All About Max Read online

  Alas, Maximilian P.W.B.T.F. should have paid more attention to that famous poem.

  It turns up there was some teeny, tiny infinitesimally (meaning, of course, which could only be seen under a powerful microscope) small thing he hadn’t considered. Well, who would? Who would have thought that a tiny sea creature crawling on the bottom of the ocean might have such astonishing power that it could be the cause of what subsequently happened. At least, that’s what everyone thought must have been the cause, though, to be sure, they were only guessing.

  But also, who would have thought that way, way, way, as far way as you could get at the very bottom of the ocean, where whales and sharks and tuna and swordfish, eels and jellyfish had been swimming and floating for centuries over quiet ripples of sand far from any stormy waves overhead, there was a tiny infinitesimally small crack. (Infinitesimally, of course, also meaning, it was so tiny that only a magician could have found it). Seriously, it was that tiny.

  Sadly, among all the engineers and scientists and deep-sea divers there was not one single magician. This was the one thing Maximilian Four hadn’t thought of in the matter of ganging agley. Well, once again, who would? How many magicians do universities, science laboratories, and oceanographic institutions employ?

  And, after all, who would think that after all those centuries of just being a mere (very mere, indeed!) tiny crack in the ocean floor, some itty bitty, eency tweency creature would crawl over it, and unbelievably cause it to shift a little. Then the crack, quite on its own, having discovered (one can only suppose) it could do this, enjoyed doing it so much, it shifted some more.

  The tiny sea creature (if that was indeed what did it) was probably long gone, but the crack it had crawled over grew and grew. It ended up being an enormous crack which, when it finally shifted one last fearful time, caused the island sitting peacefully on top of it to shudder and shake. Shuddering and shaking of the land, as everyone knows, is an earthquake.

  So that’s what happened to Rainbow’s End, a stupendous, bone-cracking, dilly of an earthquake. Everything, but EVERYTHING came crashing down, and all the hotels and casinos and restaurants, and what was left of them sank into the ocean along with most of the island. The island did have some small hilly spots, which was really fortunate, as we shall see.

  What was also fortunate, was that Maximilian Four had had just about all the workers on the island airlifted back to the mainland for that weekend. There were only enough people left to prepare some five-star gourmet meals and change the bed sheets in the fancy tent set up as a hotel room. Maximilian Four wanted the island practically to himself and Mrs. Four. This was the first time she had allowed herself a vacation from The Golden Truffle, her travels, and Maximilian Five, and they were going to enjoy a second honeymoon with a whole island almost all to themselves. It was really a very romantic idea.

  And then the earthquake happened. Fortunately, the few people left on the island to wait on Mr. and Mrs. Maximilian Four were all able to climb up on the small hilly spots that had not sunk into the ocean. Fortunately as well, Gaston, the French chef, had the foresight to bring along a cell phone to call the mainland, and so (hurrah!) every one of them was saved by helicopters sent to rescue them.

  But what was un-fortunate was really one terrible thing that really did gang agley. It so happened that on that glorious, sun-swept day, Maximilian P.W.B.T.F. Four and Mrs. Four had decided to take a sun bath on the gleaming white sand of a Rainbow’s End beach, and then take a dip together in the sparkling sea, with its gentle waves lapping on the shore.

  And that’s where they were, holding hands and gazing deeply into each other’s eyes, when the island started shivering and shaking and sinking into the sea, taking both of them right along with it.

  Rainbow’s End had quite simply and finally now turned into the End of the Rainbow. And Maximilian Pettigrew Westmorington Bassford Thorndike Finstersill Smith the Fifth had in one awful, but strangely awesome (like the finale of a movie, if you stopped to think about it) moment, become an orphan.

  Chapter III

  In which Maxilian Pettigrew Westmorington Bassford Thorndike Finstersill smith the fifth learns the dreadful news, and which kicking and screaming and having an oscar-award-winning tantrum could do nothing about.

  It was Mr. Fitzbottom, Maximilian Fifth’s father’s attorney, who came to their penthouse to announce to Maximilian the dreadful news about his mother and father. A lady wearing a white nurse’s uniform and a suitably sad expression accompanied him. She wore a badge that said she was Miss Peebly. Mr. Fitzbottom always believed in being prepared for anything that might happen, and he was fully prepared for Maximilian Five to collapse in a heap, or something like it.

  Surprisingly, Maximilian did not collapse in a heap, or anything even close to it. He just stood there like a stone statue, with hardly a change of expression on his face. Perhaps he couldn’t really believe what he was hearing. Or perhaps he had been alone so much while both parents were off doing such things as buying trinkets for The Golden Truffle, or islands, that being alone was something he was rather used to. The fact that they weren’t ever coming back hadn’t yet sunk in. Also, it must be said, he had never liked Mr. Fitzbottom very much, and was not going to make a cake of himself collapsing in front of him.

  Of course, Mr. Fitzbottom was delighted that he didn’t have a hysterical child to deal with. Furthermore, he knew he had a much bigger problem on his hands to deal with and had no idea how he was going to deal with it.

  “What’s going to happen to me?” Maximilian asked. “Will I just stay here with Mrs. Pinkerpon and Binge and Gridlock and Sir Launcelot and Lady Guinevere and keep on going to Ballyhoo?”

  “Not exactly,” said Mr. Fitzbottom, giving Miss Peebly a sideways look that indicated he might be more in need of her services than Maximilian.

  “Exactly what then?” asked Maximilian.

  “I...I...I’m not exactly sure,” stammered Mr. Fitzbottom. “We...

  we...we’ll have to see.”

