Change of Blank - A Match Game '90 Short Story

Rated: PG (Language) 

Set: Directly after the end of episode 30, taped August 30th, 1990

“And that’s a wrap!”

“Finally!” Brett Somers turned to Charles Nelson Reilly and stretched. “I thought that would never end!”

Her long-time friend shrugged. “I don’t know. I had a good time. I kind of wish the Coast Guard officer won. He didn’t play too badly, and it’s nice to see someone from the Coast Guard on the show.”

She smirked. “You thought he was cute.”

“Well, he wasn’t bad.” Charles smirked. “You’re just jealous. He didn’t look at you twice.”

“Shannon was close to throwing herself at him. And you always say I’m desperate!” She made a face. “What got into that girl, anyway? He wasn’t that cute. And besides, he’s way too young for me.” She made a face. “Did I throw myself at the men like that in the 70’s, Victor?”

“Much worse, Susan. You were so obvious, I think you were this close to giving half of them your phone number.”

Brett sighed. “Better than reading my phone number on the bathroom stalls.” She frowned as Ross Schafer, the young host of the show, ambled over. “What does he want?”

“Probably to congratulate you on your first week back. You did do a good job.”

She groaned. “It was terrible, Charles! That new Match Up bit is terrible. I couldn’t keep up with it. Who came up with that, anyway?”

“The boss’ son, so be nice.”

She would be the first person to admit that Ross was actually a very good-looking young man. If she were ten years younger…maybe five…she’d be all over him. And he could certainly be funny when he wanted to be. He just didn’t have Gene’s acting ability or his randy charm. Not to mention, his ability to reign in the panelists. 

“Brett,” he said gently, “you’re doing better at the Match-Up, but Johnathan Goodson told me you really need to pick up the pace.”

“Is that who came up with Match Up?” Brett made a face. “Goodson’s kid? I remember when I used to bounce him on my knee! He’s just a boy.”

“Boy or not,” Ross pointed out drily, “he’s the producer of this show. He says we needed something more enticing, to make the game more exciting.”

She rolled her eyes. “Figures a kid would miss the point. It’s not about the game. It’s about the comedy.”

“Brett,” Ross began gently, “I’m only telling you what he said…”

“He’s as humorless as his father. Goodson never understood this show, either.”

Charles put a hand on her shoulder. “Down, Brett. He is our boss.” 

“Actually,” Ross admitted, “I agree with her. I like Goodson well enough, but his sense of humor tends to dry up when you’re talking about his shows…and that’s true about his son, too. But,” he added, “it isn’t really my place or yours to say. We just have to do the best we can with what we’re given.”

“I am doing my best!” Brett grumbled. “I go as fast as I can. This is just…not everyone thinks that fast. Some of us need to take our time. What was wrong with us just trying to match the contestant with our answers, the way we used to?” 

“Brett,” Charles said calmly, “it’s not Ross’ fault or ours. It’s the way the rules work.”

“Gene never really followed the rules,” Brett muttered. “He listened to Goodson, and then played the game his way.”

Ross sighed. “That’s what I’m trying to do. Brett…I’m not Gene Rayburn. I know I’m not. I understand he’s your friend and you’re used to him. I’m not trying to replace him. I don’t know why they hired me and not him, but all I want is for you to just listen to me and play along.”

“Brett,” Charles said with a weary sigh, “I miss Gene, too. He is a good friend. They just went another route, that’s all. They wanted someone different.”

“Why?” Brett snapped. “What was wrong with the way things were before? It worked then, didn’t it? I used to have fun doing the old show. It was so crazy, you never know what would happen. No Match Ups, and the wheel didn’t come until later. And they mainly did it so the contestants wouldn’t call on Richard Dawson for the Head-to-Head so much. Where is he, by the way? Whatever happened to that little Lothario?”

Charles shrugged. “Word in Burbank is he retired after he married a Family Feud contestant and is helping to take care of their daughter. His interest is in his family now.” He put a hand on his best friend’s. “Brett, please. For me. I’m enjoying doing the show. I like being here, but I miss you being next to me. You’re my best friend. We always have fun together.”

“I’m retired too, Charles.” She sighed. “I retired for a reason. I can’t do this anymore. Nothing against you, Ross,” she added, “but I miss Gene, and Fannie, and the others. TV isn’t as much fun anymore. People don’t just let things happen, and that’s what I like. You were always more interested in your career than I was, anyway, Victor.” 

Ross nodded. “Nothing against you either, Brett. I’m glad to have met you. Johnathan just wanted fresh blood, and something different. He said the show moves too slowly for TV nowadays and had gotten too stale.” 

“I’m not sure I agree with that,” Charles admitted. “I think we do our best when we can focus on the questions and have fun with them. Ross, that includes you too. Aren’t you looking forward to Halloween?” 

Ross grinned. “Oh yeah. They say they’re going to decorate and let us wear costumes. I know what I’m going to be! Ronn Lucas has been pestering me about dressing up for the Halloween show and doing something big with Scorch.” 

“Ok,” she chuckled, “I’ll be the first one to admit that the Halloween show sounds like it would be fun. I’d have to ask, but I’d love to be on the show that week. I know what I’d dress-up as, too.” She nudged Charles. “What about you? How about a ghost? You could bring in Hope Lange and wear a cut-out sheet.”

He rolled his eyes under his thick glasses. “No, Brett. For one thing, Hope’s busy doing ads for that radio movie she just filmed. For another, I don’t think anyone remembers that show anymore. I do have something in mind, though.”

“How about The Great Hoo-Doo, the bad guy who lived in the top hat you did on that weird kid’s show years ago?”

Charles wrinkled his nose, and his lips puckered like a lemon. “I am never wearing that God-awful green makeup ever again!”

That’s when they heard the burst of masculine laughter. “Ok, you two,” Ross chortled next to them, “save it for the show. Now I understand why Charles insisted we have you on, Brett. You two are a real riot when you’re together, whether the cameras are rolling or not.” 

“Thanks.” Brett couldn’t help laughing herself. “We are, aren’t we? I have to admit, I did miss this. I miss…well, I missed a lot of things.” She gave the younger man a small smile. “You’re not Gene, but you are an appreciative audience. Thanks for listening, Ross.” 

“Actually,” Ross said as he put his microphone on a desk, “I’m honored. I watched this show when I was a teenager after school. I’m glad to be here. I haven’t had this much fun in years. The changes aren’t my idea.” 

“Hey Ross,” Charles went on, “want to go out to lunch with us? We know this great bar down the street that serves the most amazing Sex on the Beaches you ever tossed down your throat.”

“That’s all right, Charles. I’m not much for heavy drinking.” Ross waved them on. “You two professionals go on ahead. I’m just going home and into bed.”

Brett mock-sighed heavily. “Children these days! They don’t know how to do these things properly.” She took his arm. “Shall we do the town, Victor? Maybe we could even call Patrick and have him meet us there.”

Her best friend grinned wickedly. “Sounds like a night to me. We shall, Susan.”

Ross shook his head as he watched them leave. “Those two are incredible. I just hope they’re able to walk upright tomorrow. We’ll need Charles at the next taping.” He followed after them, just as the lights went off over the chrome-and-plywood set.

THE END

Acting Blank - A Match Game Short Story

Rated: PG (Language) 

Set: Directly after the end of syndicated episode 481, taped 1981

Gene Rayburn looked for director Marc Breslow’s cue that the show ended. After he saw the familiar slashing motion, he turned to the six people sitting behind two risers next to him. “Hey, that wasn’t bad, crew.”

“Thanks, Gene.” McLean Stevenson bounced in his seat. “Do we have time before the next show? Some of us have to hit the little panelist’s room, if you know what I mean.”

Edie McClurg made a face on the end. “Wouldn’t hurt me, either.” 

“I’ll go, too,” added curly-locked Sharon Farrell. “I need to freshen up a little.” 

Brett Somers nodded at Charles Nelson Reilly. “Want to get a drink really quick before we start again?” 

“Sure.” He climbed off the risers. “But only a little. I’d like to be able to sit up for the next show.”

His best friend sitting next to him smirked. “Do you ever?”

Bill Cullen chuckled at the seat on the upper tier next to Brett. “Those two are something else, aren’t they?”

“If you tell me what it is, I’ll have them cured of it,” Gene quipped. “Hey,” he added, “looking forward to that charity Christmas Carol we’re doing? I can’t wait to be Scrooge. It’ll be nice to play an old geezer besides Old Man Perriwinkle.” 

“Well, I don’t know, old friend.” The shorter man sighed. “I’m not sure how you talked me into this. Acting…I’m not as into it as you.”

Gene’s mind already wandered to his performance. “Huh?” He shook out the images of being onstage and figuring out how he should play Scrooge. “Bill, you’re a man of the stage. You told me you did plays in high school. Don’t you love the idea of getting into a role and just…being someone else?”

“Not really.” Bill shrugged his bony shoulders. “I like who I am. I live a good life. I have a wife I love. I’m between jobs, but I like where I’m living. You ought to try moving here, Gene. The weather’s amazing. We found this great little place in Santa Monica…”

The Match Game host shook his head. “Oh no, Bill. I’m happier on the East Coast. Fewer phonies over there, and the air in Cape Cod is so clear, on sunny days, you can see straight across the bay.” 

“You wouldn’t have to commute so much, Gene. I know all those plane rides can be exhausting. I had to do it when I hosted $25,000 Pyramid.”

Gene sighed. “I don’t mind the commute, really. My needlepointing is coming along nicely. I’ve had my work in galleries. That’s not really the problem. Bill, I love hosting this show, but…that’s all anyone thinks I am. Just a host. I can do more.”

“I don’t see why this is such a bad thing, Gene.” His smaller friend shrugged. “Maybe it doesn’t net us the most prestige in the world, but we get to meet a lot of interesting people, and we help them win prizes and money most of them need. What’s wrong with that?”

“Nothing wrong with it, Bill. I enjoy it. I wouldn’t trade this,” Gene swept his arms around the blue and orange set, “for the world. I just…I’d like to try other things, too. I like being onstage, Bill. I like creating a part.”

Bill nodded. “You like being someone else. I can see it in your eyes. No one could host this show like you can, Gene. Your voices really add to the questions, and you have no problems doing all those crazy stunts.” He shrugged again. “I don’t do voices. I didn’t mind appearing on Captain Kangaroo because Bob Keenan is a dear man and a friend of mine, but I’m mostly happy just talking to people and throwing out a few jokes.” 

