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

by Chris Lynch

  But stage-three conferences are a different matter entirely. They are rarely called and usually cause trouble, since they involve the exclusion of some or all of the other club members. On this day Steven requested a one-on-one stage three on the grounds of serious security threats within the operation. So how could I say no?

  And—unprecedented in the entire history of the club—Steven allowed somebody other than himself to be the driver of his car. This had to be very important to him.

  “You make it sound dirty,” he pressed on. “It’s not spying, it’s a strategic clandestine operation.”

  I did like the sound of that. I beeped the horn.

  “Well, that does sound a little better. But still, there has to be sufficient justification for me to approve such a thing.”

  “Sufficient? Sufficient? What kind of leader are you? We have the greatest justification there is: You are about to lose one of your men to the enemy. Would a really great leader allow that to happen? I think not.”

  He was right, of course. If a leader was any kind of decent chief at all, then that had to be the bottom line: The loss of one of your men was unacceptable. But where Steven and I weren’t quite on the same page had to do with identifying the enemy. I wasn’t exactly sure who the enemy was. He had no such problem.

  “She’s a girrrrrlllll, for cryin’ out loud, man. How can you let her get her hands on poor old Wolfgang? He is your responsibility, you know. Our mission here is clear to me, and if it’s not to you, I’ll spell it out: We will rescue our brother Wolfgang from the hands of any and all women, whether he likes it or not, no matter what it takes.”

  Steven must have raised his voice just a bit too high, because shortly after the mention of He-Man Wolf’s name, said member happened to casually wheel himself right up to the driver’s side window of the car. He began wiping the glass without being asked to, like one of those dirty guys at stoplights with a squirt bottle and a squeegee. I pounded on the glass and chased him away.

  “So since when are you all concerned about what happens to him?” I asked. Wolf had wheeled around to Steven’s window. Steven pounded the glass.

  “Hey,” Steven said, putting his hand on his chest like he was going to take the Pledge of Allegiance. “Wolfgang is very important to me. I mean, we may have our differences from time to time, but he’s a member of the brotherhood, after all, and that’s what counts. Am I right?”

  “Okay, seems like we’re honor bound. So then what is it we have to do?”

  “Now you’re talkin’,” he said, clapping his hands and rubbing them together anxiously. “First thing is, move over—I’m drivin’.”

  There are three ways in and out of my rec room. One way is to go up the stairs into the kitchen. The second is through the bulkhead to freedom. The third leads into the utility room/noxious chemical repository where my mom stores the paints, solvents, and adhesive substances she uses to deface our home. The first is used by everybody. The second only by meter readers and certain wheelchair-bound He-Man visitors. The third by nobody in his right mind.

  The day of Operation Save the Wolf came only two days after Operation Save Jerome, so I figured I’d better get it right this time or face Operation Lose the Ling. He-Men Bolt and Steven were sitting for an hour and a half among the oily rags, petrified paint brushes, and caulking guns of the utility room, peering through cracks in the tongue-and-groove pine paneling that separated the basement cells. Waiting for the objects of our surveillance.

  “Do you have a headache?” I asked Steven.

  “Maybe I do,” he answered defensively. “But that’s a small price to pay for the cause.”

  “What about dizziness? Blurred vision?”

  “No,” he snapped, his face glued to the wall.

  “Look at me,” I said.

  “I’m busy.”

  “There’s nobody in there. You’ve been staring at my mother’s Eisenhower painting for an hour. Ike’s not going anyplace, Steven. Now turn this way.”

  He did, facing me full-on.

  “See,” he said. “Steady as a rock.”

  “Ya,” I said. “Exactly. You are about as steady as the Rock. And if you think I’m bad, wait till you meet her up close and personal. She’s long gone. You should see the stuff she does.”

  “Like what?”

  “I’ll tell you like what. Like, okay, she runs. She leaves the house and runs, sometimes for miles, for no reason. Nobody’s chasing her or anything, she just runs, because she likes it. How’s that for nuts?”

