Ships Ahoy!

The Playboy

"Hey there, Oprah!" said a breezy voice from behind. "Check out these new digs?"

Oprah groaned. Not again, she thought.

"C'mon, partner, whaddya think?"

"Do I have to?" she whined.

"I need to know if I got the 'cool cat' look nailed or not, so yeah!"

Rolling her eyes, Oprah swiveled her desk chair around and sized her partner up. "I've said it before and I'll say it again. When I said you needed to stop being a shy person...that's not exactly what I had in mind."

Over the past thirteen years, O'Donahue's insecurity had all but dissipated, and his confidence and self-esteem had flown through the roof. Though still a little quiet, he'd turned himself into anything as "far-out, subterranean and chrome-plated" as he could be, as he liked to tell her. Today, that apparently meant a black leather jacket, sunshades, a slicked-back pompadour, and the Elvis-is-in-the-house pose.

"Don't let Ole—Ms. O see you out of uniform," was all the more Oprah would say before turning back to her typewriter and her juice box.

O'Donahue yanked her chair back around and whipped off his shades. "Aw, come on, Oprah, lighten up! Don't be such a drag!"

"I'm not being a drag, I'm being a productive agent," Oprah retorted. "It's taken us over forty years—and far too many trips to the Word Room for my taste—to nab Fannee Doolee and stop her from stealing everything with double letters. If Ms. O wants our report on solving the case, then she's gonna get it. Either get with it and help me write it, or tune out and let me work."

"Alright, alright!" Hands up in surrender, he backed away and turned to go. "Later, gator. See you in ten."

Oprah rolled her eyes again and went back to her typing.

True to his word, O'Donahue was back ten minutes later, just as Oprah was sliding her finished report into the Ditto machine. "What is it now?" she said.

"Hey, there. No attitude, s'il vous plaît."

"Don't bother with that, you hubcap. Your French has always been terrible and we both know it." Nevertheless, she turned to face him with a teasing smile. "Now what is it you need?"

"Didn't you know? It's Friday. There's a public dance tonight at that new joint downtown."

"You mean the Club 24? Isn't that new American group performing there this weekend?"

O'Donahue grinned. "Dion and the Belmonts, so you did know! Now, that wouldn't happen to mean you were wanting to make the scene tonight?"

Oprah felt her cheeks grow warm. Why did that make her feel so self-conscious? "Well, how could I want to?" she managed to reply. "There's a very good reason you never see very many Odd Squad agents at Friday night dances, you know. I'm a kid, and I have neither dress nor beau for dancing. Besides, I—"

"Don't you?" O'Donahue countered, raising an eyebrow. "You wound me, baby doll."

"For heaven's sake, what are you getting at?"

"Well..." Leaning against the filing cabinet, he casually propped an arm on her shoulder, which she promptly removed. "That ain't no sweat. Dresses aren't hard to find, and you already got yourself a hip partner."

Oprah gave him a sidelong look. With some effort she hid a grin, but her cheeks were warm again. "I was going to say, I also just started karate classes on Friday nights. I've told you that before, surely you remember."

"Just this once? Take a break from work and mush?"

"I told you, I can't."

"I'll get you a red dress with white polka dots and a scarf to match."