Ladies' Choice (The He-Man Women Haters Club Book 4)

by Chris Lynch

  “I love you,” he said. Then he spun toward me. “I love her. She’s so big. She’s so beautiful.”

  Wolf was a little confused. If he was her brother, he’d be able to see her more clearly. I wanted to help him.

  “She’s not beautiful,” I said. “She’s a big fat beast.”

  Rock just smiled, as if she found me amusing.

  “No,” Wolf said, wheeling toward me. “Let me show you. She is a mighty sequoia. This”—I could see it coming a mile away, as he reached out both hands to grab my belly roll with both hands—“is fat.”

  Of course, they bonded instantly. “You know,” Rock said to him, “I’ve tried. I’ve offered to train him a million times, but he refuses.”

  Wolf faked sincerity. “I know, I know, I’ve tried to train him myself. But we still have to lay newspapers all over the clubhouse floor.”

  So embarrassing. Even Jerome was laughing, as he dangled five feet off the floor. I froze them all with a fierce glare.

  Rock lowered Jerome into Wolfgang’s lap, then approached me.

  I braced myself for the struggle. It would not have been our first.

  “Lighten up, will you?” she said, laughing and slipping around behind me. Then it was my turn as she hoisted me, squeezing me so tight around the waist, I could feel HoHos climbing back up my esophagus.

  “Ling wants to get into the Guinness Book,” she said to her audience, “for reaching the age of eighteen without once cracking a smile.”

  “You are embarrassing me in front of my men.”

  She shook me. “Go on, have a laugh why don’tcha?”

  “Laugh?” I asked over my shoulder. “At myself? I think not. I have my dignity.” My shirt was rolling up over my belly and I stretched to touch the floor with my toes.

  Steven walked up to us like we were a museum sculpture. “Awesome. It’s a shame she’s a girl.”

  “Shame, shmame,” Wolf cracked. “We got the wrong Ling. I say we trade up and take the Rock.”

  4 Will the Wolf Survive?

  AND THAT’S WHY WOLFGANG, despite all his other gifts, will never rule the world. He lets his emotions get in the way of good common sense. In love? Is the boy mad?

  With my sister?

  We may have to put him down, like a broken racehorse. Because he’s no good to anyone in this condition, and could very well do himself some serious harm. He wasn’t a very useful He-Man Woman Hater at the moment, either.

  We were back at the garage, where Steven is always at his He-Manliest.

  “Hang him,” Steven said calmly. “It’s all you can do when a guy mutinies.”

  Steven was always gung-ho for punishing, expelling, or otherwise disposing of Wolfgang. They have a good inner-club rivalry going that is actually beneficial to the operation. It creates the dynamic tension that keeps us sharp. And despite what they say about each other, they have a deep mutual respect.

  “Or I could shove him and his rotten smelly wheelchair off a pier into the bay,” Steven volunteered.

  “At ease there, soldier,” I said.

  “And since when are we in the army?” Jerome asked. “I thought we were more like an auto club.”

  “I thought we were more like the Fantastic Four,” El Matador added.

  “The Fantastic Four-Cylinders, how’s that?” Wolfgang said, rolling into the garage to join us. “And by the way, there are five of us, piston head.”

  Cecil stared at the fingers of one hand, counting.

  I turned on Wolf, put my fists on my hips, and stared at him through my sunglasses. I was in full Bolt Upright uniform, so I knew I had his fear and respect and attention.

  “You are making a mockery of this club,” I snarled.

  “You know what your problem is, Ling, is that you don’t look flamboyant enough. Maybe some feathers someplace might help. Some spray paint and flowers splashed about your body …”

  “This man is not a joke,” El Matador said, rushing between us. He was wearing a cowboy hat, fake leather vest, and real spurs that jingle-jangle-jingled when he walked.

  “Well then,” Wolf joked, “as long as you’re vouching for him …”

  “I am,” The Killer said.

  “Can we get back to hating some women, please?” Jerome asked. “We need to get back to basics here. And I have a problem.”

  Now we were talking. A small, defenseless creature, needy and alone. Coming for help to Bolt Upright, the only person who could right the world’s wrongs for him.

  “What do you need, son?” I asked gently, yet strongly.

  “Ah, you’re not my father, thank you.”

