The magic of Rainbowland continues...

This ninth installment of the Rainbowland fanfic fantasy series ventures far into the future, where one Pookie McDonald, Kat and her mythical veterinarian husband Chris' youngest daughter all grown up,  makes a strange and amazing discovery.

Presenting "Rainbowland IX – Mamma Mia", another amazing piece of fanfic by our Groucho!

  Rainbowland IX - Mamma Mia

A fantasy that takes place somewhere over the rainbow, in one of many possible realities involving Katharine McPhee, her Family, Friends and Fans

When I first began to speculate about having children, I suppose you could say I was a little young, but for some reason, I always knew I wanted that more than anything. Sure, I was singing into a hairbrush and practicing my audience patter when I was four, but that was just part of my plan. Actually I don’t know which came first. Loving to perform and wanting to be somebody’s mom were always part of me, as far back as I could remember, just like I’d always had brown eyes and been named Katharine.

At first, I’d thought of them as MY children, little extensions of me. Then, as I grew up a bit, I started seeing them as part of a relationship with some wonderful, mythical, mystical, ideal husband figure, so they transformed into extensions of him. And when my feelings crystallized and fixated on someone, I started thinking in terms of little blonde, blue-eyed miniature versions of Chris McDonald. After a time, I realized that was a pipe dream, and although it never entirely went away, I worked on it, and tried to see the babies as more like whatever boy I was currently involved with. That wasn’t quite as much fun, but it was my concession to reality.

Then my life chased itself around a few more laps and I actually wound up being Mrs. McDonald, and the little blue-eyed blondling became a reality, on the second try. Although I could see both of us in both of the girls, the truth was, they were two little individuals, entirely themselves—part of us, their ancestors, their environment, and anything else The Great Whatever had decided to mix into them to make them unique.

We were sitting on the floor in their playroom discussing what the two of them had done with their grandmas that day in an attempt to calm everyone down before retiring for the night. Kaycee, as usual, was babbling away, monopolizing the conversation, which didn’t matter because I enjoyed listening to my bright and articulate little daughter doing her nonstop routine. I’d had nothing like her confidence as a child, and it had only gotten worse with time, as I’d constantly compared myself to Adriana and wished for her agile brain and glib tongue. Watching the two of them was almost like having a window into the past, although the parallels weren’t exact by any means. The odd thing was how much Kaycee resembled me physically, and how much she reminded me of Adriana in her actions and general demeanor. Pookie was sometimes a total mystery to me, although at times I saw myself in her, and at other times I saw her father, many of whose peculiarities she had inherited along with his coloring.

Chris, who was currently struggling with an invitation to speak at a Vocation Day gathering at Notre Dame High School as a representative of SoCal Animal Care Centers, was in awe of my ability to get up in front of a crowd and perform. His desire to help inspire young people get involved with animal rescue or care was nearly overshadowed by his panic at the thought of speaking before a group of people. I was just starting to conquer my own fear that I’d bequeathed to Pookie some kind of irreparable genetic quirk that kept her from talking. Now I was wondering if that was simply one more way in which she resembled her father, who was otherwise perfect. I’m joking, of course, but that had certainly been one large factor in his favor when I’d been considering husbands. Pookie’s older half brother, Ajay--bright, funny, athletic, musical, mature for his age --was a walking testimonial to Chris’ ability to produce superior children.

Then an idea struck me. "Let’s look at our family album," I said. That usually fascinated Kaycee no end, and Pookie was starting to take an interest as well.

We sat back down on the floor and I impressed on everyone that there would be no grabbing and that pointing meant pointing AT pictures, not touching them. Chris had everything stored somewhere or other on the Internet and neatly separated onto various CDs, but I still enjoyed actually holding a book on my lap and looking at it over the heads of my two little ones. Coming to terms with books—any kind of books—was one of my lifelong projects, and I was learning to enjoy the simple feel of a sturdy binding in my hands. Somehow it all fit together in my mind.

Pookie pointed at a picture and then at herself. Then she frowned and said "Pookie?"

"No, Dummy, that’s not you, that’s Daddy."

"Pookie," she insisted. Then she pointed at the identically posed picture next to it. "Mo’ Pookie."

"No, that’s Ajay. THIS one’s you." Kaycee pointed at the third picture in the group.

"Pookie, Pookie, Pookie," my second child insisted, stabbing the air with one small finger.

"Boy, it’s hard to get stuff into her head," Kaycee sighed.

"She’s just a little girl," I said. "She’ll get bigger, and she’ll get better. You have to have—" I changed my mind and sang the words "Patience, Little Sister" to her.

"I’m Big Sister," Kaycee said proudly. "She may get bigger, but I’ll always be older than she is."

"Well, that’s right," I said, ruffling Kaycee’s dark hair.

"You know what Gramma P said?" Kaycee asked. "Somebody in a restaurant asked her where her granddaughter was, so she told them she had my little sister. And the lady said she didn’t look like it, and Gramma said that’s because she looks like her daddy. How come she gets to look like Daddy and I don’t? "

""Well excuse me," I said, hoping it sounded like a joke. "It’s just the luck of the draw." I was sure she’d understand that analogy, little demon card player that she was. "Besides, variety’s nice. And if that’s not enough for you, you’ll just have to ask Daddy." That would teach him. He was always doing things like that to me.

"I did. He said I should consider myself lucky because I look like the prettiest girl in the world and there’s nothing wrong with that."

All right, Christopher, I take it all back. "Okay, you two. Time for bed," I said. For some reason they decided they wanted to sleep together, and I let them. Anything to keep the peace. Plus I loved seeing them lying there together, looking like the beautiful little angels they so often weren’t in their waking hours. Then I went downstairs to check on the progress Chris was making trying to write his Vocation Day speech.

The wastebasket was filling up with rejected printouts and the computer screen in front of him was already turning black with words the mouse had selected to be consigned to limbo as unworthy. "Not going so well, huh?" I said, trying to sound sympathetic. Chris was usually a good problem solver, but this was his bugaboo. Give him a trembling animal, a scalpel, or an X-ray, and he was in his element and he was superb. Put him on a podium with a teleprompter or a stack of notes or pages of neatly typed words and he was a wreck. I put my hand on the back of his neck and could feel the tenseness in the corded muscles before he’d even looked around at me.

"I wish I had your gift," he said.