  He paused. He stared at me, like there was something wrong with me.

  “All right,” I went on. “Also, sometimes she walks up hills, and mountains even, just for fun. She even belongs to a group where they all do it. How ’bout that? Sure wouldn’t want to meet up with that bunch of loonies in a dark alley, huh?”

  Still, he stared. “You’re not exactly a fitness nut, are you, Ling?”

  “I’m not a nut of any kind!” I insisted, though I didn’t mean for it to come out so strong. “Anyway, the point is she’ll probably kill us if she catches us here. Unless we’re already dead from the vapors by the time they find us.”

  I was about to leave when we heard the slam of the bulkhead door being dropped against the side of the house. The two of us scrambled to the crack to watch.

  “Careful, honey,” came Wolfgang’s voice from outside. Rock was dragging his wheelchair down the steps for him. “That’s a precision piece of equipment there—just like myself.”

  “Oh please,” she said, and dropped the chair down hard.

  “No, really. I won the Boston Marathon three times in that chair. This year I was so far ahead, I rolled the last six miles backward. They asked me not to come back anymore because I’m demoralizing all the other crips.”

  Rock just laughed as she carried Wolf down the stairs and placed him gently in his seat.

  “How romantic, you carrying me over the threshold,” Wolf said.

  Steven pulled away from the crack and closed his eyes tight. “Ling, I’m gonna barf. If this is where he’s starting from, where is it going to lead? I don’t think I can take it.”

  “I tried to tell you,” I said. “A person’s got to have an awfully strong constitution for this kind of surveillance work. This is the way the pros always uncover the most disgraceful, stomach-turning stuff about a guy.”

  “Wanna stick pins in my toes?” Wolf offered Rock.

  “See what I mean?” I shrugged. “You never know what a guy will say or do when he doesn’t know you’re watching.” Steven gagged.

  “Get away from me, you,” Rock said to Wolf. But she was still laughing.

  “No kidding, you’ll love it. I don’t flinch at all. It’s just like sticking a potato.”

  “Well, that’s a refreshing change. With most of the guys I’ve dated, it was the head that was the potato part.”

  “Most?” It was my turn to be disgusted. “Who’s she kidding with that ‘most’ business? How do you figure what’s ‘most’ of two? She’s dated two guys her whole life, and one of them hardly counts since he was our mailman and the federal government forced him to come to the house every day. She met him at the door once in a bathing suit and he maced her.”

  Steven was having an unusually confused day. “I can’t tell with you, Ling—since you never joke or laugh or smile—when you’re exaggerating, or just plain making stuff up.”

  I pointed at myself to help him along. “I tell all the truth, all the time, mister.”

  He pointed at me too. “Did you take all your medication today, all in one gulp?”

  There’s nothing you can do with him when he’s like that.

  Wolf pulled us back into the action. “You poor thing,” he consoled the big brute. “It’s lucky for you that I came along to restore your faith in guys.”

  “Can we take an emergency vote to stomp him to death?” Steven asked quite seriously.

  “Shhh,” I said, listening with fascination now
.

  “Speaking of guys,” my sister asked mischievously, “what about your guys? The He-Boys. The Womanators or whatever it is my brother and his pukey little friends call themselves. Is this allowed, this fraternizing you’re doing?”

  “Them guys.” Wolfgang laughed. “They don’t tell me what to do. I just joined their jerky little club for a laugh. And because they begged me. As a matter of fact, they pay me dues to keep coming. And even if they did try and stop me from seeing you, they know they’d be in deep sneakers then. Why, the toughest guy they’ve got—after me of course—is probably Steven …”

  Steven visibly relaxed, hearing this, nodding approval.

  “… and I’ve slapped his stupid fanny around the block so many times already, the neighbors must think I’m his dad.”

  Steven gritted his teeth. “I’m gonna killll you, Dad,” he growled.

  “Did you hear something?” Rock asked Wolf.

  I slapped Steven on the arm to shut him up.

  “Nah,” Wolf said, while staring directly at us.

