It’s Dough Contest
part 1

TaleSpin and its characters are property of Disney. All other characters are mine and cannot be used without permission. A big thanks goes out to Gidget for all of her wonderful suggestions. And I'd like to thank my sister for being so patient with me as well as for always laughing at the right places. :o)

Cape Suzette
June 1937
Monday Afternoon

A yellow Conwing L-16 seaplane, returning from a cargo run, soared between the opening in the massive cliffs surrounding the coastal city of Cape Suzette and splashed down for a landing in the sparkling blue harbor. The Sea Duck taxied to the dock. When its twin Superflight 100 engines stopped, the pilot, an overweight grey bear, stepped out onto the dock.

“Ah...it’s good to be back,” Baloo sighed, strolling towards the plain brown building at a leisurely pace. Before him stretched a free afternoon, devoid of anything associated with that dreaded four-letter word: work. He was going to get a little snack - make that a bigsnack - then sleep, sleep, sleep.

But first, he had to give the receipt of delivery to his boss. If he didn’t, she would lecture him for hours on end about responsibility. Nothing ruined a good snooze like Rebecca’s nagging.

Before entering Higher for Hire, Baloo cast an appreciative glance at the lovely summer day. The sky was so clear and the sun was so bright that he thought that nothing could possibly go wrong on a day like this.

Upon stepping inside, he greeted his boss, Rebecca Cunningham, with a cheerful, “Happy hi-hi, Beckers.”

“Hello, Baloo,” Rebecca, a petite brown bearess, said pleasantly.

Baloo tossed a crumpled receipt on her desk, barely noticing the man sitting across from her, then promptly headed for the kitchen. He was jerked backwards when Rebecca grabbed his arm.

She said sweetly, “Would you come here for a minute, Baloo?”

“Like I got a choice.” Baloo pried her small, yet strong fingers off his arm, then rubbed the sore spot.

“I’d like you to meet, Mr. Tannenbaum.” She turned to a middle-aged grey goat seated on a crate across the desk from her. He wore a suit a shade darker than his fur; his expression was as sour as if he had just eaten a lemon. “Mr. Tannenbaum, this is Baloo. Baloo, Mr. Tannenbaum.”

“Howdy,” Baloo said, flashing a friendly smile. He extended his hand, wondering why it was so important that he met this guy. Customarily, he didn’t deal personally with the clients, which was how he liked it.

Ignoring Baloo’s proffered hand, Mr. Tannenbaum ran a bony index finger over his clipboard. He jabbed his finger at a line halfway down. “Mm-hmm. Baloo. Male bear. Thirty-seven. Pilot. I see.” He squinted up at the big bear through his pince-nez.

Wondering what the goat ‘saw’, Baloo said tentatively, “The best pilot in the world, by my own estimation.”

“Uh-huh.” Mr. Tannenbaum made a brief notation on the clipboard. “Your wife was just telling me all about your air cargo business.”

“She’s the one to do it. Listen, I’d love to stay an’ chat, but I got me a date with a...” When Mr. Tannenbaum’s words finally registered, the pilot’s eyes nearly popped out of his head. “Mywhat?” He glared at her, wondering what crazy scheme she was up to now.

Rebecca shot Baloo a look that clearly said ‘play along’.

“Oh, right, uh, sure...my wife.” Baloo threw his boss a dirty look.

“Is there something wrong?” Mr. Tannenbaum asked, his sharp gaze flitting from Baloo to Rebecca.

“N-no. Of course not,” Rebecca stammered, smiling brightly.

Pen poised over the clipboard, Mr. Tannenbaum said, “Good. Let’s get on with it, shall we?”

“Get on with what?” Baloo asked, taking an instant dislike to this stuffed shirt. Of course, he didn’t dislike Mr. Tannenbaum half as much as he did Rebecca at that moment.

All thoughts of murdering his boss were driven from Baloo’s mind when Mr. Tannenbaum told them, “I’m going to be spending a week with you and your family, Mr. Cunningham.”

“A-aweek?” Baloo gasped.

As if he hadn’t heard the pilot, Mr. Tannenbaum continued, “I’ve already spent a week with the other family and have collected the necessary information. Perhaps you’ve heard of them? They own Lee’s Bakery.”

“Ain’t they the ones with the motto: ‘Buy lots of bread for little dough’?” Baloo ventured. “They got good rolls...an’ donuts...an’ their pastries ain’t half bad neither.”

“You are correct, Mr. Cunningham.”

“Please,please call me Baloo,” the big bear pleaded.

“And to think that we advertised for them,” Rebecca muttered sullenly under her breath. When she felt Mr. Tannenbaum’s piercing gaze on her, she amended, “I mean, let the best business win.”

Baloo leaned over to murmur in her ear, “What the in the Sam Hill is goin’ on here, Rebecca? Who is this...mmmph?” She had clamped a hand over his mouth.

“Would you look at the time?” Rebecca said, making a big show of checking her watch. “We have to go pick up the kids at school, right, Baloo?”

“Right an’ we’ll pick up your brains at the cleaners’ on the way.”

“You just make yourself at home, Mr. Tannenbaum, while we go pick up our two wonderful children. I’m sure they’ll be thrilledto hear that you’re staying with us.” She grabbed hold of Baloo’s shirt sleeve and dragged him outside.

“One big goosebump of excitement,” Baloo muttered morosely.

Rebecca got behind the wheel of her grey 1934 Chevrolette sedan while Baloo slid into the passenger seat.

He slammed the car door shut as she put started up the vehicle. “What in blue blazes is goin’ on here, lady? Is this another one of your cockamamie moneymakin’ schemes?”

“No,” Rebecca said calmly, turning the car onto the street. “And why do you think that this is a crazy scheme?”

“You came up with it. It’s gotta be crazy. Remember the ostrich feathers?”

“If you hadn’t sneezed, we would have been rich!”

“An’ usin’ the pig to hunt truffles.”

“Could I help it if the pygmies like pigs?”

“Not to mention that floatin’ gas station.”

“It’s not my fault that it exploded.”

“See,” Baloo laughed derisively. “All your ideas blow up in your face.”

“This one won’t,” Rebecca said decidedly. “You aren’t so perfect yourself, flyboy. What about all the treasure hunts you go on? Where’s the loot, Baloo? Did you spend it all on your twenty-seven sick aunts?”

“Well, I...” Baloo stuttered, wringing his hands nervously.

“And that trouble you caused by dragging me to that haunted castle of yours? Huh? I was almost roasted alive over an open fire!”

Baloo growled, “Speakin’ of trouble, what about all that hoo-hah youstarted last month when you rented the Duck to Martin Torque?”

“You promised never to bring that up again!” Tears pricked Rebecca’s eyes at the memory. After she turned the corner, she swiftly swiped her hand across her eyes.

“Sorry,” he murmured contritely. “All right, Becky. Give. Who the heck isthat guy? Why is he here? An’ why does he think we’re,” he shuddered, “married?”

“Mr. Tannenbaum is from the Chamber of Commerce. I entered us in the Cape Suzette Family Business of the Year contest where, if we win, we’ll get $100,000 and a year’s worth of free advertising in the magazine of our choice.”

“So?”

“So, the good news is that Higher for Hire is a finalist.”

“What’s the bad news, Becky?”

“It’s not exactly bad news,” she said, pulling the car to the curb in front of the Cape Suzette elementary school; she turned off the engine. They were now one in a long line of automobiles containing parents waiting for their children.

“C’mon, spit it out!”

Rebecca cringed. “We have to pretend to be a family for a week while Mr. Tannenbaum stays with us.”

“WHAT!” Furious, Baloo flung the door open and put one foot out. “You’ve had some stupid ideas before, but this one tops ‘em all, lady! No way am I goin’ through with this!”

Before he could get out, Rebecca detained him by snagging the back of his shirt. “Please, Baloo? I’ll...I’ll...” in a fit of desperation, she said, “split the prize money with you. Seventy-thirty.”

“Fifty-fifty,” Baloo shot back.

“Sixty-forty?”

“Fifty-fifty, or I go tell Mr. Whiskers that we ain’t even kissin’ cousins.”

“All right, Baloo,” Rebecca sighed in defeat. She released his shirt. “Fifty-fifty.”

Baloo rubbed the back of his neck, thinking of what he could buy with the money, namely, the Sea Duck. “Do you really think we can keep this char-aid up for an entire week?”

“Are you willing to try it for $50,000?”

He drew his feet into the car and shut the door. “I’ll try.”

“Good.” She shook his hand with a smile. “Nice to meet you, Mr. Cunningham.”

Baloo winced. “Never call me that again, Becky.” He was momentarily startled by someone knocking on the window. Looking out, he saw Molly, a six-year-old bearess, waving and smiling at him.

The cubs climbed into the backseat of the car.

“What are you two doing here?” Kit asked, putting his book bag on the seat. The twelve-year-old brown bear cub wondered what was going on; usually, he walked home from school.

Rebecca handed out copies of the entry essay to everyone. “Read it. Memorize it. This is who we are for the next week.”

Kit’s eyes flitted over the page. “What does this mean, Miz Cunningham?”

Turning in her seat to look at the cubs, Rebecca explained, “We’re finalists in the Cape Suzette Family Business of the Year contest. If we win, we get a lot of money.”

Baloo interjected quickly, “Which me an’ Becky are splittin’.”

“And Higher for Hire gets free advertising for a year. We can use all the advertising we can get.”

“Do you really think we can pull this off for an entire week?” Kit said skeptically. “It’s a lot of lies to remember.”

“Don’t think of it as lies, Kit. Think of it as a means to make money.”

“Aboatload of money,” Baloo said happily. Enough moolah ta buy back the Duck.

“You’re both nuts,” Kit murmured under his breath.

Molly pointed to a sentence. “It says here that you and Baloo are married, Mommy. Is that true?” Her eager gaze moved from Rebecca to Baloo, then back to Rebecca.

“Ha!” Baloo scoffed; he scooted closer to the door. “When pigs fly!”

“Pretendmarried, sweetie,” Rebecca corrected gently. “We just have to pretend to be a family to fool a judge.”

“We have to fool a judge?” Kit squeaked. “For a whole week? Oh, no!”

“Yippee!” Molly cried. “A whole week!”

“We’d better be getting back or Mr. Tannenbaum will be suspicious.” Rebecca started the car and pulled away from the curb. “Oh, one more thing, Baloo. You and Kit will be moving into my apartment.”

“What?”

“Why?” Kit asked, looking up from the entry essay.

“Because no one would believe that Higher for Hire is a home.”

Baloo bristled. “It’s me and Kit’s home.”

“It doesn’t look like a family lives there, and that’s what we’re supposed to be. A family.”

“But...but...!”

“You’re moving and that’s final!” Rebecca snapped. “Kit, we can move your bed into Molly’s room.”

“Oh, swell,” Baloo grumbled. “I can just guess who’ll be doin’ the movin’.”

“And, Baloo, since we’re supposed to be married, you’ll be sleeping, um...” casting a sheepish glance at him, she said quickly, “in my room.”

“What? Forget it, lady! No way, now how, you an’ me, uh...” Baloo’s face flamed crimson. He stammered, “Fifty thousand dollars or no fifty thousand dollars, the deal’s off!”

“You’ll sleep on the floor.”

“How come I gotta sleep on the floor?”

“It’smy bed. Besides, you can sleep anywhere - on a beam in the warehouse, in that ratty old armchair. It’ll only be for a few days.”

“That an’ fifty thousand smackers,” Baloo murmured angrily to himself. “Then me an’ Kit can deep-six this popsicle stand.”

They pulled up at Higher for Hire.

Getting out the car, Rebecca said, “Remember. Think family.”

“Think family,” Baloo scoffed. He slammed the car door.

“Andsmile.” Rebecca opened the office door, saying cheerfully, “We’re back, Mr. Tannenbaum. I hope you weren’t bored.”

“Not at all, Mrs. Cunningham.” He was in the exact same place that he had been when they left. It appeared that he hadn’t moved a muscle.

Rebecca placed an arm around both of the cubs and led them over to Mr. Tannenbaum. “These are our children: Kit and Molly.”

“Hi,” said Molly, grinning.

Kit politely extended his hand. “Nice to meet you, sir.”

Mr. Tannenbaum briefly touched Kit’s fingers, then scribbled something on his clipboard.

Kit flashed a questioning look at Baloo, who shrugged in response.

“I have an idea,” Rebecca said as if she had just thought it up. “Why don’t I show you the Sea Duck?”

“I’d rather the pilot...” The judge flashed a questioning glance at Baloo, who gave him a forced smile.

“I’m afraid that’s impossible at the moment,” Rebecca said apologetically. “Baloo has a downtown delivery to make, don’t you, Butterball?”

Baloo winced at the nickname. Between clenched teeth, he asked, “I do,Honeylips?”

Rebecca scowled at him. “Of course you remember the delivery. You know. The b-e-d.”

Baloo sniffed his shirt. “I don’t smell that bad.”

“My bed,” Kit coughed.

Finally understanding, Baloo said, “Oh...oh, yeah. Bed...er, bigdelivery to make. Kit an’ me gotta grab somethin’ from upstairs, an’ we’ll be back later after the delivery.”

Baloo and Kit raced upstairs.

Chattering brightly, Rebecca led Mr. Tannenbaum outdoors.

A few moments later, Molly, who had fished her Danger Woman helmet and cape out from the bottom drawer in her mother’s desk, heard a crash and a loud “Doggone it!” She ran up the stairs and peeked in Baloo’s and Kit’s bedroom. Kit stood to one side with the bedclothes wadded up in his arms while Baloo wrestled with the twin-sized mattress.

“Can I help?” she asked, crouching to avoid the mattress as it swooped towards her head.

“Sure thing, Button-nose. Go be the lookout,” Baloo’s muffled voice answered.

“Danger Woman springs into action!” The little girl hurried downstairs to don her costume and to watch the front door.

“Whoa-whoa-ho!” Losing his equilibrium, Baloo stumbled backwards, knocking the hula girl lamp off of the night stand.

Crash!went the lightbulb.

“Oh, man...”

“You okay, Papa Bear?”

“Help me out here, kid. Can’t see where I’m goin’.”

Kit ducked under the mattress and stood in the bedroom doorway. “Go right. Right. No, your other right.”

“Yours or mine?”

“Starboard. Yours.”

“Now you’re talkin’ my lingo.”

After smacking the mattress into the doorframe twice, Baloo squeezed through the door and came onto the landing.

“Okay, now hard-a port,” Kit directed, taking hold of the front end of the mattress to help swing it around towards the stairway. “Port. That’s it.”

“Tell me when we get to the stairs-airs-airs-aaaaaahhhh!” Baloo missed the top step and lurched forward. The mattress flew out of his hands. The big bear belly-flopped on top of the mattress that was rocketing downwards.

At the same time, the mattress knocked Kit off his feet. The boy did a back flip and landed on his knees on the mattress. “Papa Beeeaaaaar!” he yelled as the mattress slid down the stairs.

Pilot and navigator were flung off when the mattress crashed into the banister at the end of the flight of stairs. Kit landed on a rug and skidded across the office; he glided to a gentle stop in front of the old maroon chair. Baloo, who wasn’t so lucky, nosedived into a pile of crates containing bowling balls.

“Watch that first step,” Baloo slurred, dizzily sitting up; he held a hand to his pounding head. “It’s a lulu.”

Molly hurried over to Kit and helped him up, saying, “Can I try that?”

“No!” Baloo and Kit said simultaneously.

“Aw...I never get to have any fun,” she whined.

“Aren’t you supposed to be watching the door, Danger Woman?” Kit asked.

“Oh, right!” Molly resumed her post at the office door.

Once again, Baloo shouldered the awkward mattress with a grunt of exertion and staggered through the office and out the door.

“Red light!” Molly squeaked. “They’re coming, Baloo!”

Baloo set the mattress down on one end. Seeing no place to hide the mattress, he propped it against the side of the building. He leaned against it casually, trying to cover it as much as he could with his large body, while Kit tossed the bedclothes around the corner of the building. Baloo, Kit, and Molly flashed big, toothy grins at Mr. Tannenbaum.

“Nice day, ain’t it, Mr. T?” Baloo said.

Mr. Tannenbaum gave Baloo an odd look. “Was that there before?”

“Was what there before?”

“That mattress.” The judge adjusted his pince-nez and tried to see what was behind Baloo, but every time he moved in for a closer look, Baloo blocked the way.

“What mattress? You see any mattress, Kit?”

“Nope. Not me,” Kit said, crossing his fingers behind his back. “No mattress here.”

“But I could swear...”

“Let’s go inside, shall we?” Rebecca interrupted, firmly taking the judge by the elbow. “While Baloo and Kit make that delivery, we can go over those ledgers like you wanted to.”

When the door closed, Baloo, Kit, and Molly breathed a collective sigh of relief.

“That was too close,” Kit murmured.

Baloo picked up the heavy, unwieldy mattress and headed for the Chevrolette. “Just once I’d like to have the idea and see Becky do the work.”

The Cunninghams’ Apartment
That Evening

Rebecca stood in front of the stove. Her face was rosy from stirring a steaming pot of spaghetti sauce.