"This is not my gift, Sweetie," I said. "I don’t like public speaking either. Singing is one thing. Speaking is entirely something else. So you have my sympathy. I wish I knew how to help."

"Maybe I need a little break," he said, obviously looking for a good excuse to give it up for awhile.

"How much time do you have?"

"Lots. I knew it was going to be tough so I started early."

That’s why we decided to take a break and fly up to San Francisco for the weekend. Although it had become much easier for gay couples to adopt, there was still sufficient reason for Chris’ stepbrother Mike and his partner Loren to throw a party when things were finalized.

Saturday night we were all gathered around the supper table in the big blue Victorian house at 1330 Prescott Street, reminiscing about my stay there during the Idol auditions and waiting for Loren to put the finishing touches on the meal. He, like Chris’ dad, loved to cook, whereas the Brenneman side of the family, Mike and Ildith, were quite content to leave that activity to someone, anyone, else.

"To the guys everybody loves to hate!" Mike said, raising his wine glass. "Until they need one. Here’s to--now hold your ears, I’m gonna say a bad word--to trial lawyers!"

"That’s two words," Chris’ stepmother said. "But that’s okay." She looked around the table in mock indignation. "Hey, attention to detail wins cases. Life doesn’t always work like Perry Mason."

"Lucky for us we’re a two barracuda family," Chris said. "It does come in handy sometimes."

"Yeah," his dad said wryly. "If I ever decided to write the story of my life, I’d have to title Ildie’s chapter The Barracuda Who Loved Me. I can still say that, can’t I?"

"Always, my dear," Ildith said, giving him an ‘I’ll deal with you later’ look.

"So," I said, "here’s to Loren Scott and Ildith Brenneman McDonald."

"He may be the meanest s.o.b. in the valley, but he’s MY s.o.b.!" Mike said proudly. "And she’s my mom, God bless ‘er. Here’s to both of them."

"We want to toast too," Kaycee said, holding up her milk.

"Toes?" Pookie said, looking perplexed.

"Okay," I said. "You can make a toast if you like. Fire away."

"Here’s to Kenneth Brenneman Scott," she said, pronouncing each word very carefully and not producing a single lisp. "Welcome to the family, Kenny."

I was so proud of her. The child in question seemed so sad, so distant. I didn’t know his whole story yet, but he needed us, and different as we all were in many ways, when the chips were down we did tend to pull together and act like a family.

"Tenny! Toes!" Pookie said. Evidently that reminded her that she had them, because she began struggling around trying to take her shoes off. In the process she gave the table a dish rattling kick.

Startled, I jumped back, soaked with milk from neck to knee. "Oh, Pookie, I’m gonna beat you!" I said.

Kenny slid off his chair and moved quickly to Pookie’s side, putting his arms around her protectively. "It was an accident!" he said. "She’s just a baby, she didn’t mean to get you dirty."

Horrified, I realized that he’d read something sinister into my remark. I stopped trying to wring milk out of my blouse and stared at Kenny, who was staring back at me, wide eyed and open mouthed. He didn’t appear to be breathing. "I know, Honey. I was just—" I realized that I had no idea where to go with what I was saying, but that I’d stepped in something for sure. "I was just kidding. I’d never do anything bad to Pookie. That’s Kaycee’s job. Oh crap. I didn’t mean that either. Me and my mouth… Bad joke. I was just kidding."

"She’s just a baby," Kenny repeated, and I could see that his hands were actually shaking.

"Sweetie, did you hear anything I just said?" I said, trying to keep everything as calm as possible. I looked up and noticed that everyone around the table had frozen into some sort of awkward position, some evidently thinking of getting up to help clean up the mess, others just caught in mid move and not quite sure whether to follow through or not. "Kenny, I would never hurt Pookie. She’s my baby. I love her. We don’t beat kids in this family. It’s not allowed. Okay? You with me?" Pookie, being Pookie, chose that moment to burst into tears. Wonderful. "Oh, don’t cry, Pook. It’s okay. Mommy’s not mad." Pookie wound up sitting on my lap with her face buried in my wet clothing. "See, Kenny," I said. "Everything’s fine. Sometimes we get mad and yell, but we don’t hit. Nobody gets hit around here. Pookie’s kind of high strung and sometimes she just gets a little out of control. She’ll be fine in a minute. She just has to cry herself out. She’s like that."

He evidently decided that I wasn’t as much of a menace as he’d feared. "Maybe I can make her stop crying," he said hesitantly.

"Be my guest," I said.

"Pookie, you want me to sing you a song? I got a good feel-better song."

The child was a genius. A skinny little mop-haired genius. Pookie nodded without looking up, and Kenny began to sing in a clear, pure voice that didn’t miss a note.

"The Lord’s my shepherd, I’ll not want. He makes me down to lie
In pastures green. He leadeth me the silent waters by.
He leadeth me, He leadeth me, the silent waters by.
Yea, though I walk through shadowed vale, still I will fear no ill.
Thy rod and staff they comfort me, they comfort me still.
Thy rod and staff they comfort me, they comfort me still."

"I thought I’d heard everything by now, but that’s a new one," I said. "Where did you hear that?"

"My momma used to sing that to me, a long time ago. I guess I just remembered it because I heard it so much."

"It’s set to the tune of an old folk song. I’ve heard it in church," said my husband, the Jeopardy fan, whose brain was so full of obscure trivia I sometimes wondered how he’d found room to cram in vet school.

"Mo’ sing!" Pookie said.

"Why don’t we have our supper now?" Kenny said. "I’ll sing more later."

"No! Mo’ sing, Tenny!" Pookie insisted.

"I’m hungry, Pookie," he answered. "We’d all like to eat now. But I’ll tell you what, after supper I’ll sing for you and I’ll even teach you my song. How about that?"

"Otay," she said immediately. "Eat now." I wondered how she managed to say her own name when she could never seem to manage the letter K anywhere else. Sometimes the workings of her mind were as mysterious to me as her father’s.

"Well," Ildith said, "let’s find that kid an agent!"

"How does Untitled feel about child stars?" Mike asked.

"I have no idea," I said. "But I do know one thing, if you want this one to grow up to be a lawyer, keep him far away from my mother."