  “Think he heard?” I asked.

  “I hope so,” Steven answered. “I want him to come in here so I can stick his little bat face into a can of Dutch Boy sunflower yellow and hold it there until—”

  I shushed him again so we could listen to find out what Wolf knew.

  “Anyway,” Wolfgang went on, “you’re way more He-Man than any of those guys, if you don’t mind my sayin’ so.”

  “Certainly not,” my lovely sister crowed, puffing up her already well-puffed self.

  “Look at these muscles of yours,” he said, and wheeled himself right up to her to give her biceps a squeeze.

  “That’s it,” Steven announced. “That’s all she wrote. Physical contact right before our eyes. You know the bylaws, Ling, just as well as I do. He’s outta here.” Steven turned from me to Wolf, through the crack. “You’re outta here,” he repeated. “Pack your stuff and clear out.”

  I actually had to grab the back of Steven’s shirt and yank him down onto a five-gallon tub of spackle. He’d been waiting for this moment for quite some time, and could not control himself now that it had arrived. There were little foamy bits of spittle at the corners of his mouth. “Now you sit there,” I said, “or you’re going to blow our cover.”

  He stood up. I shoved him back down. “That’s insubordination, mister,” I warned him. “If you don’t watch it, you’ll find yourself on trial right alongside him.”

  Steven’s eyes brightened. “There’s going to be a trial? Really? You’re not just saying that to make me happy?”

  “No. There is going to be a trial. Now sit there and be quiet while I gather evidence.”

  Steven sat, and even folded his hands. But he couldn’t help bouncing up and down like a little kid waiting for the show to begin.

  I went back to the crack. Rock was flexing everything she had for Wolf’s approval. “That’s another thing,” I said. “She even enters contests, with a bunch of other nuts just like her doing this. …” I broke into a spontaneous imitation of her posing, flexing, hulking routine.

  Steven laughed at me. “See, you can be funny when you try.”

  I was not trying. I went back to eavesdropping.

  “Where’d you get all that physique?” Wolf asked.

  “I’m an athlete,” she answered casually. “I work out. And I throw the javelin at my boarding school.”

  And I bet they throw it back, I wanted to say. But she does throw the javelin. She’s not on any teams, mind you, she just throws it. The big Amazon savage.

  “Wow,” Wolfgang said to her, clapping. “You’re almost a guy.”

  “Thanks,” she said. “So are you.”

  Wolf laughed hard at that. “Good one there, Miss Rock. Mind if I use that line on your brother?”

  “You can try. But I warn you, he doesn’t understand jokes.”

  Sure I do. Ever heard the one about the He-Man who got himself court-martialed?

  7 Wolf’s Way

  STEVEN CAME IN WITH Jerome as I sat contemplating what General Patton would do if he was me. Jerome was trembling, whimpering, and clutching an envelope in his little porcelain fist. Steven was whistling a happy tune, with a new spring in his step.

  “Is he here yet?” Steven asked anxiously. “Can we start the festivities? Come on, come on, let’s get crackin’.”

  “Steven,” I said, walking up to the obviously stricken Jerome, “can’t you see that your friend is in distress here? Don’t you care?”

  He took a quick glance over at Jerome, who was shaking so hard his pants were sliding right off him.

  “Ya, I see,” Steven said. “But he’s always nervous about something. He’ll feel better after we dump Wolfgang. You’ll feel better too. Everybody will feel better. Isn’t it a beautiful day outside?”

  Jerome stopped his nervous breakdown long enough to get a load of little Stevie Sunshine. “Does this club have a drug-testing policy?” he asked.

  Steven laughed. “Good one, Jerome.”

  I reached out and pried the envelope out of Jerome’s death grip. “Is this it?” I asked. “Is this what’s bothering you?”

  He nodded.

  “Can I read it, then?”

  He nodded.

  I opened it up, unfolded the sheet of yellow lined paper, and looked at the message, printed in a variety of typefaces and styles and sizes cut from magazines and newspapers. Your basic maniac note. It read: Dear Boyfriend … uh-oh … I love you. I know you love me too. It’s cute that you’re shy. But you can stop it now. We will be together for eternity.

