Original Stories Fan Fiction ❯ Tough Old Birds ❯ Jumpstart ( Chapter 2 )

Chapter 2: “Jumpstart”

 

 

 

Gilligan woke with the sun, and gingerly lifting her head, she squeaked in pain as her neck violently protested the movement. She bit her lip and rubbed her shoulder. She had been sleeping with her head over the side of the wagon. No wonder she was in so much pain! She rubbed sleep from her eyes and put on her glasses, taking a glance around. The grass in the park was sparkling with dew and the sun was just rising over the city. Chi-Chi was sprawled comfortably over a wooden park bench, her stubby legs swung over the armrest. Had she been taller, the bench would have been very uncomfortable to sleep on, but her short frame left room to spare.

 

Gilligan's stomach grumbled loudly. She whined quietly, and gave Chi-Chi a shove.

 

“Chinny? Wake up! Wake up, Chinny!”

 

Chi-Chi emitted a growl guttural enough to scare off a bear. Gilligan merely petted her, smoothing her sleep-mussed hair.

 

“S'time to get up, Chinny! I'm sure hungry, aren't you? It's time to eat; it's morning, my dear!” Gilligan crooned pleasantly, pulling Chi-Chi's wiry gray hair into its usual neat bun atop her head, tugging her head up as she did so.

 

Chi-Chi still wasn't ready for words, but she grumbled threateningly. Gilligan made out the words “cigarette” and “murder”. She shrugged indifferently. Chi-Chi found herself yanked to her feet by Gilligan. She tried to glare at her but found her vision too bleary. Gilligan took this as a positive step and promptly shoved Chi-Chi onto her feet. When the yawning woman swayed dangerously, Gilligan quickly grabbed her generous forearm to steady her.

 

With one hand clasped around the handle of the Radio Flyer, she linked arms with a bleary Chi-Chi and proceed to lead her carefully down the path. They ate breakfast at a nearby Wimpy Bar (Chi-Chi was disappointed that they did not have scotch eggs) and, reenergized; returned to their search with soft drinks in hand.

 

After two weary hours of asking various passersby about Gregory, (they received quite a lot of rude comments, and had a bad run-in with a homeless man who tried to chew on Gilligan's leg) Gilligan came up with the bright idea of making some signs to post up. They asked directions at a bakery (Gilligan convinced Chi-Chi to spend some of their quickly depleting cash on a pair of sponge fingers) and hailed a taxicab.

 

The driver was a well-fed aging man with shockingly green eyes that sparkled in a disarming manner. He didn't appear to own a razor, or more than one outfit (the one he was wearing). In the passenger side a bar was taped to the seatback, and on this bar sat a single peach-faced lovebird. Fittingly, the lone bird looked extremely depressed. He nibbled on a Goldfish cracker.

 

The driver protested when they went to shove the wagon in the trunk, but he quieted as Chi-Chi neatly slipped him a ten-dollar note. They both slid into the back seat.

 

“Kinko's.” Chi-Chi said shortly. She pulled out her compact mirror, grimaced unattractively, and quickly snatched a lipstick out of her purse.

 

“We're going to put up signs so we can find my elephant, Gregory!” Gilligan added chirpily.

 

The cab driver looked unimpressed, and peeled out of the down town area in gruff silence while Gilligan chatted up a stolid Chi-Chi.

 

“Hey, Chinny, do you think I should draw a picture of Gregory for the signs?”

 

“Don't call me that.” She said reflexively, caking green eye shadow under her brows. “Draw whatever you want, it's your sign.”

 

Not wanting to seem to soft, she quickly added, “What do I care, anyways? I'm only here to make sure you don't do anything too stupid. God only knows someone needs to take care of you.” She reassured herself with some more eye shadow. Her wrinkled brows looked like day-glo green tents. She looked pleased.