The crisis passed and we had witnessed the beginning of a lifelong friendship. Pookie was remarkably well behaved until we had to leave and she realized that we couldn’t bring Kenny with us. She launched into a full-blown screaming fit that did not subside until I said "Good grief, calm down! We’ll come back to visit him again, or he and his dads can come down and visit us, or at least Mike can bring him, we wouldn’t want to keep Loren from making partner, would we? Pook! Are you listening to me? You’re going to see Kenny again!"

As were we all. Nearly twenty years later, Kenny and The Faultliners became the focal point of my daughter’s life, in more ways than one. And they both still screamed with laughter every time someone would propose a toast and Pookie would yell "Toes!" Sometimes no one got the joke but Kenny, but she didn’t care, and neither did he. As long as they understood each other, they didn’t much care what the rest of the world thought.

*****

Pookie visits An art gallery in San Francisco, somewhere around the year 2038

Don’t ask me about art. I don’t know crap about art. And every time I say I just know what I like, Kenny says it sounds stupid, and I tell him never to call me stupid or I’ll wait until he’s not expecting it and knee him right where he won’t like it. Sometimes his mouth just drives me to distraction. And he has the colossal nerve to say I ought to watch mine. With me, it’s all part of who I am onstage. I’m not so sure about Kenny. But it’s my misfortune to love him anyway, so what am I going to do about it?

I was looking at something I could actually enjoy, a depiction of some local celebrities done as nursery rhyme characters, when I actually felt this guy walking up behind me. I didn’t hear him, it was a bit noisy for that, but I could feel him, just like you can feel changing weather sometimes. Well, I can anyway. The human barometer, that’s me. Me and all the family pets always know when it’s going to storm, and we’re better than a seismograph for knowing when things are going to rumble.

Anyway, I pretended to be more interested than I was in the picture of Piper Halliwell being the lady who lived in the shoe, only the shoe was tricked out to look like a restaurant, and the dish and spoon were running away from her kitchen. Sounds dumb, but it wasn’t really. It was just the artist’s whimsical period, plus some people seemed to really like that sort of thing.

"Do you know who that is?" a deep voice said right behind me, and even though I knew he was there, I damn near jumped out of my shoes.

"Yeah. Do you?"

"Yes indeed. I run a club across town called Kismet, so I suppose you could say she’s my competition. I know she doesn’t directly run the club anymore, but that’s close enough. I also play in the house band."

He looked like he stepped straight out of The Arabian Nights, or maybe out of one of the side windows of Hell, all dark and sinister and bearded and in short the kind of guy you didn’t know if you wanted to run from or just jump on right then and there and get it over with. Oh hell, what was I thinking. I didn’t do stuff like that anymore. Not since Kenny became a permanent fixture in my life. But good lord in the mornin’, those eyes, those hellishly black eyes, and were those tattoos on his face? On his FACE, for godssake. That must have hurt like billy-be-damned, and what do you suppose it was? It looked like writing, but, well, like the characters on the control panel of an alien spaceship in some science fiction movie. A line across his forehead and both cheekbones. What the hell.

"We’re playing P3 this weekend," I said.

"I know. I plan to be there to hear you."

Why did it feel so good to hear him say that? I didn’t know who he was, except evidently a musician of some kind. "We’re pretty good. Gotta be to follow Kingston Rossdale. He was there with his band last week. I used to have such a crush on him. Must be genetic—my mom had a crush on his dad when she was a kid. I’m babbling. Anyway, we’ve got a pretty good following around here, and not just because we’re local. Kenny can sing like—well, he’s just good. I was hooked the first time I heard him sing We All Die Young. He’s better than Bobby Beers or Chris Cole. At least I think so. I mean, he was incredible. I nearly had an orgasm just listening to him. I mean—" Oh crap, me and my mouth again.

"In that case, you should have a very good weekend at P3," Blackbeard said, smiling. He had a very full, sensual mouth, and when he smiled it softened his hawk-like look. "You do Steel Dragon covers then?"

"We do everything, including original material. For awhile there, Kenny did a lot of Eddie and the Cruisers stuff, but when people started catching on how much he actually looked like Eddie Wilson, plus how much he sounded like him, the rumors started going around—he was Eddie’s illegitimate son or grandson or Eddie reincarnated—so finally he just stopped. The funny thing is, he’s adopted, so God knows who he’s related to. But I’ll tell you one thing, the way he sings The Tender Years is just… well, he’s just… "

"So you don’t perform that anymore either."

"Sometimes, if somebody makes a request and insists. But we’re going more for original stuff these days. So,. what do you do? I mean play. I mean--"

"I don’t know what you’d call what we do. We too are trying for what you call an original sound."

"Jeez, I didn’t even ask you your name," I said.

"The name I use is Asher Bane. My birth name is a little more complicated. Our heritage is Assyrian. See the fellows over there looking at the more expressionistic work?" I followed his gaze, and he leaned toward me. "Sargon, Nimrod, Gilgamesh, Sennacherib. They go by Stan, Norm, Gil and Sam. People seem to accept that better. Silly, perhaps, but it puts people at ease. Sometimes one wishes for people to be at ease."

The way he said that, plus those oil slick eyes, made me hear overtones of "All the better to eat you with, my dear." But of course I didn’t say that. I just gulped and tried to get my thoughts in a row so I could say something, anything, that wouldn’t make me sound like a complete idiot. "The guy who did all these is my Uncle Mike," I said, feeling like the Queen of Nonsequiturs. "Not that that has anything to do with anything. But maybe that’s why I like everything, even when it’s in a totally different style."

"A family of many talents," Asher said. "Perhaps even more than you know."

"What do you mean?"

"Just what I said. I’m really looking forward to hearing you perform this weekend. I’ve heard the recorded version of you, and I’ve heard word of mouth, but I need to hear you in person."

"You need to?" I couldn’t help asking.

His full mouth curved into a very appealing grin. Evil, but appealing. "Well, perhaps that’s a bit strong. But then again… I will certainly be at P3. Count on it."

"I’ll look for you," I said. I had a feeling he would be very easy to spot in a crowd. Any crowd.

*****

  Meanwhile, Back on Prescott Street….

"Well, things certainly got kinda weird there for awhile, didn’t they?" I said.

"Yeah, what’s the story with this kid, Mikey?" Chris asked. "Sorry we’ve been a little busy lately. I guess we’ve missed out on some important details."