“You’re better at it than you think.” Gene chuckled. “I’ve seen you work, not only here, but on To Tell the Truth. You’re as much of a ham as I am, Bill. You love the spotlight, too. Maybe not in the way I do, but…”

Bill had to grin himself. “We wouldn’t be in this business if we didn’t! That’s not the part I have problems with. I prefer to improvise. Memorizing a script, getting into costume…it’s a bit much for me, Gene. And I think it’s a bit much for you, too. I always wondered why you didn’t push harder with acting. Everyone knows how much you love it.”

“I’m busy. I do other things too, Bill. I work on my garden with Helen. I used to fly. You’ve flown with me!”

The smaller host shook his head. “You’re avoiding the question, Gene. Why don’t you try harder to get acting jobs? You probably could if you wanted.”

He sighed and leaned against the desks. “Maybe I’m a fan of improv, too. I really didn’t enjoy doing that one movie back in the sixties with Doris Day. All the camera set-ups, takes, the people ordering you around…it was too much. I’d rather be on the stage or TV, where you have one person giving you reasonable orders and don’t take all day to film one scene.” 

“If you mean ‘It Happened to Jane,’ I was in that movie too, Gene.” Bill grinned. “I don’t know why you didn’t want billing. I thought you were hilarious.” 

Gene made a face. “I barely did anything. I stood there and talked over Doris Day. I’d rather deal with one set and all of the cameras than everything going on in the movies. There just isn’t enough spontaneity.” He waved his hand at the contestant’s desk. “You never know what will happen here, and that’s how I like it. I like keeping on my toes. That’s what I like about theater, too. No two performances are alike.”

“I know, old friend.” Bill nodded as Edie and McLean slid into their chairs. “It’s what I like about our jobs. I enjoy the shows. I’m just not…well, maybe I’m insecure in a different way than you. I don’t need to create characters. I kind of like being one.”

His long-time friend gave his a wide white host’s grin. “You’ll know what you’re missing soon, old friend. We’re going to have a great time, appearing together. I can’t wait to order you around and cry over your Christmas dinner with the family.”

Bill gave him a small, nervous grin. “Thanks. And I have no idea what you’ll do as Scrooge, but if you have as much fun with the role as you usually do with Old Man Perriwinkle, I’m sure it’ll be memorable.”

“Hey Gene,” Brett brayed as she and Charles slid into their seats, “what were you an’ Bill doing? Chewing the fat?”

He nodded. “We were just talking, Brett.” Johnny Olsen came out behind him to warm up the crowd. “Everyone ready to win these people more money?” Chrouses of “Oh yeah!” and “You bet!” met his ears. 

“Ok, Mr. Scrooge,” Bill chuckled, “let’s make these people rich and keep the Ghosts of Christmas at bay.” 

“And all I have to say to that,” he grinned as he made his way backstage, “is bah humbug!” 

He went behind the opening doors to the sounds of laughter, some of it probably inflected with liquor, and shouts. “This,” he murmured to himself, “is where the real fun lays. I don’t know what I’d do if I didn’t have it. I want to act, and I want to do it more…but I love this, too, helping people win money. I wouldn’t give up this for the world.”

“Gene?” The stagehand broke his reverie. “You’re on.”

“Of course!” He laughed. “I’m always on!” He grinned at the man, then went down his stairs as Johnny Olsen announced his name to thunderous applause. 

THE END

Wedding Blank - A Match Game Short Story

Rated: PG (Language, discussions of divorce) 

Set: Directly after the end of episode 1325, taped September 10th, 1978

~*~*~*~*~*~

“And that’s a wrap!”

Brett Somers swept the napkin off her head the moment the cameras shut off. “What was that all about?”

“I think most people call it a wedding.” Her ex-husband Jack Klugman tried in vain to open the bottle of champagne fellow Match Game panelist Charles Nelson Reilly brought out with him. “So why don’t you enjoy it?”

She glared at him. “No matter what those jokers say, we’re not married.”

“Who says?” He made a face, shaking the bottle. “Damn it. I think it’s empty, or low. Charlie probably found a prop bottle somewhere.” 

“The state of California, last time I checked.” Brett grabbed the napkin before it hit the floor. “Why the hell did you grab me like that earlier? We were on the air!”

Jack smirked. “Since when did that stop us? It went along with the gag!”

His ex-wife blew out the candle nearest to her. “Some gag! You nearly knocked me off my chair!”

“You weren’t complainin’ about it at the time.” He blew out the other candle. “They were just tryin’ to have a little fun.”

“You’re one to talk. All you’ve done all this week is complain!” She gathered the ice bucket to drop it in the prop room. “Why did you start in on me with the ‘Hall of Fame’ Audience Match on the Monday show? There is a Hallmark Hall of Fame! You’ve watched them with Adam.”

“Ok, so I didn’t recognize it then! Sounded boring to me. I can’t tell one of those kiddie shows from another anyway.”

“Like ‘Football Hall of Fame’ is more interesting?” The second candle must have rolled under the desk after she put it out. “You just wanted to argue over something. You’re not happy unless you’re fighting.” 

His gravely voice rumbled as her fingers fumbled around the shag carpeting. “At least they do somethin’ out there on the field besides kissin’ an’ cryin’!” 

‘She finally retrieved the candle and climbed off her seat. “Here it is! Come on.” Her legs were already heading for the hall. “I’m gonna go get a drink before they start filming the nighttime show. Want to come with me?”

“What about Reilly n’ all them?”

“Charles went to talk to Gene about next week’s panelists. The others are likely in the green room already.” 

He made a face. “Ain’t you had enough?"

“You’re one to talk!” She grumbled as she handed the candle over to one of the stagehands. “I saw everything you drank at dinner. You had more than I did!”

“I was nervous!” He jutted a finger at the small TV they passed in the men’s dressing room. “I was watchin’ the game between the Rams and the Falcons. I got good money ridin’ on the Rams. Glad they won.” 

She threw up her hands in frustration. “Oh good gravy Marie! Can’t you just watch a game without betting on it?”

“See,” he started, “I got this angle…”

“You always have an angle!” 

“What about you?” He grumbled as they made their way down the hall. “You spend any time you ain’t takin’ care of the boys drinkin’ an’ partyin’. At least I’m workin’.”

Her hands waved at the hallway around them as two camera women pushed their equipment past them. “What do you call that, sitting around? This is my job, Jack! And I love it! I love helping people win money. I love joking with Charles and Gene and Betty. I may not be making the money you are on Quincy, but I am bringing something home!”

“Yeah, and then you drink it all with Reilly in West Hollywood.”

“You’re just jealous.” She smirked. “I got propositioned by three actresses the last time Charles and I were over there who didn’t know I was straight.”

He glared at her. “You’re way too old for that.”

“And you’re not too old for some of those ingeunes you flirt with at the studio? I’ve seen you, Jack! I saw you when we were married!”

They stopped in front of the entrance. “So I helped a few girls. Gave them directions. Said nice things. What’s wrong with that?”

“Nothing, if that’s all you were doing.” Two actors in plaid leisure suits pushed past them. “Jack, we’re blocking traffic. I need to call Adam and tell him I’ll be home soon as we tape the nighttime show.”

He turned on that little grin she found so charming twenty years ago in New York. “Darlin’...since we got married again today…well, sorta…I’d like to take you and Adam out to a late dinner. We won’t talk about nothin’ but him an’ little stuff. No work, no gamblin’, no drinkin’.”

His lips turned down when she shook her head. “No, Jack. I’m busy tonight. In fact, I’m busy a lot.” She touched his hand. “Let me get used to all this, Jack. To being alone again. To us not being…well, us. Then we’ll see how things are.”

“And then, we’ll…see?” 

She sighed. “Maybe. Jack, I need to eat something.” 

He watched as she took off for the lounge, probably to talk to Reilly. “Jack,” he muttered to himself, “boy, were you dumb. Let go of somethin’ good. Someday,” he said under his breath, “someday, maybe things will be different. Maybe we’ll be friends. Or, even, well…” he chuckled, “or even somethin’ more.” 

That was when he remembered the Rams game. “Need to find out if those jerks won,” he muttered. He finally went to call his bookie in the men's dressing room…but his eyes followed his slender ex-wife as she strolled down the hall. 

The End

Upcoming Stories and Projects

This is a list of stories I'm working on or are in the midst of developing. Keep in mind that this list can and will change depending on what I'm interested in and whatever else is going on in my life. 

Currently Working On: 

Match Game 1973 - 1982

Short Stories

Wedding Blank - Brett Somers and Jack Klugman, 1978

Acting Blank - Bill Cullen and Gene Rayburn, 1981

Change of Blank - Brett Somers, Charles Nelson Reilly, and Ross Schafer, 1990

Novels/Novellas/Chapter Stories

Richard Dawson: Wild Wild Blank (Alternative Universe - Western)

Original Short Stories for Children

Stories inspired by childhood memories, including:

Painting someone else's fence.

Little kids running through other people's yards when Mom and Dad aren't looking.

Beach frolics - walking home from the beach as a child.

Coming Up Next: 

Match Game 1973 - 1982

Short Stories

Fannie Flagg - Friendship Blank

Novels/Novellas/Chapter Stories

Gene Rayburn: Superhero Blank, Part I (Superhero/Fantasy/Sci-Fi)

Joyce Bulifant: The Wizard of Blank (Alternative Universe - Fantasy/The Wizard of Oz)

In Development: 

Match Game 1973 - 1982

Novels/Novellas/Chapter Stories

Brett Somers: Murder Is Blank (Alternative Universe - Film Noir/Mystery/Thriller)

Bill Cullen - Remember Blank (Alternative Universe - Comedy/Drama/Historical)

Richard Dawson: Spy Blank (Alternative Universe - Spy Thriller)

Richard Dawson: Singin' In the Blank (Alternative Universe - 1920's/Historical/Musical spoof)

McLean Stevenson: Raiders of the Lost Blank (Alternative Universe - Indiana Jones/Action)

Charles Nelson Reilly: Star Blank (Alternative Universe - Star Wars/Sci-Fi)

Betty White & Allen Ludden: Beauty and the Blank (Alternative Universe - Fairy Tales/Fantasy)

Gene Rayburn: A Christmas Blank (A Christmas Carol/Fantasy/Horror)

Gene Rayburn: Superhero Blank, Part II (Superhero/Fantasy/Sci-Fi)

Superhero Blank, Part III (Superhero/Fantasy/Sci-Fi)

Fannie Flagg/Ensemble - Freaky Blank (Fantasy)

Bill Daily

Debralee Scott

Marcia Wallace

Nipsey Russell

Elaine Joyce

Introduction - A Brett Somers Story: Blank In Wonderland

I know it's been a long, long time since I last posted anything here. I originally planned on doing a long Match Game western after Pirates of Blank, then a superhero story. They fell by the wayside when this idea caught me and wouldn't let go...and then I had a lot of personal problems and difficulty finding a place to live in late 2021 and early 2022 that often didn't leave me with time for extra writing, plus I came down with Covid around New Year's. 