 

The cab driver, who had been listening to the conversation, coughed quietly. “Can't she take care of herself? Excuse me saying, ma'am, but you seem old enough.” He said, eyeing Gilligan in the rear-vision mirror with his creepily sparkling eyes.

 

Chi-Chi snorted and responded before Gilligan realized they were talking about her. “Just because she's old doesn't mean she's mature. Gilligan's an idiot, aren't you, Gilligan?”

 

Gilligan perked her head up at the sound of her name. “Yes Chinny.” She said out of habit. She frowned when the cab driver laughed roughly, but unconcernedly returned to the crossword puzzle in her lap.

 

“What did I tell you?” Chi-Chi said smugly. “She can't be left alone, something horrendous would happen. She has a rotten tendency to attract every kind of trouble.”

 

The cab driver gave an understanding murmur as he pulled into the Kinko's parking lot. Gilligan looked up expectedly as the taxicab pulled to a stop.

 

“Splendid!” She cried with delight, shoving the crossword into her large, obnoxiously floral shoulder bag. Hopping out of the cab, she raced into the store while Chi-Chi took care of the cab driver.

 

“Wait for us.” She commanded tersely. Looking to the doorway of the copy shop, she could see the doors were swinging from Gilligan's enthusiastic entrance. She reapplied her lipstick and caked on some powder in the parking lot, then bustled into Kinko's after Gilligan.

 

They left the copy shop half an hour later, Gilligan toting a large pile of yellow papers. On each one was a crudely drawn elephant and a plea that read “Lost Toy: Have You Seen a Yellow Elephant?” Gilligan was rather affronted that Chi-Chi typed “toy” rather than “elephant” but Chi-Chi insisted that people would understand better.

 

Piling back into the cab, Chi-Chi instructed the driver to take them back downtown. When they arrived, she paid the cab driver the steep fee with the rest of their money. As they walked away to post their signs, she didn't see him watching her as he folded the bills into his wallet.

 

After posting signs all afternoon, both women were weary and very hungry. Chi-Chi lit up her last cigarette, cradling her favourite Styx lighter like a delicate infant. Gilligan protested this “destruction of Chi-Chi's health” but found her hands slapped away.

 

Without any money left, Gilligan suggested her instant Ramen, which she had quite a few packs of. Unfortunately, the noodles were crushed from being used as bedding and they had no hot water to cook them with, anyways. Temporarily stumped, they sat unhappily on a low cement wall, listening to the angry grumbling of their own stomachs.

 

Presently, Chi-Chi's gnarled features twisted into a devious smirk, and she trotted off (as best as she could; with her stubby legs and wide girth, of course) with nothing more than a curt “Stay here,” over here shoulder. Gilligan dropped her head into her hands. What if we never find Gregory? She asked herself timidly. Voicing her deepest fear was difficult, and it left a decidedly bad, acidy feeling in her throat. But we will find him. She rumbled confidently. We must. Chi-Chi will help me, and we will find poor little Gregory and take him home. Yes, she decided. She sat up straighter and smiled just in time to greet her companion, who had returned mysteriously cackling and bearing two mugs of boiling hot water.

 

“Grub time!” She announced with a grin, dazzling Gilligan with her attitude and jagged gray teeth. They both sat back down on the cement wall.

 

Both women poured their crushed noodles into the steaming mugs, adding the seasoning and watching hungrily as the Ramen cooked. Somewhere down the street, a woman arrived home to discover that her screen window was torn and two of her favourite Christmas mugs had mysteriously disappeared.

 

After eating ravenously (and attracting quite a few horrified stares as they slurped their food at astonishing speeds), they crawled under a circle of neatly trimmed shrubberies in front of a nearby home and went to sleep.

 

Chi-Chi awoke to the biting desperation that came when she needed a cigarette. She looked around groggily. It took her about a minute to realize that they were surrounded by shrubbery. Wealthy shrubbery. They were sleeping in the front yard of one of the largest mansions she had ever seen. The stupidly fastidious lawn sparkled with morning dew as a flock of peacocks strutted primly through the gardens. Two of them looked as though they had been bleached. The mental image of bathing screaming peacocks in a large tub of bleach made her chuckle dryly. Before she knew it, she was asleep again, this time dreaming up horrible things involving peafowl.