She continued to stir with her left hand. With her right hand, she picked up a fork and stabbed the vegetables that were boiling on the back burner. Seeing that they were done, she spun around and said frantically, “Kit, drain the vegetables and add butter. Oh!” She had just noticed that she was dripping sauce onto the floor from her wooden spoon. She hurried to the sink and grabbed a sponge to clean up the mess.

“Yes, Miz...Rebecca.” Kit hopped up from the table and headed to the stove.

“Molly, honey, set the dining room table,” Rebecca said, sidling past Kit with a sudsy sponge.

“Okay, Mommy.” The little girl put down her crayons and went to the silverware drawer, which happened to be right where Kit was standing. She pulled out the drawer, mindless of him and the pot in his hand.

“Careful, Short Stuff!” Kit exclaimed, jumping to the side and out of her way.

Molly stuck her tongue out at him.

“Be nice to each other, kids. We have a very important guest,” Rebecca said pointedly, scrubbing at the spot on the floor. “Use the good silverware and remember that the knives go on the left side of the plate with the blade facing inward.”

“I’ll help her,” Kit offered. He swiftly drained the vegetables, added a lump of butter, then hurried to the dining room.

Just at that moment, Baloo wandered into the kitchen. Seeing Rebecca on her hands and knees sponging up the mess, he teased, “Lose somethin’?”

“No, but I know of a pilot who’ll lose his job if he doesn’t get out of this kitchen,” Rebecca whispered loudly, standing up. She blew a loose tendril of hair from her face and returned to stirring the spaghetti sauce.

“What’s that?” he said, pointing to the opposite side of the room.

“What’s what?” Rebecca asked, turning around. She spun back around just in time to see Baloo stick his finger in his mouth. “Out, Baloo!” She rapped his hand with the spoon, depositing a blob of sauce, which he promptly licked off. “You should be entertaining our guest.”

“I’m tired of Mr. Nosey. He’s got more questions than I’ve got answers.”

“I’ll give you fifty thousand reasons why you should get back in there.”

“But...”

“Make something up. You’re good at that.”

“I’m goin’. I’m goin’.”

“While you’re at it, put these on the table.” She handed him the salt and pepper shakers.

“Add a little spice to your life?” He held them over the pot of spaghetti sauce.

“Out!”

“Sheesh! Shouldn’t ya be nicer to your hubby, Honeylips?”

He was rewarded with a glare.

A Half Hour Later

Rebecca, spearing a dainty bite of chocolate cake with her fork, glanced out of the corner of her eye at Mr. Tannenbaum who was seated on her right. The judge’s behavior had been the same throughout the entire meal - take a bite, then write a comment on the clipboard. It was making her curious as well as more than a little nervous.

At long last, Mr. Tannenbaum put down his fork and wiped his mouth with his napkin. “That was tasty, Mrs. Cunningham.”

Her spirits rose. Then, just as quickly, they fell when he made a hasty note on his clipboard.

“Yeah,” Baloo belched. “Not half bad, Beckers.” He ran his large pink tongue around the outside of his mouth with a loud slurp.

Rebecca shot him a fierce reproving look across the table.

The pilot’s eyes dropped to his plate. He murmured contritely, “Excuse me.”

Rebecca wanted to scream with frustration when she noticed the large blob of sauce peeping out from beneath Baloo’s plate; it was obvious that he was trying to conceal it. Her best lace tablecloth - ruined! She glared at Baloo, then said pleasantly, “Why don’t I give you a little tour of the apartment, Mr. Tannenbaum, especially since you’ll be staying with us for a while?”

“All right.” He gathered up his clipboard and pen, rose from his chair, and followed her.

Baloo and the cubs did likewise.

“You have a nice home, Mrs. Cunningham,” he said tersely, taking in every minute detail of the apartment from the art deco on the doors to the very dirt in the potted plants with his shrewd eyes.

“Why, thank you.”

“It should be nice. All our profits go into it,” Baloo muttered.

Rebecca jabbed him in the side with her elbow. “This is the kids’ room,” she said, opening the door at the end of the hallway.

Mr. Tannenbaum stood in the doorway, looking at the room containing a frilly canopy bed, a doll house, a miniature tea table, as well as the plethora of stuffed animals, dolls and girlish toys. “Bothof the children sleep here, including the young man?”

Fingers crossed behind his back, Kit stepped forward. “Yes, sir. That side of the room is mine. I don’t have much stuff, because...” recalling one of his recent vocabulary words, he concluded, “because I’m a minimalist.”

The judge frowned over his pince-nez at the mattress that had been hastily tossed in the corner. The pillow and bedclothes were heaped on top of it in a confused jumble.

“I see. Is that your bed?” He pointed to the mattress with his pen.

Kit nodded. “It’s not usually that messy. I was in a hurry to get to school this morning. To study. Big test today.”

After jotting down a note, Mr. Tannenbaum said sanctimoniously, “Try to be neater in the future.”

“Yes, sir.”Kit had to stifle a laugh when Baloo, his mouth in a tight line, mimicked writing something in the palm of his hand. It was a perfect imitation of Mr. Tannenbaum.

After shooting a death glare at her pilot over her shoulder, Rebecca led the judge down the hall. She opened a door on her left. “This is the bathroom.”

“The room with the bath,” Baloo added, receiving another dirty look from his boss for the witless witticism.

“I see,” Mr. Tannenbaum said, writing a comment on the clipboard. He clapped it to his body and gave Molly an annoyed look over his pince-nez when she tried to sneak a peek.

“Why can’t I see his clipboard? He got to see my room,” Molly said irritably, arms crossed.

Rebecca hushed her daughter with a stern look. She hid her mounting irritation under a facade of pleasantness when she said, “And this is the master bedroom.” She opened a door across the hall from the bathroom.

“Hm-hmm...” Mr. Tannenbaum murmured when Rebecca flipped on the light. His scrutinizing gaze flitted around the meticulously neat room. “Definitely a woman’s touch.”

Rebecca’s fingers gouged into Baloo’s arm to prevent him from making a snide comment. “A really strong woman’s touch,” the big bear mumbled.

“The living room, dining room, and kitchen you’ve seen,” Rebecca said, shutting the bedroom door.

Molly added, “And the waterfall.”

Rebecca smiled at the little girl. “Yes, Pumpkin, he saw the waterfall. That’s it, Mr. Tannenbaum. That’s our home.”

Baloo loudly cleared his throat, prompting another death glare from Rebecca.

“Just make yourself comfortable in the living room, Mr. Tannenbaum,” Rebecca said brightly, ushering him towards the sage green couch. “Baloo and the kids will keep you company while I clear the table. It’ll only take a second. Then, maybe we can all play a board game. We have checkers, Monopolize...”

“Candy Cane Land,” Molly chimed in, naming her favorite board game. She sat down on the blue, round parlor sofa and picked up her doll Lucy.

The judge said curtly, “I’m not much for board games.”

“Cards?”

“I’m not much for cards.”

“Is there a radio program you’d like to listen to? We get wonderful reception here.”

“No.”

Kit, sitting beside Molly, checked his watch. It was time for this week’s new episode of Space Riders, his favorite radio program. Once again, he was missing it, because of one of Baloo’s and Rebecca’s crazy get-rich-quick schemes.

“Oh,” Rebecca said, perplexed as to how to entertain her uncooperative guest. “Well...in that case, we’ll just share some riveting conversation.”

“Rivetin’,” Baloo murmured sullenly, plopping down on the couch beside the judge. He wished that he was at Higher for Hire, taking an after-supper snooze in his comfortable armchair.

“Don’t bore him with air pirate stories!” Rebecca whispered into Baloo’s ear.

“Then what am I s’posed ta talk to him about?” Baloo whispered back.

“I don’t know. Anything but flying.” She hurried across the room to clear the table.

“Anythin’ but flyin’. Flying’s all I know,” Baloo grumbled under his breath. He cleared his throat nervously and turned to Mr. Tannenbaum. “So, how ‘bout them Sox?”

Later that Night
Molly’s Room

Kit was curled up in bed. As he waited for sleep to claim him, his drowsy eyes wandered about the unfamiliar room - at Molly’s canopy bed, at the blocks and stuffed animals scattered across the floor, at the miniature tea table, finally at the doll house. From his vantage point, the soft light from the Danger Woman nightlight shone through the windows of the dollhouse, making it seem like a real house.

He smiled, recalling the warm feeling that he had gotten while watching Miz Cunningham tuck Molly into bed. It had reminded him of that night, six months ago, when they had first come to Higher for Hire.

Fixing his gaze on the baseball cap that was on the floor beside his mattress, Kit’s smile widened. The past six months had been the best in his life. After years of searching, he had finally found a place where he belonged.

His smile faded when he remembered the contest. If they won, Baloo would get enough money to buy back the Sea Duck and then pilot and navigator would leave Higher for Hire, leave the Cunninghams, leave Wildcat. Life wasn’t fair. Just as things were perfect, they had to change. And all because Miz Cunningham had entered them in some stupid contest.

His reverie was interrupted by a loud whisper: “Kit, are you asleep?”

Kit peered through the darkness to meet Molly’s shining brown eyes. “No,” he murmured.

“Ya wanna know something?”

“What?”

“This is kinda fun, like a slumber party.”

“Yeah.” He grinned, closing his eyes.

After a momentary silence, Molly whispered, “Kit?”

“What?” He opened his eyes to look at her.

“Me and Lucy wish that we could stay a family forever and ever.”

“Me, too, Molly. Me, too,” Kit whispered.

In the next room, Baloo spread blankets out on the carpeted floor beside Rebecca’s bed. “We ain’t never gonna get through this week.”

“We probably already blew it, thanks to your slip-up at dinner.”

“How was I s’posed ta know pink was your favorite color?” Baloo crawled into his ‘bed’. He pounded the pillow with his fist a few times before laying his head on it with a tired sigh.

Rebecca, clad in a nightgown and purple robe, opened her closet where almost every article of clothing was some shade of pink or purple. She pulled out her fuzzy pink slippers and put them on.

“Don’t be so obtuse, Baloo.”

“Hey, I ain’t that fat!” Baloo said, sitting bolt upright.

Smiling at his ignorance, she got into bed and arranged papers, ledgers, and an adding machine around her.

“Oh, man, how long is that gonna take?”

“As long as it takes. Go to sleep, Baloo.”

“I can’t sleep with the light on,” he whined.

“Youcan’t sleep with the light on?” she said incredulously. “This from the man who can sleep in his hammock, under the Sea Duck’swing with the sun full in his face?”

“Yeah, well, lamplight’s different.”

Rebecca, pencil in hand, thumbed through her ledger. Then, with a sigh of exasperation, she turned off the lamp right above Baloo’s head. The lamp on the other side of the bed was still on.

Grinning, Baloo lay back down. “Thanks, Becky.”

“Anything to keep you from complaining. Now, go to sleep!”

A few minutes later, Baloo said, “Why’d ya got so much work anywhoo?”

“I do this every evening. I would do it at my desk in the living room, but Mr. Tannenbaum is asleep on the couch.”

“Why not wait ‘til ya get to Higher for Hire in the mornin’?” Baloo asked through a yawn.

“You think a cargo service runs itself? I have to do this much work to keep my business in the black. If I get behind even one day, it’s a disaster!”

“The disaster is havin’ all that money an’ not havin’ time to enjoy it. You need to relax more, Beckers.”

“Andyou need to leave me alone,” she said pointedly. “Goodnight, Baloo.”

“Night.”

2:00 AM

Rebecca lay in bed, staring with bleary eyes through the darkness at the ceiling. Baloo’s sonorous snores filled the air and echoed in her aching head. Fed up, she leaned over the side of the bed and whacked him across the snout with her pillow.

The snoring stopped.

“Victory!” she whispered, curling up under the blankets. She closed her eyes with a smile of contentment.

The snoring started up again, louder this time.

“Oh, this is going to be a long week...” Rebecca groaned. She sandwiched her head between the pillows.

End of part 1

It’s Dough Contest
part 2

The Cunninghams’ Apartment
Tuesday Morning
Day 2

The pale, early morning sunshine streamed through the windows of Rebecca’s bedroom cheerfully. However, the word 'cheerful' couldn’t be applied to Rebecca.

The bleary-eyed bearess stared wearily at the alarm clock on the night stand beside her bed. The steady tick-tock of the clock was synchronized together in perfect unison with Baloo’s snoring. All through her sleepless night, she had watched the seconds turn to minutes, the minutes turn to hours. Because it was almost six o’clock, she thought that she might as well get up. After all, she had a business to run, one...no, two children to get to school, and a judge to impress.

Impressing a judge was the last thing the exhausted Rebecca wanted to do at that moment, but she’d do anything to win fifty thousand dollars and a year’s worth of free advertising. Even spend five nights in the same room as the horrible snoring monster.

When Baloo let out a particularly loud snore, one that sounded like it came from his toes, she thought, Fifty thousand dollars should be just enough to pay my bail after I kill Baloo!

She dragged herself out of bed, shut off her alarm clock before it could ring, donned her robe and slippers, and trudged towards the door, resisting the urge to kick Baloo as she shuffled past him.

“Stupid, fat, loud, obnoxious, moronic, snoring, lazy, fat bear!” she grumbled under her breath as she opened the door and entered the hallway.

She almost slammed the door in her fury. At the last second, she remembered that Mr. Tannenbaum was in the living room. Scowling, she closed it quietly.

Just as she was about to open the bathroom door, she encountered Mr. Tannenbaum coming down the hallway. The judge, clad in an impeccable suit, looked annoyingly well-rested and alert. He toted his clipboard under one arm.

Rebecca immediately gathered up all of her energy, drew her robe closer around her, and plastered a smile on her face. In vain, she attempted to smooth her hair. “Good morning,” she said, infusing as much life into her voice as she could muster.

“Good morning, Mrs. Cunningham.”

“I hope you slept well.”

“Well enough,” he said briefly. He flipped a few pages on the clipboard, murmured, “Mm-hmm,” then crossed out something.

“Good.” Rebecca was too tired to care what he was writing. She gestured to the bathroom meaningfully. “Do you need to...?”

“No. I’ve already used the facilities.”

“Oh.” She cast about for something to say to this stoic man who was now studying a picture hanging on the wall. “Are you hungry?”

“A little.”

“I’ll make you a simply delicious breakfast just as soon as I get dressed,” she offered. When she ducked into the bathroom, her smile vanished. She leaned against the door, groaning, “Oh, I need an aspirin, some strong coffee, and a week’s worth of sleep.”

A half an hour later, Mr. Tannenbaum, Kit, and Molly were enjoying breakfast in the kitchen.

Rebecca, standing at the island, was slapping peanut butter and jelly sandwiches together for the cubs’ lunches while simultaneously keeping an eye on the skillet of French toast frying on the stove.

“I want a red apple, not a yellow apple, Mommy,” Molly complained, peeking into the brown paper sack that was beside her plate.

“We don’t have red apples, sweetie. The yellow ones taste the same,” Rebecca replied with forced patience. She wrapped the sandwiches in wax paper and slipped them into the sacks.

“No, they don’t! The red ones are better,” the little girl said, pouting.

Flashing a glance at Mr. Tannenbaum, who was ensconced behind the Cape Suzette Tribune, Rebecca whispered, “This is not a good time for this, Molly.” She picked up a spatula and went to the stove to flip over the slices of French toast.

When her mother’s back was turned, Molly pointed across the table at the clipboard that was beside Mr. Tannenbaum’s plate. “I dare you to look, Kit,” she whispered.

Kit shook his head and continued eating.

“I double-dog dare you.”

“No,” Kit murmured curtly.

The newspaper rustled when Mr. Tannenbaum turned the page.

“Please, please, please, please, pleeeeaaaase?” she wheedled, clasping her hands imploringly.

Frowning, Kit said, “All right! Anything to get you off my back.” To himself, he murmured, “Jeepers! Little kids!” He reached across the table and gingerly lifted a corner of the spotlessly white cloth napkin that was folded neatly on top of the clipboard.

Kit dropped the napkin and flew back in his seat when Mr. Tannenbaum cleared his throat.

“Khan Industries stocks are down two points today,” the judge mentioned, turning another page.

“Oh, really? That’s nice,” Rebecca murmured absently. Making an edible breakfast occupied every ounce of energy of her foggy faculties.

Mr. Tannenbaum peeked around the Tribune at her. Then, he meticulously folded the paper and placed it beside his plate. He picked up his clipboard, peering at Kit and Molly over his pince-nez.

They pretended to be absorbed in eating their breakfast.

“Hmm...” He glanced at his Roarlex. “Is Mr. Cunningham in the habit of sleeping in this late?”

Before either of the kids could say anything, Rebecca offered to check on him.

With a sigh of exasperation, she turned off the stove and stormed into the bedroom where Baloo was still sleeping. As soon as she closed the door, she demanded, “Baloo, you lazy bum, wake up!”

When all she got for a response was a snore, she shook him roughly by the shoulders. “Wake up! Wake up! Wake up!”

He turned over, mumbling, “Go way, Becky...an’ take that manual with you...zzzzzzzzz.”

Rebecca wanted to kick him now more than ever. Getting a bright idea, she left and returned with a plate of French toast. She wafted it under his nose.