The kids were temporarily in Grandpa’s care in another room. Mike stretched out with his feet in Loren’s lap and I did the same with Chris. Ildith curled up with yet another glass of wine.

"Long gory story," Mike said.

"And to make it short," Loren continued, "we’d known Kenny’s mom for quite some time. She was an artist and photographer and Mike liked her work and—well, Kenny’s known us since he was a baby. Her boyfriend didn’t approve, but then he was an asshole. Worse than that, as it turned out. Evidently it was okay for him to beat the kid’s mother to death but we were a bad influence. He wasn’t the birth father so he had no legal standing, and there wasn’t much in the way of family, and nobody ever knew who his real father was. It was just one of those things that she would not talk about. Anyway, Kenny knew us and liked us and we’ve always been crazy about him, Mike even used to babysit him, so it seemed like a good fit. But we still had to fight for him."

‘Here’s to fighting the good fight!" Ildith said, holding up her glass.

"Right about here’s where Dad would ask you how many of those you’ve had," Chris said wryly.

"I am not counting," Ildith said haughtily. "And neither should you."

"How many HAVE you had?" Jim McDonald said from the doorway. "Nevermind. Pookie says I should bring Katharine into the study."

"Now what’s the little bugger up to?" I said.

"Don’t anybody have a fit," Jim said, "but we’ve been playing with the Ouija board."

Mike and Loren exchanged a strange look. "Ah… I’m not sure that’s the best thing for the kids to be doing," Loren said, sounding a bit anxious. "Call me superstitious but I don’t think they’re to be played with."

"So why do you have one in your study?" Jim asked. He looked back and forth from Loren to Mike. "None of my business. But Pookie seems to want to use it, for some reason. And she wants her mom. I’m well trained, when one of my women says jump, I ask how high."

"Then how is it we always seem to wind up doing exactly what you want to do?" Ildith said. "I’ve never quite figured out how you do that, but if I could patent and sell it, it would revolutionize the whole legal profession."

"Oh, you’re just blinded by your mad passion for me," Jim drawled. "Come on, you know how Pookie is when she gets ahold of an idea. Just like her sister, only noisier."

I wound up holding her on my lap with my hands atop hers.

"You look like one of those facilitators they used to use for autistic kids," Loren said.

"Please, don’t go there," I said. "I don’t even want to think about that." That probably didn’t make a lot of sense to anyone but Chris, who knew all the crazy thoughts I’d had about Pookie not talking.

I swear I did nothing to force the little hands under mine, but somehow the planchette began to move about the board, awkwardly, since Pookie wasn’t really big enough to reach very well. I had no idea what we were producing, but Loren had grabbed pen and paper and was scribbling as he watched. "T-K-S-M-M-I-L-Y-Y-R-L-A-R-O-S? What on earth is that?"

"I don’t know. I guess Pookie can’t spell any better than she can talk. Sweetie, what is this?" Don’t ask why I thought she would know, but she seemed content once we had gotten that far. Then she twisted around and planted a sloppy little baby kiss on my cheek. "I love you too," I said. Then she slipped off my lap, bounced over to Jim, and said "Pay cards, Pa." Evidently we were through trying to contact the spirit world.

"Why was that thing left out?" Loren said, not sounding very happy. ‘It’s not a toy."

"I don’t know," Mike said, sounding a little defensive. "But can we not spoil things? This is supposed to be a celebration."

"Don’t fight," Kenny said, and the room got quiet, and we all felt terrible for a few minutes before tucking the Ouija board away and going upstairs to see how Mike had decorated Kenny’s room. He wasn’t quite finished, but one wall was developing into a Goldilocks mural, as Kenny had a real thing for bears. The faces of the elder bears bore a great resemblance to Loren and Mike, and baby bear looked a lot like Kenny.

"I want one like that!" Kaycee enthused. Pookie broke into a huge grin, pointing and naming everyone she recognized. Then for reasons known only to herself, she began spinning around in circles, laughing until she wheezed.

"Sometimes I really think that child is not right," I said, leaning into Chris and putting my head on his shoulder.

"Oh, and it’s all my fault, I’m sure," he said. "She’s probably the product of one of those weekends when you decided I needed a treat and wore a blonde wig and so much green eye shadow you looked like something out of an old Star Trek rerun and somehow it affected her."

"You were the one trying to lick off the green eye shadow," I said. "It probably contaminated your sperm."

"More than I need to know!" Mike shouted. "Shut up already!"

We shut, the party continued, and a few months later Kaycee had a magical kingdom on her bedroom walls, with castles, myriad forest creatures, and a princess that looked just like her.

*****

 San Fran a few years hence

"How’s the house?" I whispered to Kenny. I was always nervous as hell right before a performance. The only thing that kept me going was the sure knowledge that as soon as I walked out onstage, I would go into the zone and everything would work just like it was supposed to. It was just like Jekyll to Hyde. The scared little girl who had spent years in the shadow of a brilliant older sister just faded into the shadows, and somebody else took over and ruled the roost. Thank God. Oh, not that I begrudged Kaycee anything, or held anything against her. She might be a little bossy and sometimes she did drive me totally wacko, but we loved each other, and I could always count on her for support. But I only needed it until I walked onstage. Then I’d look out into those faces and know I’d rather die than disappoint them, and that always pushed me into a level that sometimes surprised even me.

"Standing Room Only," Kenny said, and instead of scaring me even worse, somehow that gave me a little adrenalin rush and I couldn’t wait to get out there so I could feel the rest of it, the part that I sucked right out of the crowd and then spat back at them in song and dance. Oh yeah, I danced. I felt the music right down to my DNA. Afterwards I could hardly tell you what I’d said or done onstage, and to tell the truth, as long as the crowd yelled and clapped and whooped for more, I didn’t care, because it had obviously worked.

This was a benefit for the Humane Society so there was no way I wasn’t going to be up for that, not the way I’d been raised. Looking across the audience I saw mostly young or youngish faces, so I figured they’d be up for whatever I wanted to dish out, so when Kenny said "Now Pookie, don’t you dare use the M-word. This isn’t a bar full of drunks," I just smiled at him and said nothing. Part of our shtick was my tribute to The Rose, and I just loved to make my entrance exactly the way she used to. Sometimes it made Kenny nuts, but when I was in character, I was in character. A lot of people thought it odd that Mary Rose Foster was my idol, what with my own peculiar kind of Idol background, but hey, that’s just the way Fate handed it to me.

