All in a Good Cause
"Chris, Chris!"
Vin’s call was loud and excitable, as he ran through the inner corridor of the ranch house.
Slightly taken aback by the unexpected rumpus, Chris looked up from the reports and files he was working on, as the red-faced and heavily puffing youngster burst through the door to the family den. Pushing his chair away from the computer desk, the man held out his arms in welcome to his unusually boisterous son.
"Hey there, tiger! What’s up? Did you and JD have a good day at school?" the blond asked, as Vin threw himself bodily into the hug.
"Yes! Guess what we did today? We’s givin’ food and water and stuff to them poor folks in the…. in the…. toon army. The Principal told us at assembly, we’ve all got to contri… constribute our leftover pocket money or…. or give up our spare time for a good cause. Mrs Pullen says the whole school has to give…" – the boy pulled away from Chris, his face screwing up in concentration as he tried to recall the exact word – "has to give generals for the kids who ain’t got no mommy’s an’ daddy’s or home’s or nuthin’."
Chris smiled as Vin nearly ran out of breath telling this last piece of information. "That’s a very noble and generous thing to do, Vin," the man commended. "America has a duty to help the countries that suffer these awful earthquakes and floods. Most of the folk affected haven’t got as much as us, so it’s important that we all help, even if it’s just by doing something quite small. I’m pleased you understand what it’s about, son, and I’m in favour of this family getting involved in the school’s charity efforts."
Indistinct talking and the sound of two sets of footsteps on the outer porch heralded the arrival of Buck and JD. The pair had walked down the ranch’s drive at a more sedate pace, after the two boys had been dropped off at the usual time by the school bus.
"So, have you got a letter for me about this tsunami appeal?" Chris enquired, grinning in greeting at Buck as he entered the room with his young son in tow.
Vin nodded vigorously, shrugging his backpack off, and then delving his hand inside. Dragging out several sheets of paper that were stapled together, he handed it to his father.
Chris scanned the school’s latest newsletter, nodding absently as he read the first page, which detailed the proposed plans for raising money to aid victims of the recent tsunami. "Their school’s hooked up with the other ones in the City for the second phase of fund-raising. It sounds like we’re gonna be busy over the next few weeks," the older man said distractedly to Buck.
The tall agent was occupied with JD’s jacket, and had knelt down in front of the boy to try and work free the zipper, which had become stuck halfway down. "We? I’m assuming you mean all the parents. What does it say, Chris?" Buck mumbled, as he wiggled the zip’s toggle to try and make it budge.
"Umm, let’s see," Chris replied. Rising to his feet, he wandered over to the window to read in the natural light.
The senior agent flipped over the front sheet, and studied the proposed timetable for each event itemised on the second page. Clearing his throat, Chris started to read the salient points out loud to the other man.
"A garage sale will be held at the Principal’s house next Saturday, so they’re looking for donations of old toys, unwanted gifts, books, clothes and any outgrown sports equipment. The Sports Faculty Head is asking for parents, older siblings, aunts, uncles… anyone really, to take part in a sponsored fun run the following day," Chris informed the avidly listening Buck.
"Where’s… it being held?" the ladies’ man asked, letting out a relieved grunt as the zipper finally freed itself.
JD quickly shrugged out of his coat and laid it on the sofa. The dark-haired boy immediately trotted over to play with his junior electronics set, which was laid out on a low table in the children’s corner of the den.
"It’ll take place in the City Park, and the course will be over a maximum of five miles," Chris responded without looking up from the sheet. "Well, that doesn’t sound too strenuous. Maybe Nathan and Josiah can be persuaded to run, and we could make a day of it with a ball game and picnic afterwards. We could enter as a four-man team, while Ezra watches the kids. Umm… What else is happening? Ah, a group of moms are organising a bake and buy sale…. and… and… What the…? Oh, He…! Shi…! Dar…! Oh, no….! Buck, I don’t believe this last bit!"
