132 Coffee! Cawwww-feeeeeeeeeeee!

“AK! AK! AK!” It wasn’t that baby Drew actually was scared of his mother. He was just suspicious. That last time Mrs. Guss was lucid was a preliminary to counting to two million. “AK!” he called until Aunt Kar took his hand.
Jeffy of the worthless Sunday drop-ins mimicked him.
“AK! AK!” he yelped with tiresome insolence.
The other baby was undeterred, and explained in his own way what baby Drew wanted to say to Ross Valley.
“Six four one seven four hundred zero two thousand forty-seven.”
Jeffy mimicked that, too. And the light went on in his dim and very dank cranium.
Baby Drew’s mother translated.
“My son thanks you for the job offer. But he’s in a position to do these things for you for free. With the Cellini medallion embedded, the Trophy of Virtue is priceless and ought to be a fount of funds for years to come. Presently, he’s thinking about going to pre-school, or running for president of the United State, if the Governor’s will is made law. But on the way home to San Anselmo he’d be happy to blast Bat Disease’s monstrosity back to the elementary particles it came from, as long as Bat’s little girl is safely not at home, and he believes there’s someplace facing it, little Drew thinks it’s in the three hundred stretch . . .”
Baby Drew and Aunt Kar were white with dread at her hesitation. They practically collapsed with gratitude when she continued.
“. . . down Goodhill, a monstrosity commensurate with Bat’s . . . and he’d be glad to blast it away room by room if the elderly near neighbor has some more rockets in her purse. In fact, my son says he’d be happy to enforce compliance with the spirit of Kent Woodland’s covenants, codes, and restrictions as long as there’s live ammo. A couple other places he’s noticed designed in the spirit of Thomas Kinkade paintings – he’d be happy to deconstruct them in the spirit of our attack on Hiroshima and Nagasaki. Drew loves the History Channel.”
“AK! AK!” Drew pulled his mommy’s sleeve.
“Oh, of course. Mr. Valley, have you been properly introduced to my sis- . . . faux sister-in-law, Kar?”
_____ _____ leaned in and said, “It’s okay, Ross, the sighs and moans and screams of delight about Ross were strongly sincere to the extent – to the extent – they were about you but actually skewed more to the town of Ross – and I’m too young to go steady. My agent would kill me. But you and, hmmm!” She winked at Aunt Kar. “. . . are welcome to come to my little place yonder . . . and bring a pound of Graffeo Italian Roast beans if you stop by The Woodlands Market on the way. Please.” Rather incongruously, she started groaning about coffee, the pleasure of it, the anxiousness for the first cup. “‘The best part of waking up . . .'” she sang imperceptibly, one of the accurate details of the era in her biopic role as Mel Blanc’s paramour. “And some Point Reyes Farmstead Cheese Company blue.”
Everything was being finalized on this clear day in Kentfield.
Even Jeffy was putting two and two together.
Simple notions creeped closer. When they touched, and Jeffy doubtless would first mutter, “Oh yeah,” a new nickname was going to spill.

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