The Guardian
"Welcome to Puttin' on the Dogs, home of the twelve-foot longer and the famous Wienmere of doom! Can I take your order?"
Bradshaw mustered every ounce of politeness in his body and smiled back at the gangly teenager. The kid's huge hot-dog-topped headpiece nearly bonked him on the head as he bent and scribbled down his order: "One Cheezy-Bacon, one junior dog, a basket of puppydog tails, three sodas, one small, two large, and a Wiener of Doom...."
The teen's face lit up, "Did you just say you wanted a Wiener?"
"Um...Yup.." Bradshaw confessed.
"Uh-oh!!" The teenager cried out, and, grinning cheerily pressed a big red button on the side of his hat. His big plastic hot-dog began to spin, emanating a loud beeping noise. All of the other servers on the floor began to clap and smirk, gathering around their table.
Stevie masked his amusement as Bradshaw sank into his seat in humiliation.
The crowd parted and their server returned handing, Bradshaw a plate that contained The infamous Wiener of Doom (Actually four foot-longs in one long custom-baked bun).
"Welcome, brave explorer, to the uncharted pleasures of the Wiener of Doom! Only the bravest of Explorers have tried to masticate the Dog of Doom in one sitting! If you do so, your picture will be added to our Wall of Fame!" The teens parted, allowing Bradshaw to catch a glimpse of the wall of shame. The only member of the elite group was a chubby teenager who seemed a tad queasy. "By the way, aren't you Bradshaw from the WWF?" The server bubbled. He, of course, got an autograph.
The crowd dispersed, leaving a sheepish Bradshaw and an amused Stevie. Lucy waved her little fists in the air, singing "Weenie! Weenie!"
Stevie chopped Lucy's hot-dog into chunks with a knife and fork, "I could've warned you about that," He teased, handing the baby her plate back.
"Why didn't you?" Bradshaw asked, squirting his dog with catsup.
"Lucy likes the flashing lights," He said.
"How is Lucy related to you, well, I know she's your niece. But through whom?"
"She's my twin sister's daughter," Stevie explained. "And before you ask where my twin sister went, well, let's just say that this girl's father has a penchant for smuggling firearms." He sighed. Lucy was daintily stuffing the hot-dogs into her mouth, watching the both of them intently.
"Hearing?"
"Testimony," Stevie explained.
"Ah," Bradshaw responded. He frowned down at his plate, deciding his course of action. He simply heaved the dog up into his substantial paws and took a big bite out of it. He looked like a wolfdog, and Lucy giggled at his action.
"Smooth, Balto." Stevie teased, carefully biting into his own dog. His lap was rewarded by a splattering of cheese for his snobbery. It was Bradshaw's turn to laugh.
"So, what's your family like?" Bradshaw asked through his laughter.
"Well, I'm the second of four," Stevie said, "I have an older brother and a baby brother, and Lisa, my twin. My family's a rather conservative, close-knit group. But they accept me...I graduated from P.C.C. two years ago, and if I weren't a wrestler, I'd be a network administrator. You?"
"Hmm, I have a younger brother, I grew up in Texas, my parents were Baptists, so it's not working out too well, and I'm pretty proud of my degree." A chubby fist offered him a "puppydog tail" (AKA: Curly-Q fry) and he took it.
Stevie admired Bradshaw's tenacity in the face of new experience. He also proved victorious against the hot dog, and his grinning face was added to the Puttin On The Dog Wall of Fame.
The full trio piled back into Bradshaw's car next, and Stevie spread out the entertainment section of the paper over the dash.
"G...G...G..." He murmured to himself, "Aha! Wally The Weasel! And it starts in five minutes."
"Wally the Weasel?!" Bradshaw was horrified. He'd seen promos for the rather syrupy kiddie feature many times over the past few months. He and Ron had laughed heartily at it. "How about something less...Loud?"
Lucy spoke up from her car seat, "Wally!! Wally!" She cried, then sang, "Wally Weasel, I love you, I love you, yes I do!"
Bradshaw winced. The Wally Weasel theme song, a fate worse than death.
"Awww, come on, Justin," Stevie nuzzled him, "For me?"
He put the car in first gear.
**
Bradshaw mused to himself that Wally Weasel, or at least his audience, weren't as mockable as he had once believed. Surrounded by a group of happy three-to-seven year olds who cried when Wally's friend Tinkle the Oooze nearly died, and knew ALL of the words to the Wally Weasel theme song, he found the atmosphere to be lots of fun. Little Lucy even acted the theme out.
There was, of course, something about Stevie that made it extra fun. He had an infectious giggle, a sense of himself that was consistently lighthearted. He found himself laughing, too. And holding his hand.
When the lights went up on Wally The Weasel, Bradshaw noticed the back of a very familiar head. It turned and tried to double back. Stevie poked Bradshaw, pointing and laughing. And Justin, of course, couldn't resist poking fun at a moment like this. He cupped his hand around his mouth and trilled,
"Oh Farooooq!"
Ron turned around, his face a mask of embarrassment, and his eyes widened when he saw that Stevie and Bradshaw were sitting together AND holding hands. It almost negated his embarrassment over being caught wearing Wally The Weasel brand Weasel ears.
Ron shuffled out of the aisle and, in super-cool mode, walked to the back of the theater. When he passed Bradshaw, he bent, pretending to tie his shoelace, and whispered, "If you don't ask, I won't tell."
***
A few moments later, Lucy was happily chattering away about Captain Cow's secret identities, between sucks of a chocolate-and-vanilla twist soft-serve cone. Stevie smiled over his chocolate cone to Bradshaw.
"She's like this all the time," He said, ruffling her hair, "And you thought all she could say was one word! And are you sure you didn't want a cone?"
They sat on a chipping picnic bench at the back of Sundae's Ice Cream Parlor, watching the post-dinner rush have their way with cones of all shapes and sizes. Bradshaw turned green when he saw a guy happily eating a banana barge all by his lonesome.
"No, thanks," He smiled demurely.
* * *
At 8:30, Lucy Manna lay draped over her uncle's shoulder fast asleep. He looked at his watch briefly.
"Well, Lisa's going to be happy that I ," He smiled. "Hey, Justin...Thanks for putting up with my bringing Lucy along. It wasn't anything I could control..."
"I definitely didn't have to 'put up' with Lucy. She's a joy." Justin placed his hand on Stevie's free shoulder, "While I enjoy her company, Next time, we'll try this alone."
Seeing the teasing promise in Bradshaw's eyes, he carefully stood on tiptoes and pecked Bradshaw's cheek with a quick kiss. "You're a true gentleman, Bradshaw." He grinned, "Goodnight!" He entered the lobby.
"Night." Bradshaw whispered, touching the little area of his cheek that Stevie had caught. A gentleman. He'd never thought of himself that way. But Stevie certainly made him feel that way. He would spend the rest of his years extending that image with him.
He spent the rest of the night, and, indeed, the rest of his life, forever grateful to the fine institution of Guardianship and considered himself in debt to baby-sitters everywhere.