Chapter 19

"Piper, what did you do?"

What makes you think I did something, she thought.

WE did something, thought the trio.

Yeah. We're going to be mothers, thought the kits.

We could feel the satisfaction.

"That's obvious ... no ... what did you do the girl?"

Jeanine?

"Wait. Stop. How do you know her name is Jeanine?"

Isabelle and Mom, said the kits.

We all turned to Piper ... who immediately looked guilty.

Remember? Piper thought a scene to us; The Austin Twins ... Girl Scouts ... the boathouse ... a persistent 12 year old ... the irate Scout Leader ... the Animal Control People ... the persistent 12 year old ... the 12 year old ... girl...

The cats, Hineahuone and I, all turned to look at our Bellhop ... she was just coming out of her swoon.

Jeanine, thought the half and the three quarters Canadian Lynx.

"Jeanine," I said, marveling at how WELL the now twenty-three year old Jeanine had grown up.

"Jeanine?" asked Hineahuone ... she had never met the girl.

"Jeanine, Honey? What are you doing on these nice folks floor?" asked the laundress. She was carrying my suit, shirt and tie.

"Jeanine?" asked the bootblack ... he had my shoes.

"Jeanine," exclaimed the concierge, "Get off the floor." He had the spectacularly colored and form hugging polynesian dress my princess was going to wear to dinner and dancing tonight.

"That's Jeanine?" asked the busybody gray-haired old battle-ax of a retired schoolteacher who had no business in my suite.

That pissed me off.

"Out ... everybody out ... not you, Jeanine ... not you, Hineahuone, Piper? You and the kits stay. Everybody else ... out!"

Dress and suit hung, the unnecessary personnel evacuated and Hineahuone and I picked the again fainted Bellhop up and carried her into the bedroom ... mine I think. Oh joy.

I left and actually closed the door while Hineahuone 'loosened' the bellhop clothes. Stripped her, I believe is the operative word. Jeanine had soiled herself.

"David? I need some help," said my Maori Princess.

"Yes?"

"Someone is going to have to hold her in the shower ... she messed herself. I'll find clothes, you strip off and wash her." Hineahuone suggested I wipe that grin off my face before she wiped it off for me. "And get rid off that." She pointed and my interest. "That's mine."

A platonic shower with a well built brunette was absolutely no fun ... but I got rid of the interest as soon as I smelled her.

EWW!

She gave a little shriek when she came to consciousness and realized ... and passed out and passed her last meal all over my legs ... evacuated is the term I seek.

"Good God, Jeanine ... what have you been eating?" I mumbled. Then came the rumbles and an explosion: FART. To expel gas through the anus; relieve flatulence by the most immediate expediency. It was accompanied by brown water.

"Hineahuone?"

"Yes?"

The door cracked open and slammed shut.

"What ever you want ain't gonna happen, Good lord David ... that's awful! Did you do that?"

"No ... she did. I need you to open the balcony doors, open the bath door and evacuate the premises."

"Do I have to?"

"Yes ... and take our clothes with you."

The sliding glass doors slid open. The cats ... who are, at this particular moment, smarter than I ... exited through the opening. I heard shuddering indrawn breaths and the bathroom door cracked open. The thundering herd that was a single Maori girl slammed the suite door ... it opened again..."Shit" ... and closed after some rustling.

Hineahuone had forgotten the clothes. The hall door was open just long enough to waft the greenish yellow sulfurous methane gas down the hall. What ever Jeanine had been eating ... the dregs of it was vile beyond belief ... she continued to lose compression in a series of high pitched whistles accompanied by bangs as the last of the hard matter blasted the shower walls.

The screaming meemies stopped.

Jeanine was no longer full of shit.

Grace opened the suite door ... and slammed it.

Grace had freed up the W-100 Town Wagon Power Wagon and driven down to spend the rest of the week with us ... poor girl.

I, in the meantime, was squashing Jeanine grapes with my naked feet in hopes that I could make them liquid enough to wash down the shower drain. A plumber's bill would be the crown and glory on what was proving to be a stellar day ... thank you very much.

Anyone that thinks there was an even remote ... a tiny ... ittybitty ... minuscule ... molecular thought of sex in the shit is sick ... very sick ... and that includes me.