At my introduction, I stormed the stage, grabbed the microphone and yelled "Hiya, Muthas!" Actually that wasn’t quite what I said, and I couldn’t keep the smile off my face when I saw Kenny rolling his eyes. But he didn’t miss a lick. That was not Kenny’s way. He was absolutely steady and where he needed to be and where we needed him to be at all times. I could be crazy as hell and Kenny would always rescue me if I needed it.

As it happened, the crowd whooped and yelled "Hiya, Pookie!" right back at me. I loved it. God, I love being onstage. I really do think there’s something to the notion that performing is in a person’s blood. Maybe not how you do it, exactly, but the need to do it is there.

After an entrance like that I had to keep it going, so I gave them Fire Down Below. I danced around, whirling and stomping and flinging my arms out in my purple flowing top that looked almost like butterfly wings. Then we could slow it down a bit and go into Stay With Me Baby. I even did Rose’s "because I was born a wo-man!" patter. Mom always said it actually physically hurt her to hear me straining my voice like that, and you don’t even want to know what my grandma would say, but I could no more hold back than I could stop breathing. The song wanted to be sung like that. It needed it. And I needed to be true to the music and the feeling inside it, and the feeling inside me.

At some point during my wild ride I noticed Asher Bane toward the back of the room. I figured he must be loaded, because it was supposed to cost a pretty penny to be in that room on that particular night. It was for the animals, and we were making the rich folks pay for the privilege of watching me have a musical out of body experience. By the time I was through with Midnight in Memphis, I was clear down on the stage with my knees bent, leaning backwards, arms flung back over my head. I really think for a few seconds some of them thought I was dead.

When I exited the stage—to thunderous applause and much whooping and whistling, I might add—Bane was waiting for me. I was too far off in my performance zone to even wonder how he’d gotten there so quickly. He took my arm and led me into a dressing room. "I wasn’t sure until now," he said, "but there can be no doubt. None whatsoever."

"Doubt about what?" I said, wiping sweat off my face, neck and chest with a towel.

"I’ve found a new addition for my band," he said.

"What?"

"You really don’t know, do you?"

"Know what?"

"That you are just what I need. The sound has been so close. So close. But never just right. There has always been something missing. Then I heard you and I knew what it was. It’s like that one little ingredient the vintner puts in his wine to give it that little extra something no one else’s has, that little touch of honey, or that little hint of fragrance that makes one perfume merely pleasant and another one an aphrodisiac like no other. Do you see what I mean?"

"Let me get this straight," I said, starting to come down a bit from my stage high. "You’re offering me a job?"

"Oh no, my precious. Far more than that."

Oh God, I thought, that’s too Gollumlike for me. This is getting weird. I want out. And he’s between me and the door. "Now hang on," I said, holding out one arm like I was doing a chorus of Stop In The Name Of Love. "Let me just nip this in the bud right now." He smiled and I sort of wished I hadn’t used the word ‘nip.’ God almighty, what a feral smile. And still, I didn’t feel that he intended to harm me.

"You really don’t know. You don’t know anything about your family’s heritage."

"Musicians, educators, lawyers and doctors," I said. "What’s to know?"

"I mean your magical heritage."

"You mean musical."

"No, I mean what I said."

"Oh, come on. The only magic in my family is an old story about how we’re descended from the Selkies. That’s about like having a crazy grandfather who used to spend his weekends hunting for the Loch Ness monster."

"Not quite. Selkies are real. Just not very useful unless you’ve been in a shipwreck and need to be rescued. Your more interesting ancestors were more likely the ones who caused the shipwrecks."

"What are you talking about?" I said. The more I came down from my stage self into my more usual persona, the more he bothered me. And things were noisy enough out front that no one would know even if I screamed my head off, most likely. Great. Now what?

"My sweet girl, haven’t you ever heard of the sirens?"

"The what?"

"Sirens. Sea creatures with magical voices who could charm sailors. Their purpose was said to be stealing their souls. Some said they ate them as well, but I never believed that. My purpose is a little different, but I can still make use of the power. Under my direction, you could focus so much better. Every ear that heard you would hear me. And oh, the delightful things I could tell them, the things I could persuade them to do on my behalf. But I must have your cooperation. Unfortunately, anyone who forces a siren to sing a song not of her liking must suffer some unpleasant consequences. I think I could deflect most of it, but there’s something about you I’m not quite sure of yet."

"You’d better let me out of here," I said, starting to get a little scared. "Kenny and the others will be looking for me."

"Kenny and the others!" he said, with an evil little chuckle. "Perhaps that’s the best way to convince you to come with me willingly. You’re very fond of Kenny, aren’t you?"

"Oh, man, he’s crazy as hell," I said, horrified to realize I’d actually said it out loud. Then I noticed his eyes and knew it was completely impossible for black eyes to glow red like his were starting


to do. And I’d absolutely swear his incisors were lengthening a bit even as I looked at him. Oh crap. Oh Pookie, what are you going to do now? Are you going to do something stupid like faint? Oh no, What’s that? Something was not right on the far side of the dressing room, and my ears were playing tricks on me, making me hear muted music while my eyes thought they were seeing a small show of localized fireworks. Then the sparkling glow turned into a very solid and attractive young man.

Bane made a weird sound in his throat that sounded like a mixture of a gargle and a growl. What next, was he going to morph into a wolf and eat me for supper? Oh crap, oh crap, oh crap.

"You!" he said accusingly. "You were supposed to be—"

"Yeah, but I’m not," Mr. Handsome said, sounding very aggravated but not nearly as terrified as I was. "Back to the dark, where shadows dwell. You cannot have this Halliwell! Or this McPhee, for that matter."

"Wrong demon," Bane said.

"Doesn’t matter," he answered.

"Actually, I’m a McDonald," I said. God only knows why. My brain wasn’t exactly in gear right then. Then the two of them seemed to be winding up like opposing baseball pitchers, sparks and flames flew, something hit me in the chest, and that was all I remembered.

There was a couch in the end of the dressing room and that was where I woke up. There were two very good looking, very concerned faces looking down at me. Kenny was no surprise. The other guy was. Two gorgeous strangers in one evening. And one red-eyed scary s.o.b. who was—hmmm, nowhere to be seen, as far as I could tell.