I have, however, long been a fan of Alice In Wonderland and The Wizard of Oz. So's Brett Somers, who's holding an after-taping party for some of the panelists and her sons and Richard Dawson's. Her own mind is really on her ex-husband Jack Klugman and her feelings for them...and it'll lead her down a very strange rabbit hole populated by "weirdos" who seem very familiar...

Blank In Wonderland, Part 1

Rated: PG (fantasy violence)

Set: Wrap-around sequences set around August 1976

Alice was beginning to get very tired of sitting by her sister on the bank, and having nothing to do; once or twice she peeped she had peeped into book her sister was reading, but it had no pictures or conversations 'and what is the use of a book,' thought Alice, 'without pictures or conversations?'

“MOM! Mom, come on! Dad will be around to pick us up any minute! Come play croquet with us!” 

“Yeah, Brett,” snickered Charles Nelson Reilly next to her, “I want to see you play croquet.”

“Like you'd be any better. Did they have to mention their father, Charlie?” Brett Somers made a face and took another sip of iced tea with gin, pushing Alice In Wonderland aside. “I'm not looking forward to seeing him as it is, even just picking up the boys for the weekend. That's really why I invited the panelists to my place after the taping, to make me feel better.”

“Wish Gene and Mary Wickes could have come.” Gary yawned almost as widely as his tiny daughter in his lap. “Mary said she was spending the weekend with her grandkids, and Gene had to fly back to Cape Cod for some gardening event with Helen. Gene really would have livened up things. I can hear his bad Dracula imitations already.” 

“Brett,” Charles whispered softly as Gary returned to bouncing the fussy baby on his knee, “how are things...you know...going? With Jack and all?”

She sighed as she dropped the book on the faded wood patio table. “It's rough, Charles. Jack keeps trying to whittle down his alimony payments, and he wants half of everything we have. All we do when we're at court is fight. All we do when we're together is fight. It's like...he's not the man I knew when we were doing live TV twenty years ago and making out in the bathrooms at the theater. He just growls at me.”

Charles frowned. “And you growl back. I've heard you two fight. You've done it on the show.”

“Of course I growl back!” Brett's mouth tightened. “I don't take any of his guff, and he knows it. We're so competitive. It's part of...well, part of where the trouble comes from.”

Red and blue balls whizzed past her head. “Boys, be careful! Dickie, are you playing croquet, or are you playing baseball? That nearly took my nose off!”

Richard Dawson trotted over, his sons Gary and Mark fast on his heels, looking impeccable as ever in his white and blue sailor blouse. “Sorry, Brett, but I do think your nose would look better that way.”

“That's right, Miss Somers,” Gary added in a lilting voice that made him sound like a younger version of his father, “we didn't mean to hit it so hard! It got away from us.”

“Yeah, Mom.” Her son David, tall and lanky and dark-haired like her, ambled after them. “Croquet isn't my bag. I guess I don't know my own strength.”

“Your father always made that excuse. You're worse than he is sometimes.” She sighed. “Would you boys like some lemonade? You have to be hot and thirsty after your game.”

“Good idea, Mom.” Dave leaned his blue-ringed mallet against the nearest tree. “You guys want some lemonade? I know where it is in the fridge.” 

“Don't drink it all!” Brett yelled after the four boys as they trotted towards the door. “Us grown-ups might want a little too, you know!”

Richard settled on the ground next to her. “They'll be fine, Brett. I know my boys. They won't drink an entire pitcher that isn't theirs.”

“You may trust yours,” Brett muttered, “but I'm not sure about mine. I wish I could at least deal with David. It's not so hard with Adam. He didn't know his father when...well, when things were better. But Dave's older. He remembers the good times. He's so much like his father, so damn stubborn and grumpy all the time...”

Richard put a beefy brown hand on her shoulder. “Brett, I know we don't always get along, but I have been through a divorce. It was hard for me when Diana went back to England. It's still hard, but dating again has helped.”

“Dating...” Brett shook her head. “I haven't dated in almost two decades. I'm not even sure I know how to anymore. I'm just...too old for this, Dickie.”

“You? Too old?” Richard smirked as he sipped his lemonade. “Did I hear you admit you’re old?”

“No.” Brett gave him her most scathing mock-glare. “Some of us haven't been doing this for as long as you have.” She raised her eyebrow as a huge snore emerged from Gary at the picnic table. “You think we should wake up the little mouse over there? He's half-in the iced tea pot.”

“I'm sure his daughter will, sooner or later,” Richard chuckled. “Brett,” he added, his handsome tanned face becoming more serious, “if there's anything I can do, just tell me. I don't want you to be dragged through the mud like I was.”

“Dickie, that's very gallant of  you,” Brett started gently, “but I don't need a white knight to come to my rescue.” She sighed as Betty White and Allen Ludden strolled around her rose garden, admiring the red and white blooms hand in hand. “Look at those two. They're so crazy about each other, it's disgusting. Betty wonders why we're always teasing them on the show!”

“I think they're cute!” Charles sighed dreamily. “Someday, I'm going to find a guy who looks at me the way Allen and Betty look at each other.”

Richard snickered. “And what planet would he come from?”

Betty and Allen arrived just as Charles reached over to smack the chuckling Richard in the back of his head. “We seem to have arrived at an interesting time.” Betty's laugh tinkled like the water through the mini-fountain in the back of her yard. “Ok, ok, you two. No violence. I'm sure the boys are around somewhere. They don't need to see that.”

“They've probably seen worse on TV.” Allen nodded at the garden, the sun glowing on his wavy white hair and glasses as thick as Charles'. “How do you get your roses to grow like that? Those red and white roses especially. Betty and I are hoping to plant a rose garden when we move to Carmel after our house is completed. Do you paint them or something?”

“I must have your secrets!” Betty added with an impish grin. “Or I could take your head off!”

Brett smirked as she got to her feet. “I'd like to see you try! No, I don't paint them. Just give them lots of love and lots and lots of food and water. Here, I'll show you.” 

“That's all right. I was teasing.” Betty squeezed her husband's hand. “We really need to get going. Allen has to talk to Mark Goodson and Ira Skutch. I know Allen's working hard on Stumpers!, but they may be interested in reviving Password in a different format along with that.”

“I wish you luck,” Brett told her sincerely. “I know that's your baby, Allen. Hopefully Goodson is less of a stick-in-the-mud about your show than he is about Match Game. Gene told me he's pestering him again about being so comedy-oriented and not focusing on the game.”

Richard wrinkled his perfectly tanned nose. “The last time we focused on the game, we nearly went off the air. It’s comedy or nothing. I hope Ira can talk sense into Mr. Goodson. It's what he's best at, really. He certainly isn't much of a judge. If I had a dime for every time we had to argue for an answer that made sense, I'd be able to buy the damn studio.”

“He's just following the rules, Rich.” Allen sighed. “I don't envy him. He can't exactly use a dictionary, like the judge does for Password. It's not really his fault. It's how Goodson set up the game.”

Brett looked at her watch. “It's getting late. I have to make sure the boys are packed and ready to go. Charles, could you do me a favor and wake up Gary? He's still snoring back there.”

“Janet should be around soon with her car. Gary’s car is in the shop, and she had to run errands.” Charles stood and patted Brett's shoulder. “Want to go out for a drink after they leave?”

She sighed. “Yeah, Charles. I'll need it.”

“We'll see you later.” Betty gave Brett a hug. “Call me after the boys leave? We commiserate. Better yet, I'll join you and Charles. Allen's appointment will probably run over.” 

“Sure.” Brett looked over her shoulder. “The kids seem a little quiet in there. I'd better go see what they're up to, before they eat me out of house and home.”

The four boys were in the kitchen, gulping lemonade and stuffing potato chips in their mouths. “Hey,” Adam was saying, “let's see how many I can get in my mouth! Dave has the record so far.”

“That's nice to know.” Brett grabbed the potato chip bag. “Enough. You'll spoil your appetites for dinner.”

“Mom,” David complained, “we're just having fun. Dad will probably take us out for pizza or let us eat out of the fridge anyway. He was talking about taking us to the races...”

“I wish he wouldn't expose you to his vices.” Brett shook her head. “Gary, Mark, your dad's waiting for you. Time to go home. These two need to pack.”

“Mom,” Adam added as the younger boys rushed out the door, “can't you come with us?”

She sighed and made a face. “Sorry, kiddo. Your father and I...aren't getting along right now. It's best if I stay here.”

David slammed the refrigerator door shut. “Since when did you ever?”

“Hey!” Brett grabbed the refrigerator door before he could do it again. “That's not fair. Things have changed in the last few years, Davy. You know that.”

“Oh, come on, Mom!” He rolled his eyes. “You've always fought. You fight over everything!”

“Can you just come with us for a little while, Mom?” Adam pleaded with those big dark eyes that looked so much like Jack's. 

“I'm sorry, hon. I'm the last person your father wants to see.” She glared at David, who stuffed his mouth full of chips again. “While you're living in my house, you'll obey my rules.” She grabbed the bag. “Have you finished packing?”

“No.” He glared right back, enough to almost think she was looking in a masculine mirror. 

“Then get going.” She gave him a gentle shove. “Bad enough your father's already late. He should have been here to pick you up twenty minutes ago.” 

She peered out her front door, checking her watch. Still no Jack. Why couldn't any man in her life ever be on time? Even Charles almost never arrived on time for tapings. She was almost never late. Everyone could count on her to be on time for every taping, every rehearsal, every teacher conference and school play. 