“French toast, extry syrup,” he murmured drowsily, licking his lips.

“Get up, Baloo,” Rebecca snapped, her eyes flashing. “Breakfast is on the table.”

“Breakfast?” Baloo’s eyelids flew open. “You just said my two favorite words.”

“I’ll give you to the count of ten to get your lazy carcass out to that kitchen, or you will not see one cent of your share of the reward!”

“I’m up! I’m up!” Quicker than a flash, Baloo bounded out of bed and sped to the door. Then, he stopped, turned, and took the plate from Rebecca’s hands. “Forgot this.”

“Stupid, fat, lazy bear,” Rebecca grumbled under her breath as she followed him to the kitchen.

Upon reaching the kitchen, Baloo started to rummage through the drawers.

“What are you looking for, Mr. Cunningham?” Mr. Tannenbaum inquired languidly. Getting no response, he repeated, “Mr. Cunningham?”

“Papa Bear!” Kit whispered.

“What, kid?” Baloo opened another drawer, quickly scanned its contents, then closed it with a bang and a clatter.

“Mr. Tannenbaum’s asking you a question.”

“Come again, Mr. T?”

“What are you looking for?” he said crisply.

“A fork,” Baloo replied absently.

Flashing a frightened look at the judge, Rebecca said quickly, “They’re where they always are, dear. Right here in thisdrawer.” She opened a drawer and extracted a fork.

Completely failing to notice Rebecca’s annoyed expression, Baloo snatched the fork from her and attacked his French toast, spearing the entire slice and cramming it in his mouth. With a spray of food, he said in a garbled voice, “Good grub.”

“Mm-hmm,” Mr. Tannenbaum murmured, flicking a gob of sticky goo from his shoulder. He picked up his pen and scribbled a paragraph on his clipboard.

Way to go, Baloo. Thanks to you, we’re getting an ‘F minus’ in table manners, Rebecca thought, wincing as the big bear chugged milk directly from the bottle. Then, she happened to glance at the clock. It was later than she thought. She snatched the plates from the table, saying frantically, “Hurry, kids, or you’ll be late for school! And the Bee’s Knees Honey shipment is coming at eight sharp!”

The cubs grabbed their sack lunches and went to get their book bags from Molly’s bedroom.

“Thank you for the breakfast, Mrs. Cunningham,” Mr. Tannenbaum said, also leaving the table.

“You’revery welcome,” she replied with a smile. She unceremoniously dumped the dishes in the sink with a clatter, then cast a discreet glance at Mr. Tannenbaum. Seeing that he was sitting on the sofa, absorbed in his clipboard, she asked Baloo in a saccharinely sweet voice, “May I have a word with you, please?”

“Okey-dokey.” He licked the last bit of syrup from his plate, then put it in the sink.

Instead of tweaking Baloo’s ear like she longed to do, she seized his nightshirt sleeve and hauled him into the the door closed behind them, she figuratively exploded. “Do you want to win this contest or not?”

“‘Course I do,” he said, picking up the wadded-up shirt that he had worn the day before.

“You sure don’t act like it!” Rebecca snapped. “Your eating habits are revolting, your manners are atrocious, and...and...whatare you doing, Baloo?”

He was sniffing his shirt. Because it didn’t smell too bad, he shook it out and headed for the door. “Goin’ to the bathroom to change. Got a problem with that, lady?”

“Yes, I have a problem with that! If you wear the same shirt you wore yesterday, Mr. Tannenbaum will think you’re a slob.”

“Iam a slob!”

“That’s nothing to be proud of!”

“What put the bee in your bonnet, Rebecca?” Baloo retorted. “Why’re you so grumpy this mornin’?”

Rebecca slumped onto the bed. She was so tired, she felt like crying. Instead, she said sullenly, “You’d be grumpy if you didn’t get any sleep. You snore.”

“Well,your addin’ machine kept me up, too. So, now we’re even.”

They glowered at each other for a moment. Then Rebecca broke the tense silence with, “If we want to win this contest, we’re stuck with each other for the entire week. What are we going to do, Baloo? I can’t live without sleep for a week!”

Suddenly, Baloo blurted out, “Kit’s earmuffs!”

“What?”

“Borr-y Kit’s earmuffs.” Sheepishly, he added, “He don’t like my snorin’ neither.”

That brought a small smile to Rebecca’s face, her first genuine smile of the day. “He’s a smart boy.”

“I’m sure he’ll let ya use ‘em. I’ll ask him.”

“Thank you, Baloo.”

“Don’t mention it, boss lady.” He grinned, heading for the door.

“Baloo?”

Hand on the doorknob, he stopped. “Yeah?”

“When we get to Higher for Hire, put on a clean shirt.”

“Whatever you say, Honeylips.” Baloo chuckled as he left the room.

Higher for Hire

After dropping the cubs off at school, Baloo, Rebecca, and Mr. Tannenbaum drove to Higher for Hire. To Rebecca’s great relief, they had beat the Bee’s Knees Honey delivery truck.

Just as they were walking into the office, Wildcat called from the Sea Duck, “Hey, Baloo!”

“Do something before he screws it up!” Rebecca muttered, quickly ushering Mr. Tannenbaum inside.

Baloo hurried over to the seaplane. “Whatcha want, Wildcat?”

Crouched atop the plane’s engines, the wiry lion mechanic asked, “Who’s that guy with you?”

“Mr. Tannenbaum.”

“Like the Christmas song?” Excitedly, he asked, “Is he related to Santa Claus?”

“No, he ain’t related to Santy Claus,” Baloo snapped.

“Why did you and Kit stay with Miz Cunningham last night?”

“Shh!” Baloo hissed, putting a finger to his lips. He flung a glance at Higher for Hire, half expecting to see Mr. Tannenbaum coming out, accusing them of lying.

“Did you spring a leak, Baloo? I’ve got some bubble gum.” Wildcat began to rummage through his overalls pockets.

“Naw, I’m not springin’ a leak.”

Wildcat nimbly hopped down from the engine. “That’s good. Once I had an uncle who did and it was a biiiiig mess! Buckets and buckets and buckets.”

His head reeling from trying to follow Wildcat’s train of thought, Baloo explained, “I just don’t want Mr. Tannenbaum to hear you.”

“Why? Do his ears hurt?”

“No,” Baloo said, becoming increasingly irritated with the whole merry-go-round conversation. “He’s a judge.”

“Wow! I like fudge.”

“Not fudge. Judge.”

“He’s a fudge judge? That would be a fun job,” Wildcat said brightly. “Getting to taste all that fudge.”

“Yeah, it would...” Baloo licked his lips. Then, he snapped out of his daydream. “But he ain’t that kind of judge. He’s the regular kind. Ya see, the judge thinks Becky an’ me are married.”

“Why would he think that?” Wildcat asked, scratching his head with his favorite wrench.

“‘Cause we told him.”

“You told him before you told me?” Wildcat said, crestfallen. “I wanted to go to the wedding, too.”

“We ain’t really married.”

“Then why...?”

Slowly, Baloo said, “We’re pretendin’ to be married so we can cash in on a whole lotta cash. Get it?”

Wildcat nodded vehemently. “No.”

Baloo put a hand to his head. He felt a headache coming on.

Then Wildcat’s eyes lit up. “Can I pretend, too? What if I pretend to be a rocket scientist named Horatio? Wait a minute...my name’s not Horatio, is it?”

“No,Wildcat. Listen close. This week, I’m Mr. Cunningham. Me an’ Becky are married. Kit an’ Molly are our kids, an’ we live in Becky’s apartment.”

“Okay.” He scratched his head. “Who am I this week?”

“Wildcat! You’re still Wildcat! Aw, just repeat after me.”

A few minutes later, Baloo and Wildcat entered Higher for Hire.

Seated at her desk, Rebecca said apprehensively, “Mr. Tannenbaum, this is our mechanic Wildcat.”

“Hello,” Wildcat said woodenly. “It was nice of you to come. The Cunninghams are the nicest...nicest family I know.”

“Why don’t you get back to work on the engines, Wildcat?” Rebecca suggested.

“Right,” Wildcat said stiffly. “I will get back to work on the engines.” He whispered loudly to Baloo, “Is it later yet?”

“Not yet,” Baloo whispered back.

“Will you tell me when later is? My watch is a little slow.”

“Sure, sure, anythin’. Just go!” Baloo shooed him out of the office.

From his customary perch on the crate beside the desk, Mr. Tannenbaum said, “Is he always so...?”

Baloo nodded his head sadly. “‘Fraid so.”

“Poor man.” With that, Mr. Tannenbaum wrote on the clipboard.

The big bear added, “He’s a touch cracked, but if ya want the best mechanic in Cape Suzette, you won’t find a sounder nut than Wildcat.”

“Did someone say ‘peanut’?” Wildcat said, sticking his head through the door. “Oh, the truck’s here, Miz Cunningham.”

Pushing the mechanic back outside, Baloo said, “Let’s load the cargo, Wildcat.”

“How would you like to accompany Baloo on a cargo run, Mr. Tannenbaum?” Rebecca said in a voice dripping with honey.

Baloo screeched to a halt.

“Wouldn’t ya rather stay here? On the ground? Where it’s safe?” Baloo said desperately.

“But it’s so much more exciting in the Sea Duck.”

“I’m sure he’d prefer to stay here. He looks like a dull, technical sort of person, kind of like you, Honeylips.”

Rebecca shot Baloo a warning glare. “I’d like him to see all aspects of our business, Baloo, and the Sea Duck is a big part of Higher for Hire.” Under her breath, she added, “Almost as big as its pilot.”

Baloo, who had caught this aside, growled, “All right.”

Rebecca whispered, “Be polite!”

Baloo immediately affixed a broad smile on his face. “I mean, all right! It’ll be a blast, Mr. T. Just you, me, and the Sea Duck.”

To Baloo’s surprise, Rebecca crossed the room, wrapped her arms around his neck, and murmured in his ear, “If you mess this up, I’ll clip your wings but good! You got me?”

“Don’t strangle me, Becky!” Baloo gasped.

“I’ll do worse than that if you blow it!” She kissed him on the cheek, saying aloud, “Have a good flight, Butterball.”

Baloo, a goofy grin on his face, stammered, “Uh...yeah.”

“Fifty thousand dollars...” Rebecca sang softly, placing a packet of shipping papers in his hands.

Hearing ‘dollars’, Baloo snapped out of his daze. The prospect of fifty grand sweetened the task of babysitting the judge for the entire day, but he still wasn’t happy. He whispered, “You owe me one,” to Rebecca before saying, “C’mon, Mr. T. We better skedaddle, or we’ll be in one heck of a sticky situation.”

A few minutes later, the crates of honey were loaded onto the Sea Duck and Baloo and Mr. Tannenbaum were on their way. They were barely in the air when Mr. Tannenbaum unleashed a barrage of questions.

“Have you been to Rio de Jalapeño before, Mr. Cunningham?”

“Oh, sure. Lots of times.” Baloo laughed. “I remember one time when me an’ my ol’ pal Louie were there. What a crazy day that was. A treasure map, a purdy dame, an’...you ever taken an avocado dip before, Mr. T?”

Briskly, he replied, “Can’t say as I have.”

“It’s a little joke. Get it? Avocado dip? A bath made with avocados? It’s kinda squishy...” He caught Mr. Tannenbaum’s look of disapproval and quickly amended, “Uh, me neither.”

Mr. Tannenbaum jotted a note on his clipboard.

For the first time since he had met Mr. Tannenbaum, Baloo felt frightened. He tugged at the collar of his clean shirt. Oh, man! Becky’s gonna kill me!

Flipping through a few pages on his clipboard, the judge asked, “What’s your growth factor?”

Baloo patted his stomach. “Depends on how much I eat.”

“I meant how much does your business make a year?”

The pilot shrugged. “Ask Becky. She pilots the desk while I pilot the plane.”

“You mean that you have no idea how much Higher for Hire - the business that you own - makes?” He fixed his unwavering gaze on the pilot.

Unnerved, Baloo chuckled nervously. “Not prezactly. As long as it’s enough to keep me...uh, I mean, us...all of us...my family an’ me...in clothes an’ food, I don’t care.”

“I see.” Mr. Tannenbaum made a notation on the clipboard.

“I mean, I care, but not about money. Well, I like money as much as the next guy. Who doesn’t? But I leave all the numbers an’ stuff to Rebecca.” Baloo hadn’t felt this flustered since he took his F.L.A.P. flying test with Ralph ‘Love-to-Flunk-‘Em’ Throgmorton.

“I see,” the judge said again. He continued to write.

Baloo peeked over at the clipboard, which earned him a reproving look from Mr. Tannenbaum.

“Whatcha writin’?”

“Notes.”

“Notes about what?”

In clipped tones, Mr. Tannenbaum answered, “Notes to help me decide who the winner will be.”

“Oh. How are we doin’?”

“It’s too early to decide.”

“Oh...” Squirming under Mr. Tannenbaum’s steady gaze, he said, “Nice weather we’re havin’. Just look at them clouds.”

“How long have you known your wife, Mr. Cunningham?” Receiving no answer, he repeated, “Mr. Cunningham?”

“Oh, yeah. Mr. Cunningham. That’s me,” Baloo said with a nervous chuckle. “Would ya mind runnin’ that by me again? I was, uh, checkin’ the gauges. We’re right on course.”

“How long have you known your wife?”

“A long time.” Way too long. “Say...how’d you like to fly the Duck?”

“I’m not a licensed pilot. It would be against the law.”

“I won’t tell nobody. Cross my heart an’ hope ta fly,” he vowed, crossing his heart with his forefinger.

“Are you in the habit of letting guests fly your plane, Mr. Cunningham?” Mr. Tannenbaum said disapprovingly.

“Why be so formal? Call me Baloo. Please?”

Mr. Tannenbaum ignored his pleas. “Will you please answer the question, Mr. Cunningham?”

Defeated, Baloo sighed. He murmured contritely, “No, I ain’t in the habit of lettin’ guests fly my plane.”

“Then why should I be the exception?”

“I, uh...” Since Baloo couldn’t think of a plausible answer, he said, “Nice weather we’re havin’ today, huh?”

Never had a cargo flight seemed so long to Baloo. Mr. Tannenbaum’s relentlessly bombarded him with probing questions until the pilot was confused to who he really was. For a few moments, he even thought that he was Mr. Cunningham! On top of that, Baloo was forced to spin an enormous web of lies, so big that he couldn’t keep them all straight. He found himself being constantly tripped up, something that he, an expert liar, had never experienced before.

When they finally reached Rio de Jalapeño - one hour late, because Baloo got sidetracked by Mr. Tannenbaum and his questions - the pilot still found himself being scrutinized by the judge. Mr. Tannenbaum watched with eagle-sharp eyes as Baloo unloaded the cargo. He watched as Baloo talked to the receiving clerk, watched as Baloo explained to the clerk why they were late. He even watched as Baloo got a drink from the public drinking fountain.

Wiping a few drips of water from his chin with the palm of his hand, Baloo asked, “Wanna see the sights while we’re here, Mr. T? Grab a burrito or three?”

Mr. Tannenbaum flipped through his notes. “Shouldn’t we be getting back, Mr. Cunningham? Your wife mentioned another delivery.”

“She did?” Baloo said, surprised. Racking his mind, he vaguely recalled her saying something a few minutes before they took off. What it was exactly, he couldn’t remember. He decided to bluff. “Oh, that’sright! Chinchilla slippers to Thembria.”

“Toilet brushes to Flushing,” he said drily.

Baloo chuckled nervously. “Yeah, well, they’re both kinda fuzzy.”

“Mm-hmm,” Mr. Tannenbaum murmured softly, making a brief notation.

“Adios, fifty thousand smackers,” Baloo muttered as he trudged up the back hatch, into the Sea Duck.

Four Hours Later

Baloo breathed a sigh of relief when he spotted a familiar island in the distance. “Comin’ into Louie’s.”

“Louie’s? What’s that?” Mr. Tannenbaum asked crisply.

“Only the swingingest place...” he caught Mr. Tannenbaum’s eye and amended, “to fill up the Duck’s gas tank. We’re, uh, runnin’ low.”

After a picture-perfect landing, Baloo and Mr. Tannenbaum stepped out of the seaplane onto the dock.

“Fill ‘er up, fellas,” Baloo said to the three monkey gas jockeys. While they continued up the dock to the nightclub, he told the judge, “Since we’re here, we might as well say howdy to Louie. You’ll like him.”

Mr. Tannenbaum said nothing. He was too busy taking in every detail of Louie’s Place. A look of cool disdain was on his face.

His lips tightened when they entered the nightclub. It was crammed with both freelance and Khan’s pilots. Simian waiters swung overhead from the bar to the tables, bearing refreshments. In one corner, two men were sharing a heated discussion which was verging on a brawl. Over the din blared the juke box.

Seeing nothing unusual, Baloo threaded his way through the crowd. He dodged the chair that hurtled towards him; the two men had resorted to fisticuffs. Furniture and dishes flew in their wake. “Welcome to Louie’s,” he proudly shouted over the noise. “Home of the world-famous Krakatoa Special.”

“Never heard of it.” Mr. Tannenbaum said just as there came a loud crash!

