children that Wanda could see.
Aunt Maureen walked over to the table, which was very long; there was an empty chair at each end for Uncle Artie and Aunt Maureen, but there were no chairs on the side closest to Wanda. The reason for this arrangement became clear when Aunt Maureen picked up a pitcher and, moving smoothly from right to left, transformed herself into a well-oiled, perfectly calibrated Human Juice Dispenser.
Wanda—who would have many occasions over the next seventeen years to observe, and, over time, emulate Aunt Maureen's physical efficiency—was awed. She'd never seen her own mother pour anything at breakfast time besides shots of scotch.
"You boys remember your cousin Wanda, right?" Aunt Maureen went on, without spilling a drop.
Gradually, seven sets of steely, unmistakably male eyes peered over the cereal boxes, and Wanda was suddenly aware of the sounds of cornflakes and puffed rice being crunched into a mushy oblivion between seven sets of teeth.
"Why would we remember her?" said one surly voice, cracking slightly. "We've never met her."
"I know that, James Finnegan Schultz, and don't you be giving me that kind of smart mouth this morning if you please."
"Mine! Mine! MINE!" screamed another, much younger voice, and the kitchen tablecloth billowed violently.
"SHUT UP!" came a voice from behind the Kix box. Wanda heard an aspirate, hissing sound, its exact location indiscernible. She began to wonder if the Schultz family kept a pet snake.
"Do NOT talk to your sister like that, Jacob. Would you like me to talk to you like that?" Aunt Maureen barked. She put a comradely arm on Wanda's shoulder, and resumed in a more even tone. "I just meant that you've heard me talk about your cousin Wanda, who is my brother Michael's only child."
"Lucky kid," muttered James Finnegan Schultz, the oldest. Wanda could now pinpoint his position as directly behind the box of Cheerios.
"James . . ." Aunt Maureen spoke in the up-inflected "This-is-my-last-warning-buster" tone that all children recognize. James sank down behind his box.
"MINE!" came the shrill, under-the-ta ble voice again, followed by a l oud screech and more hissing.
"Are you being gentle to the kitty, sweetheart?" Aunt Maureen crooned to the tablecloth, and then continued in a stern, schoolmarmish tone. "Listen up now, guys. Your cousin Wanda will be staying with us
for a while."
All the cereal boxes began to speak at once.
"For how long?!" shouted one.
"Where's she gonna sleep?" said another.
"Not in ray room!" answered another.
"You've got to be kidding!"
"Another GIRL? That's GREAT! Just GRRRRRREAT!"
"Does Dad know about this?!"
"Girls have COOTIES! Girls are GROSS!"
“ NO! NO! NO! MINE! MINE! MINE! I WANT IT!" screeched the demon under the table, and five pink, sausagelike fingers appeared from under the tablecloth, grasped its edges, and pulled.
Cereal boxes, bowls, spoons, butter knives, plates of toast and jars of jam, jelly juice glasses, and milk cups were all flung to the kitchen floor. There was a stunned silence. The scene above the tabletop resembled The Last Supper gone horribly awry. Discovered beneath the table was a sweet-faced, pudgy, blonde child of about two, wearing a pink and yellow bunny suit.
"I ate mine all," said Jacqueline Kennedy Schultz, clutching an empty Mary Poppins bowl in one hand and an orange-striped kitten by the tail in the other. "I'm a GOOD girl." She smiled with an aggressive sweetness that made her look like Shirley Temple on amphetamines. Then
she spotted Wanda.
Instantly, her baby face contracted into a scowl. She squeezed the kitten's tail harder, and it gave a pathetic, truncated squeak. "MAMA!" she yelled. "Who DAT?! WHO DAT LITTLE GIR L?!
Aunt Maureen began to stammer. "It's nothing, darlin', don't worry, everything's fine. . . ." She knelt by the table and said in a voice that was desperately placating, "It's nothing."
