the Music Room.
Josephine Jiminez was its president.
She had never been a president before, and while she would have liked to discuss her presidential problems with a shrink, she could not trust him not to tell Miss Rattray that the Butters had gone underground.
He told Miss Rattray everything. Miss Rattray told Josephine’s parents everything. Josephine’s parents thanked Miss Rattray by giving gifts to the school, which they bought dirt cheap at the Army PX.
The latest one had been a computer for the cook. On her way to her session with Dr. Dingle, Josephine had seen them crating it for return to her family, since Cook could not learn it, nor even bear to look at it.
“Continue, please, Josephine.”
“I’m thinking, Doctor.”
Josephine would have to cope with club problems herself.
On her own, she would have to deal with the fact that it would be very hard to be both the president of the Butters and the director, producer, and lead playwright of the Black Mask Theater.
A lot would be expected of her!
“If I were a cockroach,” Dr. Dingle was pleased as punch with his new insight, “I would want to be anything but a cockroach!”
Josephine’s hands went from behind her head down to the pockets of her blazer. Had she kept the receipt for the new box of Butterfingers? Stanley had said there would be dues, so that she would be paid back for all that she was spending on the candy. She would have to decide the amount and collect it from the members.
She had so much responsibility in her new situation.
“Well, what about it, Josephine?” the doctor said. “Isn’t that how a cockroach thinks?”
“I suppose,” Josephine answered, though she had lost the gist of the conversation by then.
“Finally!” said Dr. Dingle. “Now we’re getting somewhere! Someday, if we continue to progress, you may forget all about your dolls. Or if you must have dolls, you might give them dolly names like Barbie, Suzy, or Betty Lou.”
“My parents gave me those dolls,” said Josephine. “Every time we got transferred to a new post, I got one. I got Monroe when we moved to Fort Monroe. I got one when we moved to Alexandria, Virginia. I got one when we moved to Fort Sam Houston, and when we moved to Washington, DC. And when we moved to Arlington, Virginia; Heidelberg, Germany; Huntsville, Alabama, and Seoul, Korea. That’s how they got their names.”
But Dr. Dingle was eyeing the clock, then shuffling papers as he always did at the end of a session.
“Time is up!” he called out. “Never mind your dolls, Josephine. Next session we’ll talk more about why you feel like a cockroach!”
Eighteen
T HERE WAS NOTHING AS exhausting as a session with a shrink!
Shoebag longed to head for Josephine Jiminez’s room, where he could curl up for a brief nap in the ear of Monroe, the masked Kewpie doll.
But first, he must stop by the Macintosh, for a brief game of hide-and-seek with Radio and Garbage Pail.
As concerned as he was about his human friends, he was not one to forget his roach family.
His human clothes were hidden in the Changing Room. That night after dark, he would become Bagg again. He would meet with Stanley, and tell him Josephine had not told the shrink anything about the underground Butters.
Trudging past the Music Room, he saw the Butters heading in for their first meeting. And he saw Butter, the cat, sprawled on the piano top, licking his paws contentedly.
But as he went down the steps leading to the kitchen, his antennae lifted, and his cerci shuddered.
There was something in the air: something familiar and foul.
He could hear Cook telling someone, “Don’t get that stuff in my kitchen! Hear me?”
A man’s voice answered her, “Just tell me where the roaches were.”
“I told you!” Cook was in her usual bad mood. “They were in the computer, but the computer is gone!”
Gone? With his entire family inside?
Shoebag’s reflexes quickened with the panic he felt throbbing under his
Josephine Jiminez was its president.
She had never been a president before, and while she would have liked to discuss her presidential problems with a shrink, she could not trust him not to tell Miss Rattray that the Butters had gone underground.
He told Miss Rattray everything. Miss Rattray told Josephine’s parents everything. Josephine’s parents thanked Miss Rattray by giving gifts to the school, which they bought dirt cheap at the Army PX.
The latest one had been a computer for the cook. On her way to her session with Dr. Dingle, Josephine had seen them crating it for return to her family, since Cook could not learn it, nor even bear to look at it.
“Continue, please, Josephine.”
“I’m thinking, Doctor.”
Josephine would have to cope with club problems herself.
On her own, she would have to deal with the fact that it would be very hard to be both the president of the Butters and the director, producer, and lead playwright of the Black Mask Theater.
A lot would be expected of her!
“If I were a cockroach,” Dr. Dingle was pleased as punch with his new insight, “I would want to be anything but a cockroach!”
Josephine’s hands went from behind her head down to the pockets of her blazer. Had she kept the receipt for the new box of Butterfingers? Stanley had said there would be dues, so that she would be paid back for all that she was spending on the candy. She would have to decide the amount and collect it from the members.
She had so much responsibility in her new situation.
“Well, what about it, Josephine?” the doctor said. “Isn’t that how a cockroach thinks?”
“I suppose,” Josephine answered, though she had lost the gist of the conversation by then.
“Finally!” said Dr. Dingle. “Now we’re getting somewhere! Someday, if we continue to progress, you may forget all about your dolls. Or if you must have dolls, you might give them dolly names like Barbie, Suzy, or Betty Lou.”
“My parents gave me those dolls,” said Josephine. “Every time we got transferred to a new post, I got one. I got Monroe when we moved to Fort Monroe. I got one when we moved to Alexandria, Virginia. I got one when we moved to Fort Sam Houston, and when we moved to Washington, DC. And when we moved to Arlington, Virginia; Heidelberg, Germany; Huntsville, Alabama, and Seoul, Korea. That’s how they got their names.”
But Dr. Dingle was eyeing the clock, then shuffling papers as he always did at the end of a session.
“Time is up!” he called out. “Never mind your dolls, Josephine. Next session we’ll talk more about why you feel like a cockroach!”
Eighteen
T HERE WAS NOTHING AS exhausting as a session with a shrink!
Shoebag longed to head for Josephine Jiminez’s room, where he could curl up for a brief nap in the ear of Monroe, the masked Kewpie doll.
But first, he must stop by the Macintosh, for a brief game of hide-and-seek with Radio and Garbage Pail.
As concerned as he was about his human friends, he was not one to forget his roach family.
His human clothes were hidden in the Changing Room. That night after dark, he would become Bagg again. He would meet with Stanley, and tell him Josephine had not told the shrink anything about the underground Butters.
Trudging past the Music Room, he saw the Butters heading in for their first meeting. And he saw Butter, the cat, sprawled on the piano top, licking his paws contentedly.
But as he went down the steps leading to the kitchen, his antennae lifted, and his cerci shuddered.
There was something in the air: something familiar and foul.
He could hear Cook telling someone, “Don’t get that stuff in my kitchen! Hear me?”
A man’s voice answered her, “Just tell me where the roaches were.”
“I told you!” Cook was in her usual bad mood. “They were in the computer, but the computer is gone!”
Gone? With his entire family inside?
Shoebag’s reflexes quickened with the panic he felt throbbing under his
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