The men had busted through the wall and were now rolling around on the dock. Following a quick glance in that direction, everyone resumed what they were doing.

“It’s the most debobalicious sundae you ever tasted. I’ll get my best bud to fix ya one.” He greeted the orangutan emerging from his office with a loud, “Hey, Louie!”

Louie motioned to Waldo, one of his workers, to patch up the wall, then bounded over to his friend. “Baloo, amigo! Just the man I was lookin’ for. About your tab...”

“Ix-nay. Ix-nay,” Baloo murmured.

“Tab?” Mr. Tannenbaum echoed. “You owe this man money, Mr. Cunningham?”

“Yup. Forty boffo buckeroos.” Louie held out his hand. “Pay up, Mr.Cunningham!”

Baloo silenced Louie with a look. He muttered out of the corner of his mouth, “Later.” Aloud, he said, “How’s about gettin’ Mr. Tannenbaum a Krakatoa Special? He’s dyin’ ta try one - just like some ape I know if he spills the beans.”

Always willing to make his signature sundae, Louie vaulted over the bar. “One Krakatoa comin’ up.”

“Sir, might I ask where the bathroom is?” Mr. Tannenbaum said.

“Sure, man. It’s right over there,” Louie replied, pointing to a door on the far side of the room with his toes.

When Mr. Tannenbaum began to carefully pick his way through the crowd towards the restroom, Louie asked, “Hey, cuz, what’s with all the hush-hush? Is he a librarian?”

“Naw, he’s a judge.” Baloo slumped against the bar, feeling as though he could finally relax.

“Looks more like a goat to me,” Louie chuckled.

“He gets my goat. That guy is part of Becky’s latest get-rich-quick scheme.”

“Uh-oh. What’s she up to now?”

Baloo quickly filled him in.

Placing five sparklers atop the sundae, Louie remarked, “That sounds like a doozy.”

“An’ it’s makin’ me dizzy.” Baloo said. Elbow on the bar, he leaned his head against his hand. “On top of all that, I had to spend all day with Mr. Twenty Questions.”

Louie shook his head and placed a Mango Fandango on the bar for his friend. “That’s rough, cuz, but look on the bright side. You get to spend all week with the bodacious Becky.”

“You can have her,” Baloo averred, taking a long sip through the straw. “I can’t get away from her, innkeeper. She’s there when I go to sleep, there when I wake up, when I eat. She’s watchin’ my every wakin’ moment, an’ if she ain’t, that judge is!”

“If ya stick it out, you’ll be free from Rebecca’s crazy plans forever.”

“That’s the only reason I’m goin’ through with this nutsy notion.” Baloo raised his glass. “Here’s hopin’.”

“Hoping what?” Mr. Tannenbaum said, causing Baloo to spit out his drink.

“Hopin’ that you found the restroom,” Louie replied, pounding a coughing Baloo on the back.

“Speaking of the restroom, I need to inform the proprietor about the vulgar messages on the walls.”

“We...cough...don’t have time for that,” Baloo choked out. “Got a schedule to keep, Mr. T.” As he steered the judge towards the exit, he thought, Never thought I’d say that! “See ya around, Louie.”

“Good luck, cuz,” Louie said with a wave.

“Thanks! I’ll need it!” Baloo shouted over his shoulder.

Rebecca’s Bedroom
That Night

“Today was a little easier, don’t you think, Baloo?” Rebecca asked tiredly; she sighed with relief as she slipped between the cool sheets.

“Oh, yeah. Easy as fallin’ off a log,” Baloo growled. The big bear was on his knees as he spread his blankets out on the floor. “Do you know how many lies I told that guy today?”

“Lying has never bothered you before,” she smirked.

“I dunno if I can keep ‘em all straight.” He crawled into his makeshift bed and lay there, hands behind his head.

“As long as you keep your deliveries straight, we’ll be okay.” She arranged papers on her bed, made sure that the earmuffs were within easy reach on the night stand, and flipped off the light above Baloo.

From out of the blue, Baloo said, “Becky?”

“Mm-hmm?” she said, intent on her paperwork.

“You don’t wanna know what I wanted to do to that clipboard.”

“Ba-loo!” Rebecca scolded. Leaning over the side of the bed, she frowned disapprovingly at him.

Holding up the pencil that had rolled onto the floor, he said reassuringly, “Easy, Beckers. I kept my cool.”

“Good.”

He grinned mischievously at her. “Just wait ‘til it’s your turn with Mr. Whiskers tomorrow.”

“I’m sure we’ll get along just fine, thank you.” Rebecca snatched the pencil from him and returned to her paperwork.

“Uh-huh." Baloo smiled a secret smile, wishing that he could be a fly on the wall of Higher for Hire tomorrow. “Nighty-night.”

“Goodnight, Baloo.”

End of part 2

It’s Dough Contest
part 3

Higher for Hire
Wednesday Afternoon
Day 3

Rebecca glanced from her delivery schedule book to her watch; two hours until five o'clock. Two hours too many, in her opinion.

She flicked her gaze towards Mr. Tannenbaum, who sat, ramrod-straight, on the crate across the desk from her. His expression was unreadable as he studied her ledger.

Maybe it was time for the full moon. Maybe the shipping gods were against her. Maybe it was simply due to the fact that Mr. Tannenbaum, his probing, personal questions, and his constant presence were getting on her nerves.

Whatever the reason, she wanted to scream in frustration.

It had started off as a perfectly normal Wednesday. Following a wonderfully restful night - thanks to Kit’s earmuffs - she got up, made breakfast, and chauffeured the kids to school. Then she, Baloo, and Mr. Tannenbaum headed to Higher for Hire. Baloo, elated that he was going to be flying solo, took off with the Peachy Keen Nectarine shipment. After he left, Rebecca settled down at her desk to do paperwork with Mr. Tannenbaum taking his usual seat on the crate.

At approximately ten o’clock, the trouble started.

The Fair Weather Vane Company called to cancel their shipment, because their factory had been blown away by a tornado. One thousand dollars gone with the wind.

Just as soon as she had gotten off the telephone, the manager of the Sox called. If Higher for Hire could deliver their Catchall Baseball Mitts in time for the next day’s game, they would pay double what they had originally agreed upon. To accommodate this grand-slam proposal, Rebecca had to change the shipping lineup.

She had spent the rest of the morning asking, cajoling, and finally, begging the Crackly Grain Flakes, Mango Wango, Sleep-Eazee Pillow and Finagle’s Bagels Companies to postpone their shipments until a later date.

Of course, that didn’t fly, so she had ended up radioing Baloo to inform him about the change of plans. The pilot had grumbled and growled about the extra workload, but after she cryptically reminded him about the contest, he had grudgingly agreed.

Rebecca knew that everything she had done had been duly recorded on Mr. Tannenbaum’s clipboard.

That disheartening thought plagued her as she stared at her delivery scheduling book, hoping against hope that Mr. Tannenbaum would leave her alone for a while. She desperately needed to gather her thoughts. In fact, she was still recovering from a shocking comment that he had made earlier.

Between phone calls, he had said, “You and your family seem to get along so well. How do you manage it?”

Rebecca, whose mind was more on business than on family at the moment, murmured, “We’re just lucky, I guess.” She thought, If I push the Mango Wango shipment up to 1:00, and if Baloo flies really fast, I can squeeze in the Catchall shipment at...

“Uh-huh,” Mr. Tannenbaum had murmured, scribbling. “Not only that, but you seem to work very well together.”

“Most of the time we do.” But if I push the mango shipment up, Crackly Grain Flakes will fall through the cracks, and that’s one of our top clients. She impatiently tapped her pencil against her desk as her eyes darted over her appointment book in search of an answer to her scheduling problem. Hmm...what if I...?

“Would you say that it’s because you and your husband are so perfect for each other?”

“Yes, we...we are?” Her head had jerked up at that astounding remark; she forgot all about rescheduling her shipments as she stared, stunned, at the judge for a few moments.

He stared back at her, pencil at the ready.

To cover her astonishment, she had stammered stupidly, “E-excuse me, Mr. Tannenbaum, but I have to make another phone call.”

Ring! Ring!

The phone’s ringing brought Rebecca back to the present.

No rest for the businesswoman, Rebecca thought wearily as she picked up the receiver. “Higher for Hire. If you’re buying, we’re flying...Robert with the Kitschy Ketchup Company? Yes, I remember you...But we did catch up on the ketchup deliveries...Now, wait a minute! I’m sure we can work this out calmly and rationally...The delinquent delivery? I can explain that. You see, my pilot ran into some air pirates and...” As was her habit, she yanked at a fistful of her hair. “I don’t know why pirates would want ketchup! Maybe they hijacked a hot dog stand or something...But...But...You can’t do that!” Noticing Mr. Tannenbaum’s steady gaze on her, she swivelled in her chair so that her back was to him and hissed, “We have a one-year contract!”

Mr. Tannenbaum cleared his throat.

“Oh, call you back.” She hung up the receiver, wishing that she could slather the Kitschy Ketchup contract with ketchup and shove it down their ungrateful throats. Instead, she swallowed her anger and plastered a smile on her face. “Did you say something, Mr. Tannenbaum?”

“I’ve discovered a grievous error in your ledger, Mrs. Cunningham.”

“Y-you have?” Suddenly, she wished that she was back hashing it out with the Kitschy Ketchup Co.

“Yes. There is a matter of $132 unaccounted for,” he said in a voice of scathing disapproval.

“One hundred thirty-two...? Let me see that!” She pulled the ledger towards her and quickly added up the numbers using her adding machine. Her heart sank when she saw the deficit at the bottom. “Well, what do you know? Usually, I’m so careful.” She murmured dully, “Thank you for pointing out this mistake.”

“Well...?”

Rebecca blinked. “Well, what?”

“Are you going to correct it?”

“Most certainly! I’ll do that right away.” She sprang from her seat, headed to the filing cabinet, and started pulling out receipts, invoices, and bills; Mr. Tannenbaum stood beside her as she did so. “It should be simple. I’ll just backtrack until I find...” Seeing a gooey, slightly moldy sandwich wedged in between two pieces of paper, she hastily shut the drawer.

Unfortunately, it wasn’t quick enough; Mr. Tannenbaum had seen it. “Interesting filing system you have there, Mrs. Cunningham.”

“Oh, that sandwich is not mine. Must be my...my husband’s. He’s always doing funny things like that.” He won’t be laughing when he gets home! “He even filed it under ‘A’ for ‘avocado’, because it’s an avocado sandwich. Heh-heh...heh.”

Mr. Tannenbaum didn’t even crack a smile as he wrote on his clipboard.

Rebecca delved into the filing cabinet, her mind whirling. What could have happened to that money? Six months without a discrepancy. Why did it have to happen today of all days?

“Hi, Mommy! We’re home!”

Relief flooded Rebecca’s being. She was glad for the interruption, so glad that she rushed across the room and ecstatically embraced the cubs. “I’m so happy you’re home!”

“What’s wrong, Miz Cunningham?” Kit murmured, looking over her shoulder at Mr. Tannenbaum, who was peering inside a filing cabinet drawer.

“Everything.”

“Poor Mom.” Then, the little girl grinned brightly. “I know what’ll cheer you up. A big bowl of ice cream as a last-day-of-school treat.”

“Anything, Pumpkin,” Rebecca sighed wearily. “As long as it doesn’t have anything to do with cargo or phones or $132.”

“One hundred thirty-two dollars?” Kit echoed, watching Mr. Tannenbaum pull a donut from the bottom filing cabinet drawer.

“You need to work on your filing system, Mrs. Cunningham,” Mr. Tannenbaum said, dusting donut crumbs from his hands. “‘Donut’ starts with ‘D’, not ‘F’.”

“‘Fired’ starts with ‘F’. That’s what Baloo will be when he gets home,” Rebecca muttered through clenched teeth.

When Mr. Tannenbaum continued to stare at her, she smiled half-heartedly and said, “Into the kitchen, everyone. You, too, Mr. Tannenbaum.”

“We’re gonna eat ice cream!” Molly sang, skipping into the kitchen.

They gathered around the kitchen table while Rebecca doled out four bowls of ice cream.

Before she could taste a mouthful of the creamy, cold confection, Mr. Tannenbaum said, “I thought you were allergic to ice cream, Mrs. Cunningham.”

“I-I am?” she sputtered, completely stunned.

“That’s what your husband told me yesterday.”

Rebecca’s eyes narrowed to mere slits. “He did?” Of all the idiotic, stupid, imbecilic, moronic things to do!

“Yes.” Mr. Tannenbaum flipped through a few pages on his clipboard. “Ah, here it is. And I quote: ‘Becky’s allergic to ice cream. Just mentioning it will make her face swell up like a big old purple balloon.’ Unquote.”

“He said that, did he?” She was so mad that she was ready to spit nails.

“Yes.”

Rebecca, wondering what other outrageous lies Baloo had concocted about her, was stumped. “Oh, right. I’m allergic to ice cream.” She put the bowl down regretfully; rocky road was her favorite. “But I thought I should...”

Kit chimed in, “Hold it to be hospitable.”

“Right. Hold it to be hospitable,” Rebecca echoed.

“I see.” Mr. Tannenbaum put his spoon in his empty bowl and made a quick notation on his clipboard.

Rebecca said politely, “Would you care for more ice cream, Mr. Tannenbaum?”

“No, thank you. I don’t care very much for chocolate ice cream. I prefer strawberry.”

“Oh.”

“Shall we return to correcting your ledger, Mrs. Cunningham?”

“Yes. Let’s.” After Mr. Tannenbaum had left the kitchen, Rebecca said, “Kit, could you do me a favor?”

“What?”

“Shoot me!”

Cunninghams’ Apartment
Three Hours Later

Kit was sitting on the sofa, looking a little uncomfortable in a suit and tie. Wildcat, clad in clean overalls, sat beside him with Molly on his lap. They were enjoying a brief reprieve from being scrutinized; Mr. Tannenbaum was in the bathroom.

Rebecca emerged from her bedroom wearing a conservative maroon skirt suit with a large bow tied at her throat. After glancing at the clock, she crossed the room to where the cubs and mechanic were sitting and adjusted Molly’s hair ribbons. “Where is that fat bear?” she murmured under her breath.

“Not here,” Molly answered.

“He should be. How could he forget this?”

“He forgot, because he’s Baloo,” Kit said quietly.

“That’s no excuse to be late for your graduation.” She knotted Molly’s second hair ribbon, fiddled with a ruffle on the little girl’s blue dress, then turned to Kit. “Let me see that tie, sweetie.”

Rebecca adjusted his tie and stepped back to look him over. Smiling, she said, “There. You’re perfect. Remember to walk straight and tall.”

“And don’t trip going up on stage,” Molly added with a mischievous giggle.

Kit said wryly, “Thanks a heap, Short Stuff.”

Flashing an annoyed glance at the clock, Rebecca said, “That’s it! I’m calling Louie’s.”

Louie’s Place

Baloo, lounging at the bar, was surrounded by pilots of all sizes and species. While listening to Harry, a small feline pilot, tell a joke, he slurped on his thick mango shake.

Harry was saying, “A pig, a rabbit, and a duck go on a picnic. So, which hand did they eat their soup with?” He paused a moment before delivering the punch line: “Neither. They used a soup spoon.”

The nightclub rang with laughter.

“Good one, Harry,” Louie said, giving the cat a high-five across the bar.

Baloo pounded his palm on the bar. “Listen up, fellas. I got one.” He waited until all eyes were on him before beginning. “Okay, so this really stupid goon’s s’posed ta beat up this guy who has a mole on his face in the shape of Italia.”

Louie interjected with, “Wait a sec. What’s the shape of Italia? The mole or the guy’s face?”

“The mole,” Baloo said with an annoyed frown. “Pay attention, innkeeper. So after he’s sent on his mission, the goon comes back to his boss an’ his boss says, ‘Did ya beat him up like I asked ya?’ an’ the goon says, ‘I didn’t hafta, boss.’ And his boss says, ‘Whattaya mean ya didn’t hafta?’ And the goon says, ‘Someone with really tiny feet already kicked him in the face an’ left a boot mark.’” Baloo guffawed. “Get it? Italia? Boot?”

The other pilots exchanged bored and confused looks.

Just then, the wall-mounted telephone rang.

“Saved by the bell,” Louie said with a smirk.

“That joke wasn’t that bad,” Baloo said, greatly offended.

“It wasn’t that good neither.” The orangutan picked up the receiver and put it to his ear. “Louie’s Place. It’s your dime.” He listened for a minute, then shot a sly glance at Baloo. “Why, sure he’s here, Rebecca.”

Baloo winced. “Thanks for coverin’ for me, cuz.”

“Anythin’ ta get outta hearin’ your hokey jokes.” Louie handed the phone to Baloo.

Before Baloo put the receiver to his ear, he heard Rebecca say loudly, “What do you think you’re doing, Baloo?”

Scowling, Baloo replied, “Zonin’ out after bein’ through all them different time zones. That was one crazy day ya put me through, lady.”

“The day’s not over yet, flyboy. I need you to hightail your tail back here right this second!”

“Gimmee one good reason.” Baloo leisurely took a sip of his shake.

“You’re going to miss Kit’s sixth grade graduation!”