I should have taken that as a sign, she thought bitterly as she peered out the front door. No Jack or that old red Ford Capri of his. You could probably hear that thing clopping along before you could see it. The dusty road outside their house was empty, except for the occasional rabbit or porcupine snuffling along or bright pink plastic flamingo being blown over.

“Mom?” David shuffled outside, dragging the battered duffel bag she gave him for a school trip two years ago. “When's Dad getting here?”

Adam frowned, adjusting the straps on his backpack. “Do you think he forgot about us?”

“He'd better not have.” Brett sighed. “Why don't you boys help me clean up the croquet game? That won't take very long.”

“All right,” David grumbled. “But only for a minute. Dad will be here soon.”

Richard and his boys were already gone by the time they went through the door and into the backyard. Charles tried to wake up Gary, who looked more like a mouse half-asleep in the iced tea pot. 

“Do you think Mr. Burghoff would be mad if we said Gina looked more like a little pig laying there than a kid?” Adam asked with a snicker as he gathered the wickets.

“Probably,” Brett chuckled. “But that doesn't mean it isn't true.”

Brett just picked up her copy of Alice In Wonderland and stuffed it under her arm when she swore she saw a flash of white darting around near the back fence. “Oh, my ears and whiskers!” it rambled. “I'm going to be so late! What will the Queen say? She'll say 'off with your head,' and they'll be no more White Rabbit, that's what she'll say! She'll be furious! And if the Red King finds out that I'm not playing the game his way, I'll be a stuffed rabbit on some child's bed!”

Ok, that was weird. Maybe it was her imagination, but that “rabbit” sounded a lot like Bill Daily, a jumpy sitcom actor who frequently sat next to her on the show. 

“Mom!” Adam darted over. “I swear I just saw a giant White Rabbit wearing a fancy blue coat with a lot of brass buttons and carrying a pocket watch!”

“We must have dreamed it.” Dave's eyebrows made almost the same incredulous expression as his mother's. “Rabbits don't talk, and they don't sound like Bob Newhart's weird neighbor.”

“Boys,” Brett said as she dropped the book on the chair, “I'm going to investigate. You stay here and wait for your father.”

“No way!” David forged ahead. “We're not sitting around and letting you do everything! I want to see this, too. Dad will wait.”

“Yeah!” Adam grinned, tugging her along. “This isn't something you see outside of cartoons. Maybe he knows Bugs Bunny.”

The rabbit kept muttering nervously, right up to the rose bushes on the edge of her property. “How did he fit in there?” David muttered as he managed to hop right in and disappear.

“I don't know.” Brett frowned. “We don't need to be trespassing.” 

“Mom, live a little! We may never get to do this again!” Her oldest son dropped on his knees and crawled under the brambles. His brother followed him easily.

“Boys,” Brett called out, “stay with me! I don't want you getting lost back there, or running into poison ivy or something.” She dropped to the grass and scooted under the brambles.

The brambles that grew wild along the fence were a maze of scratchy limbs and thorns that stuck her and grabbed at her pink flowered blouse and white shorts. Why did she have to wear that gauzy blouse, anyway? It ripped if you sneezed wrong. “Boys, wait!” She tugged through, wincing as the thorns scratched her head. “Of all the times to wear my real hair...”

She was so busy keeping up with the boys, she didn't notice where her hands were going. “Boys?” She called. “Bill? Bill Daily, if this is a joke, it stopped being funny two minutes ago! Boys, where are you? Boys?” She scrabbled along the pebbly ground, her hands scraping against the hard dirt. “Boys? Bill? Charles? Gary? Bill, what's going on...yiiiiiiiiii!”

The hard dirt suddenly gave way as the ground sloped so far downwards, she couldn't stop herself from slipping. Grabbing at the dirt and roots only made it scrabble further. The ground finally crumbled all together, sending her tumbling into the darkness. 

Blank In Wonderland, Part 2

She had no idea how long she fell, or where. She swore she passed by many of the props in Studio City on her way, including microphones and the empty food cart. They might have been there. It was hard to tell when she fell so fast!

“Oof!” She landed hard on a pile of soft leaves. It took a few minutes for her to regain her breath and figure out where she was. “Boys? David? Adam? Where are you? Bill? Mr. Rabbit? Damn it,” she grumbled at the hole in her elbow, “and I like this blouse, too.” Patting her hair revealed a number of leaves and twigs trapped in the ebony curls, which she hastily dislodged.

The alcove opened into a long hallway, like the ones between studios at Television City. It had the same too-bright track lighting and yellowing white paint from when it was built. All she could see were doors, doors, and more doors along the worn gray industrial carpeting. Most of the doors were normal human size, except the tiny metal gate at the end. She swore she saw a rabbit slide through there, but it could have been her imagination. 

“This seems strangely familiar.” She raised an eyebrow as a key and a bottle of brown liquid in a crystal jar appeared on the table in a small flash of light. “Ok, now I know it's familiar. The only way I can follow that rabbit and find my boys is to drink this and get small, right?” Her finger tapped on a label attached to the bottle with a piece of string. “It even says 'drink me.'” Drinking anything wasn't exactly a problem for her. “Ok, down the hatch!”

Her first chug revealed a flavor that...wasn't bad. Pretty close to brandy, but with an odd fruity note. Bourbon? Not full enough. Gin? Maybe with a little Hawaiian Punch? 

“Oohhhh...” She nearly swooned into the tiny glass table. “I don't feel so good. I knew that was one drink too many...” Her stomach churned as her limbs seemed to have a life of their own. Her arms and legs lengthened first, then her fingers and toes. Her knees would have dwarfed every skyscraper in LA, and her nose was bigger than even Jack's. 

“Good gravy Marie!” she yelped as her head hit the ceiling. “Ow! Damn it, I knew that was a bad idea!” She slammed her fist into the tiles, bringing down several bits of asbestos on her head. “Ouch! Now how the hell am I going to get out of here? Damn it! Damn it to all hell!”

She couldn't help herself. Big tears gushed out in great waterfalls before she could stop them. “I'll never find the boys! I'm stuck down here! How the hell will I find clothes and shoes that fit? And what will Jack think when we're all gone? Serves him right for being late! Big idiot probably got stuck in traffic on the Ventura Freeway...”

She cried so much and for so long, a massive pool of salty liquid formed around her gigantic feet. “Oh great,” she wailed, “I'm the only person in the entire world who could create the Pacific Ocean by bawling!” Her hand wiped across her eyes and nose. “Wish I brought a handkerchief. Hope I didn't ruin my mascara. I'd never hear the end of it from Charles if I showed up looking like a drenched rat in a rainstorm.”

At that moment, one of the doors slammed. The White Rabbit dashed along, still muttering under his breath. “I'm late! I'm so terribly late! I don't want to lose my head! It would make it awfully hard to eat carrots. The Queen loves animals – at least I'm not a human, or a card! It would be terrible. But that Red King...if I'm late with his invitation...oh! I could be sent to feed the Jabberwock, or worse, lose my muchness!”

“Excuse me?” Even Brett was surprised at how much her voice boomed in that small room. “Mr. Rabbit...Bill...could you, er, lend me a paw here? I'm really having trouble getting down...”

Bill the White Rabbit stopped on a dime, which couldn't have been easy with his big bunny feet. He turned slowly around, took one look at the gigantic, sobbing woman behind him, and let out the loudest scream she ever heard before taking off down the part of the hall that wasn't flooded.

“Oh, damn.” She made a face. “I didn't mean to scare him! Even as a rabbit, Bill's a nervous Nellie. Hey,” she added, noticing two white objects lying on the drier part of the floor, “what's this?”

Her fingers rubbed around tiny white silk gloves with black stitching over the knuckles. “They look more like what Mickey Mouse or Bugs Bunny wear.” Next to them was a rather attractive little fan, printed with tiny bunnies and flowers. “Well,” she panted as she snapped the fan open, “it is kind of warm in here, though that might be my hot flashes. I doubt he'd mind if I used this for a minute...”

She fluttered the fan around her face. It didn't really make her cooler...but she did feel herself shrinking the more she used it. “Good gravy Marie!” The fan and gloves dropped into the salty waters as her arms and legs squashed together. “I think I almost fanned myself out of existence!” She dropped into the water with a splash the second she regained control of her limbs.

At least the Pool of Tears was warm and pretty easy to navigate. “Wish I hadn't cried so much,” Brett muttered. “Jack's always going on about me being a drama queen, but this is ridiculous!” Thank goodness she learned to swim at that little pond on her family's farm in Maine. She easily stroked her way over to a large open heating vent on the end of the room and paddled in.

Blank In Wonderland, Part 3

The world she emerged to was very different from her backyard...or Burbank, for that matter. Waters from the pool flowed down a small waterfall that eventually became a lazy river. Soft grass like emeralds, sun yellow sands, and towering trees and flowers in the brilliant rainbow shades of a MGM Technicolor  musical dominated the landscape. It almost hurt her bad eyes just to look at it.

“Uh, excuse me!” She called out to the first creature who paddled past her. She never saw a mouse that size. It was big as her, and awfully skinny for a mouse, with soft pale gold fur and big blue eyes. “Hey there, Miss Mouse, do you know where this is going?”

It kept swimming, ignoring her. “Uh, hello? Miss Mouse? Any ideas? You're swimming like you're on the run from a cat or something!”

The mouse gave her a scathing look that definitely wasn't something she'd ever seen on Minnie Mouse! “If you were me,” she said in a tiny squeaky little girl voice, “you'd be terrified of cats, too! Cats, dogs...they all think we're breakfast! I've had to defend six brothers and sisters who lost tails or arms or legs or their lives to those horrid creatures!”

“Defend?” She raised an eyebrow. “You're a legal mouse?”

“Of course!” she squeaked smugly. “First in my family. Eagles are usually the lawyers in Wonderland, but if a bird, why not a mouse, I figured?”

“Uh,” Brett interrupted, “you wouldn't know where there's land anywhere nearby, would you?”

If a talking mouse wasn't enough, a dodo...or at least, she thought it was a dodo...paddled past them. It had darker feathers than she saw on old pictures of dodos, with a black curly feathered top and a long beak that formed a great big grin. “Hello, gorgeous girls!” He actually smirked with a beak. “I know a dyn-o-mite piece of land where we can dry off.”