  “That’s right,” Wolf said. “Pee Wee Herman’s his father.”

  “I will quit this club right now …” Jerome railed on. Steven pulled an imaginary notebook out of his back pocket, made a check mark with an imaginary pencil. He does this every time Jerome quits, which means he’s filled up a couple of notebooks already.

  “Silence, everyone,” I said, my hands straight up in the air like I was stopping traffic.

  “Yes,” El Matador contributed. “Silence, everyone.”

  “Well,” Jerome started tentatively, “I’m being … harassed. Every day, before school. And after school. I’m getting stopped, and shaken down.”

  My blood was boiling already. There is nothing that enrages a superhero like the strong preying on the weak.

  “What … is … his … name?” I asked slowly, clenching and unclenching my fists to try and channel my natural aggression. I could not let it get out of control.

  Emotion is the superhero’s enemy.

  “Vanessa,” Jerome croaked.

  Steven and Wolfgang, joining forces for the first time in memory, laughed so hard the garage sounded like a packed football stadium.

  “That’s it!” Jerome squealed indignantly. “I’m quitting right now.” He stormed off as Steven pulled out the notebook.

  I pointed at Jerome, and El Matador ran to retrieve him. Jerome was kicking and clawing as he was carried back to me.

  “Do not listen to them,” I said. “You have nothing to be ashamed of. It doesn’t matter who it is—if someone is assaulting you, and extorting money from you …”

  “Ah …” Jerome said. He wasn’t struggling anymore, just sort of hanging there while El Matador cradled him. “She’s not extorting money, exactly …”

  “What is it then?”

  “Shashkisfassisheses.”

  We could not quite understand him.

  “What?” Wolf called. “Could you speak up there?”

  Steven joined in. “Weeee cannn’t heeeear youuuu.”

  “Kisses! All right? Happy now, ya savages? She’s forcing me to give her a kiss or I can’t cross the footbridge over the commuter rail track. …”

  “‘The Three Billy Goats Gruff’!” Steven laughed.

  “So that would make you … don’t tell me now … the littlest Billy Goat Gruff,” Wolf added.

  “That’s it,” Jerome demanded, pointing toward the exit. “Take me out of here, ya big goof.”

  Cecil, being a good soldier, followed orders and started carrying Jerome toward the door.

  “Bring him back here,” I commanded, then turned toward the troublemakers. “You two, go find something useful to do.”

  “Fine,” Wolfgang said. “I just stopped by to say I couldn’t come to today’s meeting anyway. I got a date.”

  “Whoa,” Steven said. “A date? Like, with a … girrrrrrllll?”

  He sure did have trouble with that word.

  “No way, junior,” Wolf said, making a big show of slicking his hair back, then brushing his teeth with his finger. “I got a date with a woman.”

  “That’s it!” Steven announced. “He’s through. He’s out. There can be no more blatant violation of our rules than coming into our garage, and announcing to the whole membership that he’s consorting with the enemy. Taunting us with it. Let’s get this over with finally. All in favor—”

 
“Hold on now,” I said calmly. “I think we can handle this thing more smoothly, without any bloodshed. He-Man Wolfgang, with whom have you got this date?”

  “You know who it is. It’s the girl goddess, woman of women, the big yabba-dabba-doo herself.”

  “Rock.”

  “That’s right, baby, me and the Rock.”

  I just had to be sure. That was a relief. I turned to Steven.

  “Don’t worry about it,” I said. “Let him go. If my sister doesn’t turn him into a lifelong woman-hater, then nothing will.”

  5 Bolt on the Beat

  I WAITED.

  Stealth. Was key.

  I was in the bushes on one side of the bridge, while El Matador crouched in the brush on the other side. We’d left Jerome about three blocks back, with instructions to come hobbling along at precisely the time he did every morning.

  Normalcy. Was another key.

  “Why do we need so many keys?” Cecil asked, shattering our careful silence.

  “Would you please be quiet?” I said firmly. “We are trying to be stealthy.”

  “You mean, like, to be good superheroes we hafta eat a lotta vegetables and get plenty of exercise, stuff like that?”

  Spiderman was bitten by the radioactive spider. The guy from Kung Fu had to carry the burning pot with his bare forearms. I have Cecil.

