Dinner for Two

Florence and Mrs. Wonders have taken up running as a form of exercise. Thankfully, there have been no nipple injuries reported so far.

Computer Doug, of course, suffered a nasty case of jogger's nipple when he started a running regime last year. His wife, Marion says his one-hundred-and-fifty-dollar running shoes have gathered dust in the closet ever since.

Whenever Florence and Mrs. Wonders go running, Oscar seems to think your agent must be in dire need of company. Within moments of the two women bounding out of the Sack, the Wonders' doorbell begins to chime.

"Whatcha' doin'?" Oscar will say, as he starts to crowd the doorway.

If I said I was in the midst of intense telephone negotiations to secure lasting peace in the Middle East, it wouldn't matter much to him. He'll still respond in the same fashion:

"Want some company?"

***

Mrs. Wonders and Florence went for a run on Tuesday evening. It was the day before Halloween.

Your agent had just sat down at the blogging machine, when the doorbell rang. Sighing, I strode to the front door, determined to send Oscar packing. I had no idea what I was going to say, but I was hoping for inspiration by the time I got there.

Upon opening the door, I was surprised to see that it wasn't Oscar. I was even a little disappointed about this.

My response to Oscar's "Whatcha doin'?" was going to be: "Fighting off a bad case of diarrhea." Like most people, Oscar has a lot of respect for this condition. I was betting he would make a quick exit for fear of catching whatever was causing this phony affliction.

But instead of Oscar, it was seven-year-old Tremaine standing at the door.

***

It has been some time since we spoke of young Tremaine. This is because he hasn't been around the Sack very much. Apparently, he spent his entire summer at his grandmother's house in Ontario.

Tremaine, of course, is well known in the Sack as the leading seller of fundraising chocolate bars. He usually sells these products on behalf of his older brother, Jimbo, a rather sluggish fourteen-year-old.

According to Sack observers, Jimbo is involved in a number of school activities that rely upon fundraising efforts. Since he's rarely moved to exert himself, one can only imagine these activities as sedentary ones. Oscar says he's doubtful this includes the school chess club, since Jimbo doesn't seem very interested in intellectual matters, either.

The nature of Jimbo's fundraising needs is a moot point, anyway. When asked where the money for the chocolate bars goes, Tremaine usually shrugs his shoulders and says:

"For school."

When asked to elaborate, the boy simply shrugs again and then gets back to the more important question:

"You wanna buy a chocolate bar?"

***

There has been one occasion where Tremaine has provided more information about the focus of his fundraising activity. Apparently, Jimbo's class was going on a trip to our nation's capital, Ottawa. At the time, Tremaine simply said:

"Jimbo's school's goin' to Hottawa."

"What are they going to do there?" your agent asked, fully aware of Tremaine's disinterest in the matter.

"Look at stuff," he replied.

"What kind of stuff?" I asked, noting the growing impatience on the boy's face.

"I dunno," he said quickly. Then he added, "So you wanna buy a chocolate bar?"

"I'll take two of them."

***

Tremaine's interest in selling chocolate bars has little to with any commercial gain on his part. He isn't particularly interested in the charitable aspect of the endeavour, either.

For Tremaine, it's all about the chocolate.

Although he's a mere boy, Tremaine understands that putting himself in the proximity of chocolate means it will eventually find its way into his mouth. Oscar says this same principle holds true when it comes to money.

"If you do business with wealthy people," he said sagely, "some of their money is going to find its way into your pocket."

Although Weed frequently disagrees with Oscar, he nodded his complete agreement with this statement.

"That's the way it works with marijuana, too."

***

When Tremaine completes a chocolate bar sale at the Wonders' home, you can be certain of one thing. Within a matter of days, he'll be back at the door with a very pointed inquiry.

"Do you got any chocolate?"

Of course, this is really just an unspoken game we've been playing for some time. Your agent buys the fundraising chocolate bar and then Tremaine comes back to get it later. From his perspective, I have no appreciation for the true value of the product, even though I have the economic means to acquire it.

Tremaine hasn't exactly expressed it this way, but that's certainly my impression of the matter.

***

On the day before Halloween, Tremaine stood on the Wonders' porch with a familiar bag of fundraising chocolate bars. He was dressed in his usual autumn attire, a pair of baggy jeans and loose-fitting sweatshirt. Over the sweatshirt was his New Jersey Nets basketball shirt. On the back of the shirt are the name and number of Jason Kidd.

In the summer, Tremaine's jeans are replaced by a pair of baggy basketball shorts. Since he's a very slightly-built lad, the shorts are approximately the same length as his jeans. The sweatshirt, of course, is discarded in the summer. But the Jason Kidd shirt is ever-present.