Baloo nearly choked on his shake. “That’s a good reason. Ain’t today Monday?”

“No, it’s Wednesday.”

“Wednesday? Someone owes me a Tuesday.” He pulled out his pocket watch and squinted at it. Surprise registered on his face. “Holy shimolies! I didn’t know it was that late! I’m comin’! I’m comin’!”

“You’d better, or I’ll come get you, even if I have to swim all the way!” She slammed the phone down so hard that Baloo jumped and splashed his shake on his shirt.

“I think she’s mad,” Baloo murmured, ruefully peering into his empty glass.

Back at the Cunninghams’ apartment, Rebecca calmly turned to Mr. Tannenbaum, who had just emerged from the bathroom. “Baloo’s finishing up some important business. He’ll be here in a little while. Why don’t we all just sit down and relax?” she suggested, clenching her hands together tightly as she fixed her eyes on the clock.

Cape Suzette Elementary

A half an hour later, Baloo, Rebecca, Kit, Molly, Wildcat, and Mr. Tannenbaum entered the gymnasium. The sixth-graders’ families and friends were milling in the aisles and sitting in the rows of folding chairs. A faint smell of sweaty socks and basketballs mingled with cheap cologne and corsages.

Kit joined his classmates in the front row, leaving the rest of the Higher for Hire gang to hunt for five unoccupied adjoining seats. They finally found an empty row towards the back of the gymnasium. Baloo filed into the row first, followed by Rebecca, Wildcat, and Molly.

“Mr. Cunningham, would you mind moving down a chair?” Mr. Tannenbaum asked, standing in the aisle. He peered at the pilot over his pince-nez.

Wildcat whispered loudly, “That’s you, Baloo.”

“Iknow that’s me.” Baloo scooted down one chair and gave an apologetic look on the elderly female raccoon sitting in the seat next to him. She hugged her large purple handbag closer.

Mr. Tannenbaum took his seat and settled his clipboard on his knee.

Baloo opened the program and ran his eyes over the agenda. He hoped that the program wouldn’t be too long; the chair was already cutting into his back. Then, his eyes bulged out. He shoved the program in front of Rebecca’s nose, whispering frantically, “Becky, we got a big problem.”

Annoyed, Rebecca batted the program away. “This had better be good, or I’ll give you a bigger problem.”

He pointed to a name listed on the class roster - Kit Cloudkicker.

“Uh-oh,” she murmured, glancing at Mr. Tannenbaum out of the corner of her eye. Aloud, she said, “I can’t believe Kit’s graduating. He’s growing up so fast, isn’t he, Baloo?” She whispered, “What are we going to do?”

“Yeah, he is. Too fast.” He murmured out of the corner of his mouth, “Got a pen?”

“Yes.” Rebecca procured a pen from her purse and gave it to him.

Baloo hurriedly scratched out ‘Cloudkicker’ in the program. “Hey, look, Mr. T. A flyin’ bear that juggles bowlin’ balls at the same time.”

“Where?” Mr. Tannenbaum and Wildcat said simultaneously. They both looked in the direction that Baloo was pointing.

When the judge’s back was turned, Baloo tossed the program onto Mr. Tannenbaum’s lap.

Disappointed, Wildcat said, “Aw, I missed it.”

Molly patted the mechanic’s arm consolingly.

“I don’t see anything,” Mr. Tannenbaum said, looking at Baloo accusingly.

Baloo said sheepishly, “Oops, my mistake.”

Mr. Tannenbaum looked at two programs on his lap. “Where did this come from?”

Molly piped up, “Uh, that one’s mine, Mr. Tannenbaum. It accidentally slipped out of my hands.”

He handed her a program.

Molly peeked inside. Seeing ‘Cloudkicker’ scratched out, she said quickly, “I want the other one. Please?”

“They’re exactly the same, young lady,” he said crisply.

“Nuh-huh. That one’s a lighter yellow.” She tossed her copy on his lap and snatched his copy from his hands before he could say anything.

“Hmm...” Mr. Tannenbaum pursed his lips and opened his program. “They messed up printing your son’s name. Do all of your programs have ‘Kit C’?”

Rebecca and Molly nodded.

Wildcat was about to say, “No,” when Molly pinched his arm.

“What?” Baloo feigned outrage. “I’m gonna have a little chat with the prince-o-pal about this.”

Just then the lights dimmed, the conversation died, and all eyes focused on the stage.

The principal, Mr. Palmeroy, walked onto the stage and took his place behind the podium. “Welcome, families and friends, to this year’s sixth-grade graduation. With the exception of one student, this class is exceptionally bright.”

While he droned on, a giraffe couple entered the gymnasium and sat down directly in front of Baloo and Rebecca.

“Swell,” Baloo murmured sardonically.

Rebecca leaned to the left and to the right. She whispered to Baloo, “I can’t see. Can you?”

“Hmm...how ‘bout if I...?” Baloo slipped his arm around Rebecca. “Put your head on my shoulder.”

“What? Why?”

“If ya lean against me, you can look between ‘em.”

“Oh.” Feeling extremely uncomfortable, she tentatively leaned against him. He then rested his head against hers.

“Relax, Beckers. I ain’t gonna do nuthin’. I’m a married bear.”

Rebecca grinned and allowed herself to relax - a little.

“Without further ado,” Mr. Palmeroy said, “here is the class of 1937, singing ‘Usland the Beautiful’.”

By the time the song was over, Baloo’s back ached from the uncomfortable chair. The rows were so close together that his knees were wedged in the back of the chair in front of him. He gingerly shifted in his seat, causing the metal chair to squeak violently.

Rebecca flashed a death glare at him.

“Sorry.”

“Just sit still, Baloo!” she hissed, repositioning her head on his shoulder.

Baloo sat stiff as a poker for as long as he could: five minutes. Finally, he could take it no more. He had to move. He shifted his right leg a fraction.

Thesqueak prompted an annoyed look from the elderly racoon.

He inched his left leg a fraction to the right.

Squeak!

He moved his left pinky up and down.

Squeakity-squeak!

He wrinkled up his nose.

Squeak!

“Oh, that’s it! This chair’s got somethin’ against me. Trade places with me, Becky.”

“No!”

“But, Beckers, this chair hates me.”

“I’ll hate you if you don’t stop squirming.” Under her breath, she muttered, “The chair hates me. How can a chair hate you? It’s an inanimate object.”

Fifteen agonizing minutes later, Mrs. Morrissey was reading the class list. One by one, the sixth-graders ascended the stairs to the stage to receive their diplomas and a handshake from Mr. Palmeroy.

“Janie Bearenson.”

The little bearess walked onto the stage amid a smattering of applause and a few flashbulb flashes.

“Kit is next,” Molly whispered anxiously.

“What are we going to do, Baloo?” Rebecca murmured. “If Mr. Tannenbaum hears Kit’s last name...”

“I know, Becky. I know.” Cold sweat beaded on his brow as he glanced nervously at the judge.

At the exact same time that Mrs. Morrissey said, “Kit Cloudkicker,” Baloo sprang to his feet, whistling and applauding wildly. “Whoo-hoo! Way to go, Kit!”

Noticing everyone’s eyes on him, Baloo chuckled nervously and stammered, “Uh, t-that’s my boy. Heh...” He sank into his seat, his face a fire-engine red.

Mr. Tannenbaum made a note on his clipboard.

After a few moments of stunned silence, Mrs. Morrissey announced, “Mary Anne Lamb.”

The Cunninghams’ Apartment
Later That Evening

Baloo, clad in his nightshirt, entered the bedroom and tossed his jacket, shirt, and tie on the bed, prompting a frown from Rebecca. . “Man, oh, man, I’m glad that’s over. The best part about graduation was gettin’ ice cream afterwards.”

“Which I couldn’t eat, thanks to you.” With a look of disgust, she pushed his clothes off of her paperwork, onto the floor. “Speaking of which...I’ve been waiting all day just to ask you just one question.”

Baloo crawled under the bed to retrieve his pillow and blankets. “Shoot.”

“I only wish I could,” Rebecca murmured under her breath.

“Whattaya wanna know, Becky?” he asked, spreading his blankets on the floor.

“Whydid you tell Mr. Tannenbaum that I’m allergic to ice cream?”

“To keep him from tellin’ you we stopped at Louie’s.” Realizing what he had let slip, he winced. “Oops.”

Furious, Rebecca shouted at the top of her lungs, “You took him to Louie’s?”

“Shh! He’ll hear you!” Baloo uneasily glanced towards the closed door.

In a hushed voice, she said sharply, “Why did you take him to Louie’s?”

“I needed ta refuel.”

“And...?” Rebecca glared at him, arms crossed.

He returned her glare. “An’ I had some personal business to tend to.”

“Meaning?”

Baloo, tired of constantly being under Rebecca’s controlling thumb, retorted, “Meanin’ it was personal, an’ it was none of my boss’s business.”

“Fine!” Rebecca flung the comforter aside, causing books and papers to scatter onto the floor. She got up, gathered her ledgers and adding machine, and stomped to the door, leaving a paper trail behind her.

Baloo plucked two papers from the top of his head and unceremoniously tossed them aside. “Hey, where do you think you’re goin’?”

“It’spersonal.” She shut the door with a bang.

“Women!” Baloo muttered, repeatedly punching his pillow.

Rebecca’s Bedroom
Midnight

A little sobbing figure carrying a doll quietly pushed open the door and padded across the carpet. Molly scrambled over Baloo, using him as a stepladder to climb onto the bed.

When a sharp bolt of lightning crackled across the sky, she frantically shook her mother’s shoulder. “Mommy, Karnage is back! Karnage is back!”

Baloo was instantly awake. He sat bolt upright. “Huh? Karnage? What? Where?”

Kaboom!

With a frightened yelp, Molly crawled, trembling, under the blanket.

Rebecca pushed herself up on one elbow, removed her earmuffs, and blinked sleepily at her daughter. Taking Molly into her arms, she said drowsily, “What's the matter?"

Crreeeeaaaaack! followed by a window-shaking kaboom!

"The pirates are back!"

"No, honey, it’s just a thunderstorm. See, it’s raining outside.”

Another flash of lightning streaked across the sky, followed by a loud boom!

“Karnage isn’t gonna come here to get Kit, is he?” Molly whimpered, clinging to her mother.

“That blasted, no-good pirate better not,” Baloo growled menacingly, pounding his fist on the bed.

“Baloo...” Rebecca said warningly.

“Uh, I mean, that Karny’ll have me ta deal with if he shows his pirate posterior around here again.”

“You’ll take care of me, won’t you, Baloo?” Molly sniffled, casting a frightened glance at the window following another lightning flash.

Baloo grinned. “Sure thing, Button-nose.”

“Mommy, too?”

“Yep, Mommy, too,” he said candidly.

Rebecca was glad the darkness concealed the blush she felt on her cheeks.

“You promise?” Molly asked, her trembling subsiding. She barely noticed the next flash of lightning.

He drew a big ‘X’ across his chest with his finger. “Cross my heart an’ hope ta fly.”

“Thank you, Baloo,” Rebecca said gratefully. She tenderly stroked Molly’s golden hair.

“Don’t mention it, boss lady.” With a sigh, Baloo lay back down on the floor. He beamed from ear to ear when he heard Molly say, “I like Baloo.”

“I know you do, baby. Now, go to sleep."

Baloo was lulled to sleep by the melody Rebecca hummed.

End of part 3

It’s Dough Contest
part 4

Higher for Hire
Thursday Afternoon
Day 4

Kit poked his head into one of the top filing cabinet drawers. “This one’s empty, too, Miz Cunningham.”

From behind multiple towering stacks of papers on the desk came Rebecca’s voice. “Is that the last drawer?”

“Yeah.” He hopped off the crate and snaked his way through the maze of paper skyscrapers to her desk.

Rebecca sighed. Propping her head in her hands, she stared at her ledger in despair. “I’ve gone through every single scrap of paper in this place, and I still haven’t found out what happened to that $132.”

“It’s got to be here somewhere,” Kit said encouragingly. “If you want me to, I’ll help...”

“No...no, Kit.” Rebecca smiled tiredly at her young navigator. “You’ve helped enough. It’s the first day of summer vacation. Go have some fun.”

“Okay,” Kit said dubiously. He carefully picked his way through stacks of papers to the door. “I’ll go see what Wildcat, Molly, and Mr. Tannenbaum are up to.”

“Good idea. And make sure Wildcat isn’t doing anything...crazy.” When Kit left the office, her smile turned into a frown. She rose from her desk and walked around piles of papers to where Baloo was snoring in his easy chair. “Baloo!”

He awoke mid-snore. “Huh? Wha...?”

Hands on hips, she snapped, “What if Mr. Tannenbaum walked in here and saw you sleeping?”

Baloo shrugged and closed his eyes.

“No time for napping.” Rebecca tugged on his arm. “You’ve got to help me find that $132.”

“Okay,” Baloo said through a yawn. He stood up, closed his eyes, and fell asleep on his feet.

Hearing a snore, Rebecca spun around. “Ba-LOO!”

Baloo cracked one eye open reluctantly. “Aw, c’mon, Becky. I haven’t had a good snooze all week!”

“If we don’t find that missing bill, we’ll lose this contest!”

“All right. Okay.” Under his breath, the big bear muttered, “The things I do for fifty gees.”

Outside

Mr. Tannenbaum, Wildcat, Kit, and Molly were gathered around one of theSea Duck’s Superflight 100 engines that was suspended from a log chain hung on a winch. Several pieces of the engine as well as various tools were scattered around on the dock.

Wildcat peered into the inner workings of the engine - or what was left of it. Wiping his greasy hands on his greasy overalls, he said, “PoorDucky. She’s reeeeeeaaaaallly sick.”

“Can you make her better?” Molly asked, clasping her hands.

“Sure thing, Mollycat,” the mechanic said with a grin. He patted the little girl on top of her head. “But we’ll need one very important thing. You know what it is.”

“Right,” said Molly.

“Right,”said Kit with a thumbs-up.

“What are you talking about?” asked Mr. Tannenbaum, looking slightly confused. In fact, he had been confused all day. Nothing that the mechanic said had made sense.

“Shh! This is a very delicate operation. We must have complete radio silence.” Wildcat turned to the cubs and asked solemnly, “Ready?”

The cubs nodded, just as solemnly.

“On my mark,” Wildcat said. “Ready, set, chew!”

Kit and Molly swiftly removed pieces of bubble gum from their pockets, unwrapped them, and popped them into their mouths. Their jaws worked up and down, up and down as they chomped on the gum.

After a few minutes of serious chewing, Molly said, “Here’s my wad.” She placed a slimy lump of pink bubble gum in Wildcat’s outstretched palm.

“Mine, too.” Kit added his glob of gum to the pile.

“Yeah. That should be enough,” Wildcat said, prodding the pink goo in his hand with satisfaction.

Mr. Tannenbaum looked skeptically at the mechanic. “And what does the bubble gum do, Mr. Wildcat?”

“Holds the whosit to the whatsit.” Whistling, Wildcat slapped the gum to a part inside the engine and molded it to fit its shape.

“Whosit? Whatsit?” Mr. Tannenbaum echoed, bewildered.

“Yup. That’s their names. Don’t wear ‘em out,” the mechanic laughed.

Shaking his head to clear it, the judge asked, “Why don’t you just weld it?”

“Whosits and whatsits don’t like to be welded. They’re happier when they’re free to wiggle.”

“And bubble gum provides that freedom to, er...wiggle?” Mr. Tannenbaum said drily.

Grinning, Wildcat slapped a sticky hand on the judge’s back. “Hey, you’ve got it!”

Mr. Tannenbaum pulled away, leaving a string of pink gum trailing down the back of his impeccable suit. “Uh-huh.” He began to write on his clipboard.

Five minutes later, they walked into Higher for Hire’s office. The papers had been returned to their proper places in the filing cabinets, but it wasn’t the office’s neatness that made Mr. Tannenbaum quirk his eyebrow and murmur, “How interesting.”

Rebecca was on her hands and knees, peering into the cracks in the floorboards. Baloo was probing around in the easy chair. Neither noticed the entrance of Mr. Tannenbaum, Wildcat, Kit, and Molly.

“Becky, this is stupid,” Baloo whined. “Ouch!” He swiftly removed his hand from under the cushion and stuck the finger that had gotten poked by a spring in his mouth.

“Keep looking. That receipt’s got to be somewhere.” Just then, Rebecca bumped into a pair of shoes. She found herself looking up at Mr. Tannenbaum. He and his clipboard loomed above her. “Oh...hello,” she said with a sheepish smile.

“Hello, Mrs. Cunningham.”

Rebecca quickly got to her feet. “You’re probably wondering what we’re doing.”

“Yes,” Mr. Tannenbaum said, pencil poised over his clipboard.

Before she could come up with a plausible-sounding explanation, Baloo exclaimed, “Hey, I found somethin’!”

Wildcat interjected with, “My marbles?”

From the interior of the chair, Baloo pulled out a sucker covered with lint and hair. “Gee, I’ve been lookin’ for that.” He promptly stuck it in his mouth and reached into the chair again.

“Blech!” Kit cried, clutching his stomach.

“Double blech!” Molly said.