  “Stealthy,” I repeated patiently. “Not healthy. It means invisible, and silent.” I nearly yelled the word at him, which probably only confused him further.

  I crossed the road to address him directly. “You are going to have to stop talking now, Cecil, or we’re not going to surprise anyone.” I heard myself speaking like a preschool teacher. “Now, I want you to stoop down way low in those bushes, okay? Can you do that for me?”

  I watched as he bent his knees and sank.

  “Shush” was the last thing I said before silently sweeping back across the road. By the time I’d resumed my hideout, Cecil had already forgotten his instructions.

  “I feel like the wolf in ‘Little Red Riding Hood,’ ” he said, giggling.

  A giggling superhero. Much work to be done there.

  Cecil finally stopped chatting when Jerome, as scheduled, came trembling down the road. Even though he knew perfectly well we were there, he looked like a squirrel caught on the ground a mile away from the nearest tree.

  And, as promised, there was the infamous Nessy, popping up out of the shadows to intercept our boy. She looked cool and sinister, arms folded, leaning against the bridge wall. She wore a blue-and-green-plaid parochial-school uniform, and a matching headband taming her frizzy black hair.

  We were not there to inflict harm on her. As I said, I do not hate women. Superheroes don’t have time for that. And we didn’t even intend to scare her too badly, just enough to let her know that, hey, somebody is watching, and that somebody is on the side of the weak, meek, oppressed. She’ll know who we mean without our even having to mention Jerome by name.

  As our little friend drew near, El Matador and Bolt Upright coiled, ready to spring. It would be quite a show, and I hoped Vanessa didn’t get too terrified, but we had a job to do, and let the chips fall where they may.

  Jerome began whistling bravely.

  Nessy started laughing. Then, when he was within ten feet of her, she snarled, “Pucker up, ya big hunk o’ man.”

  He told us she would say that, but it was a shock all the same. That was our cue.

  I must admit, it was an awesome display. Cecil’s well-worked farm-boy legs propelled him ten feet into the air as he flew toward Vanessa from one direction. He looked almost like a sky diver as he descended, hanging on to his sombrero as he parachuted to Earth. I, from the opposite side, merely charged, rhinoceroslike, right over the underbrush, the spandex of my shorts glinting in the morning sun, the whiteness of my socks, gloves, and bicycle helmet blinding to our enemies.

  “Eeeeeeee!” Vanessa screamed helplessly, truly deeply pathetically scared of us.

  Then we stopped before her, and stood.

  We didn’t, actually, have a plan beyond that point.

  So we stood, dumbly.

  She had a chance now to get a good look at us. We towered over her, me and Cecil, at a combined height of over twelve feet and a weight of maybe three hundred. If she stood on her toes, Nessy might have reached the minimum requirement for riding the roller coaster.

  “Boo!” she screamed at us, and as the two superheroes backed up, we nearly trampled Jerome, who had been cringing around the back of our knees.

  She just caught us by surprise, that’s all.

  We stepped right back up to her.

  “Raaaaaaah!” she was roaring at us now. “What in the heck are you two supposed to be, and what business do you have bothering us?”

  “Us?” I said. “We’re not bothering any ‘us,’ we’re bothering you. Because you’re terrorizing our weak and pathetic friend.”

  Jerome punched me in the back. It hurt. Guess he wasn’t quite as weak and pathetic as I thought.

  “Terrorizing? You two freaks need to get out and meet people a little more often. This is not terrorizing, for your information, it’s courting. Jerome and I happen to be in love.”

  Jerome was now shoving both Cecil and myself from behind. “Get her,” he screamed. “Jeez, would you get to work? Kill her, beat her up, maim her, or something.”

  “Ah, no, that’s not what true superheroes do,” I said, holding up one hand in the internationally recognized gesture of peace.

  Apparently, Vanessa did not recognize the internationally recognized gesture of peace.

  She grabbed my hand and, wrapping each of her little mitts around two of my fingers, made like a wishbone, trying to pull my hand apart at the center. “Stop picking on me,” she said.

  “Yeow,” I yelped. “Now that is enough. I come to you in the spirit of—”

  El Matador intervened, grabbing Nessy’s surprisingly powerful wrist. “Don’t make us get vicious, little lady.”