On this particular occasion, I didn't pursue any information about Tremaine's latest fundraising activities. I simply asked about his welfare and his recent sojourn in Ontario. According to Tremaine, everything was fine on both counts.

"How many chocolate bars do you want?" the boy asked, when we finally got down to business. Tremaine always pronounces the word as "chocklit."

"Just one, thanks," I replied. Somehow, the price of the bars had inflated to a lofty three dollars, instead of the usual two.

"I got two left," he replied, pulling both out of the bag.

"But I only want one." I answered.

Tremaine looked at me uncertainly. A thin line of mucus was starting to seep from his left nostril. He quickly sniffed it back into his nose and said:

"But if you eat one, you won't have any left."

"That's true," I replied. His face suddenly brightened.

I dug into the pocket of my jeans for some more coins. "I hate it when that happens," I added. "Maybe we should make it two bars."

***

Tremaine passed over the two large chocolate bars and I gave him the required six dollars. He put the money into the plastic bag and then asked:

"You gonna eat any of it now?"

"No," I said warily, "I'll probably put them in the fridge for later."

"Later tonight?" he asked, with a hint of surprise in his voice.

"No, I don't think so," I replied. "I don't feel like eating any chocolate tonight."

Tremaine nodded and turned to walk down the front steps. If I wasn't mistaken, I thought I heard him say "good" under his breath.

***

Halloween in the Sack was a tepid affair.

Despite Rental Doug's scary house decorations, very few non-Sack kids ventured into the neighbourhood. Mrs. Wonders estimated that our doorbell rang only about ten times during the entire evening.

Aside from small children acting upon the prompting of their accompanying parents, few kids seemed to have a complete grasp of the Halloween transaction. Oscar noted that not a single unaccompanied kid uttered the words, "Trick or Treat!" when they appeared at his door. Little Doug said he had the same experience.

After several incidents of this nature, Oscar said he simply said "What?" whenever kids stood expectantly on his doorstep with their loot bags opened. One pre-adolescent kid nodded at his bag and had the temerity to say:

"You know. . . . "

"What?" Oscar repeated.

"You're supposed to give us stuff," said the boy. Oscar said the kid was dressed as a pirate, but his eye patch was hanging loosely around his neck. Apparently, the patch was too tight on his face. There was a deep indentation on the boy's skin where the elastic had dug in.

"Aren't you supposed to say something first?" Oscar replied.

There was a few seconds of silence before another boy standing beside the unfortunate pirate suddenly mumbled, "Trick or treat" in a dull tone.

"That's what I'm talking about," said Oscar with enthusiasm. He threw a handful of loot into each bag. As a penalty, however, he said he declined to give them "some of the better stuff" from his cache of Halloween offerings.

***

The last callers at the Wonders' door arrived just after eight o'clock. It was your agent's turn to hand out the Halloween goodies.

When I opened the door, there were two slight figures standing in the light of the front porch. On the right was a young girl dressed as a princess. It wasn't a very elaborate costume, but she wore a rather notable tiara and someone had gone to some lengths to apply makeup to her face.

Standing beside the girl was Tremaine. He was wearing a double-breasted navy jacket with two rows of gold buttons. Visible under the jacket was his New Jersey Nets basketball shirt. However, one's eye was drawn to the silver crown that sat jauntily on his head.

"It's Prince Charming and his lovely princess!" I said with gusto.

"King," said Tremaine abruptly. "I'm a king."

"And I'm a queen," said his companion brightly.

"Oh, sorry," I said with a respectful tone.

The Wonders' supply of goodies was far more than the evening had demanded, so I thought I'd make the royal couple benefactors of this situation. I put several handfuls of goodies into their bags.

The young girl immediately said, "Thank you," but Tremaine seemed unmoved by my generosity.

"You got any chocolate bars?" he asked quietly.

I studied his face for a moment, unsure of what to say next. The young queen was looking at Tremaine and seemed to be avoiding my gaze.

"Hold on a sec," I said finally. I went into the kitchen and retrieved the two large chocolate bars I had purchased from Tremaine on the previous evening.

"Will these do?" I asked.

Tremaine nodded with a smile on his face. The young girl had a look of wonder on hers.

***

The royal couple uttered their appreciation and turned to walk down the porch steps. That's when I noticed that the girl was wearing an oversized pair of ladies dress shoes. King Tremaine's feet, of course, were covered by his usual basketball sneakers.

I stood at the doorway and watched them go down the steps. The girl's shoes made this rather difficult, so Tremaine gracefully held her arm as she negotiated the steps. When they reached the bottom of the stairs, the girl pulled the chocolate bar from her bag and held it in front of her eyes as if it were made of gold.

"Told ya," said Tremaine.

***