“But quietly!” The mouse insisted. “Jimmie, you know what'll happen if...he...hears! We have to play the game his way, or we'll be sent to Limbo or lose our muchness.”

“How can he hear?” Jimmie the Dodo let out a squawk that might have been laughter. “He's miles away from here in Looking Glass World! Now, you lovely ladies follow me, and we'll get you all dried and beautiful! Or at least,” he gave them one last smirk, “almost as beautiful as me.”

Brett never saw such a motley crew of animals dragging themselves out of the river. A handsome Eagle with sleek black and white feathers shook himself and chased a pretty duck with curling reddish feathers and a fine strong beak. The lory parrot couldn't stop giggling at the birds' antics, shaking her fluffy scarlet and green feathers with every high-pitched guffaw. 

“Animals of Wonderland,” Jimmie the Dodo announced, waving his stubby wings, “you will all settle down and listen to the sad story of our own Miss Sarah Mouse-dy now! She's gonna tell all of you why us birds and little guys hate things that have sharp teeth.”

“Now,” said little Sarah, “I come from a long line of great mice, who came over with William the Conqueror and Edwin and Morticar. We were the first on the boat, you know, and even then, we were lucky to...”

“This is sooo boring!” The scarlet-feathered Lory leaned over and whispered loudly to Brett. “So, what do they call you where you flew in from? They usually call me Kaye.”

“Brett,” she whispered in a softer tone, “and I think you ought to shush. Sarah's giving you the worst look I ever saw outside of my hus...ex-husband.” 

Sarah's blue button eyes narrowed. “Did you two talk?”

Kaye coughed and looked innocent. “Not I, kiddo! I just, er, laughed!” She proceeded to let loose with another wild giggle that grated on Brett's ears. Boy, does she remind me of someone...and she's just as annoying as a human. Sarah too, come to think of it...

“Ehh, Kaye's right,” squeaked a fluffy brown squirrel with an accent that closely resembled Charles, but a much longer nose and a bushy tail. “This isn't getting us dry. I could be doing other things, you know, like getting the story on that Red King and finding what he's got against us.”

“Not unless you feel like ending up in his tower, or Limbo, Robert.” Jimmie shuddered. “I, for one, don't want to get anywhere near that dude. He's bad news, man.”

“Who is he?” Brett tugged her tattered blouse around her shoulders. “I heard the White Rabbit mumbling about a Red King, too. What does he do that's so terrible?”

“He's the worst guy in the Under Kingdoms,” said the Eaglet, who hastily added that his name was Bart. “He and his Red Chess Army storm into any party or even slightly fun gathering, arrest all the occupants, and take their muchness.”

“Or sends them to Limbo,” Kaye snorted. 

Brett raised an eyebrow. “Their what?”

“Their...well, Wonderland-ness,” Sarah squeaked nervously. “Their ability to speak or think. They have to follow his rules...and he has so many rules!”

“Limbo,” said a grouchy gray and brown Mama Crab, “is the Limbo Realm. That's where nothing grows and no one ever escapes. His Jabberwocky's there. Kind of like a dragon. Eats everything it gets its claws on.”

Brett shivered and wiped salty droplets off her brow as a breeze floated over the river. “This isn't drying me off,” she grumbled. “It's just depressing. There has to be another way to get dry.”

Jimmie the Dodo waved a glossy wing at an old oak with pinkish-green leaves near-by and gave them another wide grin. “Hey man, how about a Caucus Race?”

“A what?” Brett raised an eyebrow. “How would a race get you dry?”

“The best way to explain it,” Jimmie went on, “is to do it.” He, Debralee the Duck, and Robert the Squirrel set up rocks in the rough shape of a circle around the tree. “Ok, everybody in the circle!” They all jumped in anywhere they pleased, and without so much as a “ready, set, go,” began running.

They ran for at least a half-hour, sometimes running into each other, sometimes bumping into the tree or falling over. Brett had no idea how she was doing or when it was over, but it did the trick. After about a half-hour, she was much drier and having the time of her life chasing them all around. 

Bart kept jumping on Debralee the Duck, with her nipping or pushing him back, before they just rolled on the grass laughing. Robert the Squirrel leaped on people from the branches. Sarah darted under legs.  The two crabs pinched behinds and showed everyone how to bend over and walk on their hands and feet side to side. Kaye spent most of her time leaning against the tree, pointing and laughing at everyone's antics. 

“I might have to try this when I get home,” Brett puffed as she tapped Jimmie on the shoulder. “I could have the boys run races in the yard after they've been in the pool instead of dirtying towels. By the way, you're it.” 

“I still say,” Sarah squeaked, “that we should be a little quieter. What if the Red King hears us?”

“Relax!” Jimmie waved his wing dismissively. “Nothin's gonna happen. Besides, we have a reporter, a lawyer, and a human lady on our side. He wouldn't dare attack us!”

“Hey,” said Mama Crab, “maybe it's just an old lady, but I thought I heard a horn in the distance.”

“No, it's not you,” Kaye squawked. The horn blast sounded distinctly like the theme of To Tell the Truth. “I hear it, too. And...” she stood as racing hooves became more distinct. “Thunder? It's loud enough to be thunder. But there's human voices...”

“I knew it!” Sarah's horrified squeak nearly ruptured Brett's ear drums. “He found us! We have to run! I told you we broke the rules!”

“Who found us?” Brett's query fell into empty air. The squirrel shimmied up the tree and disappeared into the swirly reddish-green leaves. The mouse dug a hole in the caucus race course. Birds flapped their wings to prepare for take-off.

All Brett could see at first were black and red blurs charging across the sandy marshes, their thundering hooves shaking the ground and sending most of them to the dirt. She'd barely gotten to her feet when she was up to her flowered shoulders in knobby fur-covered legs and giant bodies with red blankets. It took every ounce of strength she had to jump out of their way.

The horses' riders wore red armor the color of gushing blood and carried swords, axes, and lances. They looked like King Arthur and his Round Table boys in Camelot, only Brett suspected Franco Nero and Richard Harris weren't under that armor. The knights trapped the larger animals in strong rope nets, then threw them into iron cages dangling from poles between horses. Any animals who fought vanished with a wave of the scepter. 

Towering over everyone was a massive brute in dirty scarlet armor. It was crusted in dust and swamp muck and smelled like Adam's dirty socks left in the sun to ripen. His sword flashed over several animals...and though he blocked them from view, she was sure they didn't move again. When the Eaglet fought him, he yanked him by his beak and tossed him and the Lory into the last cage. 

“That'll hold ya,” crowed an all-too familiar grouchy gravelly voice. “At least 'til we get to the Red Castle, and the Boss deals with 'ya. And oh boy, when he deals with you, you'll wish you've never been born.” The smirk in his voice chilled her to the bone, despite the warm sunlight flooding the marsh.

“Good, my Red Knight.” Her eyes widened as another figure rode into the clearing. “You've done very well here. Rounded up some more law-breakers to work in my empire. They know how to play the game. They know the rules. Animals should be seen, not heard. And if they don't, they'll make fine Jabberwocky bait in Limbo.” 

He wasn't a tall man, or an ugly one. In fact, he was a cute middle-aged guy. White-blond hair, deceptively twinkly mile-long smile, slender little nose, red zig-zag chess king crown, watch studded with diamonds and rubies, the most expensive scarlet summer suit on the market. And the smooth high-pitched tenor gave it away.

“Now, my Red Knight,” her boss Mark Goodson...or his double...went on, “what are those,” he pointed at the sobbing animals who'd been herded against the tree, “doing here? They're too small to play the game. I think they'll make excellent toys.”

“Sure, boss,” the Red Knight said in that raspy Philadelphia growl that sent shock waves through her tender heart. “Whatever you say. You gonna use the scepter, then?”

“Jack!” Brett gasped, her eyes wide and her voice barely a whisper. “Jack Klugman, it can't be you! You wouldn't do this!” She tried to climb his horse's leg, but the fur was slick and sweaty, and she kept slipping on her rear. “You're supposed to be on the Ventura Freeway driving to my house, not abusing innocent animals!” They couldn't hear her under the horses' rears. 

“Of course,” the Red King said amiably. He waved a long red wand topped with a glowing ball over the shivering, screaming small animals. The moment the dark red light touched them, they...contracted. Their voices died as they shrank and ceased moving. Brett jumped back as a stuffed yellow mouse that moments ago was a living, breathing creature fell against her. It still felt warm to the touch, but its button eyes – real buttons – were glassy and cold.

“No!” She couldn't help the scream. “NO! What have you done? Jack...if that is you up there...are you crazy? How could you let him do this? We were only drying off!”

“I think,” the Red King leered, “that is check and match for me. I win again.”

“You always win. They gotta learn the only way to play the game is your way. Hey Boss,” The Red Knight continued in his raspy voice, “did you hear somethin'? It's comin' from down there.” He pointed a gloved finger at the ground.

“You must be hearing things, my Knight.” His icy chuckle could have frozen the Pacific in June. “It's likely the wind. Or there's more of these creatures around. Why don't you see if we've cleared the area? There may be a few more rule-breakers hiding in the trees and bushes.”

“Jack...if that is you...do you know where your sons are?” Brett yelled upwards. “They're too much like you. I can't keep track of them.” She tugged on the silky black horse's tail, but he just swatted her away. “Jack, I won't leave this place without you and them!”

“Come on, doll!” Jimmie the Dodo grabbed her hand with a squawk. “We've gotta get outta here! This place suddenly got a little too hot for the Black Prince, if you know what I mean.”

“Jimmie,” she puffed as they dashed under cover of the scrub bushes, “what happened there? Who was that jerk? What's he got against Caucus Races?”

“Brett, man, the Red King has a list of rules longer than the tree back there. 'Don't have parties,' 'don't laugh,' 'focus on the game.'” Jimmie pushed her under a bush. “Good thing we're out of his domain. His rules ain't got no truck in Wonderland. He's in charge of Looking Glass World.” 

“Remind me never to go there,” She jumped over roots and walked under massive red and orange-dotted mushrooms. “Jimmie, I'm looking for my boys. Two human kids, one taller and looks a little like me, one shorter and looks like the Red Knight, but cuter. Have you seen them?”