"Who are you?" I asked.

"I’m Chris," he answered. "Chris Halliwell. My mom owns this place."

"That’s a nice name. I’ve always liked that name. We’ve got a lot of Chrises in my family," I babbled.

"Mine too," he said. "I was named after my grandfather."

"Me too," I said. "I mean my grandmother."

"You mean Pookie isn’t your real name?" he said teasingly.

"Yeah. I mean no. It’s Patricia."

"That was my grandmother’s name too," Mr. Handsome #2 said. "What a lot of coincidences. Next you’re gonna tell me you have an older sister who’s smart and strong and perfect and always two steps ahead of you."

"How’d you know that? By the way where did The Incredible Hunk go?" I asked. "I mean the other one." I had to add that. You’d have had to see his face to understand.

"Wyatt? He’s my older brother, by the way. He’s after the band. They were here too."

"The band?"

"Yeah, wouldn’t make sense to let all the minions run loose just because you got the big dog, would it?"

"Isn’t that pretty bad odds?" Kenny asked.

"Well, maybe. There’s only four of them, so they’d better run. Wyatt was angry, and believe me, you wouldn’t like him when he’s angry. He does everything but turn green and split his shirt."

I reached over and took Kenny’s hand. "Hey, Tenny—what the HELL just happened? And what’s HE snickering about?"

"Because you sounded just like my mother," Chris said. "She’s always saying that, just like that. I guess that tells you something about what her life is like."

"You just kinda had a close call, Sweetie," Kenny said. "There’s a lot of things I’ve always known we’d have to talk about sooner or later. I just hoped it would be later rather than sooner. Guess not. We’ve always kind of had a connection to the Halliwells. Dad’s been their attorney for years. I just never wanted to get you involved in anything…. "

"Weird?" I finished for him.

"Dangerous," he said, looking agonized. "I should have known something like this would happen sooner or later."

I realized that my chest was hurting like hell. I touched the area above my heart gingerly. It appeared to be bruised, all red and swollen, but the flesh looked intact. "Ugh," I said. "What did that?"

"Firebolt," Chris said. "Actually I think you got him before Wyatt did."

"What?" I seemed to be saying that an awful lot lately.

"Yeah, the one he pitched at you kind of zinged back at him. It stunned him long enough for Wyatt to get him. Or maybe he wouldn’t have needed the second one at all. I don’t know. But between the two of you, you sure fried him to a crisp."

"It hit my lucky locket," I said. "I always wear it onstage. Mom gave it to me a long time ago, when I first told her I was going to be a rock star. She said I’d need it." I touched my chest again and wished I hadn’t. "That’s gonna be a wicked mother of a scar, you know."

"It looks like a heart right over your heart," Kenny said.

"Maybe that’s a good omen," Chris said.

"You want to know something else funny?" I said. "I woke up hearing this little song in my head, something Mom used to sing me to sleep with a long time ago, when I was real little. It just kept going around and around in my head.

 "If I am where you are, nowhere’s too far.
So take me with you, all I need is you.
If you could choose to go anywhere,
Just close your eyes and imagine.
The world belongs to just you and I,
If I could be there with you."

 Back in L.A., Where That Damned Speech is Still Not Getting Written 

 It was almost like stepping backwards in time, because the scene was exactly the same: Chris hunched over the keyboard, muttering to himself, while the wastebasket filled up with wadded sheets of paper. Evidently things didn’t gel for him until he’d seen them printed out, and he could hold them in his hands and read them out loud. 

"I take it the speech is still fighting you," I said.

He ran his hands through his hair like he always did when he was agitated. "Yeah, and I’ve got all this great material that Loren suggested I look up online. Did you know George Bernard Shaw was an animal lover? There are tons of quotes from him, all fantastic. I just can’t figure out how to tie them all together! And I want so much to make sense, and make an impression, because this stuff’s important."

"Of course it is, Baby. And you’ll get it all figured out. Let’s see what you’ve got so far."

"I’ve just got everything kind of splooshed on here together. It all makes sense as individual paragraphs, but they don’t make a speech."

"That’s interesting," I said. " ‘The animals of the world exist for their own reasons. They were not made for humans any more than black people were made for whites or women for men.’ Alice Walker, eh? That’s pretty, uh, potent stuff, but don’t you think it’s a little political?"

"But it’s true!"

"Yeah, but you don’t want to just stand up there and yell at people. You want to persuade them, don’t you?"

"Yeah," he said resignedly. "I knew that. I just liked the quote."

"Me too," I said, sliding onto his lap to see if we could function that way.

"How about this one? ‘The soul is the same in all living creatures, although the body of each is different.’ That sounds kind of religious but it’s from Hippocrates. That should be far enough removed to pass, don’t you think?"

"And you’re a doctor, so there’s a logical tie-in."

"Okay, I’ll figure out a way to use that one. Now how about this one?"

I have a habit of reading things aloud because I react better to the sound of a human voice than to the printed word, so I began: " ‘ It is as if life had said, "I am going to send you into a world of cruelty. I shall make you sensitive to pain, fear, heat, cold, hunger and starvation. In this world of cruelty, I shall make you defenceless. In addition, I shall strike you dumb." This is the kind of world that animals are born into.’ Who’s Grace Johnson?" By that time I was all teary eyed and snuffling and could hardly keep talking. "Oh, that’s awful. You couldn’t even read to the end of that without doing exactly what I’m doing. Next quote."

"This is a long one but it’s by a scientist. Maybe that’s better. ‘In actual laboratory experiments monkeys were forced to choose between electro-shocking other monkeys and doing without food themselves. Almost all of the monkeys went hungry for up to two weeks rather than shock others. There macaques, who have never gone to Sunday school, never heard of the Ten Commandments, never squirmed through a single junior high school civics lesson, seem courageous in their moral grounding and their resistance to evil. If the situation were reversed, and captive humans were offered the same deal by macaque scientists, would we do as well?’ "

"Wow," I said. "Is that true? That might be a good one."

"And follow it up with this: ‘I tremble for my species when I reflect that God is just.’ That’s Thomas Jefferson. Nobody can object to Thomas Jefferson, can they?"

"At least they’ll know who he is," I said.

"Oh. I’ve got it. Look at this. This is perfect. Even an atheist can latch onto this, because it’s the exact opposite of sitting on your can waiting for a miracle. Read it."