Wanda noticed that all of the boys, even the big one called James,
Aunt Maureen walked over to the table, which was very long; there was an empty chair at each end for Uncle Artie and Aunt Maureen, but there were no chairs on the side closest to Wanda. The reason for this arrangement became clear when Aunt Maureen picked up a pitcher and, moving smoothly from right to left, transformed herself into a well-oiled, perfectly calibrated Human Juice Dispenser.
Wanda—who would have many occasions over the next seventeen years to observe, and, over time, emulate Aunt Maureen's physical efficiency—was awed. She'd never seen her own mother pour anything at breakfast time besides shots of scotch.
"You boys remember your cousin Wanda, right?" Aunt Maureen went on, without spilling a drop.
Gradually, seven sets of steely, unmistakably male eyes peered over the cereal boxes, and Wanda was suddenly aware of the sounds of cornflakes and puffed rice being crunched into a mushy oblivion between seven sets of teeth.
"Why would we remember her?" said one surly voice, cracking slightly. "We've never met her."
"I know that, James Finnegan Schultz, and don't you be giving me that kind of smart mouth this morning if you please."
"Mine! Mine! MINE!" screamed another, much younger voice, and the kitchen tablecloth billowed violently.
"SHUT UP!" came a voice from behind the Kix box. Wanda heard an aspirate, hissing sound, its exact location indiscernible. She began to wonder if the Schultz family kept a pet snake.
"Do NOT talk to your sister like that, Jacob. Would you like me to talk to you like that?" Aunt Maureen barked. She put a comradely arm on Wanda's shoulder, and resumed in a more even tone. "I just meant that you've heard me talk about your cousin Wanda, who is my brother Michael's only child."
"Lucky kid," muttered James Finnegan Schultz, the oldest. Wanda could now pinpoint his position as directly behind the box of Cheerios.
"James . . ." Aunt Maureen spoke in the up-inflected "This-is-my-last-warning-buster" tone that all children recognize. James sank down behind his box.
"MINE!" came the shrill, under-the-ta ble voice again, followed by a l oud screech and more hissing.
"Are you being gentle to the kitty, sweetheart?" Aunt Maureen crooned to the tablecloth, and then continued in a stern, schoolmarmish tone. "Listen up now, guys. Your cousin Wanda will be staying with us
for a while."
All the cereal boxes began to speak at once.
"For how long?!" shouted one.
"Where's she gonna sleep?" said another.
"Not in ray room!" answered another.
"You've got to be kidding!"
"Another GIRL? That's GREAT! Just GRRRRRREAT!"
"Does Dad know about this?!"
"Girls have COOTIES! Girls are GROSS!"
“ NO! NO! NO! MINE! MINE! MINE! I WANT IT!" screeched the demon under the table, and five pink, sausagelike fingers appeared from under the tablecloth, grasped its edges, and pulled.
Cereal boxes, bowls, spoons, butter knives, plates of toast and jars of jam, jelly juice glasses, and milk cups were all flung to the kitchen floor. There was a stunned silence. The scene above the tabletop resembled The Last Supper gone horribly awry. Discovered beneath the table was a sweet-faced, pudgy, blonde child of about two, wearing a pink and yellow bunny suit.
"I ate mine all," said Jacqueline Kennedy Schultz, clutching an empty Mary Poppins bowl in one hand and an orange-striped kitten by the tail in the other. "I'm a GOOD girl." She smiled with an aggressive sweetness that made her look like Shirley Temple on amphetamines. Then
she spotted Wanda.
Instantly, her baby face contracted into a scowl. She squeezed the kitten's tail harder, and it gave a pathetic, truncated squeak. "MAMA!" she yelled. "Who DAT?! WHO DAT LITTLE GIR L?!
Aunt Maureen began to stammer. "It's nothing, darlin', don't worry, everything's fine. . . ." She knelt by the table and said in a voice that was desperately placating, "It's nothing."
Wanda noticed that all of the boys, even the big one called James,
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