. "Like I told your mother, one Parker offspring is one progeny too many."
The progeny tried not to appear hurt by the statement, but her expression betrayed her.
"Honey, I'm kidding," Mr. Parker said, with a smile. "Lighten up."
She smiled ever slightly. "What if I did get pregnant?" she pushed.
"I'd have the little bastard exterminated," he answered coldly.
Miss Parker wrapped her arms around herself, and took a step back. "Who's to say my child would be a bastard?" she asked, defensively. "I may get married one day."
Mr. Parker snorted. "Once you've caught Jarod and returned him to the Centre I'll let you marry whomever you want, to perpetuate the Parker lineage." He regarded his daughter with unfeeling eyes. "Until then, this assignment is your baby!" He pushed away from his desk and brushed by her. "We're expected before the Board. Come along."
* * *
The clicking of the heels resounded down the hallway like a warning. "I just spent two and a half hours before the board," Miss Parker announced, ill of mood.
"How'd it go?" Broots asked.
"Swell!" she raved, flashing her eyes wide at him. She dug her slim cigarette case from her pocket. "They love the idea that Jarod is still on the loose, wreaking havoc at the Centre's expense. We're in contention for employees of the month." She flipped opened the case, retrieved a chocolate stick, and stuck it in her mouth. "Only drawback, we'll have to share the trophy with baldy and his stable boys."
Broots and Sydney glanced at each other.
"Is that chocolate, Miss Parker?" Sydney asked.
She sucked on the candy, removed it from her mouth, and offered it to Sydney. "Want a bite?"
He shook his head.
"I love those," Broots gushed, excitedly. "I'll have a bite."
"That can be arranged," Miss Parker threatened. She returned the candy to her mouth. "Tell me what you've got so far," she requested.
He shifted restlessly on his feet. "Sorry, Miss P. I actually haven't...uh...I was..."
She shook her head, very disappointed. "You're not being paid for your good looks, little man. Believe me."
"Huh?"
"Results," she stated, as she snapped her fingers twice. "The generous deposit in your bank account once a month is recompense for results." She narrowed her eyes, and lowered her voice. "And do you know what?"
"Uh...what?"
"You're delinquent in keeping your end of the agreement, Mr. Broots."
"I'm doing the best I can," he defended.
"Not good enough," she quickly responded.
"Fine," Broots huffed. "I'd like to see you find someone else who can do this job," he mumbled. "With all of these pressures and...and these demands. And dangers! Dangers," he repeated.
"I'll give you danger." Miss Parker leant into Broots and breathed down on him. "A brainless lemur could do your job, Broots," she insulted.
He stared back. "Why don't you just fire me then?" he bravely dared, not intending to be taken seriously.
She raised her eyebrows at his display of audacity, as impotent as it was. "You're fired."
"Uh oh." Broots blinked his eyes wildly. "Uh...what? Um...you can't...uh...fire me. Can you?" He looked to
Sydney. "Can she?"Miss Parker intensified her glare at the defenseless man. "I just did." She turned on her heels, and stormed out of the office.
"What... what the hell was that all about, Sydney?" Broots asked stunned.
Sydney shrugged. "Don't go anywhere, Broots. I'll talk to her."
"Good luck," Broots enthused, doubtfully.
Sydney went to Miss Parker's office, and rapped twice on the door.
"Go away!" she yelled.
He opened the door, and entered.
"Hard of hearing?" she demanded.
Sydney closed the door behind him, and leant against it. He folded his arms, and stared at his young friend.
"What's going on?" he asked, concerned."You tell me." She was desperate for a cigarette, a drink, any vice to appease her betrayed spirit. Everything she gave up for a baby she intended not to keep, and her spirit was incensed. She paced the floor of her office looking for solace.
"You're on edge, Miss Parker," Sydney stated. "I can see that."
"You think?" she sassed. She was on edge and about ready to jump off. She stared at Sydney. 'What the hell?' she thought. He was there, asking questions, presumably concerned. She may as well vent a little. "I've got my father and his perverted peers breathing down my neck for the capture of the wacko vigilante they created. And the hired help include an inept computer technician who wears...cowboy-printed flannel pajamas." A vision of the perceived fashion faux pas staggered her elite sense of style.
Sydney smiled at the description and its effects on Miss Parker's deportment. "I don't see how Broots' taste in nightwear has anything to do with his technical abilities, Miss Parker," he said. "Which, you know, are exceptional."
"The guy's a few fries short of a happy meal, Syd." Miss Parker regained her balance, and continued on. "And then there's...Dr.-Bloody-Feelgood...who frequently, and I might add, irritatingly, tunes into my moods, and tells me I'm on edge," she spewed, acridly. She ran a hand through her dark hair. "Not exactly my dream job, Syd."
Sydney shook his head. "These pressures aren't new to you Miss Parker," he stated, calmly. "There's something else bothering you."
Miss Parker stopped pacing and glared at the annoyingly correct man. It irked her that no matter how hard she tried to shield her feelings from him, he was always aware of her disposition, and he was always so cool about it. And no matter how much she tried to convince herself she didn't need him to understand her, she always felt relieved when he did.
"You've heard of PMS?" she asked. She opened the bottle of ulcer medicine on her desktop.
He nodded. His relationship with Miss Parker had him thoroughly enlightened to PMS.
"Well, I've been diagnosed with EMS." She poured the pink chalky substance into a small container.
"EMS?" he repeated, uncertain of the acronym.
She smiled, evilly. "Eternally Mean Syndrome." She brought the cap to her mouth, and tipped the medicine in. Although she took it frequently, she never got used to the flavor, and winced as it went down to coat her insides.
Sydney watched the nervous mannerisms of his young friend. "You've given up smoking," he noticed.
She didn't respond.
"Miss Parker, if there's something, anything you need to discuss..."
"I'm fine," she interjected, unconvincingly. "I'm just..." Dare she say 'pregnant'? She wondered how he would take such an announcement. She wondered if Sydney was a friend of her mother's when she was pregnant with Miss Parker. She wished desperately her mother were alive.
Sydney approached the silent young woman. "Miss Parker, are you all right?" he asked, genuinely concerned.
She raised her eyes to him, and smiled sadly. "I'm just tired, Syd," she answered, wearily.
He had noticed dark circles under her eyes of late. "You need to take care of yourself."
She nodded. "I will."
"In the meantime," Sydney sighed, as he put a hand to his chin. "What shall I tell Mr. Broots?"
Miss Parker wrapped her arms around herself and gazed out of the window; so beautiful a day out there, and yet so miserable an environment within. She went to her desk, fetched a box of chocolate sticks from one of the drawers, and tossed it to Sydney. "Tell him...if he ever tries to stare me down again, I'll oxidize his broncobuster sleepers...while his scrawny ass is still in them."
"What did she say?" Broots questioned, anxiously, as Sydney returned.
Sydney handed Broots the box of chocolates. "You can stay," he relayed. "But if I were you, I'd buy myself another pair of flannel pajamas."
"Huh?"
Sydney smiled. "Nothing."
"What's with her, these days, anyway?" Broots asked, opening the box of chocolates. "Man, I'm about... I'm about this close to throwing a bucket of water on her and watching her melt."
"She's got...'EMS'," Sydney informed, with a straight face.
"Oh...EMS," Broots repeated. He suddenly felt very guilty for wanting to see her melt. "EMS. Is that dangerous, Sydney?"
Sydney chuckled. "Only for you, Broots."