All About Max, page 5
M oose led Max across the dining room and through swinging doors into the kitchen. Standing at a large table in the center of the kitchen were two people.
One was a woman in a white apron and pink flowered bandana covering her whole head. She was standing at the table violently chopping a head of cabbage to shreds with a meat cleaver.
Whack! Whack! Whack!
Farther down the table stood a young girl with unruly brown curls dangling over her forehead. She was wearing jeans and a well-worn grey sweatshirt with the words “Mine, Paws Off” printed across the front, and was intent on peeling a potato.
Neither one of them looked up when Moose and Max walked in, at least not until Moose spoke.
“Cabbage stew again tonight, Mrs. Fiddle?” said Moose.
“Of course not, Moose,” replied Mrs. Fiddle. “I’m going to wave a chicken leg over it left from two nights ago and call it Chicken Delight. The poor old dears won’t know the difference.”
“Don’t be too sure,” said Moose. “But they’ll probably be too polite...or scared to mention it, all things considered.”
“All things considered, indeed!” said Mrs. Fiddle, and down came the cleaver again, whack! “Poor old things! Sad day for them when those lovely Dolly’s had to give up this place. Don’t know why the Measley girls wanted it, though. Money grubbing old witches! They must think this place is sitting on a pot of gold. Ha!”
Whack! Whack! Whack!
“Wonder why you’re still hanging around here, Moose,” she said.
“Same reason you are, Betsy. I don’t want to leave and let these great senior citizens down. They don’t deserve it.” Moose said, and then grinned. “Not to mention enjoying the company of the cook.”
“Oh, shut up, if you’ll pardon me for saying it,” said Mrs. Fiddle, turning several shades of pink. Then, without even looking up, she said, “So who’s that you have with you?”
“This is Max,” replied Moose. “Seems that Snitch has been promoted to Delilah’s job temporarily. He’ll be Snitch’s assistant.”
“Snitch’s assistant?” said Mrs. Fiddle. “Well, heaven help him!”
“It will only be until Delilah returns,” said Moose.
“That is if she returns!” said Mrs. Fiddle.
Whack!
“You don’t think she will?” asked Moose.
“That’s my opinion,” said Mrs. Fiddle.
The cleaver came back down, whack!
“Where’d they find him?” asked Mrs. Fiddle.
“They didn’t,” said Moose. “The kid lost his family, of which I’m some sort of relative, the only one he has that they can find, it turns out. I made the Measley’s an offer they couldn’t refuse. I told them he’d worked for his father, who was a carpenter and so he was used to hard work. They agreed that he could live here if he helped around the place with no pay. Making it look as if they’re doing me a huge favor, of course.”
“They would!” said Mrs. Fiddle.
Whack! Whack! Whack!
“Oh,” said Moose, “Pardon my manners. Mitzi, this is Max Smith. Max, this is Mitzi Fiddle.”
The girl at the table had been busy peeling potatoes while this conversation was taking place, occasionally raising her head to stare at Max with eyes the size of big, blue lamps.
At this introduction, Max just shrugged, while Mitzi made an airy hand wave with the potato peeler in front of her face. Neither one said anything.
“Oops!” said Moose, “I’m supposed to remind you that the ladies are waiting for their tea, Mrs. Fiddle. They say they’ve had a trying day. I’m just giving you fair warning.”
“Hmmmph!” snorted Mrs. Fiddle, “You know what they can do with their trying day!”
However, not wasting a moment, she tore off her apron to reveal a pink shirt and black pants, and her bandana to reveal hair the exact color of Mitzi’s although minus the curls. Then she swiftly poured water that had been simmering in a kettle on the stove into a china teapot already sitting on a tray with two dainty gold flowered cups, saucers, napkins, and a plate of tea biscuits.
“Max,” said Moose while this was going on, “I’ve got things to do, so you just stay here and make yourself useful. Why don’t you help Mitzi? When you’re through, come on back to my place. You might take Moxie and Mojo out for a game of ball if I’m not back. See ya!”
With that he was gone. Moments later, Mrs. Fiddle left, leaving Max and Mitzi alone in the kitchen.