Baloo pulled a crumpled piece of paper from the chair, glanced it over, and mumbled around the sucker, “Eureka!”

“Oh, yay!” Rebecca said jubilantly, snatching the bill from his hand. She hurried to her desk to enter it into her ledger.

“Musta slipped out of my pocket,” Baloo said, sinking into his chair.

Rebecca started to scold him, but then she caught Mr. Tannenbaum’s eye. “We’ll discuss this later, Baloo.”

Ring! Ring!

Scooping up a pencil and a pad of paper, Rebecca eagerly picked up the phone. “Higher for Hire. If you’re buying, we’re flying...Yes, he’s here. Just a minute.” She looked at Baloo and said, “Broadcast Sally.”

Just the mention of that name made Baloo break out in a cold sweat. “Oh, man! What day’s today?”

“Thursday.”

“Doggone it! Forgot our da...”

Before he could say ‘date’, Rebecca quickly interjected with, “Don’t you think you should take it in the other room, Butterball?”

“Right. Right.” He hurried to the warehouse, making sure to close the door behind him. Baloo gulped hard before he picked up the receiver of the wall-mounted telephone. “Hey, Sally...” he said with feigned nonchalance. “Of course, I didn’t forget. Who could forget a date with a classy lady like you? But tonight’s not a good night for me. I feel a cold comin’ on. Achoo! Will ya take a rain check?...No, huh?...I’ve already given ya three rain checks?...But I, uh...”

Rebecca slipped into the room. She stifled a giggle at the big bear’s panicked expression.

“Ya don’t hafta pick me up!...B-b-b-b-b-b-but...!” He sighed in resignation. “All right. Pick me up at my boss’s place...Why?” He looked to Rebecca for help.

She shrugged, smirking. She was having fun seeing the worm squirm.

“‘Cause they’re sprayin’ Higher for Hire for...for termites. We got lots of ‘em. Some as big as horses. Me an’ Kit are crashin’ at Becky’s this week...I...what? What am I doin’ here now? I, uh...see ya at seven. Bye.” He hung up the phone and leaned against the wall with a groan. “Thanks for the help, Becky.”

“Anytime.”

“What am I gonna tell Mr. T.? I can’t say, ‘Gee, I can’t hang out here with my wife an’ two kids tonight, because I got a date.’”

“Speaking of dates, I have a business meeting with a potential client tonight - Richard Farlie, owner of Farlie’s Fine Confections. I was going to cancel, because Mr. Tannenbaum was here.”

“Oh, baby,” Baloo snapped his fingers, “gettin’ me an idea! What if we pretend to go out with each other? Married people do that, right?”

“Pretend to go out, but go our separate ways?”

“Yep.” He nodded. “That way you can meet with the candy man, and I can get Sally off my back.”

“You know,” Rebecca said slowly, “that just might work.”

“I’ll call Sally back an’ have her meet me at the restaurant.”

Cunninghams’ Apartment
Later That Evening

Rebecca, clad in her finest pink gown, knocked impatiently on the bathroom door. “Let’s go, Baloo! We’re going to be late, and we have reservations, remember, Butterball?”

“Feather your props, Honeylips. I’m comin’.” He emerged from the bathroom. His hair was parted in the middle and was slicked down save for an unruly cowlick in the back. In addition to his yellow flight shirt, he had donned a brown jacket and an aquamarine tie. “Am I a sight for sore eyes or what?”

“You’re a sight, all right,” Rebecca laughed.

Baloo frowned, taking in her dress, pearls, and pale pink lipstick. “What’s with the fancy feathers? I thought this was a business meetin’.”

“Itis a business meeting. There’s nothing wrong with trying to impress a client,” she said with a toss of her glossy brown hair.

“What are ya tryin’ ta impress on him?”

“Shh!” Rebecca warned, jerking her head towards Mr. Tannenbaum. He was ensconced on the couch with a newspaper. His ever-present clipboard lay beside him. She gathered her purse and wrap, telling the cubs, “We’ll be back later. Bedtime’s at nine. No exceptions, Molly.” This prompted a groan of disappointment from the little girl. “And be good for Mr. Tannenbaum.”

“We will,” they answered in unison.

Baloo and Rebecca stepped out into the hallway, and the big bear pressed the elevator’s ‘down’ button. When the elevator door opened, Baloo made a sweeping bow, saying, “After you, milady.”

“Thank you,” Rebecca said, smiling as she walked past him into the car. From inside the elevator, she waved and said goodbye to the cubs standing in the apartment doorway.

“Bye, Mommy. Bye, Daddy,” Molly said cheerfully as the elevator door closed.

“She called me Daddy,” Baloo murmured incredulously. He stared, shocked, at the silver door in front of him.

“I know,” Rebecca said softly, linking her arm through his. Then, with a shake of her head, she self-consciously withdrew her arm and rifled through her purse, pretending to look for something.

When the elevator opened at ground level, they stepped out into the soft summer night.

“Well,” Baloo said, rubbing the back of his neck. “Catch ya later, Beckers.”

Rebecca smirked. “Have fun with Sally.”

Baloo groaned, then took off in the opposite direction.

Savoir Faire Restaurant

The Savoir Faire, a swank, five-star restaurant where the elite dined, was situated at the top of Clocktower Building in downtown Cape Suzette. In the background, barely heard over the hum of polite conversation and the clink of silverware, was the tinkling of the grand piano. Waiters, bustling around in immaculate white uniforms, served exotic and not-so-exotic delicacies with unerring precision. Overlooking it all was the hippo maître-d’, who stood behind a small podium at the entrance.

At the far end of the room from the entrance was Baloo and Broadcast Sally, a portly hippo dressed in a vivid green sequined gown.

“You simply must try my squid au gratin, Baloo,” Sally, the velvety-voiced announcer for K-CAPE radio, purred.

“No, thanks, Sally,” Baloo chuckled nervously. “I’ll just stick with steak.” He was sitting as far from the table as he could to avoid Sally’s unwelcome advances.

“Oh, man,” he groaned. Rebecca had just entered on the arm of a tall, middle-aged svelte lion impeccably dressed in an expensive pinstripe suit and a tie decorated with tiny chocolate bars.

“What?” Sally turned.

“My boss. Didn’t know she was comin’ here.” He watched as they were seated in the VIP section. Under his breath, he muttered, “Business meetin’, my eye.”

“Forget them and try this.”

“That’s o...” he coughed. Sally had shoved a forkful of her squid in his mouth.

“Are you choking, big boy?” Immediately, she yanked his arm up, nearly wrenching it out of the socket.

Baloo spit out the squid. It went flying across the room where a waiter slipped on it. The slice of cherry pie that the waiter had been carrying went flying through the air and landed with a splat on an elderly patron’s lap.

“Are you okay, Baloo?” Sally asked.

“Just - cough - dandy.”

Baloo glanced over at Rebecca, who was flashing her ‘catch-a-client’ smile at her escort. “What do gals see in guys like that anywhoo?”

“Who?”

“Mr. Fancy Pants over there. The guy with my boss.”

“Richard Farlie?” Sally cooed with an amused quirk of an eyebrow.

“Yeah.”

“Well, he’s rich, devastatingly handsome, and owns the largest chocolate factory in Usland.”

“Besides that.”

“I wouldn’t mind meeting him myself, but I'm on a date with you, not him." Sally fluttered her eyelashes at Baloo. "Here, big boy, try some more of my squid. You barely got a taste.”

Half an Hour Later

Rebecca stifled a yawn and glanced at her watch. The glamor of the illustrious Richard Farlie had rubbed off long ago. All he cared about was chocolate and world politics. Then, there was his favorite topic - himself. However, she had to be polite to the multimillionaire in order to land the coveted contract. She wondered how much longer she’d have to endure this date.

“It’s like I said earlier,” Farlie droned on. “You can’t make a profit without a sizeable markup. That’s what business is all about - the profit.”

“Absolutely,” Rebecca agreed with a smile that was threatening to fade. At least he isn’t discussing frozen okra. She dropped her napkin and dove under the table to hide a yawn. She peeked over at Baloo and Broadcast Sally, smirking in amusement when she saw the hippo shove a spoonful of something in the protesting pilot’s mouth. When she was straightening up, she happened to glance at the door. She froze. Mr. Tannenbaum - and his clipboard - had just walked in.

“I figure that if people want Farlie’s Fine Confections, they’ll pay big bucks. As well they should. Farlie’s Fine Confections uses only top quality, hand-picked cacao beans.”

“Is that so?” Rebecca said politely, trying to hide behind the crystal vase containing a single red rose in the middle of the table.

“My competitors don’t know beans about cacao beans.” He laughed heartily at his own joke.

“Right,” Rebecca chuckled wanly. Her eyes were fixed on Mr. Tannenbaum as the maître-d’ seated him. At the same table was a familiar face. Her expression darkened. How dare that man...! Then, she flashed an uneasy glance in Baloo’s direction. If Mr. Tannenbaum saw her and Baloo dining with other people...

“You need to pay attention, Rebecca,” Farlie said in an annoying sing-song voice. He wagged his finger at her, scolding her as if she were a wayward child. “That’s the first rule of business. Pay attention to your clients and your clients will pay attention to you.”

Rebecca masked her inward anger with a strained smile. If she had to endure his condescending attitude one more second, she would explode. “Excuse me, Mr. Farlie, but I’ve got to visit the powder room.” Before he could protest, she was hurrying towards the bathroom. She slid into an empty chair at Baloo’s table.

“Becky?” Baloo spluttered, choking on some water. "What...cough...are ya doin' here?"

“This is a private lunch,” Sally said coolly.

Rebecca whispered urgently, “Mr. Tannenbaum is here!”

“Where?”

“Over there.” Rebecca casually gestured towards Mr. Tannenbaum’s table.

Baloo flicked his eyes in that direction. “Who’s that guy with him?”

“Spruce Lee, owner of Lee’s Bakery.”

“He makes simply scrumptious pastries,” Sally remarked.

“Whattaya s’pose he’s doin’ here?”

“Probably trying to sway Mr. Tannenbaum in his favor, the big, fat cheater!” Rebecca said bitterly.

“Would you mind telling me what’s going on?” Sally said, clearly annoyed with the interruption of her date.

Baloo opened his mouth to explain, then quickly shut it. “There’s too much. We don’t have time. Sally, I got another favor ta ask ya.”

“What is it this time, big bear?”

“Am-scray? Please?”

“Fine,” Sally said huffily. She tossed down her fork and napkin. “I know when I’m not wanted. You owe me another date, Baloo. Same time, same place, next week.”

“Good. Good. Just go, will ya?”

“Enjoy your luncheon.” Sally picked up her purse. “Maybe I’ll just visit the handsome Mr. Farlie since he’s alone now.”

“Whatever,” Baloo said absently.

“Baloo!” Rebecca whispered. “That’s my client! If he leaves with Sally, Higher for Hire’s chances with Farlie Fine’s Confections is kaput.”

“Our other deal will be kaput in about five seconds, ‘cause here comes Mr. T.! Take Sally’s place. Pretend you’re eatin’.”

Rebecca peered warily into a gargantuan bowl of lumpy lavender glop. “Whatis this stuff?” She sniffed it with repulsion.

“Trust me, Beckers, you don’t wanna know,” Baloo murmured out of the corner of his mouth. He took a big bite of his cheesecake.

“Why, hello,” Rebecca said, feigning surprise at Mr. Tannenbaum’s and Mr. Lee’s appearance.

“Hello,” Mr. Lee said with a snide smile. “Fancy meeting both of you here. Together.”

Mr. Tannenbaum said nothing. He was too busy writing.

“Where else would we be but here? Together?” Baloo said with a nervous chuckle.

“I could have sworn that I saw you two dining with different people.” Mr. Lee flashed a glance over at Mr. Farlie, who was being dragged out of the restaurant by Broadcast Sally.

“We were?”

Rebecca kicked Baloo under the table.

Baloo glared at her, muttering, “Oh, yeah. We were. Ya see, it’s like this...”

“We find that if we dine with different people from time to time, it keeps the romance in our relationship alive,” Rebecca supplied. “Too much togetherness can be bad.”

“You’re tellin’ me!”

Rebecca kicked him again. “Then, Baloo and I share dessert and compare notes.”

"Uh-huh," Mr. Tannenbaum murmured, looking as if he were composing a novel.

“That’s what we’re doin’ now. Eatin’ dessert." He took another large bite of his lemon cheesecake. "Mm-mmm!"

Rebecca gingerly tried the revolting glop; it tasted like cough medicine mixed with rotten bananas. She choked it down and smiled wanly. “Yum. I can’t get enough of this...stuff.” She gulped hard, willing her stomach to stop rolling. “What are you doing here, Mr. Lee?” she asked, eager to shift the conversation.

In a voice dripping with false modesty, Mr. Lee explained. “I invited Mr. Tannenbaum here to sample the pastries."

“More like spy on us,” Baloo murmured none-too-quietly, prompting Rebecca to kick him again.

“You know, Lee’s Bakery supplies half of the restaurants in Cape Suzette, including the Savoir Faire,” Mr. Lee boasted.

“So what? Higher for Hire delivers all over the world,” Baloo growled.

Rebecca caught his hand and pressed it meaningfully. “It was nice seeing you, Mr. Lee, but Baloo and I must be on our way. Mustn’t keep the children waiting for too long, must we, Butterball?”

“Darn tootin’, Honeylips.” Baloo shook Mr. Lee’s hand in a vice-like grip. “Nice ta meet ya, Mr. Lee,” he said through gritted teeth. “See ya at home, Mr. Tannenbaum.”

Rebecca took Baloo’s arm. As a parting shot, she said, “Oh, by the way, Mr. Lee. Your pastry crust could have been a tinge flakier.”

A few minutes later, they were in a taxi on their way back to Rebecca’s apartment.

“What a flake that Mr. Lee is. Spyin’ on us!” Baloo, feeling comfortable for the first time that evening, removed his tie and loosened his collar.

“What if Mr. Tannenbaum believes him? Our chances of winning will be sunk!”

“We just gotta make him think otherwise.”

“How?”

“Show him a good time, that we like playin’ an’ workin’.” Baloo grinned. “I know! We can go to Lake Flaccid.”

“Lake Flaccid?”

“You’ll love Lake Flaccid, Becky,” Baloo said fervently. “Fresh air, good fishin’, lotsa peace an’ quiet.”

“Does that mean you’re not going?” she retorted.

“Hardy-har-har.”

After a few moments of thinking it over, Rebecca said, “Okay, we’ll go, Baloo. You only have one morning delivery tomorrow, and it might distract Mr. Tannenbaum from tonight’s fiasco.”

Baloo whooped for joy.

“How was your date with Sally, big boy?”

“How was yours?” Baloo fired back. He hated that nickname with a passion.

Rebecca said primly, “Mine was a business meeting.”

“Oh, right, right, right. Sure looked like a date from where I was sittin’.”

“Why, Baloo, I believe you’re jealous.”

“Am not!” He crossed his arms like a pouty little boy. “An’ I wasn’t on a date with Sally. I was just payin’ back a favor.”

“You must owe her a lot of favors,” Rebecca said mischievously. “ Three dates in the past month. Is this getting serious, Baloo?”

“Yeah, seriously dangerous. I gotta stop askin’ favors from her.”

“They must be some favors,” Rebecca chuckled, “to make you go out with her.”

“Do me a favor an’ drop it, Becky,” he growled.

“All right.” Her giggle ended in a sigh. “I was that close -that close! - to getting that contract when Mr. Tannenbaum walked in. What lousy timing he has!”

Nonchalantly, Baloo asked, “Was the Chocolate King of Cape Suzette a sweet guy?”

“No, he wasn’t. He was rude and opinionated and conceited.”

Baloo felt strangely comforted by that.

All of the anger Rebecca had repressed during her date came out in a bitter torrent. “Mr. High-and-Mighty informed me of at least a thousand and one things that I was doing wrong with Higher for Hire! And if that wasn’t enough, he said that I should move out of that shabby little office and buy a newer plane!”

Baloo bristled; the Sea Duck was his pride and joy. He felt the urge to punch Richard Farlie right in the caramel center. “An’ what did you say?”

“I wanted to tell him to stick it in his ear!” Her furious expression softened into defeat. She sighed again. “But I didn’t. Higher for Hire needs that contract desperately.”

“Why do rich folks always think they know everything?”

Rebecca snorted. “Probably because they have everything.”

“That don’t make ‘em any better,” he averred with a vehement shake of his head.

“I know what you mean, Baloo.” She stared at her thin pocketbook. “Higher for Hire might not be the most profitable business in Cape Suzette, but it’s mine. After all, what’s so wrong with a woman owning her own cargo service? This is the twentieth century!”

“Well, what’s wrong with me bein’ a cargo pilot?”

“Nothing,” they said in unison.

Both smiled at each other as the cab drove on through the lamp-lighted streets.

End of part 4

It’s Dough Contest
part 5

Lake Flaccid
Friday Afternoon
Day 5

Northeast of Cape Suzette, in the foothills of the Sierra Padre Mountains was placid Lake Flaccid. The calm lake, teeming with fish, frogs, and turtles, was fringed by a forest of fragrant firs that pointed to the cloud-speckled blue sky. Mingled with the mournful cries of loons were the gentle sloshing of the waves and the whispering of the wind through the trees.