Chris’s jaw dropped in astonishment, and his hazel eyes were wide and unblinking, as if he couldn’t quite believe what he was seeing. Staring blankly at the page for several seconds, he then hastily turned to the printed form underneath, although that merely confirmed what he’d just read in the main body of the letter. The blond paled, unable to say anything as he re-read and digested the penultimate paragraph in the newsletter.
"Chris? Chris! Talk to me, pard!"
The other man’s voice had got more insistent as his worry grew for his friend. "Are you okay? What does it say?"
As he spoke, Buck took the papers from Chris’s trembling hand, frowning in puzzlement at the panicked look on his oldest friend’s face. The moustached agent glanced at the two boys, smiling at them in reassurance when he saw their uncertainty.
The tall man skimmed through the newsletter. Suddenly he did a double take, looking incredulously at Chris before his eyes were drawn like magnets back to the list. "This is… no! This can’t be right, Chris. It’s a mistake, it has to be. I n… n…. never volunteered us f… f… for this!" Buck stuttered in outraged disbelief.
"Well, I know for sure I didn’t, so that only leaves you!" Chris snarled, as he snatched the papers back to re-check the information.
"It says here we’ve generously pledged to support both events," the older man relayed. "Also…. Oh, good Lord! Did you read the last paragraph? Apparently we’ve promised to let Principal Morton take photographs of us during the events, which they’ll run with an article for the school magazine. Buck, they wouldn't have made that sort of announcement without our say so. There must have been another letter that I’ve not seen, but you have."
"I haven’t had anything from JD’s teacher," the ladies’ man denied, his tone instantly defensive.
"You must’ve done. I’ve had nothing from Mrs Pullen since last…. Hang on; what was that letter you signed the other day?" Chris asked, the cold finger of suspicion suddenly scratching at his mind.
"Which one? When?" Buck wanted to know.
Larabee came to stand in front of his friend, and pointed at Vin’s backpack. "I saw you put something in Vin’s school bag on…. umm…. It was Tuesday, I think. I thought it was his spelling homework."
The other man sucked air in through his teeth, his gaze distant as he attempted to recall the day in question. Like a light-bulb illuminating, Buck’s face suddenly lit up. "It was Monday! You had that breakfast meeting with Travis and the other bigwigs, so I had to get the kids organised on my own. We were running late that morning, and it all got a mite frantic. I found the papers in Vin’s bag when I packed his lunch-box, but he explained what it was all about, so I just signed it and stuffed it back in the envelope."
"Without even reading it?" Chris challenged, but his voice was suddenly frosty.
"I… had a quick look through it, but the school bus was due… and Vin said his teacher wanted it returned that day, so…"
"So you just put your signature to something without knowing exactly what it was," Chris finished for the other, rolling his eyes heavenward in exasperation. "F… darn it, Buck! How many times have I drummed it into you at work? Read something properly before you sign it!"
"What’s wr… wrong, dad?"
Vin had listened to the adults’ rather heated exchange, his head swinging back and forth between the pair like a spectator at a tennis match. But his quietly troubled words immediately broke the somewhat hostile stand-off between the two men.
Chris relaxed, inwardly cursing his lack of self-control. With a broad, warm smile, he was quick to reassure the nervous-looking child. "It’s okay, son. None of this is your fault and I’m not upset with you. The thing is, can you remember what you told Buck about your school’s charity events? There’s no real… problem, but I just need to know how this all came about."
"I tol’ Buck how I’d put m’hand up when Mrs Pullen asked if anyone’s dad or uncle had a chest that needed cleaning," Vin started by way of explanation.
The boy trotted across to the far side of the room, and carefully patted the top of the antique, ornately carved, oak chest of drawers that Wilmington had inherited from his maternal grandmother. "Unca Nathan says it’s a uneye… uneyegenie dust trap. Aunt Nettie puts wax on it when she comes to clean, so I thought I’d save her a chore," Vin said with a pleased smile. That quickly died when he saw the horrified look on Buck’s face.