  Also, my birthday is coming up, on the seventeenth. Make it something special, darling.

  “She is a very confused girl,” I said calmly. “But I don’t think you should worry too much about it.”

  “Don’t worry too much?”

  “Right,” I said. “Clearly, she thinks a great deal of you. She even uses the word ‘love’ in there somewhere.”

  “Love!” Jerome screamed at me. “This girl can’t tell the difference between love and manslaughter. Look at this,” he said, seizing the letter. “Look here. It says ‘eternity.’ You know what that means?”

  “Ah, I think so,” I said.

  “It means death,” he said hysterically. “She is talking about my death!”

  He is a very excitable boy. You had to read pretty hard, I thought, to find death in there.

  He threw the letter on the ground and made a wild dash for the Lincoln. He launched himself into the backseat and slammed the door. Steven, Cecil, and I followed. Steven opened the front door and took up his usual spot as driver. Cecil took shotgun, and I sat with Jerome, to lend him my wisdom and comforting presence.

  Jerome sat hunched over, hyperventilating, with his head between his knees. “What am I going to get her for her birthday?”

  Cecil tried to help. “Chocolates, or a nice hat …”

  I put a finger to my lips to quiet Cecil.

  Steven was still having fun. “It’s your own fault, Jerome, ya stud monkey. Turn off the old magnetism once in a while, give everyone a rest.”

  Jerome buried his face again, moaning.

  “You’re not really helping things,” I said to Steven. Then, back to Jerome. “Don’t you worry, son, I’ll fix this for you.”

  His head popped up, his eyes spinning madly as he stared into me. “Oh, a fat lot of help you’ll be,” he snapped.

  Ouch. Jerome could be a vicious little terrier sometimes.

  “You tried once already, and you made it worse, remember?” he added.

  That one little failure was going to haunt me until we freed Jerome from his Vanessa problem.

  Even though it was the quietest sound in the now-buzzing clubhouse, Wolfgang’s confident little laugh cut right through all the clatter, and everybody looked.

  He was leaning in through Cecil’s window, Jerome’s fan letter in his hand.

  “This is sweet,” he said.

 
“It’s not sweet,” Jerome responded. “It’s a death threat.”

  “No it isn’t. I know Vanessa. She just gets a little overzealous sometimes. It’s her way of expressing affection, that’s all.”

  “Well I don’t want any affection,” Jerome snapped.

  Wolf chuckled, but he was laughing alone now. Even Steven’s high spirits dropped when Wolfgang showed up.

  “You want me to take care of this for you, little man?” he asked.

  Jerome stood up—he could actually stand up inside the car. “Can you, Wolf? Can you? Would you?”

  “Can I? Come on now, you know better than to ask me a dumb question like that. And would I? Of course I would. I’d do anything for one of my brothers. This is a brotherhood, ain’t it?”

  Wolfgang stared straight at He-Man Steven when he said it. It was pretty hard to miss the irony of all this. The “brotherhood” had two basic problems going at the moment, and Wolfgang was making himself front-and-center a part of both: He-Man Jerome had a girlfriend he didn’t want to have; and He-Man Wolfgang had a girlfriend none of the other He-Men wanted him to have.

  Steven, in turn, looked straight at me. “Just hold it right there,” Steven said. “He’s not doing any more—”

  “No,” I said, cutting him off. “If He-Man Wolf can fix He-Man Jerome’s problem, then that’s the right thing to do.”

  “Oh thank you, thank you, thank you,” Jerome said, leaning over and shaking Wolfgang’s hand a hundred times. “You’re the best. You’re the He-Mannest. You want money? I think I can scare up …”

  “No thanks necessary,” Wolf said with a wink. “You know me. Just doing my part for the cause, gentlemen.”

  Again he stared right at Steven as he said it, smiling as he backed away from the car and wheeled himself out to track down the dreaded Nessy.