In this relaxed environment, Mr. Tannenbaum seemed out of place. He, wearing his customary impeccable suit and tie, sat rigidly upright on a lawn chair. From his stoic expression, it appeared as if he hadn’t had a day of fun in his whole life. At the moment, he was scribbling furiously on his ever-present clipboard and observing the ‘family matriarch’.

Rebecca, casually attired in a T-shirt, shorts and a wide-brimmed hat, was kneeling on a red-and-white checkered tablecloth spread on the beach, unloading the picnic basket. Mr. Tannenbaum made a notation of everything she pulled out from the pickles to the peach pie.

Their attentions were arrested by Molly shouting, “Lookee, Mommy! I’m riding on a whale!”

Baloo floated past with Molly perched on his stomach. She giggled when the big bear squirted a tiny stream of water from his mouth.

“You certainly are, honey,” Rebecca laughed. She had to bite her lip to repress the snide remarks that crossed her mind.

Molly flailed her arms dramatically. “Oh, no! We’re sinking!”

“The sinking of the Gigantic.” Rebecca smirked, opening a thermos of lemonade. “Come on, guys. Lunchtime!”

Baloo and Molly splashed over to shore. A short distance from them, Kit and Wildcat surfaced and waded to land, snorkels in hand. After they had toweled off and threw clothes on over their swimming suits, everyone gathered around the feast.

Just as soon as they had dug in, Mr. Tannenbaum asked, “Do you come here often?”

“Yeah,” Baloo said at the same time Rebecca said, “No.”

“Which is it?”

Baloo and Rebecca exchanged quick glances.

“Well, we...” she began.

Before she could continue, the pilot interrupted with, “We’ve come here before, but not often enough ta suit Becky. She just lovescampin’ an’ fishin’ an’ hikin’.”

Rebecca, who had never been camping, fishing, or hiking in her life, muttered under her breath, “I’d like someone to take a hike!”

Baloo pinched her cheek. “She’s just an outdoorsy sort of gal, ain’t ya, Honeylips?”

Rebecca longed to say, Do that again and you’re fired, flyboy. Instead, she smacked his arm with the flyswatter and sang sweetly, “Mosquito.”

Mr. Tannenbaum of the relentless questions asked,“What’s your favorite kind of fish, Mrs. Cunningham?”

“Um...” Rebecca racked her brains for the name of a fish, but ‘goldfish’ was all that came to mind. She said with a shrug and an apologetic chuckle, “There’s so many that I can’t choose.”

“She likes bullhead,” Baloo interjected with a smirk.

Once again, Rebecca gave his arm a smart rap with the flyswatter.

“Yeowch!”

“Got him.” She smiled with self-satisfaction.

Rubbing his stinging arm, Baloo said, “How’s ‘bout some fishin’ after we eat, Mr. T.?”

“You can use my fishing stick,” Rebecca offered.

“Pole. Fishin’ pole,” Baloo corrected, snickering.

“Proceed with your normal routine. I’ll sit here and observe.”

After lunch, Baloo and Rebecca headed to the Sea Duck to get the fishing equipment.

“This was a bad idea. We’re not fooling Mr. Tannenbaum with this fake fun family outing,” she said, stepping into the cargo hold behind Baloo.

“Aw, relax, Beckers. He’s fallin’ for it hook, line, and sinker.” He opened the storage closet and began hunting through it.

“Relax? How can I relax with fifty thousand dollars and a year’s worth of free advertising on the line?” She examined the fishing pole Baloo handed her, wondering which end was up. Not only did it look weird, it smelled funny, too. “Here’s another fine kettle of fish you’ve gotten me into this week. First you tell Mr. Tannenbaum I’m allergic to ice cream. Now I’m supposed to be a fishing expert? I’ve never been fishing in my life!”

“Aw, it’s easy.” He emerged from the closet with his tackle box. He opened it and scanned its contents. Unlike everything else in his life, it was painstakingly neat; all of the hooks and lures were in their precise places.

“It has to be if you can do it.”

Frowning, Baloo slammed the tackle box lid shut and picked up two fishing poles. “It’s a snapper. Just do what I do, an’ you’ll get on swimmingly.”

A few minutes later, Baloo, Rebecca, and Kit were standing on the shore with their poles. Wildcat and Molly were nearby, happily building a sandcastle. Mr. Tannenbaum surveyed the scene from his lawn chair.

Rebecca cringed when Baloo pried a lid off a can of worms with his pocketknife.

“You can open your eyes now, Becky,” he murmured with a chuckle.

She tentatively cracked one eye open and breathed a sigh of relief. “Oh, good. They’re not real.”

Upon seeing Mr. Tannenbaum’s surprised look, she added, “I mean, I can catch more fish with these...” she skimmed the label, “Triple-Action Twisted Wigglies. My favorite fish food.”

“Bait,” Kit whispered.

Nervously, she blurted out, “I meant bait. It’s food for the fish, bait for us. You know what I mean, you know?”

She wanted to be swallowed up by the tide when she heard Mr. Tannenbaum dubiously mutter, “Uh-huh,” as he wrote a book on his clipboard.

Kit, who had gotten a lot of practice fishing with Baloo, deftly baited his hook and cast his line into the lake.

“See how Kit did that, Becky?”

She nodded, her forehead creased in concentration. Biting her lip to keep from whimpering, she gingerly took a squashy, slippery plastic worm between her fingers and speared it with the hook.

“Now ya gotta cast your line into the water. Like this.” In one smooth, quick motion Baloo swept the rod backwards, then forwards. The line flew out of the reel and landed with a soft plop nearly halfway across the lake, as the little red-and-white bobber floating on the water’s surface attested. Aloud, Baloo said, “Show Mr. T. how a pro does it, Honeylips.”

Taking a deep breath, she whipped her rod backwards and forwards. Because she let go of the release button too soon, her baited hook landed on the beach a foot ahead of her. She flashed an embarrassed glance at Mr. Tannenbaum, who made a notation on his clipboard and said, “Interesting technique.”

“Uh...practice.” She swiftly reeled her line back in.

Baloo murmured, “Pretty good, but next time release your line a little later, okay?” Then, with a practiced flick of the wrist, he smoothly cast his line.

“Showoff,” Rebecca grumbled under her breath. Gritting her teeth in determination, she jerkily cast and hooked her first catch - Mr. Tannenbaum’s clipboard.

“The catch of the day,” Baloo laughed.

“I’m so, so sorry, Mr. Tannenbaum. Terribly, terribly sorry,” Rebecca said as she untangled his clipboard from her hook.

Mr. Tannenbaum looked over the clipboard before saying, “No damage done. Proceed with the fishing, Mrs. Cunningham. I want to see how a pro does it.” As if he wanted to see her better, he pushed his pince-nez further up on his nose.

Rebecca reeled in her line, made sure her worm was securely on the hook, and drew the rod back. She stood there, still as a statue, for a few moments as she tried to surreptitiously assimilate everything that Baloo and Kit were doing. Fishing wasn’t as easy as it appeared, and she hated to look like a failure, especially in front of Mr. Tannenbaum. She, who had never failed in anything, was failing at a simple thing like this. She could almost feel the judge’s eyes bore into the back of her head. Tears of frustration pooled in her eyes.

“Whatcha waitin’ for?” Baloo asked softly as he slowly reeled his line in.

“Huh?” Startled out of her reverie, Rebecca stammered, “Oh, I-I want to make sure that the wind is coming from the right direction.”

Grinning and shaking his head, the pilot said, “Let ‘er fly, Becky.”

She flashed a sideways glance at Mr. Tannenbaum. His shrewd eyes were fixed on her. She gulped, squeezed her eyes shut, and ‘let ‘er fly’ with a whirrrrrr. When she opened her eyes, her line wasn’t in the sand or snagged on Mr. Tannenbaum’s clipboard. It was in the water where it belonged.

“Did you see that, Baloo?” she said excitedly.

“Yup, which was more’n you did.” He grinned at her. “You’re a natural fisherman.”

“Fisherwoman,” she corrected.

“Hey, I caught something!” Kit exclaimed, slowly reeling in his taut line. Dangling from the end of it was a large rainbow trout.

“She’s a nice one, Li’l Britches,” Baloo said admiringly, scooping the flopping fish into the net.

Kit quickly removed the hook from its mouth and plopped it into a bucket of water where it splashed around.

“How do you know it’s a she?” Rebecca whispered.

“Her mouth is open.”

Rebecca dumped the net over his head.

“Wow, you caught a big one, Mrs. Cunningham!” Wildcat said.

“I don’t need no hairnet,” Baloo growled, plucking the net from his head. He retrieved his hat from the net and jammed it on his head.

“No, you need...” She swiftly curtailed her sentence upon catching Mr. Tannenbaum’s eye. “Just go fish, Baloo.”

“Are you going to clean the fish now or later, Mrs. Cunningham?” Mr. Tannenbaum asked, pen poised over his clipboard.

“Cleanit?” Rebecca stared at him as if he was a martian.

“Yes. Clean it.”

“Okay.” She peered into the bucket at the trout. Imperceptibly, she shuddered. She hated the beady eyes, the gaping mouth. On top of that, it looked slimy. Wash that thing? Never! She shuddered again before asking, “Baloo, do we have any soap?”

Kit choked back a laugh.

Rebecca spun around. “What?”

Through his loud guffaws, Baloo choked out, “That ain’t the way ya clean a fish!”

“It-it isn’t?”

“Naw. What ya do is...” He whispered in her ear.

Rebecca’s eyes grew wider as she listened.

Appalled, she cried, “I can’t do that!” Noticing the judge furiously scribbling, she amended in a calmer tone, “I mean I don’t have the proper equipment. I’ll do it later.”

“Soakin’ it takes out some of the fishy taste anywhoo,” Baloo said, trying - and failing - to hold back his snickers.

“Right.” Rebecca cleared her throat. “I knew that.”

“Sure ya did, Miz Pro.”

A few minutes after Rebecca cast her line into the lake, she exclaimed, “I caught something! I caught something!”

Baloo, who hadn’t even gotten a nibble, jealously mumbled something about beginner’s luck.

“Reel it in, Miz Cu...!” Intercepting Mr. Tannenbaum’s questioning gaze, Kit hastily amended, “Rebecca.”

Molly and Wildcat looked up from their sandcastle towards the excitement.

“Not too fast, Becky, or you’ll lose it.”

Rebecca stood with back arched, heels dug in the sand, hands in a white-knuckled grip on the pole’s handle. She snapped, “I can barely hold it, let alone reel it in!”

To steady the pole, Baloo took hold of the handle with her. “Here, I got it. You worry ‘bout reelin’ it in nice an’ easy, honey.Easy. Ya gotta set the hook, or he’ll get away.”

Kit got the net ready.

But instead of a fish, an angry snapping turtle dangled from the hook.

Scratching his head with a sand-encrusted little plastic shovel, Wildcat said, “I didn’t know fish had legs...or shells...or...”

“That’s a turtle, Wildcat,” Molly said with a smile.

With one swift snap, the turtle chomped through the line, then scuttled off onto shore.

Rebecca shrieked with fright, dropped the pole, and scrambled up onto a lawn chair.

But the turtle wasn’t headed for her. It slowly made a beeline for Mr. Tannenbaum.

“Run, Mr. Tannenbaum! Run!” Molly shouted.

Mr. Tannenbaum calmly swatted the its shell with his clipboard. The turtle turned tail and waddled back into the lake. Kit could almost swear that it blew a raspberry at them before diving in.

Rebecca sank into the lawn chair with a sigh of relief.

“Wanna try again?” Baloo offered her a fishing pole.

“No. I’ve had enough fishing for one day.”

“Suit yourself.” Baloo plumped down beside her and cast his line into the water.

Later That Afternoon

A wren perched on a branch was singing his heart out to the beautiful summer day. In the middle of a verse, he ceased singing and cocked his head to one side, then the other as he listened. It sounded as if a herd of elephants was approaching. Startled by a twig snapping, he took flight.

Coming through the underbrush were Kit, then Mr. Tannenbaum, Baloo, Molly, Rebecca, and Wildcat.

“I hope we get to see some lobsters,” Wildcat said. He held a pair of binoculars to his eyes - backwards, so that everything appeared tiny.

“Lobsters? There ain’t any lob...”

Baloo’s sentence was cut short by Rebecca’s yelp. “What the...?” he exclaimed as she leapt into his arms.

“A snake! A snake!”

“Where?” the cubs said simultaneously.

“There!” Rebecca pointed a trembling finger at a pile of half-decomposed leaves. “Molly, stay away from it!”

“Aw...” the little girl groaned as Kit took her by the hand and pulled her back.

“That isn’t a snake, Mrs. Cunningham,” Mr. Tannenbaum said coolly.

“I-it isn’t?”

From out of the leaves, the judge pulled a long, skinny striped stick. “No.”

Blushing, Rebecca murmured sheepishly, “Well, it looked like a snake.”

“If you squint like this, it does,” Wildcat said, zooming in on the stick with his binoculars.

“Shall we move on?” Mr. Tannenbaum said calmly, making a brief notation on his clipboard.

“Way to go for makin’ us look bad in front of Mr. T., Becky,” Baloo whispered reproachfully as he set her down.

“How was I to know it wasn’t a snake?” she whispered back. “It sure looked like a snake to me!”

“Yeah, but it wasn’t a snake.”

“Itlooked like a snake.”

“You need to get those brown eyes of yours checked out.”

“I do not!”

“Do, too!”

“I do not!”

“Do, too!”

A few minutes later, Wildcat asked, “What kind of a bird is that?” He pointed to an overhead branch.

Mr. Tannenbaum took one look and answered, “Barn swallow.”

“What about that bird?” Molly pointed to the sky.

“Barn swallow.” Mr. Tannenbaum’s eyes narrowed with suspicion. “Are you sure that you folks have been here before?”

“Yeah. Sure. Tons of times,” Baloo lied without batting an eyelash.

Molly asked, “Can I see the binoculars, Wildcat?”

“Sure thing, Mollycat.”

Binoculars in hand, she caught up to Baloo and tugged on his shirt. “Baloo, make me taller!”

“One piggyback ride comin’ up.” Without breaking his stride, he swung her to his shoulders.

Molly put the binoculars to her eyes, trying to catch a glimpse of the clipboard over Mr. Tannenbaum’s shoulder. She read: ‘Unauthorized readers will be automatically disqualified from the contest. This means you, Molly.’

She was so surprised that she dropped the binoculars on Kit’s head.

“Ouch!” the boy cried. He put a hand to his head and frowned up at Molly.

“Sorry.”

“There’s an eagle!” Rebecca said excitedly, pointing to a bird circling overhead.

“Barn swallow,” Mr. Tannenbaum corrected.

“Right.” She laughed nervously. “Thought it was an eagle from here.”

“More like a booby bird,” Baloo muttered with a glare at Rebecca.

“I’m a business woman, not a bird watcher,” she whispered.

“That’sobvious.”

“At least I’m trying, birdbrain.”

Baloo fired back with, “Well, stop tryin’. You’re makin’ us look bad.”

“You’ve already made us look bad with your table manners,” Rebecca said loud enough for Mr. Tannenbaum to hear.

The judge stopped and turned to look at the quarreling couple. Wildcat examined their miniatures through his binoculars. An unhappy Molly perched on Baloo’s shoulders clapped her hands over her ears.

Baloo countered heatedly, “At least I know a snake when I see it, lady!”

Eager to change the subject, Kit broke in with, “How do you know so much about birds, Mr. Tannenbaum?”

“I’m the local chapter chairman of B.W.A.”

“Bwah?” Baloo and Kit said simultaneously, exchanging puzzled glances.

“Bird Watcher’s Association.”

When a little brown bird with a forked tail swooped around them, Kit said half-jokingly “Let me guess. Barn swallow.”

“Correct, young man.”

Baloo flashed Kit a thumbs-up as they continued down the narrow path.

Fifteen minutes later, Kit stopped in his tracks and exclaimed, “Hold it!”

Wham, wham, wham, wham, wham! Everyone ran into the back of the person in front of them.

“Ow!” Molly cried in a muffled voice. She was squished between Mr. Tannenbaum and her mother.

“I heard something,” Kit said in hushed tones.

“What?” Baloo said.

“Shh!”

For a few moments, everyone stood in silence. All ears strained to hear the mysterious noise.

“I don’t hear anything,” Wildcat said.

“Hmm...” Kit murmured as he tentatively continued down the trail.

A few minutes later, Kit once again halted in his tracks. “There it is again!”

Wham, wham, wham, wham, wham!

“Wildcat, watch where you’re going!” Rebecca cried. She untangled the binoculars from her hair.

“Sorry, Miz Cunningham.”

Then, they heard it.

A low growling as of a ferocious, man-eating animal.

Rebecca clutched a squirming Molly to her. “Mommy, not so tight!”

Wildcat, bent over double, peered through his legs with his binoculars. Mr. Tannenbaum looked bored and wrote.

“It’s coming from...” Listening intently, Kit moved towards the growling. “Here.” He pointed to Baloo’s stomach. “Never mind.”