 

Chi-Chi awoke for the second time that morning to the persistent ringing of her cellphone. It was a few seconds before she realized that she didn't know anyone suicidal enough to call her. So who was it? She and Gilligan got up quickly, both women groaning as they lifted their bodies from the mulch under their canopy of shrubberies. Gilligan got to the phone first, and answered in a surprisingly chipper fashion for a person who had just gotten out of bed. Especially when `bed' really meant `underneath someone's shrubbery'.

 

“Hello?”

 

“Umm…hello. I'm calling about a sign posted about a lost elephant?”

 

The woman sounded unsure of herself. Gilligan, however, was elated beyond measure.

 

“You found him?” She hollered loudly. There was momentary silence on the other line.

 

“Yes…yes, I suppose I did. My daughter found him in the park a few days ago. But um…she's become quite attached.”

 

Gilligan allowed this information to sink in.

 

“So you found him? Oh boy! Chinny, they found him!” She whooped.

 

“Keep your voice down, you fool! We're in some rich person's shrubbery, you can't go about hollering like an imbecile!” Chinny spat back in a stage whisper, meticulously plucking a sharp twig off of her cardigan.

 

“Would you…like to…come to the house?” The woman sounded as if the invitation was causing her physical pain.

 

“Of course we would!” shouted Gilligan. Chi-Chi cuffed her over the head.

 

“That's…lovely. Right, of course. Do you have a pen to write down the address?”

 

At this point, Chi-Chi deemed Gilligan too stupid for the task, and snatched the phone from her. She pulled a Harajuku Lovers notepad and a ballpoint pen from her large red bag.

 

“What's the address?” She growled.

 

The timid woman on the other line was silent. Chi-Chi could almost feel her surprise at this gruff, new voice.

 

“Right, umm…it's…”

 

“Spit it out, you stupid_!”

 

“24 Chestnut in South Mayfair!” The woman shouted in terror.

 

Chi-Chi scribbled the address down in her notebook and abruptly hung up the phone with a hurried “Thanks”. She turned to Gilligan.

 

“We're going to get Gregory back.” She said, affection bubbling in her throat. She hid it behind a frown and a rough voice. She had a sneaking suspicion Gilligan knew anyways, because the delight in her eyes was directed at her, not her news.

 

“How splendid, Chinny!” She bellowed gleefully. The two women sat, Chi-Chi organizing, Gilligan celebrating. Unfortunately, all of her exclaiming seemed to have alerted the security guards of the mansion. From their vantage point under the trim shrubberies, they watched two men in dark blue uniforms walking briskly towards their hideaway. Gilligan squeaked with fear and cowered, and Chi-Chi attempted to flee but got caught in a particularly fierce shrubbery. The security guards arrived at the section of landscaping with twin stares of bemusement.

 

“Err…excuse me, but you're going to have to leave the property.” The taller one said.

 

Gilligan, ever crafty, looked up and hit them with a pair of watery blue puppy-dog eyes. They backed away in terror.

 

“Please ma'am, you're going to have to leave the property!” This came from the second, shorter man. There was a hint of desperation in his voice as beads of sweat squeezed out of his forehead. He looked away from her, rubbing his own teary eyes with shaking hands. Chi-Chi chuckled evilly, the branches around her framing her ugly face like a lion's mane. One wonders how she could be so pleased while she was stuck fast in a very rich, powerful man's shrubbery, but Gilligan's merciless attack on the guards cheered her to no end. Chi-Chi watched; itching behind her ear on a conveniently placed twig, as Gilligan laid it on thick for the finale.

