Kid Power (11 page)

“Okay,” I said, and hung up. I called the Great Dane lady and explained that I had a young man who was used to big dogs and would therefore be perfect for the job. The woman said that sounded just fine; she had broken her ankle and couldn't walk the dog in the morning, or afternoon. She asked me what the rates were.

I said a dollar for two walks a day, for a five-day week. That meant Ted would be earning $4.50 and I'd be earning fifty cents for doing nothing. It sounded reasonable, and the lady said fine. I promised I'd send Ted right over, so I called him back and told him the terms. He agreed to them and I gave him the woman's name and address. Dog walking now sounded like a good area of expansion for Kid Power.

That took care of the Great Dane, thank goodness. Now all I had to work out were two yard sales, a babysitting job, and box packing all on the same Saturday.

“Carol!” I hollered downstairs.

“What is it?” she hollered back up.

“Are you busy Saturday night?”

“No!”

“Want to babysit?” I asked. “I get ten percent.”

“You money-hungry little skinflint!” she called back.

“Ten percent. Take it or leave it.”

“I'll take it,” she said, so I called the babysitting lady and told her Kid Power Agency would be happy to supply her with a sitter at a dollar an hour. The lady agreed. If Carol sat for four hours, I'd earn forty cents without ever leaving my home. I could understand why Lisa's mother enjoyed being an agent so much.

Of course that still left the problem of having to be three different places at the same time, but I was starting to feel no problem was unconquerable. So I called Margie. Margie's my third best friend. She'd be my second best friend if she didn't talk about kids all the time. She has a real thing for them.

“Hi, Margie,” I said. “Do you have anything going on on Saturday?”

“I don't think so,” she said. “Why, what's up?”

“Well, I know how good you are with kids,” I said. “And I have this job that calls for someone really talented with them.”

“For money?” she asked. Margie's a lot shrewder than I think she is sometimes.

“A dollar an hour minus ten percent,” I said. “You'll probably make four dollars out of it. Maybe more.”

“Doing what?” she asked.

“Looking after kids at a yard sale,” I said. “The kind of thing I've been doing.”

“Why don't you want the job?”

“Because I already have a yard sale scheduled for myself,” I said. “Kid Power's expanding and I need people to help out. Are you willing?”

“Okay,” she said. I gave her Mr. Dowell's name and address. “The way I take care of the kids is with oatmeal cookies. I give them away for free,” I told her.

“That's a good idea,” she said. “I'll bake chocolate chip though. People like chocolate chip cookies more than oatmeal.”

I thought of Carol downstairs baking a second batch of oatmeal cookies and how I was going to have to pay for them. But Margie can get really stubborn about things, and besides, I didn't feel like figuring out if she should pay for the cookies or if I should give them to her. So I just said, “That sounds good. It doesn't matter what kind of cookies Kid Power offers, just so long as we have some. It's our trademark.”

“Thanks for the job,” Margie said. “Taking care of kids is fun. And getting paid for it, too? What a racket!”

The real racket was getting ten percent of whatever she earned, but I didn't tell her that. Instead I hung up with one less problem to solve. Of course, now I had to worry about what to do with all those oatmeal cookies, but I knew if worse came to worse we could eat them as dessert every time we had tuna noodle casserole. At that rate, they'd be gone in no time flat.

I had a couple of choices for box packing. Lisa would be free to help out; Mrs. Townsend's garden didn't take all day, after all. Or Carol might do it. Or even Ted, although it probably would have interfered with his baseball. But I decided to try Sheila first. Kid Power might as well have as many employees as possible. So I dialed the sacred unlisted number and got Sheila on the first ring. It was always a relief when her mother didn't answer the phone, and cross-examine me about how I got the number.

“Hi, Sheila,” I said. “You busy on Saturday?”

Sheila wasn't, and packing boxes sounded good to her. So I called the box-packing lady and arranged for Sheila to go over there at one and work until four for a dollar an hour. I did a little mental arithmetic then and decided I'd have to go to the bank on Monday; I'd have earned so much money over the weekend. And earning money felt good to me again.