“I haven't been lookin' for human kids.” Jimmie rubbed the area under his beak. “I know who could help ya, though. I'm friends with a hip caterpillar who lives under the giant red and white mushroom in the next clearing over. He has a shop there that sells all kinds of advice and poetry and mind-blowing fungi. He'll be able to help ya find those boys an' figure out where you're goin'. I'll find the White Knight. He's the White King's main boy and the protector of the under-lands. He'll know how to deal with these bad dudes.”

“Thanks, Dodo.” She gave him a kiss on his beak. “You're not bad, for an extinct animal.” 

He grinned and managed to turn red under his feathers. “Oh brother, I am never washing this beak again!” 

She watched him crash into the bushes, squawking and making more noise than traffic on the LA Freeway at rush hour. “Now I understand why dodos went extinct,” she chuckled. “If that doesn't give him away, the Red King is blind, deaf, and dumb.”

Blank In Wonderland, Part 4

Thankfully, considering she knew nothing about the area, it wasn't hard to find the mushroom Jimmie described. It stood taller than any of the other mushrooms growing out of the moss and tall grasses in the swamp. Green and purple trees with graceful curved limbs draped with Spanish moss gave the area the look of a fairy kingdom from one of her daughter's childhood storybooks. 

To her surprise, the big red mushroom had windows on the front and a door in the stalk. Cigarettes, wicker baskets of mushrooms and herbs, and books of poetry filled the windowsills. The scent of incense and herbal remedies drifted out of the tiny chimney. 

“Well, at least it looks inviting,” Brett murmured. “Kind of like a head shop in West LA.” 

Her first impression when she stepped inside was the place was a lot bigger than it looked from the outside. The cylindrical space was jammed with dusty books of poetry and philosophy on the twig shelves, fruity herbs hanging from ceilings and counters, and baskets of mushrooms on every surface. The caterpillars, birds, and random chipmunk resting on purple corduroy bean bag chairs all wore baggy floral blouses and neon pantsuits closer to the hippies on Sunset Boulevard than Victoriana, though a few of the birds sported lacy long-skirted sundresses. 

“Hey there, lady mine,” the largest, darkest caterpillar slid behind the counter. “You sure are lookin' mighty fine.” She swore that the caterpillar, with his funky suit, slightly goofy grin, and black curly skin on top, looked a bit like “poet laureate” Nipsey Russell, a comedian and poet who often sat next to her on the show. 

She made a face. “After falling down that hole and taking a salt bath, I'm not sure...” To her shock, when she looked down at herself, she now wore a fringed suede vest and hip hugging bell bottom trousers. Floral sleeves floated around her hands; a piece of suede rope held back her now-longer black and silver curls. “Ok, so I didn't know the hippie look worked for me. And Jack says my hips are getting too wide for these pants! What does he know?” 

“Ma'am,” he drawled, “who are you?”

She made a face. That voice was entirely too familiar. “Nipsey, I thought you were out of town. You know darn well who I am!”

“I may, ma'am,” he went on in his slow Georgia tenor, “but who are you?”

“Honestly,” she sighed, “between the new outfit and what I've been through over the past few hours, I'm not sure anymore. Not to mention, there's everything going on with Jack. Nipsey, have you seen my boys around? I just want to find them and get out of here, before my Jack comes home and finds us gone.”

“Explain yourself, lady.”

“I wish I could!” Brett admitted. “I can't really explain myself, 'cause I'm not myself right now, see?”

Nipsey took a drag on...well, Brett hoped it was a cigarette, despite the sweet smell. “No, darlin', I don't see.” 

“Look, Nipsey, I've been about three or four different sizes since I came down here,” she growled. “Maybe you're used to changing from a caterpillar into a cocoon, but I'm not. It's gonna be really weird when you start changing into a butterfly.”

He took a long drag on that cigarette. “I don't think it is, lady.”

She rolled her eyes. “Ok, I can see I won't get anywhere with you in this state. Have you seen Adam and David? They came down here right before I did, but I can't seem to find them anywhere.”

“Oh, yeah.” He tapped the cigarette out on an ashtray, ignoring her cough as the smoke curled around her. “Before I tell you, I want you to recite.”

Brett raised an eyebrow. “Recite what? I'm not the poet you are.”

“Whatever comes to mind.”

“Ok,” she muttered. “What can I remember from the original Alice book? Wish I finished it before I came down here.” 

She started in on the “How doth the little crocodile” poem, or what she thought sounded like it, when he cut in. “Look, lady, that's not how it's done.” 

“Oh yeah? Then tell me how you recite that poem, Langston Hughes?"

“I've read the book.” He stood with his cigarette, looking for all the world like he was a microphone short of being in Vegas. “Ahem. 'This is how you play the game, and playing it is quite a shame. The king commands your life, and he'll take it with magic and a knife. If you're gonna act like a bimbo, he'll toss your legs in Limbo.”

“Nipsey,” Brett shuddered, “I like it better when you're joking about what Nixon did a few years ago.” She made a face. “Ok, I recited. Have you seen my boys, or haven't you?”

He wrinkled his greenish-brown brow. “Yeah. Couple of human kids. One tall, one short, the tall one hasn't pupated yet and his voice cracks every five minutes? Yeah, I saw them. They were lookin' for you. 'Bout a half-hour ago, actually. They went into the forest after that crazy White Rabbit.” 

“That's the good news.” She groaned and looked down at herself. “The bad news is, how in the hell will I find them at this size? They're taller than I am now, for heaven's sake! Six inches is a wretched height!”

He took another drag, glaring at her. “Lady, I don't see anything wrong with it. I'm exactly six inches. It's a perfect height.”

“Maybe it is for you,” Brett snapped. “But it's not for me! I'm not used to it!”

“You?” He blew that colored smoke in his face again. “Who are you?”

“Oh, forget it! Whatever you're taking is fogging your brain.” She stormed off, slamming the door after her. 

“Hey!” He poked his head out the door. “Hey lady! Hey! Come back!”

She slowly turned around a few inches from the path into the woods. “What?”

“Keep your temper, man. You're ruining our good karma here.”

“Is that all?”

“You know,” he went on, “if you wanna control what height you are in this joint, I can help ya. One side will make you grow bigger, n' the other will shrink ya more.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Which side of what?”

He held out two baskets. “My mushroom, of course. I sell these to help the locals keep track of what size they are, but man, you're havin' so many problems with it, I'm givin' you a one-time-only free offer. The mushroom from one basket will make you grow taller, an' the other will make you grow shorter.” 

“Yeah,” Brett asked as she took two large pieces of mushroom out of the baskets, “but which side is which?” When she looked up to ask Nipsey, he and the baskets vanished. “Nipsey? Hey, where did you go?” The mushroom no longer had doors or windows; it was just a polka-dot mushroom.

“Well,” she muttered as she bit into one mushroom. “Looks like the only way I'll figure this out is to try it.”

No sooner did she bite into a mushroom than her head somehow burst over the trees! “Whoa! Damn it, that's not what I wanted,” she yelped as her nose hit a cloud.

“Oh, my lord!” gasped a red wren with fluffy straight feathers and a familiar voice. “Snake! Snake up here!”

“Snake!” Brett yelped indignantly. “Do I look like a snake to you? I'm a human woman!”

“The very idea,” squawked the bird like she didn't hear, “raising five eggs all your life, only for snakes to pop up in the sky...”

“Lady, please,” Brett snapped, “calm down. I'm a human woman looking for her own fledglings. You wouldn't have seen two boys while flying, would you?”

She glared at her. “And I suppose they eat eggs too?”

“Well, we do,” she started carefully, “but that's not the point here. You're a mother. You understand how I feel...”

“SNAKE!” The bird shrieked again, buzzing around her head. “SNAKE!” 

“And maybe you don't.” She managed to tug the other mushroom out of her pocket. “This must be the one that lowers you. Here I go!”

And...whoosh! When she opened her eyes and the world stopped spinning, she was back to her usual height. “Oh, thank god!” She hugged herself. “I'm never going to complain about being too tall or skinny ever again, or tease Marcia about it!”

The wren shrieked again, settling her eggs on a branch. “So,” she said calmly, as if she'd never screamed in Brett's ear, “you really are a human. Sorry about the mistake. What were you doing up there?”

“Trying to get back to my right size.” She eyed the bird as it settled on her shoulder. “Say, have you seen my boys? They should be their right sizes...unless they drank that bottle back in the hall, too.”

“Sorry,” she chirped rather bossily, “but I've been tending to my eggs all day.” Her voice dropped to a chirpy whisper as the patter of hoppity-hopping feet could be heard from the path. “Why don't you ask him?”

“Oh goodness,” groaned Bill Daily the White Rabbit as he hopped past them. “Where could I have put them? I must have them! I'll never get through the game without them! What will the Queen say? And what about the Red King? The Queen will have my head...and the Red King will have my muchness, or I'll be Jabberwocky food! I have to find them!” 

The bird took off as he almost hopped straight into Brett. “Well..whoa!” He knocked her back a foot, leaving both of them breathless. “What in the...” He wiggled his pink nose and waggled a tiny paw in her face. “Carol! Carol, what are you doing here?”

“Carol?” Brett made a face. “Bill, are you confusing your roles again? I'm not your maid or secretary. Bob Newhart is at the Disney studio recording his voice for that mouse movie he's doing with Eva Gabor, and I look nothing like Marcia Wallace!” 

“Carol!” he demanded, ignoring her protests, “go home and fetch my gloves and fan this instant! I just got my invitation to the Queen and King of Hearts' croquet game in the garden. I can't get there without them. Shoo! Shoo! Move along!” He managed to swat her elbow and shove her along before dashing in the opposite direction.

“Good gravy Marie!” Brett groaned. “This is getting ridiculous. I'll be taking orders from one of Betty's poodles or that furry mountain Dickie calls a St. Bernard next!” 

Blank In Wonderland, Part 5

The tiny Craftsman cottage sitting on the hill was actually rather picturesque. It was more like her own little bungalow, with sky blue paint and a sharp-pitched roof. Pretty pink shutters and a lovely garden filled with carrots and cabbages completed the scene. “I didn't know Bill had such good taste,” she murmured as she entered the neat little home. “I figured he'd be a lot messier.”