Max just stood there like a post with hands dangling at his side.
Mitzi finally looked at him.
“You want to help me peel potatoes?” she said.
Max shrugged. “I don’t know how.”
“You mean you’ve never peeled a potato?’ asked Mitzi.
“Never needed to,” said Max.
“Well then, take this and watch me,” said Mitzi. She opened a drawer under the tabletop, pulled out another peeler, and handed it to Max.
Max couldn’t think of any reason not to take it.
“Okay, I can do it,” he mumbled, picking up a potato and starting to peel. It really wasn’t anything that required brains.
“So I see that you can,” said Mitzi. “But how come you’ve never done it before?”
“I told you,” said Max. “I never needed to.”
“So who did all the potato peeling in your family?” asked Mitzi. “Your mother or your father?”
“No, our cook,” replied Max.
“Did you come from a place like this one?” asked Mitzi.
“No, I just lived with my family,” said Max.
“So your family had a cook,” said Mitzi. “Whose family has a cook, may I ask?”
“Ours,” said Max. “She was Mrs. Pinkerpon.”
“Tee hee! Mrs. Pinkerpon the potato peeler!” hummed Mitzi. “And I suppose you had a butler as well?”
“Binge,” said Max.
“Binge the butler,” hummed Mitzi. “And I suppose your rich family had a chauffeur.”
“Gridlock,” said Max.
“Gridlock, hmmmm,” hummed Mitzi. “That’s a great name for a chauffeur. Did he help Mrs. Pinkerpon peel potatoes?”
“No, he just drove our cars. One thing he did was drive me to Ballyhoo, my school, every day,” said Max, who couldn’t stop himself from bragging. It had become such a habit. But he knew the moment he’d named the school, he shouldn’t have.
“Ballyhoo?” Mitzi giggled. “Ballyhoohoo, poopooperdoo. What kind of school has a name like that?”
“Mine,” said Max. “It’s a private boys’ school. Very private.”
“Oh sure,” said Mitzi. “I thought Moose said your father was a carpenter and you worked with him. So how could you be going to a very private boys’ school?”
“Moose is lying,” said Max. “If you want to know, I’m not just Max Smith, I’m Maximilian Pettigrew Westmorington Bassford Thorndike Finstersill Smith the Fifth.”
“So what?” said Mitzi.
“So my father is Maximilian and all the rest the Fourth. You mean you’ve never heard of him?”
“No,” said Mitzi. “Huh! I suppose he’s a big fat millionaire.”
“Billionaire,” said Max.
“Billionaire? Oh wow! So where is this billionaire now?” said Mitzi. “And how come you’re here peeling potatoes at Measley Manor?”
“Because the island he bought to have the biggest resort in the whole world called Rainbow’s End is mostly at the bottom of the ocean,” said Max. “And my father and my mother are down there with it.”
Mitzi laid down her potato peeler, and put her hands on her hips. “Well, you know something Maximilian da de whoop de doo, whatever, I think you’re the biggest liar that ever lived. I think you’re just who Moose says you are. I think your father is a carpenter who might do work for millionaires or billionaires, but that’s close as you’ll ever come to one. But I’ll say this for you, Ballybooboo boy, you do have a great imagination. Won’t do you much good around here, though.” Mitzi picked her peeler back up and calmly began peeling again.
Whish! Whish! Whish!
“What do I care,” said Max. “I don’t expect to be around here much longer.”
“Where will you be going?” asked Mitzi, giving Max a wicked, sideways grin. “Back to your billionaire pa at the bottom of the ocean?”
“Why should I tell you?” said Max.
“No reason,” said Mitzi.
They went on peeling in silence. It seemed that the battle lines had been drawn, and Max didn’t see any reason to go on with the conversation.
“I guess Moose knows that you’ll be leaving,” said Mitzi.
Max hesitated. “No, he doesn’t yet. And I don’t want you to go telling him either. It...it isn’t any of your business.”
“Don’t worry, I won’t say anything. Why should I” said Mitzi. “It’s nothing to me if you just go or run away.”