Chris grinned, glancing sidelong at his friend, and relishing the shocked expression on the other’s features. "You have a good point there, Vin. Buck’s chest definitely is a dust trap – and a haven for God knows what else! But it’ll be nice and clean, and bare too, once it’s been waxed!" he chuckled.
Buck groaned in despair, although he could see how Vin had misunderstood his teacher. Coming from a male dominated family had only added to the problem; the boy couldn’t have known he was putting his uncle forward for a sponsored chest waxing session to be held in public. It was a simple error for any child to make. However, it didn’t stop Buck’s hand slipping inside his shirt to touch the thick, curly hair covering his chest. He could already feel the pain, as the beauty therapist’s hardened wax was yanked from his downy torso. Why in Hell hadn’t he read that damned letter? How could he have messed up so badly?
"I guess that explains how I got sucked into this day of torture," Buck murmured.
Crouching down in front of Vin, the ladies’ man shot Larabee a mischievous grin, eager to milk the situation for all it was worth. "So little bit, what made you enlist your dad for his extra-special charity job?" he wanted to know.
"’Cause dad’s the bestest at helpin’ folks in trouble. He always does real good action saves wit’ his police badge, an’ beats all the bad guys," Vin drawled solemnly.
"Son, you got your words mixed up some. It’s a…."
Chris allowed the comment to trail off. Vin wouldn’t – couldn’t possibly - understand what a slave auction was, and he didn’t feel comfortable discussing it with the seven-year old.
"Never mind, Vin, it doesn’t matter. Why don’t you and JD go see to your pets?" Chris suggested to the youngster.
The blond wanted to talk frankly to Wilmington, and their conversation might not be suitable for young ears. "The guinea pigs need to be put back in their hutch, and your rabbits could do with some fresh water," Chris added.
Vin nodded obediently. He smiled brightly, relieved that he wasn’t in some kind of trouble. Gesturing with his head to the door, he called to JD. "C’mon, JD, let’s go."
As the two boys dashed from the room to do their daily chores, Chris’s eyes snared Buck’s. He couldn’t make up his mind whether to laugh, cry, or punch Wilmington on the nose! How could a supposedly intelligent man make such a huge blunder?
The moustached man tore his eyes away from Chris’s accusatory glare and glanced out of the window, watching as the two boys made their way to the far end of the back yard. Now he and Chris had some privacy, they could vent their frustration on each other, and maybe try to work out what they could do as damage limitation.
The frigid silence was suddenly broken, as the ATF team-leader began to chuckle. This quickly turned into riotous laughter. Chris had just remembered the precise contents of a box stored in the attic, and the more he thought about it, the more his hilarity increased. Very soon, he was bent over, howling with laughter as tears streamed down his cheeks.
Buck stared at Chris, trying to fathom out what had sparked off the other’s strange behaviour. The tall agent was totally confused. To be truthful, he hadn’t expected this from his friend – he’d been subconsciously waiting to feel the Larabee wrath on 'maximum mode’, so Chris’s reaction surprised him. "What’s so damned funny?" Buck demanded.
"I just had this vision of you, sitting half naked, in front of hundreds of people, waiting - like a lamb to slaughter - to have the hair torn off your chest," the older man said at length, spluttering around another guffaw of laughter.
Buck scowled darkly, but Chris ignored him and pressed on. "Don’t worry, pard. When Sarah used to de-fuzz her legs, she always said the pain lessened each time she did it. How about I go and find her old electric epilator, so you can start practicing? It won’t be as bad if you build up an immunity of sorts. We could start on the hair around your belly button… or perhaps somewhere lower, that’s even more sensitive! That way you’ll get a real taster of what’s to come!"
Chris’s initial amusement at Buck’s predicament had now vanished, and the senior agent's eyes glittered in anticipation at that extremely painful idea. That would teach his friend a valuable lesson for the future.