  She groaned with the effort as she kicked his ankle. (At least we were making her work to beat us up.) He released his grip on her. She kicked him again. He fell, rubbing his ankle. She kicked his hand. He was clearly beaten, down and out at this point. So she kicked him again.

  “I’m talking about love here,” Vanessa insisted. “Go on, tell them, Jerome.”

  “Oh my … oh jeez …” Jerome moaned, first pacing, then taking a seat on a large rock, head in hands. “She thinks we’re Romeo and Juliet. I think it’s more like Punch and Judy.”

  Quickly Vanessa turned to Jerome. She actually looked surprised. And hurt. “Oh, we need to talk,” she said. “Really, Jerome, this is all happening because we are not communicating. We’re going to talk a lot more from now on.”

  “Oh my god oh my god oh my god,” Jerome said, running his hands crazily back over his head, uprooting small clumps of his own hair that then flew off in the wind.

  Vanessa returned her attention to me. “But first we have to get rid of you,” she said. Repeatedly and with great force, she poked her finger into my belly. “Jeepers, you’re soft,” she said, poking, poking again.

  “All right,” I said. “You’ve had your fun. Why don’t you just—”

  “What? Why don’t I just leave you alone?”

  “That’s a thought,” Cecil said from the pavement, rubbing his injured ankle.

  “El Matador!” I thundered, hoping to bring him to my aid and scare Vanessa off at the same time.

  Wrong and wrong again.

  “Gee, I’d like to, Bolt,” Cecil said, “but boy, this thing’s really actin’ up on me now. …”

  Vanessa shook her head, like she was embarrassed by us. And she would not stop poking my stomach.

  “Listen, you,” I said. “I’m a defender of right, and a gentleman as well. I live by a strict credo that says violence is to be avoided at all costs. And my mom raised me never to strike a—”

  Mommy?

  As everyone
knows, there is a weakness inside all superheroes, and Bolt Upright is no exception.

  All of a sudden, at the mention of my mother, I was overwhelmed by a wave of sadness. I felt weak and—oh no—watery.

  “Boo-hoo,” Vanessa said, sticking me with that bionic finger.

  “Don’t. Don’t say boo-hoo to me.”

  “Oh no!” Jerome called loudly. “Ling, not now. Not now!”

  I won’t. I won’t. Come on. Bolt, hold it together now. You don’t do that anymore. Those were the old days. You will not cry. Superheroes never, ever—

  Jam. The poke. God, what does she have in that finger, a bayonet?

  I couldn’t even see her now, with the tears clouding my vision. It was so embarrassing. She couldn’t even be bothered with me anymore. Having vanquished both Bolt Upright and the shockingly useless El Matador, Nessy went over to claim her prize. We didn’t even try to stop her this time, because hey, she won him fair and square.

  “Vaya con Dios, Jerome” was El Matador’s version of helping.

  Jerome was curled up in a ball on his boulder. Vanessa calmly went up to him and did the deed, right there on the lips for all the world to see. Then she gave his back a little rub and said, “See ya tomorrow,” as if she was his comfort rather than his problem.

  When she was safely away, I went to Jerome. He was busy rubbing his lips with his hanky. “Sure,” he snarled. “You two got off easy. All you got was a beating.” Then he leaped up and grabbed my helmet, punting it right off the bridge onto the tracks.

  “You are in the wrong business,” he said.

  6 Bad He-Man

  SO MAYBE HE DID have a point. Still, I was needed. If I wasn’t attempting to rescue one He-Man from the merciless, gaping jaws of love, then I was saving another He-Man from himself.

  “I don’t know, Steven,” I said. “I’m not completely comfortable with the idea. It sounds a lot like spying.”

  He-Man Steven and I were deep into a stage-three, super-secret conference. That’s the highest level of confidential we have so far. Stage one is low-level club secrecy, which basically means we kick Steven’s uncle Lars out of the area for our meeting. Stage-one topics would include, oh, what we wanted to get for lunch, or whether any member has got the same underwear on from the previous day. Mostly stage-one secrecy is an excuse for booting Lars. When we get to stage two, we again get to eject Lars, but also we move the conference into Steven’s 1956 Lincoln just in case any foreign agents are around trying to pull any He-Man Women Hater information for their evil use. Again, stage two is not usually earthshaking secrecy as much as it is a reason for us to close ranks. Sometimes we even nap in the car during stage two.