I made out a chart then, on another piece of loose-leaf paper, with all the days of the week on it and all the jobs I had scheduled and who was going to be doing what. It looked impressive, so I took it downstairs to show Mom and Carol.

They were sitting in the kitchen waiting for the cookies to finish baking. I showed them the piece of paper, and they agreed it looked good. I was just starting to work my nerve up to explain to Carol that her second batch of cookies wasn't necessary after all when the phone rang. I picked it up.

“Hello?” I said.

“Is this Kid Power?” the woman asked.

“Yes it is,” I said, almost dreading the thought of another job for the weekend. I'd run out of space on my chart.

“This is Hortense Carson,” the woman said. “I purchased your oatmeal cookies at a yard sale.”

It was the Oatmeal Cookie Lady! “Yes, I remember you,” I said. “What can I do for you?”

“I just found out my church is having a cake sale,” Ms. Carson said. “And I hate baking. I was wondering if I could have a rush order on some oatmeal cookies.”

“I think we could manage that,” I said. “How many cookies would you like?”

“I thought three dozen would be enough,” she said. “And another dozen for me if you could. These cookies remind me so much of my childhood.”

“Four dozen,” I said thoughtfully, looking at all the cookies Carol was taking out of the oven. “I can bring them over right now if you'd like.”

“That would be wonderful,” she said. “I live at 12 Oakcrest Drive.”

“I know where that is,” I said. “That's $2.40 for four dozen cookies.”

“I know,” she said. “It'll certainly be worth that to have homebaked cookies for the sale that I didn't have to bake.”

So I agreed to come right over, and bring the cookies with me. I took Carol's first batch, since they were already cool, and I walked over very carefully. Ms. Carson gave me my money, and we thanked each other. It was the easiest $2.40 I ever made, even if $1.50 of it was Carol's.

While I was out, I walked over to the five-and-ten and bought some oak tag and a couple of brand-new magic markers. I took the stuff back with me to my house.

“Hi, Carol,” I said, and handed her her $1.50.

“You owe me more than that,” she said. “You owe me for all these cookies.”

“I do indeed,” I said. Luckily, I hadn't deposited all the money I'd earned, so I gave her the rest of the money for the cookies. I had 96 cookies to get rid of on Saturday, but that was a lot better than having 144. That many oatmeal cookies could really make you sick.

“I have another job for you,” I said, fingering the oak tag.

“More baking?” she asked. “Forget it.”

“Not baking and not babysitting,” I said. “Sign making.”

“But you already have your sign,” she said.

“I need a new one,” I said. “I need a lot of new ones and I want you to make them.”

“Okay,” she said. “For fifty cents a sign.”

It was too hot to argue. “Deal,” I said. “I need a new one for the supermarket, and one each for the two yard sales. Three altogether.”

“What do you want them to say?” she asked, and we walked out to the back porch. There was a slight breeze blowing.

“Kid Power Agency,” I said. “I'm bigger than I used to be.”

“If you eat all those leftover cookies you'll be a lot bigger,” Carol said and giggled. I giggled too. It was a good feeling sitting on the porch getting ready to expand.

“Do you want to keep your slogan?” she asked, nibbling on a slightly burnt cookie. I think she burned a few of them deliberately. “No job too big or small?”

I thought about the Great Dane and Mrs. Townsend's garden and horrible Harriet. “Make that ‘Few jobs too big or small,'” I said. “And underneath I want a listing of our specialties.”

“Your specialties?” Carol asked. “What? Neurosurgery? Corporation Law?”

“Babysitting,” I said. “Animal Care. Gardens.”

“Some list,” she said.

“Errand Running,” I continued. “Yard Sales. And Oatmeal Cookies.”

“How about Satisfaction Guaranteed?” she asked. “That always looks good on a sign.”

“Fine,” I said. “Three signs. One big, two little. The little ones don't have to list our specialties. But make sure our phone number is in big print.”

“Will do, Chief,” Carol said. I left her on the porch, taking her pencil and sketching in all the information. I was glad I was able to push a little business her way.