"No way! You’re not taking some damned instrument of torture to my chest - or any other part of my anatomy for that - just so you can get even. We’re in this together, old dog - right to the bitter end."
"I damn well know that," Chris growled irritably. "I’m just praying that Travis doesn’t get wind of…"
The older man’s features were suddenly awash with colour, as another horrific thought came to him. "Godammit! Billy goes to the same school as the boys. What will Mary say when she sees that newsletter?"
"Huh, that’s the least of your problems. Although… come to think of it, she’ll probably be sat in the front row, waving a chequebook like fury to make the handsome, virile and oh-so willing Chris Larabee hers for a day! You could end up as the woman’s lurrvvve slave! What a way to die, studdd!" Buck deliberately strung out the last word, at the same time mouthing an exaggerated kiss at the dumbfounded blond.
"Thanks a bunch! A fine friend you are!" Chris muttered testily.
"You’re welcome. But what about my problems, eh? When Ezra hears about this - I’ll never live it down!"
"You make it sound like you’re the only one who’s suffering," Chris retorted. His head cocked sideways as something else occurred to him, and his humour at his friend’s dilemma was swiftly restored. "At least your embarrassment will be over and done with in a flash… or a quick flick of the wrist as all the hair’s ripped off your skin!" the blond joked.
Buck’s eyes narrowed slightly and he grimaced at the agonising concept of the other’s taunting jibe. How the heck did women put themselves through such a painfully cosmetic process for the sake of fashion? Studying the letter again, his own worry about having his chest waxed in front of an audience suddenly dissipated. Perhaps he had got the best end of the deal. Larabee’s unwitting contribution to the school’s money raising programme was certainly more humiliating, especially for someone as self-controlled as his oldest friend was.
The rogue couldn’t wait to see the undeniably handsome, but very reserved, man paraded around at the charity 'Slave Auction’ in two weeks time. If Chris could be persuaded to play the part with the appropriate costume, the senior agent’s male-model physique and film star looks would generate a lot of interest – and no doubt raise a great deal of money for a very worthy appeal.
'Perhaps I should ask Aunt Nettie to make him a leather breechclout to wear, or a furry, tiger print one. That’d whip the ladies into a real feedin’ frenzy!’ Buck thought amusedly, although he kept that bizarre notion to himself.
"Yeah, I think you could make a whole pile of greenbacks with your little escapade!" Buck said out loud. "I’ll have to design a poster and put it up in the typing pool. I bet the school hall will be full of Bureau employees – men and women – who’ll be bidding for your ass. How does this sound for an advertisement? 'Come along and support a worthwhile cause. Buy your very own slave for twenty-four hours. Senior agent Chris Larabee has generously offered his services to raise money for the Tsunami Appeal, and he’s prepared to do anything for the highest bidder!’ Hee-hee, that’ll bring 'em flocking to the school with their dollars!"
Buck rubbed his hands together gleefully as he spoke, his indigo eyes sparkling with merriment as he gazed at his disgruntled-looking friend.
"You do that, Wilmington, and you’ll be on cleaning duty in the men’s rooms at work – every damned one of 'em! – for the next six months," Chris warned the other in a voice that dripped with poison.
"Aw, c’mon, Chris, lighten up, why don’t ya! I’m not too thrilled about losing the hair from m’chest, and at least you won’t have to endure any physical pain."
"Nope, I just receive a massive dent to my pride, I guess. We both have to go through with this, Buck, 'cos I can’t see how we can wriggle out of it."
"Me neither. We’d be branded as miserly, uncharitable spoilsports if we backed out after that letter’s gone to every parent. Damn! I’m sorry for screwing up, Chris."
Both men sighed heavily, exchanging rueful smiles at their plight. Chris and Buck weren’t particularly happy, but they were resigned to their fate. Oh, well, it would be a painful experience, but at least they could give one another moral support. The only consolation was that they were making a sacrifice to help others, and it was all in a good cause.
The End