Max’s head snapped around. “Who said anything about running away?”
“Nobody,” said Mitzi. “I was just thinking that with your mother and father at the bottom of some ocean, Moose can’t very well send you back to them, can he?”
Max went on peeling without answering.
“So,” said Mitzi, “Unless you have some other relation who might not mind having a kid dumped on them, there’d be no place for Moose to send you. That means you’d have to stay here, unless you just decided to run away. And if you did, where’d you go?”
“Well, you can just shut up about running away,” said Max.
“I’m only thinking,” said Mitzi. “And I was thinking if I were to run away, I might end up in an orphanage, and they’re terrible places.”
“How would you know?” said Max, trying to produce a sneer as good as his former friend Pencival’s. “Have you been visiting one recently?”
“No, but I’ve seen the one in that movie Oliver Twist. It’s from a book we have to read for a summer school assignment,” replied Mitzi. Did you ever see the movie? It’s been on TV.”
“Sure I’ve seen it,” said Max. “But so what? Orphanages aren’t like the ones in that movie anymore.”
“You can’t be sure about it,” said Mitzi. “And suppose a person ended up in an orphanage like that one, they might run away from there as well, and end up picking pockets on the street like Oliver. And if they got caught, ha! They’d end up in jail or someplace not much better. How’d you like that?”
What kind of answer did she expect anyway? Max just shrugged and went on peeling his potato.
“Say,” said Mitzi, “how old are you, anyway/”
“Eleven,” said Max. “What about it?’
“Nothing about it,” replied Mitzi. “I figured that’s what you were. So am I. So if you didn’t go back to your mother and father at the bottom of the ocean, or run away, and didn’t go back to Ballyboohoo, we’d be in the same class at school next year, probably ride the same bus.”
“So what,” said Max.
“So hurrah!” said Mitzi, producing a bored fake yawn equal to Pencival’s best.
“So can I go now,” said Max. “I don’t see any more potatoes.”
“So okay by me,” said Mitzi. “I’ll let Mum know.”
“So thank you,” said Max, still remembering Sir Launcelot and Lady Guinevere, and good manners.
“By the way, have you run into Digger and Dork yet?” Mitzi asked.
“Who are they?” asked Max.
Mitzi shrugged. “Oh, just a couple of goons the Measley ladies just hired to work around here,” she said.
“What do they do?” Max asked.
“Nothing much that I can tell,” replied Mitzi. “They mostly just pick a few leaves and pull up a couple of weeds. The Measley’s say they’re to guard the building, but I think they’re here to keep the old people from nosing around. Spying, in other words. That’s what Mum says, anyway. Thought I’d warn you in case they catch you leaving here with a suitcase.”
Then Mitzi suddenly grinned. “Anyway, good luck with Snitch. You’ll absolutely adore him. I guarantee it. See ya” She carelessly waved her potato peeler at Max.
“Not if I can help it!” thought Max.
One thing after another, bang, bang, bang, was making it clearer than ever that he had to run away. Toilets and trash. A bunch of old, wrinkled loonies. A pair of twin cold-blooded snakes. A kindergarten graduate handyman. A room in a cellar. And now yet four more horrors had been added to the list, Mitzi Fiddle, Digger and Dork, and probably Snitch, who he was pretty sure from the way Mitzi said it, he would definitely not adore. And there was no way that he’d be riding on any bus to school with Mitzi on it, or even going to the same school and being in the same class. No way! No how! Not ever! Not on your life! And he’d have to see about Snitch. If he thought he could order Max around, he’d better think again.
But running away had to be thought through very carefully. Why did Mitzi have go and bring up Oliver Twist? Max had forgotten all about that movie. He was ninety-nine percent certain that orphanages weren’t like that one anymore. But how could he be sure? What did he really know about orphanages anyway? What about that possible one percent?
Mr. Fitzbottom and his “we” had combed every possible place looking for a relative to dump Max on. There wasn’t another one to be had anywhere. Max couldn’t even be certain Moose was a relative. Why had Moose even taken him in? Greasing his wheels with the Measley girls. That was probably all he meant to Moose.