I didn’t have my glasses on but Chris’ enthusiasm was contagious, so I squinted at the screen and saw this:

"I looked at all the caged animals….the cast-offs of human society. I saw in their   
   eyes love and hope, fear and dread, sadness and betrayal. And I was angry.

   "God," I said, "this is terrible! Why don’t you do something?"

   God was silent for a moment and then He spoke softly. "I have done something…. 
   I created you."

"That’s how I’m gonna end it. Put the responsibility squarely back where it belongs, so whether they believe in anything or nothing, they can’t get off the hook. It’s perfect."

"See how well we work together?" I said, kissing him on top of the head. "I want my kids to think like that. I want them to have a sense of responsibility."

"Is that why you married me?" Chris said. "It wasn’t my pretty blue eyes?"

"Well, that helped. But you know what? I think I’ve always done that, you know, that thing where I’d size a guy up the minute I met him. It was never far from my mind. Could I have kids with him? Did I trust him that much? Sometimes I’d force myself to just shut up and do something I knew was totally stupid, but I could never fool myself for very long. Even when I thought I was madly in love with some utter airhole, I would know, down deep inside myself, that it wouldn’t last long. Just like I always knew that if I ever got my hands on you, I’d never let go of you. Ever."

"Well, you’ve got one little budding dog doctor anyway," he said, trying to keep it light. "I know she’s not even in grade school yet, but I’ll make you a bet if you’d like."

"I just wish she’d stop practicing surgery by cutting up her stuffed animals with her toy scissors. I mean, don’t you think that’s going a bit too far?"

"Not as long as I don’t have to clean up the messes."

"Oh shut up." This time I knuckled him hard on top of the head. "And what of our little Pookie? What do you suppose she’ll wind up doing?"

"Ow. She’s going to be a singer like her mom. Doesn’t there have to be one in each generation?"

"I don’t think it’s a law, no. But I do wonder. And God, I hope I’m doing all the right things. I know I have a tendency to be too strict with them sometimes, but then you’re too indulgent, so maybe it all evens out somehow."

"Hey, Baby, all you can do is all you can do. You give them all the tools you know how to pass on, and then sooner or later they have to do it for themselves."

"Says the guy who threatens to dig a moat around the house and stock it with alligators, and dust his daughter for fingerprints every time she comes home from a date. I’d hate to be Kaycee’s first boyfriend."

"So would I! Now get off of me so I can finish this speech."

I climbed off his lap and headed up to bed. I would finish dealing with Christopher later, when his mind was free but he was still on an "I’ve-finally-finished-that-damn-speech" high. But before that, I went up to look in on the girls. Kaycee was currently on a Disney kick, and since we’d had trouble finding the Seven Dwarves, she was curled up next to a Leprechaun doll, who was evidently close enough. Pookie had turned herself around and was sleeping with her head to the foot of the bed. I tugged the thumb out of her mouth and pushed the hair back off her forehead. "Who are you going to be when you grow up?" I asked myself.

On an impulse, I went back to my room and dug out the little heart-shaped pendant I’d found years before. I had a strong feeling it would be hers someday, when the time was right. But… surely that couldn’t be right. It had been a bit twisted and misshapen when I first found it, almost as though it had been partially melted. As I looked at it now, it seemed more whole, and I could plainly see the letters which had been partially obscured before. Wherever it had originated and whoever it had belonged to, those initials seemed to point to one obvious truth: this little piece of jewelry was destined for someone with the initials P.K.M. Who better than Patricia Kellie McDonald?

********

 Pookie Gets An Odd Notion

 "Just to be absolutely sure nothing else weird happens, maybe we should crash at The Manor for awhile," Kenny said. "It’s the safest place I can think of."

 "Me too," Chris agreed. "I think Wyatt’s probably got the situation well in hand by now, but… you think Pookie’s ready for The Halliwell Express Taxi Service?"

"Oh hell, she’s got to get her feet wet sometime," Kenny said.

"Here, hold my hand," Chris said, and I noticed that Kenny was doing the same thing.

Before I could ask a single question, something weird happened, my stomach flipflopped, my eyes rolled back in my head, and when they came back to normal, I was standing in a beautifully appointed old Victorian mansion that was a lot like the Scott home but different. "Oh-h-h-h crap, what was that?" was all I could manage to say.

"You just had your first orbing experience," Kenny said. "I came along so you wouldn’t get scared or in case you got as sick as I did the first time. You’ll be okay in a minute. Now I have to get back to the club. You did your part of the act so you’re, well, let’s say you get off Scott-free. God, I love a bad pun." He leaned over and gave me a quick peck on the cheek. "Can you just flip me back, Chris?"

"Sure." Chris waved a hand in Kenny’s direction and the love of my life transformed into a gorgeous sparkling glow which whooshed upwards and gradually disappeared.

"Holy crap," I said.

"Lots to talk about," Chris said. "But you’re as safe here as anywhere on earth, I’d say. Wyatt has this place force fielded better than the starship Enterprise."

Then he escorted me to the upper storey of the house and gave me a crash course in the history of magic that left my head spinning. How was I supposed to take it all in—that this gorgoeus young man stood at the end of a long line of powerful white witches who kept a thick leather-bound book of spells and incantations in their attic, whose kitchen was well stocked with magical herbs with which they brewed potions that could transform, heal or kill, and whose powers were passed down from generation to generation. The Halliwells, evidently, were to San Francisco as Batman was to Gotham City, and it seemed that there was a lot more evil lurking just beneath the surface of civilization than most of us ever dreamed. It all sounded so crazy, and yet, in my soul, I knew he was telling the truth.

"So is my locket magic or what?" I despaired of understanding everything he was trying to tell me. The main thing I needed to know was how all of this applied to me, right here, right now.

"Well, yes and no. I think it taps into a kind of earth magic that precedes anything else because it’s just so damn basic. What I said about Harry Potter was basically true—the power of love trumps everything else on earth, in the final analysis. Your mother gave it to you, you say?"

"Yeah, but she doesn’t know where it came from either. She found it out in the middle of Kansas or someplace like that when she was on the Idol Tour years and years ago. She dreamed about it and then woke up and found it. Well actually she dreamed about me. I guess I had the locket in the dream, and then the next day Mom had it. But she didn’t have me yet. She gave it to me when I was eleven years old. It’s complicated."