Baloo pushed Kit’s cap over his eyes and said indignantly, “Hey, it’s been a whole hour since that snack. I can’t help it if the Big Guy’s complainin’.”

Rebecca sighed in exasperation. “Let’s keep going.”

“When are we startin’ back?” Baloo asked, his stomach growling loudly.

Lake Flaccid
An Hour Later

Mellow afternoon sunshine sifted down through the fluffy clouds that drifted lazily across the bright blue sky. Mixed with the gentle lapping of the waves against the shore was the drone of insects and the soft scratching of Mr. Tannenbaum’s pencil against paper.

In this sleepy environment, no amount of pinching and prodding from Rebecca could keep Baloo awake. The big bear was happily dozing in his lawn chair near the water’s edge, his fishing pole loosely dangling from his hands.

Because the cubs were splashing in the water and Wildcat was tinkering with something in the Sea Duck, Rebecca was alone in entertaining Mr. Tannenbaum.

“This is such a beautiful place,” she said, leaning back in her chair with a contented sigh. Of course, it would have been more relaxing if the judge wasn’t watching them with his all-seeing hawk-like gaze and continually writing who-knew-what on his infernal clipboard. She thought it was unfair that she was stuck making insincere pleasantries while Baloo got to sleep.

“Yes,” Mr. Tannenbaum said curtly. Scribble, scribble.

“So serene and peaceful.”

Snore.

Frowning at the sleeping big bear to her right, she muttered under her breath, “Almost serene and peaceful.”

Without warning, the cubs, who had been playing in the water near shore, splashed Baloo. He awoke mid-snore, spluttering, “Shark attack! Shark attack!”

Laughing, Kit and Molly took off across the beach.

Between giggles, Rebecca choked out, “You should have seen your face!”

“So ya think that’s funny, huh?” Baloo said, standing up. Water dripped from his fur.

Rebecca nodded, snickering.

“I’ll show ya how funny it is.” Baloo jumped into the lake and sent a spray of water her way.

“Hey!” Glancing down at her water-spotted shirt, she said, “Two can play at that game.” She waded into the lake until she was face-to-face with him, then repeatedly hit the water as hard as she could with her palms, drenching him from the waist up.

“Stop!” Baloo said, his eyes squeezed shut as he smacked the water. Splash!

Splash! Splash! “You first!” Splash!

Splash! “You!” Splash!

“I’m not stopping!” Splash, splash, splash, splash, splash! “And you can’t make me!” Splash!

“Oh, yeah?” Baloo pinned her arms to her sides. “Ha! Got ya ta stop.”

Panting a little from their splashing contest, the two sopping-wet bears’ eyes locked for a moment. Then...

“Cannonbaaaaaaall!” Mr. Tannenbaum yelled. He jumped off the Sea Duck’s wing into the water - suit and all - sending a gigantic wave of water crashing towards shore.

“Ah!” Rebecca squealed.

“Hey!” Baloo shouted.

Twilight

Kit lounged in a lawn chair before the crackling campfire, the pungent smoke of which slightly stung his eyes. While he toasted a marshmallow, he thoughtfully gazed out over the lake at the oranges and reds of the sunset reflected on the rippling waves. The silhouettes of the fir trees were superimposed darkly against the setting sun. Somewhere within those trees, an owl hooted. The voices of chorus frogs permeated the air, their unique call sounding as if thousands of them were running their fingers across the edges of combs. Overhead, a few faint stars were making their appearance in the purple sky.

As Kit’s eyes roved towards the group gathered around the campfire, he mentally reviewed that day’s events. It had been a wonderful day. A day full of laughter and fun. Sadly, it was drawing to a end.

To his left, Mr. Tannenbaum was meticulously toasting a marshmallow to a perfect golden-brown. Then, he neatly slid it off the pointed stick and popped it in his mouth. While he chewed, he wrote on his clipboard.

On the other side of Mr. Tannenbaum, Baloo held his multi-pronged branch, loaded with marshmallows over the fire. A few of the squishy confections were in danger of catching fire. Wildcat had his marshmallows speared on a long-handled screwdriver. Molly, who sat cross-legged on the lawn chair to Kit’s right, was too impatient to toast hers. She ate them right out of the bag.

Kit looked up when Rebecca draped a light blanket around his shoulders, giving him a hug in the process.

“So my flight crew doesn’t get chilly,” she whispered in his ear. She took Molly on her lap and wrapped a blanket around both of them.

Warmed by the blanket and the hug, Kit smiled his thanks over at Rebecca.

Wildcat said matter-of-factly, “I like toasting marshmallows with an acetylene torch better. It gives them a different flavor.”

Baloo, who was eating charred marshmallows directly from his branch, chuckled, “You can say that again.”

“Gives ‘em a different flavor,” Wildcat repeated.

Baloo groaned. He swiped a sticky hand across his sticky mouth and said casually, “So, Mr. T. Know who the winner is yet?”

“Not yet," the judge replied without looking up from his clipboard.

“Just one teensy hint?”

“No. It’s against regulations. But I can tell you that it’s very close.”

“Will another marshmallow put us over the top?” When Baloo waved his branch in Mr. Tannenbaum’s direction a marshmallow stuck to his pince-nez. “Oops. Sorry, Mr. T.”

At the judge’s comical, slightly annoyed expression, Kit hid a smile behind his hand. Molly giggled. Rebecca hushed her quickly.

“I’ve heard of mud in your eye, but never marshmallows in your eye,” Wildcat said wonderingly. “‘Course, both would be sticky, and why would you want mud or marshmallows in your eye?”

When the judge went to the lake to wash off his glasses, Rebecca glared at Baloo across the fire. The big bear simply shrugged and calmly crammed a handful of toasted marshmallows in his mouth.

Cape Suzette
The Cunninghams’ Apartment Building
That Evening

The stars were twinkling in the velvet sky and moonlight glinted off of the rushing waterfall when the grey Chevrolette pulled into its reserved parking space.

Rebecca got out, opened back door, and gathered sleeping Molly in her arms. “I’ll take her up, Baloo. You and Kit get the other stuff.”

While Rebecca, Molly, and Mr. Tannenbaum rounded the building, Baloo opened the trunk. He handed the near-empty picnic basket to Kit. Then, he pulled out another basket filled with buckets, shovels, blankets; it was crowned with a large beach ball. Lugging their awkward loads, they crossed the parking lot to the elevator.

As the glass elevator made its ascent, Baloo said, “Just think, kiddo. By this time tomorrow, it’ll be just you, me, an’ the Sea Duck. We’ll be happy. We’ll be free. It’ll be great!”

Kit gazed out over Cape Suzette, aglow with a halo of electric lights. The thought of leaving the people he loved and the only home he’d ever known prompted him to mutter gloomily, “Yeah, great.” Noticing Baloo’s utter astonishment, he said with forced enthusiasm, “Great, Papa Bear. It’ll be...great.”

Molly’s Room

Rebecca was perched on the edge of the canopy bed with Molly on her lap. She was carefully pulling a nightgown over the little girl’s head.

The movement roused the little bearess from sleep. “Mommy?” she said drowsily, holding out her arms while her mother threaded them through the sleeves.

“What, honey?” Rebecca buttoned up the nightgown.

“Can we go back to Lake Flaccid?” Molly asked, crawling under the covers. “It was fun there.”

“Maybe...someday,” she said vaguely.

“With Baloo and Kit and Wildcat? I like it when we do stuff with them.”

A shadow passed over Rebecca’s face as she drew the coverlet up to Molly’s chin at the thought that had just come to mind. If they won the contest, Baloo and Kit would no longer be around. All of a sudden, $50,000 and free advertising didn’t seem so important anymore. “Of course they can come with us.” She caressed, then kissed her daughter’s soft little cheek with an affectionate, “Goodnight, Pumpkin.”

Rebecca’s Bedroom

Baloo whistled ‘Put on a Happy Face’ while spreading his blankets out on the floor.

“You’re in a good mood tonight,” Rebecca said from the closet where she was hanging up her robe.

“You betcha.” He grinned. “You should be, too. By this time tomorrow, we’ll both be the proud possessors of fifty thousand big Uslandian buckeroos.”

Instead of being filled with elation at the thought of all that money, Rebecca’s heart sank. “How are you so sure we’ll win?”

He plopped into his ‘bed’ and pulled the blanket up to his chin. “Mr. T. seemed to be havin’ a good time today.”

“How could you tell?” she said skeptically as she wound the alarm clock. “He didn’t smile once.”

“He was grinnin’ inside. I could tell.”

Rebecca got into bed and turned off the light above Baloo’s head. “You know,” she said slowly, “today was fun.”

“Really?”

“Yes, really.”

Chuckling, Baloo shook his head in disbelief.

Rebecca switched off the other light, leaving them in darkness save for a few pale moonbeams peeking through the crack in the drapes.

“What, no work tonight?” Baloo asked through a yawn.

“Well..." she said reluctantly, "I figure one day off wouldn’t hurt.”

He grinned again. “There’s hope for you yet, Becky, an’ that’s no lie.”

She laughed softly. “Even if everything else about us is. Goodnight, Baloo.”

“Sleep tight, Beckers.” He rolled over on his side and closed his eyes with a tired sigh.

Long after Baloo was dreaming about the easy life, Rebecca lay awake, thinking.

End of part 5

It’s Dough Contest
part 6

The Cunninghams’ Apartment
Saturday Morning
Day 6

Rebecca awoke to the symphony of Baloo’s snores, something to which she had surprisingly grown accustomed to. She removed the pink earmuffs, got up, gathered her clothes, and went to the bathroom. A few minutes later, the clothed bearess returned. She hung up her nightgown in the closet, then made the bed. Just as she was about to leave, she glanced at Baloo. An affectionate smile crept to her lips. His snoring was ruffling the bedskirt. She pulled the blanket over his shoulders and patted him gently on the chest, then quietly stepped out.

Kit was already in the kitchen, eating a bowl of Cheery-Os.

Rebecca squeezed his shoulder with a smile on her way to the coffee pot. To her surprise, a pot of steaming hot coffee was already on the stove. “Thank you, sweetie.”

“No problem, Miz Cunningham.”

She sat down beside him, full mug in hand. She added a spoonful of sugar to the coffee and slowly stirred it. “Last day,” she said, taking a sip.

“Yeah. I can’t believe we made it.”

“Where’s Mr. Tannenbaum?” Rebecca was amazed that the judge wasn’t in the living room, poring over his clipboard.

“He went out about five minutes ago. Said something about heading to the Chamber of Commerce to go over his results with Mrs. John D. Rockefeather.”

“So...we’ll know today.”

“Looks like it.”

A troubled frown creased Rebecca’s forehead. “Mind if I ask you a question, Kit?”

“Sure.”

“What’s Baloo planning on spending his $50,000 on?”

Kit shrugged. “Buying back the Sea Duck, of course.”

“Of course.” Rebecca absently took another sip of coffee.

“I don’t want to leave Higher for Hire.” He drove the last soggy Cheery-O around the bowl with his spoon.

Rebecca sighed, chin propped on her hand. “I don’t want you to go, you or Baloo.”

“What can we do?” Kit said dismally. “If we win, Baloo will take his money, buy back the plane, we’ll leave, and I’ll never see you or Molly again.”

“I know, Kit. I know.” To herself, she added, “Oh, I wish I’d never entered us in this stupid contest...”

They sat in silence for a few moments, mulling over their predicament.

Finally, Kit said, “The only way to stay together is if we lose. Right, Miz Cunningham?”

Rebecca hesitated. Last night, she’d decided that there were more important things than money; ergo, they’d have to forfeit the contest. Still...fifty thousand dollars and a year of free advertising was a lot to give up, especially after all they had gone through to earn it.

“Right, Miz Cunningham?” Kit repeated pointedly.

Exhaling slowly, she nodded in agreement. “We’ll have to prove to Mr. Tannenbaum that we’re not a family.”

“Yeah, but how? He thinks we are,” the boy said glumly.

Rebecca tapped her fingers against the coffee mug. After a few minutes, a sparkle came to her eyes. “How about...?”

At the same time, Kit said, “What if we...?”

They looked at each other. Simultaneously, they said, “Are you thinking what I’m thinking?”

Higher for Hire
An Hour Later

Kit sat cross-legged on Baloo’s bed, watching as the pilot crammed everything he owned into a duffel bag and a suitcase. “Are you sure you should be doing this, Papa Bear? We haven’t won yet.”

“Don’t be such a spoilsport, kiddo. Mr. T. basically said we were the winners.”

“When?”

“He didn’t so much as say it as look it, if ya know what I mean.”

“How could you tell?”

“I just could. Hand me that lamp, will ya?”

Kit picked up the hula girl lamp from the night stand and gave it to him. Baloo unceremoniously dumped it in the suitcase and piled clothes on top of it. He pushed the lid down, but because it was so full, it wouldn’t latch. Finally, he sat on the suitcase and latched it with a click, a crunch, and a triumphant grin.

“I just think you shouldn’t count your money ‘til it’s hatched, that’s all.”

As if he hadn’t heard him, Baloo said, “Start packin’, partner. I wanna make prop wash just as soon as I hand Becky that check-eroo.”

“Okay.” Smiling to himself, Kit got his suitcase from the closet and started to load the contents of his dresser drawer into it.

He didn’t get very far, for a few minutes later Molly tore into the room. Breathlessly, she said, “Mr. Tannenbaum is here, and he’s got a really big envelope.”

“Showtime,” Baloo said jauntily, a grin as wide as the Pacific on his face as he hurried down the stairs with the cubs on his tail.

Rebecca, leaning against the front of her desk, telegraphed a silent question to Kit. The boy nodded in response.

Without any preliminaries, Mr. Tannenbaum said, “After much deliberation, the Chamber of Commerce and I have made a decision concerning the winner of the Cape Suzette Family Business of the Year contest.”

It was so quiet you could hear the cricket chirping cheerfully in the corner. Baloo squirmed impatiently as the judge carefully opened the envelope, removed a sheet of paper, and leisurely adjusted his pince-nez.

After what seemed like an eternity, Mr. Tannenbaum announced, “Higher for Hire is the winner.”

“Wahoo!We won! We won! We won!” Baloo shouted. He caught Rebecca by the hands and danced her around the room.

“It was a very close contest,” the judge said. “Both families seemed very caring and hardworking. However, there was one major difference between you and the Lee’s.”

“What?” Molly asked.

Deadpan, Mr. Tannenbaum said, “You people make me laugh.”

“W-we do?” Kit stammered, sharing a confused look with Molly.

Molly whispered to Kit, “He didn’t smile the entire time.”

Mr. Tannenbaum handed both the check and certificate to Baloo, who kissed the check repeatedly.

Just then a knock came on the door and a cheerful voice sang out, “S.S.T.I.S.D.D.”

Kit took the envelope from the mailman. “It’s for you, Mr. Tannenbaum.”

A frown creased his normally impassive features as he pulled out a little cardboard rectangle. “Hmm... Would you care to explain this, Mr. Baloo von Bruinwald?” He handed the license to the big bear.

Rivulets of cold sweat started to pour down the pilot’s face. “Uh...it belongs to my long lost cousin who looks just like me an’ has the same first name? What a coinky-dink, huh? Heh-heh...heh.”

Mr. Tannenbaum fixed his steady eyes on him.

As if admitting his guilt, the dejected Baloo hung his head. He had rarely, if ever, been caught in a lie.

Mr. Tannenbaum snatched the check and certificate from Baloo and tore them up. A shower of confetti fell to the bare floorboards as he said coldly, “In light of recent events, Lee’s Bakery is the winner. Good day.”

Baloo followed the judge to the door blubbering, “B-b-b-b-b-b-but!”

Without a backwards glance, Mr. Tannenbaum closed the door behind him.

Baffled, Baloo slumped in his chair. “What the heck just happened? How in tarnation did someone get my pilot’s license? Coulda sworn it was in my wallet. Fifty thousand smackers gone! An’ all because of a license.” He covered his face with his hands and stifled a sob.

Exchanging a discreet glance with Rebecca, Kit said quickly, “I’m gonna tell Wildcat the bad news.”

“Wait up, Kit!” Molly said, racing after him.

“Well, I guess that’s that,” Rebecca said, settling herself at her desk. She opened her ledger and pulled her adding machine closer.

“You’re takin’ this awfully well.” Baloo, peeking through his fingers, shot her a suspicious look across the room.

“Well...I, uh...it’s just money.” She winced, feeling a deep pang of regret. “A lot of money, not to mention all that free advertising...” As if to forget about that, she shook her head. “But look on the bright side, Baloo. We’re all togeth...I mean, now we can get everything back to normal.”

“Whatever you say, Honeylips,” Baloo said morosely. Realizing what he had called her, he clapped a hand over his mouth in surprise.

Rebecca smiled, then she started to giggle. Her giggling escalated into throaty laughter.

After a moment, Baloo’s hearty guffaws joined in.

Their laughter drifted outside - past the houseboat where Wildcat was listening to the cubs’ tale of how the ‘Cunninghams’ had lost the contest, past the creaking docks, past the Sea Duck - where it finally reached the ears of a lone seagull swooping over Cape Suzette harbor, now glistening in the bright morning sunshine.

The End