If only, thought Max, he had someone to talk this over with, anyone at all. It had to be someone who would care that his parents were at the bottom of the ocean, leaving him not only parentless and homeless, but toy-less and friendless as well (if you considered Pencival an actual friend, that is).
But it had to be someone who would also not care that he was now penniless and didn’t live in a posh penthouse and have a billionaire father who could leave pots of money to his posh school, and a mother who ran a posh store called The Golden Truffle that also provided delicious truffles useful for bribing friends into being friends.
Then, at last, he finally thought of someone, and he was on his way to see them right now!
Chapter VIII
In which Max gets more doggie slobber and goo, but not much advice regarding loony wrinkled old people, trash and toilets or running away.
T he minute Max opened the door to the Moose’s garage apartment, two very excited, happy dogs came galumphing toward him, licking his hands and very nearly knocking him down. Max was delighted.
“Down Moxie! Down Mojo!” he told them.
They paid no attention to the command and went on spreading slobber, goo, and love all over his hands, and his face as well.
“Would you like to go out back and play ball?” Max asked.
“Yes, yes, yes, yes!” replied both dogs.
“When we’ve finished, I’ll need your advice,” said Max.
“Fine with us, right, Mojo?” said Moxie.
“Absolutely!” replied Mojo. “But let’s get going. Please, please, please!”
Max went through the back door with the two dogs charging out ahead of him. There were several old tennis balls strewn across the small yard.
After at least an hour of throw and fetch, Max decided he’d worn them out enough for a drink of water from their tin bowl, a lie down and discussion about his future.
He tried to tell them as best he could something about his past life trying not to do too much bragging. After all, this wasn’t Pencival he was talking to.
“At the bottom of the ocean!” said Moxie, when Max reached that part of his story. “That’s awful!”
“How did you stand it?” said Mojo.
“I just did,” said Max. “I didn’t have much choice. You two look like brothers. You must have lost your parents somehow or other, or else you were just taken away from them. Isn’t that right?”
“We have no idea, do we, Moxie?” said Mojo. “We were too young to remember anything. You’ll have to ask Moose about it.”
“So how did you end up here?” asked Mojo.
Max shook his head gloomily, then gave a deep sigh. “Moose was the only relative anyone could find, and he agreed to take me in. I don’t know how Mr. Fitzbottom, my father’s lawyer, found him, but I don’t believe Moose is a relative even though it says so in a Bible he has. I don’t believe it’s even his. I think he just agreed to take me so I’d be here to help with the nasty stuff like trash and toilets.”
“Oh, I don’t know,” said Moxie, “Moose is really a pretty nice man. He took us in, anyway, and we’re just a couple of mutts who can’t help with trash and toilets, or do much of anything useful.”
“Where did he take you in from?” Max asked.
“We don’t remember,” said Mojo. “Like we said, we were too young to remember anything. You’ll have to ask Moose about it.”
“Anyway,” said Moxie, “you said you wanted to ask our advice about something. So what is it?”
Max hesitated, shuffling his feet uncomfortably. “Well,” he said, “I’m thinking about running away.”
“Running away!” both dogs cried at once.
“You can’t do that,” said Moxie.
“Why not?” said Max.
“Because we like you, and we don’t want you to go,” said Mojo.
“Don’t you really?” asked Max.
“You know we don’t!” said Mojo.
The two dogs proved it by jumping up and applying more doggy goo to Max’s chin.
“Besides,” said Moxie, “where would you run away to? You said Moose was the only relative anyone could find. You don’t look old enough to get a job and live by yourself. How old are you, anyway?’
“Eleven,” replied Max.
“There you are!” said Moxie. “So I repeat, where would you run away to?”
“I guess I’d go to an orphanage, That’s a place where orphans go who have no one who wants them,” said Max.
“That sounds pretty grim,” said Moxie. Have you ever been to one?”
“No, but I’m sure they’re okay,” said Max, who was sure of no such thing. “Well, unless they might be like the one in Oliver Twist, only I don’t think they would be. I don’t care what that stupid girl, Mitzi Fiddle, says. Do you know her?”