"Harry found out he was a wizard when he was eleven," Chris said with a sly smile. "Must be a magic age."

"Yeah, but I’m not a witch or anything. I’m a singer."

"From what I gather, a pretty good one."

"Thanks. That guy, or whatever he was, with the tattoos—he said we really are descended from magical creatures. Mom used to tell me about the seal people but he said there was some, well, evil things in there too. Sirens."

"Ashurbanipal, according to the Book of Shadows, is an ancient demon who wears the words of immortality on his face. The writing on his cheeks said ‘And he shall live forever and ever,’ and the word on his forehead was his name. You have to blast him right square in that name, erase his name and you erase him."

"You’re kind of avoiding something," I said, looking around the large attic space where we were sitting. "Like do I have evil blood in me or something I need to worry about."

"You come from a magical line," Chris said. "That can mean a lot of things. Here’s what you have to remember: just because you have something in you, that doesn’t mean it has to rule you. We’re all made up of a lot of things. We get to choose what we’ll respond to. That’s a very important thing to remember, Pookie. Believe me, I know. Let me ask you this: do you think your mom or your grandma are evil? They’re both singers. Have they ever lured any unsuspecting listeners to their doom?"

I had to chuckle at that. "Not that they’ve ever told me about. But people are drawn to them. Just in a good way."

"That’s what I’m talkin’ about," Chris said.

"Is that a Ouija board over there?" I asked out of the blue. I think all the magic talk was starting to weigh me down. I just couldn’t handle much more weirdness.

"Yeah. Do you feel drawn to it for some reason? I ask because I get nervous when people use them like parlor games."

I realized that he was right. For some reason I felt a really strong urge to sit with the board, and that was strange because I’d never used one before, and I told him so. "What do you think that means?"

"I have no idea. Let’s find out. This one, at least, has been blessed, so anything wonky trying to get through it will feel like a wasp trying to get through a screen with very, very tiny holes in it."

We brought the board over to the couch and situated ourselves. "Will you put your hands over mine? Now that I’m actually touching this thing, it feels kind of familiar, but I don’t really know how to use it."

"I think you let it use you," Chris said with a little smile. He really was a handsome fellow, with a softer look than Kenny, but I had a feeling you shouldn’t mess with him too much.

"I’m thinking about Mom. I can’t get her out of my mind. I had such a strong feeling that she was with me back there… and an even stronger feeling that if she hadn’t given me that little necklace, I’d be a pile of Pookie flavored ashes by now."

"You got a cell phone? You could just call her and talk to her, you know," Chris said, and I didn’t know if he was serious or not.

"No, I want to do this. Don’t ask me why. It’s like I need to do this. You ever see a locket like this before?" I held it out toward Chris, at the end of its chain, and turned it over so he could see both sides.

"Is that a rose?"

"Yeah. Another coincidence. I’ve always been really drawn to Mary Rose Foster. The inscription says L.A. Rose, and I’ve always felt like that meant me. Can these things send as well as receive?"

"I’ve never tried that, but you seem like a girl who likes to experiment, so—"

"Hold my hands and I’ll just think what I want to say, and we’ll see what happens. I’m not going to move anything." We both watched in fascination as the planchette began to spell out what I had in mind, taking a little side trip into internet abbreviations. The words I felt in my heart were "Thanks, Mom. I love you. Your L.A. Rose," but they came out more like T-K-S-M-M-I-L-Y-Y-R-L-A-R-O-S. Close enough, I supposed. Suddenly I began feeling very snuffly. "Wow, this is getting intense. I think I’m finished." I pulled my hands away from Chris’ and we sat silently for a moment. "Y’know, if she was here I’d give her a big kiss."

"I think you just did," Chris said. "Don’t ask. Stranger things have happened in this attic. Now let’s put this thing up and go downstairs and have a cup of coffee. What say?"

"Sounds great," I said.

The door opened and Mr. Handsome #1 entered the room for all the world like a knight returning from a quest. I halfway expected him to plop down a severed dragon’s head.

"Hey, Bro—allow me to introduce you to Miss Patricia McDonald," Chris said. "Better known as Pookie. And this is my big brother, the one and only Wyatt Halliwell. Shoulda never named him Wyatt. He’s gone through life thinking it was his destiny to clean up Dodge City. Or Tombstone. Or wherever it was."

Of all the things I would never have expected, the dragon slayer burst into song, a bit loud and exaggerated like a "don’t’ drive buzzed" commercial: "And none can deny it, the legend of Wyatt forever will live on the trail!" Both of them started laughing, and he said "I know, I should leave the singing to the professionals."

Then he did something really strange, but nice. He bowed, took my hand, and actually kissed my fingers. I always notice a guy’s eyes, and his hands. This guy had nice hands and his eyes fairly glittered as he looked up at me and said, simply, "Charmed."

Well, I see the last section didn't post properly.... I'd swear it was intact the last time I looked. My computer keeps taking the first sentence in a post and putting it at the end of the page. I think it has something to do with the fact that chapter headings are in a different font and something goes haywire. The last word in the story is supposed to be "Charmed" because I love bad puns and wordplays. That's why I posted it in sections instead of as one unit, because paragraphs kept transposing themselves all over the place and I thought that would be easier to manage. Therefore, anything that doesn't make sense could be 1) the fact that I'm playing with time travel, or 2) my ancient computer rewriting the story for me.

Wow, you are over 4,000 posts!  Interesting how different this looks here compared to when you have a printed copy to read through.  I don't know if I could read the whole thing off the screen.  Not that I've tried.  Anyway!

We're 9 chapters in?  I guess it's 10 if you count my special Christmas RBL edition.  Can we count mine?  We can, right?    But it is a special edition so it doesn't get a number.  I guess.  Anyway, you know what I think so...yeah.  I'm not adding anything to the conversation am I?  Hmm....oh well.

Daisy, Daisy.....  I've never been sure I understood that movie but I really loved it at one time. Yeah, sometimes my computer acts like somebody is unplugging its brain, step at a time...  and then I start feeling the same way.

If anyone's curious, this is more or less the way I saw Ashurbanipal. Interesting that the name they gave his character in The Mummy was Ardeth Bey, which was actually the pseudonym the mummy used in the original Boris Karloff movie from the 30's.