 

“Could we come in for some tea?” Pleaded Gilligan, tears rolling down her wrinkled cheeks. “We're oh so hungry, you see we're on a journey, and…” Here she trailed off, accepting a handkerchief from the tall guard and dabbing gingerly at her swollen eyes. She treated them to an earth-shattering sniffle and a hiccupping sob.

 

“We ran out of money and we need to get to South Mayfield to get my Gregory back!” She cried piteously. The two security guards looked increasingly uncomfortable, but they hypothesized that Gregory was her husband, and that she could not find him. Both looked sympathetic.

 

“I'm sure Mr. Grandcourt wouldn't mind much,” the short one whispered to his partner. “He's um…an understanding…man. And you know how he is about damsels in distress.” They both shot a look at the strangely dressed elderly woman sitting in the shrubbery, blowing her long, thin nose like a trumpet. Wincing, the tall man nodded and turned to Gilligan, who had finally composed herself and was currently wiping her round spectacles on the handkerchief. She offered the wet, snotty article back to the tall security guard, but he waved her away with the kindliest look he could muster. His eye twitched.

 

“We have decided,” The short one began importantly, “that the…er…master of the house would be more than happy to have you for tea. We shall escort you.”

 

Gilligan cracked a blindingly white smile, and Chi-Chi accompanied it with her musty gray one. The tall guard seemed to have something in his eye.

 

It took both of the security guards to yank Chi-Chi out of the now-severely-disfigured shrubbery (they each took a hairy leg and pulled with all of their considerable might). As the four of them walked up a stone driveway to the heavy wooden front door of the Grandcourt mansion, introductions were made.

 

“My name's Dylan,” said the tall security guard, twirling his ginger mustache gallantly.

 

“I'm Jackson.” piped the shorter guard. Ever jealous of his companion, and owning no mustache to speak of, he twirled his radio instead. It fell on Chi-Chi's grubby foot with a dull thud, eliciting a shout of alarm. “Sorry,” said Jackson sheepishly.

 

At the door (which was rather impressive), Dylan beeped them in with a nod at the maid, who blushed so ferociously it hid her freckles. “I'll get Snick,” she whispered, and skittered away, the short heels of her shoes clicking on the shining marble floor.

 

“That's Valerie, one of the maids,” said Jackson. “Pretty thing, isn't she? Though I'm not much for freckles, myself.”

 

“She'll fetch the butler, Snickerson. He's rather odd.” Added Dylan, pointedly ignoring the remarks about Valerie.

 

“He is odd, isn't he? Off his rocker, I suppose. It's mostly his taste in clothing. Thank God we don't have dress-down days. I mean, I guess he must be intelligent, but you should see what he eats for_”

 

A door slammed. Valerie had returned with the butler, who looked mildly affronted. He coughed. He continued coughing for quite some time, a nasty, guttural cough that conjured images of a gravelly disco in one's windpipe. Though if Jackson spoke the truth, maybe the man ate gravel with his potatoes. Who knew? Chi-Chi didn't necessarily care, so this train of thought pulled into the station pretty fast.

 

Chi-Chi and Gilligan were switched into the care of Snickerson, the butler. He had a shiny blonde bowl-cut and a matching blonde goatee. He seemed to be wearing mascara.

 

“Welcome to the Grandcourt house,” he said with the voice of a four-year-old girl. “I'll escort you to Mr. Grandcourt's sitting room.”

 

Chi-Chi widened her beady eyes, but Gilligan seemed delighted.

 

“It's lovely to meet you!” she gushed.

 

Snickerson seemed taken aback, but responded in kind. “And you as well.” He said in his childish falsetto. Chi-Chi rolled her eyes and pointedly ignored them. Gilligan and Snickerson were soon happily giggling over the latest tidbit of gossip (apparently Gilligan had been dreadfully misinformed about the Prime Minister's scandal two weeks back) as they strolled through the halls of the mansion.

