The Rehearsal for the Rehearsal Brunch
Oliver couldn’t imagine anyone living in the creepy splendor of the Hauntington mansion. Nearly every room was bigger than the entire apartment complex where Oliver lived with his mother and thirty other families. The doors were fit for giants. The chandeliers were the size of cars. The cobwebs were as long and luxuriant as the drapery.
The twins had no trouble imagining such riches.
“I’d buy a dessert island,” Teenie said.
“You mean a desert island,” said Oliver.
“No. A dessert island. I’m thinking ice cream island.”
“Well, I’d buy dessert for everyone in need,” Bea said. “And a quill pen, because I’ve always wanted one.”
It was the morning of the wedding. Oliver, Bea, and Teenie were rehearsing for the rehearsal brunch in the mansion’s library.
A series of stern Hauntington family portraits lined the walls. Teenie circled the room, delighted to discover that the paintings kept staring at her wherever she stood.
“Can you see me now? . . . Can you see me now? . . . Can you see me now? . . . Look—they’re still watching me!”
Bea kept busy pulling books from the shelves “in order to read and look for secret passages.”
Benny, who’d only come grudgingly to the wedding, was rehearsing with Oliver. Or he was supposed to be.
Unlike the girls, Benny was not a fan of the Hauntington mansion or its artwork. “Those paintings keep following me!” he complained. “Can’t you turn them around?”
“Don’t you like that painting?” Oliver asked. “She has a pet rabbit.”
“That’s not a pet rabbit!” Benny yelped. “That’s a rabbit stole. How would you like to be made into a fur stole?”
“But I don’t have any fur.”
“Well, better not get any ideas looking at mine!”
Upon closer inspection, the rabbit in the painting did look more like an accessory than a pet.
Obviously, Oliver and Benny could not turn the paintings around, so they compromised by turning themselves around.
They hid behind a potted plant and practiced a new card trick.
The trick was a bit too tricky for Oliver.
“How am I supposed to do a false shuffle? I can barely do a real shuffle!”
“Don’t worry,” Bea reassured him. “You’ve got plenty of time. Uncle Jeff is still giving his speech, and he takes forever.”
From one of the bay windows, they could see the terrace where the twins’ uncle Jeff was telling a very long—and knowing Uncle Jeff, very inappropriate—story.