I went into the living room and found Mom sitting on the sofa staring at the staircase. I couldn't tell whether that was a good sign or not. At least she wasn't copying recipes. It was spooky when she did that.

“Hi, Mom,” I said. “I'm going to make a fortune, and I'm not even going to have to do anything except answer the phone and collect the money.”

“You've found quite a racket for yourself,” she said. “Now leave me alone, could you hon? I'm doing some serious thinking.”

“About what?” I asked nervously.

“About rackets,” she said, and smiled. “I think you may have inspired me.”

“How?” I asked.

“Shush,” she said. “Let me think some more and then I'll tell you.”

Chapter Eleven

I may have spent more frantic Saturdays in my life, but I couldn't tell you when.

For starters there was the yard sale I was in charge of. It lasted six hours, and I managed to get rid of most of the oatmeal cookies, at only a small loss to my gross. None of the kids there broke or stole anything, and when the sale was over Mrs. Schwartz gave me a dollar bonus so I stayed a little longer and helped her pack up.

People kept coming up to me and my sign and saying they'd read about me in the paper. They asked a lot of questions about Kid Power Agency and a half-dozen of them took down the name and phone number and said they might have a job coming up for us to do. When I told them about expansion, they agreed that it was a sensible idea. They usually bought a couple of oatmeal cookies after that from the Adult Plate. It was a very profitable afternoon.

I got home by four, absolutely exhausted. Still, I was glad when Lisa came over. She looked excited about something.

“Mrs. Townsend is back!” she shouted.

I turned pale. “What did she say?” I asked.

“She said the garden looked great. She said she couldn't have tended it better herself.”

“Even with the Japanese beetles?” I asked dubiously.

“Especially with the beetles,” Lisa said. “Mrs. Townsend said they've been eating away at her garden for the past couple of years, and she never did know what to do about them. She was really happy when I told her my method.”

“What exactly is your method?” I asked. I'd been wondering about it.

“I read about it in a magazine,” Lisa said and giggled. “You take an open can of fruit cocktail, and you leave it outside for a week, so it ferments a little. Then you put it in a bucket of water and leave it by the rosebushes. The Japanese beetles eat the fruit cocktail and get drunk and drown in the water. Isn't that great?”

“That's horrible,” I said and giggled, too. “I just wish I'd known about that method earlier.”

“For Mrs. Townsend's garden?” Lisa asked.

“What, Mrs. Townsend's garden,” I said. “For Harriet!”

“You're terrible,” Lisa said, and joined me laughing. “Anyway, Mrs. Townsend was so happy with the job we did, she gave me a five dollar bonus.”

A person could sure grow attached to those bonuses. “Keep it,” I said. “You're the one who deserves it.”

“I thought we'd split it,” she said firmly. “You did most of the work and all of the worrying. You deserve at least half.”

It was hard to argue with that logic. So I added another $2.50 profit to my day's accounts.

“Not only that,” Lisa said. “But when Mrs. Townsend was in the hospital she heard about Mrs. Edwards, and she said she thought that was a great idea, having someone come in every day to check up on her and see if she needs anything. So I'm going to go over for fifty cents a day. Minus ten percent of course.”

“That's great,” I said, sinking into an easy chair. “Lisa, if any more garden jobs come up, you want them?”

“I'd love them,” Lisa said. “I like making money.”

“It is fun,” I said.

We heard shouting outside, then, so we went out front to see what was going on. It was Ted, calling to us. He was walking the biggest Great Dane I'd ever seen. I stayed behind Lisa as we walked over to say hello.

“This is a great job,” Ted said. “I wasn't supposed to walk this dog on weekends, but they decided to go away for the afternoon and I offered to take care of him. The more I walk him, the sooner I get my new glove.”

“Don't forget my ten percent,” I said.

“I'll pay you on Monday,” he said. “Monday's our payment day.”

“Fine,” I said, as the dog dragged Ted away.

And then Margie came. She looked as tired as me.

“All those kids,” she said, and smiled happily. “Thousands of them. And they all loved my chocolate chip cookies. Except for a couple who said the yard sale down the street had better oatmeal ones.”