 

The trio reached a pair of enormous French doors, painted white with gold leaf. Snickerson coughed smugly and stepped forward to knock on the door in a brisk manner. There was a muffled, yet musical “Come in” and Snickerson swung both doors open wide.

 

“Your guests, Mr. Grandcourt.” He announced.

 

Chi-Chi peered in, bubbling with curiosity about this rich, most likely pompous Mr. Grandcourt. She smirked. Mrs. Chi-Chi Grandcourt. That had a ring to it. She was imagining herself in a purple mink stole when her happy thoughts hit a brick wall. The sight that met her eyes elicited a gasp of horror. Even Gilligan, who had no dreams of wealth, had to blink a few times to keep her eyes from bugging out.

 

Mr. Grandcourt was striking, indeed. Mr. Grandcourt was a young, ravishing, woman. She was, perhaps in her mid-thirties, with lush auburn hair, fair skin, and dark, intelligent eyes. She smiled pleasantly.

 

“Do come in,” said Mr. Grandcourt, the owner of the musical voice.

 

Chi-Chi spluttered, but obeyed, Gilligan clinging to her saggy arm.

 

“Good morning.” Mr. Grandcourt smiled. “Or perhaps it's good day, I haven't the slightest inkling what time it is.” She said distractedly.

 

“Well, in any case, I'm most pleased to make your acquaintance. My name is Trisha Grandcourt.”

 

Gilligan just smiled bravely. What's an acquaintance?

 

Chi-Chi looked prepared for the Scooby Doo gang to leap out of the closet and tear off Mr. Grandcourt's mask. He's…not a…no! Surely no! That's preposterous! She closed her eyes against the horrible thoughts; swirling in her mind like a fearful tsunami.

 

Mr. Grandcourt flicked a miniscule particle of lint off of her creamy cashmere sweater, straightening the v-neck fastidiously. She turned to the butler, who was waiting patiently at the door, arms akimbo.

 

“Snickerson, be a dear and fetch our guests some tea and a bite, would you?” She asked.

 

“Of course, madam.” He bowed, winked affectionately, and bustled out of the room, presumptuously to the kitchen.

 

By this point, Chi-Chi was purple in the face from the implications she was musing over, and could no longer hold back.

 

“You're a woman!” she hollered, pointing an accusatory finger at her host(ess). “Sir!” she added quickly.

 

Mr. Grandcourt wasn't the least bit affronted. “Yes, yes I suppose I am. But please, call me Trisha.” She was still smiling, and waited patiently for Chi-Chi to commence hollering once more. When no rebuttal came, she continued.

 

“I merely refer to myself as Mr. because being a woman in a place of power doesn't bring the same level of respect, I'm afraid.” Said Trisha, with a hint of sadness. “However, by `masquerading', you might say; as a man, I escape some of this prejudice.” She finished happily.

 

“Well these people aren't blind, are they?” demanded Chi-Chi, launching a solitary droplet of spittle.

 

“I should think not, but the vast majority of my business arrangements don't require communication in person. I suppose that's why they call them arrangements, a bit flexible, hmm? And if I must schedule a meeting, what are they to do by that point?” she laughed a tinkling laugh, like wind chimes.

 

Chi-Chi likely wanted to break the wind chimes into a thousand pieces, but fortunately any unpleasant comment or perhaps a roundhouse kick she had been about to produce was interrupted by the reappearance of Snickerson; this time with gifts. He tediously carried two large bronze trays. The first tray had a steaming pot of tea and all the implements that came with it; and the second carried an assortment of sandwiches, hors'de'voures, and iced biscuits.

 

“Tea is served, madam.” He said to Trisha.

 

Chi-Chi and Gilligan licked their lips in anticipation. Having eaten very little in the past 48 hours, they launched themselves upon the plate of sandwiches before Snickerson had a chance to put it down. He looked offended by their manners (or lack thereof) and turned his attention to his mistress.

 

“Tea, madam?”

 

“Yes, thank you Snickerson.”