She made her way upstairs, passing a lot of cute bunny-themed pink and white furniture. “Hmm,” she muttered as she entered a tiny office, with its wide whitewashed fireplace and polished oak desk with brass trim she would have killed for. “Wonder where the fussy idiot keeps his gloves?” Riffling through the drawers only revealed flight plans and the usual paperwork. A glass jar of glistening hard candies perched on a small side table near the window. “Ehh, he won't notice if one's missing,” Brett chuckled as she pulled out a glossy purple lump.

The moment she swallowed the mouthful, she knew she'd done the wrong thing. “Oh no!” she groaned as he arms and legs shot across the floor, “not again! I thought I had control over this!” Voices could be heard screaming outside as her head hit the ceiling. “Ouch! Damn it, where's that mushroom?” She tried to reach for her pocket, but her hands were stuck in the windows. Twisting them only left her with sore hands and broken window panes. “Bill,” she yelled out the nearest window, “I swear, when I get home, I'll send you a check for the house! You should put warnings on that candy, not leave it out where people can eat it!”

“My house!” Bill shrieked the second he saw the giant hands. “My beautiful house! Look at it! Monster! MONSTER! Someone help, there's a monster in my house! Oh, help!”

She managed to peer out the side windows. “Hey boys,” she yelled back, “what about me? Anyone want to toss me up some cakes or something, so I can shrink again?”

“You're not eating me,” Bill wailed, “you...you monster, you! PAT!” He leaned over the garden, where a short body with a familiar long face and bow tie over a checked sweater vest dug in a bare dirt patch. “Pat, I need your help! There's a monster in my house! You're a handy-pig. Tell me how to get rid of it! What are you doing, anyway?”

“Her,” Brett corrected. “I'm a her, and I'm NOT a monster! I'm a perfectly normal woman who happens to be having a lot of growth problems right now!” 

Pat...who closely resembled Pat Harrington with pig's ears and a pink snout...popped up from his dirt. “Sorry, I was digging for apples.” He climbed over the fence, his eyes widening when he caught sight of Brett. “Holy moly, pal, you've got one hell of a problem here! How'd that get in your house?”

“I don't know!” The White Rabbit wailed. “One minute, it was like it usually is, and the next...poof! Monster!”

“She's a big one, isn't she?” Something sharp and heavy poked at her fingers. She shoved it angrily away. “Mean, too. You're going to have problems with this one.”

She shifted stiffly as she tried to keep her right foot from doing worse damage to his couch. “I'll give you problems if you continue to refer to me like that! My name is Brett, and I'm not a monster!”

“Yeah,” Pat could be heard saying, “it's an arm all right, pal. Long sucker.”

“Would you do something?” Bill wailed. “I've got to get in there and find my gloves and fan. I'm going to be late for the Queen's croquet game! I don't want to lose my head, or run into the Red King!”

“And we can't do that, or we're all going to end up in the nearest toy shop.” Pat poked at her again. This time, she shoved him away. His fur and soft cotton vest were sleek and smooth under her rough fingers. “Oww! Hey!” There was a crunch and a smash. “Sorry, Billy boy! Didn't mean to land us in the cabbages!”

“Ohhhh, my poor cabbages! My beautiful garden!” Bill wailed, now sounding more like fussy Rabbit from the Winnie the Pooh books. “We have to get her out of here, before she destroys my house!”

Her ears pricked as someone singing country music could be heard from the road. “What in the...” Damn, that voice was familiar. “Wait...Bill Anderson? Whisperin' Bill?” It had to be. No one else could have crooned “World of Make Believe” with a voice somewhere between amused and sincere. 

“Bill!” Pat called. “If you ain't too busy with that guitar of yours, could you lend us a hand or a foot here? We have a little problem.”

“Well, I sure can try.” Yeah, it was Bill Anderson, a country singer who'd appeared on the show a few times. She'd know that Jimmy Stewart aw-shucks drawl of his anywhere. “So boys, what's the problem? Other than than the giant hands wavin' out the windows, that is.” He twanged his instrument. “You know, there might be a song in that. 'Giant hands out the windows...'”

“Bill,” Brett yelled sharply, “now is not the time to compose another number one hit! Now is the time to figure out how you can get me back to my normal size! I can't reach the mushrooms like this!”

“Actually, Miss Monster,” Bill drawled, “you probably could reach the mushrooms in the garden...”

“Could we forget about that?” Pat shoved Bill at the nearest garden ladder. “Go in there and get rid of her!”

“Well, all right,” Bill started climbing. “If you think it'll really do something.”

Brett narrowed her eyes as he clutched the rings and climbed into the chimney. “Oh no. You are not coming in here to try anything!” She kicked her sandal-clad foot into the fireplace as hard as she could, sending a cloud of dust into the air...along with a lot of western-accented screaming.

She managed to lean into the open window in time to catch a lanky figure in sooty, scaly green suede shooting into the air, finally landing with a crash in the White Rabbit's bushes. “Mr. Anderson!” Pat wailed as he and Bill the White Rabbit dug him out of the broken branches. “You really flew there for a minute! That monster sure had your number!”

“I thought...” Bill puffed, “I thought I was dead and gone! I thought I saw heaven up there. I thought...I thought it would make a terrific song. I want to do it again!”

“Don't even think about it!” Brett squawked in horror from the house. “Once was enough!”

“Fellas,” Bill Anderson drawled, “I think we're gonna need more help n' just the three of us. Maybe we ought to call the local knights or somethin. The White Knight always knows how to fix everythin'.”

The rabbit took off down the dusty path as fast as his fluffy feet could carry him. Brett struggled to grab at mushrooms or carrots or anything that could shrink her, stretching as far as her fingers could go. “Could you boys hand me one of those?” she asked, pointing downwards at a carrot. “If eating mushrooms could make me grow, maybe one of those could bring me down to size.”

“No, miss, sorry.” Pat pushed her hand away. “My pal needs those carrots, and I eat 'em with my slop.”

Just as her neck started cramping from peering out the window and she thought she was stuck in that little house forever, the sounds of a blaring trumpet rattled the leaves and made Bill and Pat jump into each other's furry arms. “The Black Prince found him!” Jimmie the Dodo waddled down the path first, somehow managing to grin widely with a beak. “I found him, man! Here he is,” he waved his wing at the sounds of clopping hooves, “the protector of Wonderland, the Ace of the cards, the greatest player in the history of the under-worlds, the man himself, the White Knight!”

The last thing she expected was an entire entourage, led by a short man riding a majestic snowy-white steed with a blue velvet blanket printed with spades. The White Knight was the opposite of the slovenly Red Knight in every way possible. Snowy armor and a horse-head helmet shone so brightly in the afternoon sun, they nearly blinded her. Three men dressed as playing cards and two teen boys in white chain mail guarded his rear. He carried a gleaming sword with a finely etched silver hilt. 

“Mr. White Knight! Oh, Mr. Knight!” The White Rabbit rambled as he followed Jimmie and nearly dragged him off his horse. “You have to do something! There's a...a...monster in my house, and it won't leave! We don't know how to get rid of it!”

“A monster?” The Knight's faintly British tenor sounded fairly amused. “Looks more like a giant lady's hand to me.”

“Bless you, sir, whomever you are!” She managed to shake one of his gloved hands with her finger. “You seem a lot smarter than these noodle-brains. This clodhopper,” she nudged Bill the White Rabbit so hard with her middle finger, he fell over into his garden, “left out candies that made me shoot up in size, and now I can't reach the mushrooms to make me smaller!”

“See?” The White Rabbit wailed as three cards helped him to his feet. “She's a monster! Huge! She attacked me! You know what I'm going to do? I'm going to...burn this house down! That'll get her out! Yeah, that's what I'll do!”

Pat reached for two wooden stakes that used to hold up bean vines in his garden. “Here, sir! These should work for a start. Got a match, Mr. Knight?”

“Dad,” said one of the boys with a familiar piping voice, “I don't think burning the house down is going to help that poor lady in there!”

“Of course not.” The White Knight climbed off his horse with surprising ease for all the metal he wore. “Poor maiden!” He opened his horse-shaped visor and kissed her finger. “This is no monster. She's a lady in distress. She requires naught but our service and our sympathy.”

That handsome tanned face was one she knew well. “Dickie?” Brett groaned. “Dickie Dawson? Dickie, please! I'm not one of those blonde bimbos you're always drooling over. Could you quit pretending you're Lancelot and help me out of here?” 

“What about those carrots, sir?” The Ace of Sevens had curly brown hair under his black hood and cute dimples that made him look a lot like Dickie's host buddy Bert Convy. “They're edible.”

“No!” the White Rabbit yelped. “You won't get your hands on my garden! I need these! I grew them from seedlings! They're my dinner!”

He tried to block Richard from his carrot patch, but Dickie ducked around him. “Fair maiden, who is so trapped in that poor little dwelling,” he said with a bow to her finger, “your wish is my command.”

“Could you wish a little faster?” Brett grumbled. “I'm getting cramps in here, and I need to find my boys. They're out there all alone. Have you seen them around, Dickie?”

“Two teen boys?” It was Dickie Dawson, all right. Short smirking Lothario with sly blue-green eyes and a perpetual pout that every woman in Burbank but her found sexy. “Why, yes!” He tugged harder at the bright orange tuber, panting with the exertion. “We saw two lads come this way not more than twenty minutes ago. They were searching for their mother, whom they seem to have lost.”

“I'm their mother!” Brett called. “I've been stumbling around for hours looking for them! Boy, am I going to have a long talk about wandering off when we finally get out of here. I should have told them to wait for me at the bottom of the rabbit hole.” 

“Here you go, Sir White Knight.” Sounds of a shovel hitting dirt and Pat's nasal tenor hit her ears. “Let me give you a hand with that stubborn root there.”

“Thank you...whoa!” Richard yanked too hard and fell backwards into the White Rabbit and Bill Anderson. “Sorry about that, gentlemen. Thank you for providing a soft landing.” 

“Anytime, Your Knight-ness.” Bill gave him a short bow over his guitar. “I think I could get a song out of this. How does 'Falling Backwards Over the Carrots and Into Love' sound?”

“Who cares how it sounds?” The White Rabbit checked his pocket watch again and his blue eyes nearly bugged right out of his head. “I'm late again! I have to get going! Sir Dawson,” he flung the sticks into his arms, “if you want to burn the house down to get rid of that monster, be my guest!”

