“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

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