 

“My pleasure, madam.”

 

And, oddly, it really did seem to be his pleasure. He took the utmost care in pouring the steaming beverage, sneaking looks at his mistress through the thick blonde bangs of his bowl-cut. Trisha accepted her tea, and took a sip; smiling. He always made it just how she liked it.

 

“What would I do without you, Snick?' she said with a dramatic sigh.

 

“Hire someone else lucky enough to serve you tea, I suppose.” He replied humbly, trying in vain to hide his blush.

 

Trisha just smiled as he bowed out through the French doors. She turned back to her guests, who seemed to have missed the exchange.

 

“Now how is it that I don't yet know your names?” she twittered.

 

“Chi-Chi,” mumbled Chi-Chi.

 

“Mine's Pauline.” Said Gilligan, licking jam off of her pinky finger and ignoring Chi-Chi's stare.

 

Both women returned to their food; smacking their lips and chewing loudly.

 

“And how are the biscuits? Strawberry jam inside, I believe. Snicky makes them, he's quite talented.” Trisha rambled desperately.

 

Both women looked up from the crumbs in their laps, cheeks stuffed with bread and ham and watercress. They looked like hamsters that had survived a recent famine. Mustard dribbled down Gilligan's front.

 

“S'good,” they replied in unison, spewing crumbs across the velvet carpet. Trisha winced.

 

“I'm glad.” She said.

 

“I don't suppose you have a smoke?” inquired Chi-Chi; with all the politeness she could muster from deep within her crusty shell.

 

“Beg pardon?” asked Trisha. Chi-Chi snapped.

 

“A smoke, woman. A cigarette, a fag, a deathstick if you will; do you have a damn smoke?” snapped Chi-Chi demandingly. Her temper, however gentled by food, was still fiery.

 

Trisha bristled. “No I do not, and I won't have that tone in my house.” Great, I sound just like my mother, she thought darkly.

 

“Now what's this I hear about a journey?” she questioned with force cheerfulness, her voice struggling to retain it's normal light, musical tone.

 

Gilligan swallowed first. “We were looking for my Gregory, but now we know where he is, he's on 24 Chestnut street!” she cried triumphantly, dribbling more mustard.

 

Trisha looked confused. “So you found your husband's location?” she asked with a frown.

 

“My husband? Don't have one of those.” She reached for another biscuit greedily and took a gulp of tea. “Gregory's my elephant, he's yellow. Button eyes, too.” She said.

 

“He's a stuffed toy,” Chi-Chi added over her own biscuit, quelling Trisha's look of alarm.

 

“We found where he is; got a call from some dithering idiot.” She continued, stuffing a few sandwiches into her handbag. “South Mayfield's where he is, and we need to fetch him. Ran out of cash, though, almost had to eat on of your peacocks.”

 

“That's `zactly right.” Gilligan nodded sagely, dropping a large chunk of bread onto the sofa. She quickly swept it under the cushion.

 

“I see.” Said Trisha slowly. She seemed to have developed a twitch in her brow. “Well, I could arrange for Snickerson to drive you to South Mayfield. He'd be more than happy too, I'm sure.”

 

Gilligan grinned toothily and Chi-Chi looked relieved.

 

“Spectacular!” screamed Gilligan.

 

“Well it's settled then.” Trisha announced with a genuine smile, elated at a chance to get rid of her guests. “You can leave at once!” she crowed.

 

“Yes we can!” agreed Gilligan.

 

“Positive about that smoke?” begged Chi-Chi.

 

“Alright. Finish your tea while I fetch Snickerson.” Trisha strode over to a panel next to the door and pressed a small black button. A tinny ding! like that of an elevator rang out.

 

They stood in utter silence.

 

 

 

 

Author's Note: Chapter 2 is up! Much longer than the first chapter, eh? Anyways, now the story is really starting to unfold, it's going to be good. Please review!

 

~ Estecca <3