Brett sighed as the Rabbit hopped off. “I wish he'd linger for five minutes. He's going to give himself an ulcer. All that stress isn't good for anyone's heart, including rabbits.”

“At any rate, fair maiden,” Richard insisted as he handed the sticks to Pat, “I have the carrot you required. You need but take a small nibble of this, and you'll be restored to your true self.”

“Thank you, Dickie,” she rasped. “There might be a gentleman in you after all.” She managed to lift the carrot in the air and pop most of it in her mouth. The second she swallowed the mush, she felt her limbs contract and snap back into their original size. After a few minutes, she found herself sitting on the floor, surrounded by overturned furniture.

Brett peered out the window of the house, shaking her head. Richard and his sons were out back, trying to dissuade Jimmie and Pat from actually setting fire to the side wall. “As much as I appreciate Dickie helping me out there,” she muttered as she escaped out the back door, “I think I'm better off finding the boys on my own. These people don't know their rear end from a hole in the ground! They probably didn't even realize I'm gone.”

Blank In Wonderland, Part 6

She followed the path through the woods, which were really much nicer than she thought at first. “You know,” she admitted to herself, “it's almost pretty, with the trees and all. So peaceful. I'd almost be willing to buy a summer house here.” 

The words no sooner came out of her mouth than screams, wails, and crashing pottery ripped through the air. “What in the hell is that?” She threw her hands over her ears. “Sounds like someone's holding a war down the road!” 

Following the screaming brought her to a beautiful pink Victorian house. Fanciful turrets and lavender wood curly-cues gave it the look of a  storybook home, but the noise level was definitely not something out of Cinderella. The second the door opened, more screams and grunts flew out, mingling with flying crockery and a well-worn pepper shaker. 

A footman strolled down the road. At least, she assumed he was a footman, from his frilly tight white jacket and trousers with the blue and orange stripe. Otherwise, he looked like Jack Narz with silver scales and a cobalt blue fin. He carried a leather packet under one arm.

“Your Ladyship!” He knocked on the door. “Duchess Marcia!”

“Sir.” She never saw a frog with a chin that long before. His lanky legs and arms and the huge blue eyes under thick spectacles made him resemble Jack's brother Tom Kennedy with slightly greenish skin and a green Victorian jacket and trousers. “Duchess Marcia is in dispose. I'll do the honor of accepting any invitations.”

His long silver fingers fumbled with the tie on the leather folder for a few minutes. He finally pulled out a long sheet of parchment paper. “From the Queen of Hearts,” he announced in a sonorous voice, “an invitation to play croquet!”

“An invitation to play croquet,” Tom added, reversing the words a bit, “from the Queen of Hearts! And Duchess Marcia,” he added, “will be more than grateful to accept. She believed she was no longer in favor at court.”

“The queen wants the entire court at today's game.” Jack nodded. “The Red King will be there. They may be considering an alliance.”

“Very well, brother.” Tom took the paper. “I'll show the Duchess the invitation as soon as...” Another dish flew out, nearly taking off Jack's dorsal fin. “I think I'll just return to the Queen and leave you...”

Brett couldn't help laughing when the duo bowed and smacked their foreheads together. “Nice going, guys! Walk much?” She giggled so hard, she had to duck into bushes before they saw her. 

By the time she emerged, Jack was gone. Tom sat leisurely on the steps in the sun, even as more dishes spun out the door. “I wouldn't go in there,” he told Brett. “There's no use in knocking. First of all, ma'am, I'm right here. Second, they're making such a ruckus in there, they wouldn't be able to hear you, anyway.”

“Well then,” Brett grumbled, “how the hell am I going to get in there?” 

“That's up to you.” He leaned back. “I'll be here until tomorrow.”

“Tom Kennedy,” she groaned, “I need to find my sons today! How am I going to get in there?”

“Are you going to get in?” Tom asked. “If you can name that tune, you might go in, and I could let you in.”

“Tom,” she snapped, “if I wanted arguing, I'd go back with Dickie and the rest of the Wonderland talking zoo.” 

He didn't seem to hear her. “I shall sit here, dear lady, for days and days and days.”

“Fine. You sit there.” Brett finally yanked the door open. “Meanwhile, I'm going to find my boys and get to the bottom of this!”

There might have been a nice rustic Victorian kitchen somewhere in the black haze. All she could see was an old stove with pipes coming out and flames belching and a massive copper stew pot. “What in the hell is this?” she managed to gasp between sneezes. “Lady,” she said to the woman swinging the pepper shaker around like a mallet, “I don't know what you're making, but there's way too much pepper in that soup and in this house!” She flung open every window she could to air the place out.

“Ain't your place to say, lady!” Now that the haze was dissipating, she could see everything a lot clearer...starting with the cook was Mary Wickes dressed as a maid in a black dress and white ruffled apron. Thin black curls stuck out from under the starched white cap while a pinched face screwed up in annoyance. “This is my kitchen, and in my kitchen, we use pepper! Lots of pepper!” She shook it in her face, making her sneeze again. “Nothin' finer!”

“You're not going to get through to her,” said the woman perched on the stool next to the icebox, “so I recommend you stop trying. She does what she wants.” Marcia Wallace let out a tremendous sneeze that wracked her skinny frame and shook the roots of her orange curls. “What are you doing here? I already got my invitation.” She held out a white wrapped bundle in her arms that also sneezed. “You the nurse? I've been waiting for hours. He doesn't take pepper well, you know.”

“Marcia?” Brett raised an eyebrow. “Since when did you become a duchess?”

“Since the Queen and King of Hearts said so again.” Duchess Marcia smirked. “You know, you can't go to the Queen's croquet game looking like a reject from a commune. I could get you something a lot more attractive than that hippie get-up you're wearing now.”

Brett raised an eyebrow as a sleek cat with thick, shiny reddish fur wound around her ankles, purring. “Well, hello there, kitty. Marcia, does she need to be fed? And why,” she asked when she looked down at the cat and saw her face, “is she grinning like that? I've never seen a cat who grinned.”

“It's a Cheshire Cat,” Marcia said simply, as if that explained everything. “Pig!” she yelled, looking down at the bundle. “That's what you get for grunting, you little...”

“I've only heard of Cheshire Cats in books. Do they always grin?”

“Yeah, most of 'em do, and nearly all of them can.” She smirked. “You don't know much, do you?”

“I know a hell of a lot more than you do, especially about raising kids!” 

As Brett tried to figure out another stinging retort, the Cook took the soup off the stove and brought it to the table. “Lunch is ready!” She then proceeded to throw every pot, pan, and bit of crockery within reach in their direction.

“Mary, what are you doing?” Brett had to duck under the living room table. “Since when are we target practice?” She did notice the Cheshire Cat vanishing in a small haze of purple light. “Too bad I can't do that trick. It might save my life right now!” 

Marcia continued crooning to the bundle and ignoring the flying crockery. “Marcia, can't you do something?” Brett barely dodged a copper pot that came perilously close to hitting the baby's face. “See? She almost took your child's nose off! Poor kid, going through life without anything to smell with.” She wrinkled her own nose as the pepper shaker came sailing past her. “Then again, considering it smells like pepper and cat hair in here, it might be better off.”

“If everyone minded their own darn business,” Marcia snapped, “the world would go around a great deal faster than it does.”

“Marcia,” Brett began patiently, “that would not be an advantage. It takes twenty four hours for it to be day and night, at least where I'm from...”

“Oh, don't bother me with all that stuff,” Marcia complained. “I'm not the best at math, you know.” 

Now that Brett had the chance to really see her, she noticed her friend was rather well-dressed for taking care of a baby. She sported a fancy black gown with lots of ruffles and bows on the wide skirt and bustle. As usual, her shoulders were bare, framed by ebony tulle and sparkling onyx bits. The same ebony stones shown in a small tiara nestled in her curls. 

“Why don't you go upstairs to my room and try on one of my dresses? There may be something that fits. We're almost of the same height. Just don't stretch anything, and don't wear anything that might distract from the game.”

“Don't worry,” Brett assured her, “I won't. Mainly,” she added under her breath as she climbed the creaky stairs, “because I don't know how to play the game, or even what game we're playing.”

Marcia really has come up in the world, Brett thought when she hit the small bedroom. It featured a four-poster bed awash in black and red ruffles, soft velvet and ebony couches, and huge wardrobes stuffed with gowns. She managed to dig out a floral dress the color of the sky that more closely resembled the “prairie dresses” all the girls were into than the fancy funeral get-up Marcia wore. It had elegant puffed sleeves and a ruffled collar that played up what little she had going in the chest department. She even found a pair of simple black strap shoes and white stockings.

“Hey Marcia,” she called as she tried to pin up her hair, “thanks for letting me borrow this. Too bad Jack isn't...well, isn't himself down here. He'd never believe this.”

“Jack?” Marcia's thin coral lips immediately turned down. “The Red Knight? How do you know him?”

Brett frowned and pulled up a stool next to her. “I...was...married to someone who looks and sounds like him.”

“The Red Knight was the Queen and King of Hearts' most loyal man,” Marcia harrumphed between crooning to the baby, “until the Red King got his hands on him. Now he only plays the Red King's game.”

“What happened?” Brett didn't like the sound of that. “Why's he working for the Red King now?”

Marcia finally shot out of her seat as the Cook's barrage of crockery crashed next to her chair. “I'll tell you later. Right now, I need to get ready to play croquet with the Queen and King while I'm still alive. Here,” she added, tossing the bundle in Brett's direction, “you take care of him.” 

“Whoa!” She just managed to catch it as Marcia ducked out the door. “I think I'd better do the same,” she told the baby, “before we both get killed!” She just missed a carving knife that stuck in the door seconds after she hurried out.

It wasn't until she'd gotten down the path and well away from the house that she managed to take a look at what she was shaking. Darn thing was snorting and grunting like crazy. It sounded less like a baby and more like the pigs her daddy used to keep on the farm in Maine. “Kid, if you're going to grunt,” she said, opening the wrappings, “do it somewhere else. That's rude, you know.”

She shouldn't have been surprised to see a squalling baby turn into a pig right in her arms. “Figures Marcia would somehow manage to become the mother of a ham hock.” It wriggled so much that she finally put it down and let it wander off into the woods. “Well,” she admitted, “it does make a better pig than it did a baby anyway.”