Precisely at six in the morning on Friday, Mary Bloom's iPhone vibrates. It's a message from Dickie's robo-mail reminding Mary to wear underwear today.
Mary looks at the message. Nice, she thinks, though a little odd. She smiles.
Dickie's father owns Wickett's Bazaar, online purveyors of classic nice clothing and other unremarkable stuff. His grandfather owned the store before that, and his great-grandfather and great-great-grandfather, who opened the store in Stapleton the day President Garfield was shot.
Back in those days, there was an actual store, not just a website, and what a grand store it was! Major Wickett modeled the Bazaar after the Topkapi Palace, or at least his conception of the Topkapi Palace, complete with an enormous wooden elephant named Jumbo. Citizens of Washington County did not mind that the real Topkapi Palace lacks an enormous wooden elephant, and thronged the store anyway.
Major Wickett's retailing philosophy was simple and straightforward: "Our merchandise is unremarkable, but we have lots of it." Wickett's Bazaar soon became the favorite place to go for shoppers who wanted ordinary stuff, or who were just bored, since a tour of Jumbo's belly was most stimulating.
For fifty years, Wickett's Bazaar thrived as the leading retail outlet in Stapleton, primarily because with the exception of Aunt Gertrude's General Store on Pickwood Avenue and a number of brothels it was the only retail outlet in Stapleton. During the Great Depression, however, sales declined considerably, and customers began to notice a general shabbiness about the store. Jumbo's trunk began to droop -- termites were suspected -- and on the night of January 13, 1933 an enormous fire leveled the place, leaving little other than a heap of ashes. Jumbo was not spared.
Dickie's grandfather collected an enormous fire insurance settlement. Some suspected that he was not unhappy about the fire, but arson was not proven. Instead of rebuilding the store, Mr. Wickett invested the proceeds and converted the store to a catalogue operation, which he moved to Beauneville. The Beauneville Electric had recently gone out of business; the lone trolley stood abandoned on Railroad Avenue (where the Red Trolley Diner now stands), and Mr. Wickett picked up the old carbarn for a song. Here, he set up the catalogue operation, leveraging the speed and convenience of third-class mail and Parcel Post, delivering unremarkable items to customers across the nation but mostly in Washington County.
The fourth Mr. Wickett -- Dickie's dad -- had the foresight to convert to web operations a decade ago. Thanks to outsourced sweat shops in China, the company employs a total of seventeen people, which is quite remarkable given the volume of business done. Dickie isn't included among those seventeen employees, but Wickett's high search engine ranking is a credit to his efforts (plus a large network of spam blogs).
Wickett's Bazaar is the biggest account for Mr. Bloom's advertising agency. He's working on a tagline for the new youth-oriented line, something catchier than "classic nice clothing and other unremarkable items" and "stuff Mom and Dad want you to wear".
At breakfast, Mr. Bloom chats about his meeting this afternoon with Mr. Wickett. "Girls, what do you think of this?" On a piece of white paper, he writes Wickett's, WTF? and displays his idea for all to see.
"Meh", says Molly.
"It's not polite to swear", says Mary.
"What's WTF?", shouts Catherine. As the youngest of four, Catherine is accustomed to being ignored, so she generally converses with great energy. Margaret, the quiet daughter, whispers something in her ear. Catherine looks puzzled. "Mr. Fuzzums still doesn't understand!" She holds up Mr. Fuzzums so all can see his lack of comprehension.
"How can Wickett's reach today's youth? You know, kids like you", asks Mr. Bloom.
"Beethoven themed merchandise" says Molly.
"Nice schoolgirl clothing" says Mary.
Margaret remains silent.
"Mr. Fuzzums says he just wants a nice hug!" shouts Catherine, holding Mr. Fuzzums aloft so all can see his need for a hug.
Mr. Bloom writes all this down. He's going with Wickett's, WTF?
That evening, the Smiths and Blooms gather for the customary Friday night dinner at the Red Trolley Diner. Peaches is the waitress tonight, which pleases everyone. Given the choice of Bella or Peaches, most diners choose Peaches.
Mr. Bloom chats about his meeting with Mr. Wickett. "So I pitched Wickett's, WTF? to Wickett and he liked it. We roll out the new campaign next month."
"That's nice, dear", says Mrs. Bloom, which is code for "Please stop talking about work at dinner, we're not that interested."
Mr. Bloom gets the message. "Are you ready for the PSAT tomorrow?" he asks Roderick and Molly who, per usual, are squeezed together on the big bench. Beneath the table, out of sight, Roderick's hand rests on Molly's leg just above her knee, and Molly's hand rests on Roderick's. On the other side of Roderick, Mary, dressed in a blouse, plaid skirt, woolen knee socks, penny loafers and nothing else presses her knees together tightly.
Roderick shrugs. "Yes, I guess so".
Molly just smiles.
The PSAT is tomorrow, so there will be no "bowling party" tonight for Roderick and Molly. Actually, that's not entirely true. Roderick and Molly are quite nonchalant about the PSAT, for reasons that shall be revealed to the reader at an appropriate time, but "studying for the PSAT" is a perfectly fine reason to snuggle and smooch in Roderick's bed and sleep over. Not that an excuse is required, of course.