  “See what?” asked Maximilian.

  “See what’s left,” said Mr. Fitzbottom.

  “Left of my parents?” asked Maximilian. “I thought you said there wasn’t anything left of them.”

  “Of them, yes, yes, yes, that’s right,” said Mr. Fitzbottom. “Nothing left of them, absolutely. It’s what else that wasn’t left that we must see about.”

  Maximilian was by now beginning to get a strange sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach. What else not being left has an ominous ring to it? On the other hand, he knew how rich his father was. A lot of his riches could vanish, and there would still be “piles” left. Wouldn’t there?

  But as it turned out, there wouldn’t. At least not that many. By the time Mr. Fitzbottom, relieved at having finished dumping this added terrible piece of news on a disbelieving Maximilian, left with a Miss Peebles, equally relieved at not having to revive a collapsed Maximilian, it had all been explained. And what Maximilian learned was that there were indeed not many “piles” of anything left. The “we’ll see” laid on him by Mr. Fitzbottom meant that the “we” was going to see exactly how many and how large. It didn’t look very encouraging. On the other hand, nothing was said about no “piles” at all. So there was still hope.

  Of course, everyone at Ballyhoo, who knew all about the sad end of Mr. and Mrs. Maximilian Four because it was naturally in all the newspapers, were terribly kind to Maximilian. School was almost out for the summer holidays, but there were enough days left for the school also to learn that there might not be many “piles” left from the Maximilian P.W.B.T.F. Smith the Fourth vast number of them. It wasn’t certain, but the Ballyhoo endowment more than likely was among the vanished “piles”. Maximilian Five noticed just the tiniest bit of faculty frostiness, and everyone suddenly not treating him as if he were made of spun glass. One teacher actually was quite nasty to him about talking in class.

  Pencival was really rather decent at first when he learned what had
happened to his friend Maximilian’s parents. Hardly anybody likes losing parents, even in such a thrilling way. It could have been himself, after all.

  “So what are you going to do now?” he asked. “Are you going to stay in your apartment? Is someone coming to live with you?”

  “Probably,” said Maximilian, who didn’t care to admit that he still had no idea what was to become of him. The “we’ll see” part of Mr. Fitzbottom’s remarks hadn’t yet been revealed to him, which he was afraid didn’t bode the best news for his future. But he certainly had no intention of revealing any of this to Pencival.

  “Well, bad luck, anyway, old chap,” said Pencival, who fancied himself a British school boy in an old British school boy book and had started using expressions like “old chap.”

  Of course, it didn’t take long for word to weave through Ballyhoo that Maximilian’s future was on the ropes, so to speak, and there was not only no endowment in sight, there might be no Maximilian in sight either.

  At the moment, though, it was mostly guesswork.

  Pencival’s jolly old chap attitude didn’t last long. “I told you I hoped the island wouldn’t sink,” he said to Maximilian, all but drooling with pleasure. Bathtubs and toilets were beginning to look pretty good to him now. At least they wouldn’t go “flushing” into any ocean. Ha! Ha!

  “Don’t worry,” said Maximilian, “there’s lots more where that island came from.” “Lots more” didn’t really mean anything. Lots more of what?

  It was a good thing Pencival never thought to ask.

  At that point, the “we’ll see” still hadn’t been revealed to Maximilian by Mr. Fitzbottom. Although he was pretty certain a lot of the “piles” were gone, he still felt pretty sure there were quite a few left. How could anyone as rich as his father not have had several spare “piles” left sitting around.

  So what if there wasn’t one left for the Ballyhoo endowment, or even a “pile” for him to continue going there. There had to be more than just those.

  But then things got worse. A whole lot worse when the “we’ll see” was finally revealed in its big, mind-numbing entirety. The Ballyhoo endowment and Maximilian no longer being a Ballyhoo boy were just the tip of the iceberg, or the island that held Rainbow’s End, if you wanted to put it that way.

  For starters, there was no “pile” left to pay for Mrs. Pinkerpon, Binge, or Gridlock. If Maximilian were still to go to Ballyhoo, he would have had to walk. Furthermore, by the time taxes and expenses and everything connected with Rainbow Island were to be paid off, there would not even be the apartment left for Maximilian to live in. Everything in it would have to be sold as well. Even The Golden Truffle would have to go, pink boxes, gold lettering and all. The whole kit and caboodle.

  It seemed that Maximilian P.W.B.T.F. Smith the Fourth’s plans had really ganged agley in a big, magnificent glorious burst, just like one of the Roman candles that was never to be shot off at Rainbow’s End. That it was all due to one tiny sea creature (as was suspected) and one tiny crack on the ocean floor could hardly be believed. But how it happened made no difference in the end.

  It might have if there had been insurance to cover it. But as it turned out, that was something else Maximilian Four hadn’t actually had the best-laid plans for. It was learned that while he’d fortunately been able to get insurance for all his employees, including Gaston the French chef, only a fifth-rate insurance company would touch what the rest considered a hair-brained idea far too risky to touch with a ten-foot pole, except for a tiny, almost useless amount. You might say it was about as tiny an amount as the crack that finally did in Rainbow’s End. The fifth-rate company, faced with such a mountainous loss, promptly declared bankruptcy.

  And as it turned up, this was not the entire worst of it for Maximilian Five. It also seemed incredible, but there was no doubt about it that Maximilian Four, should anything happen to him, had no funds, trust or otherwise, set up for Maximilian Five, at least none that anyone could find.

  You may remember what Maximilian had told Pencival, that his parents never traveled together, so that if anything ever happened to one of them, the other, complete with fortune still intact, would be left for Maximilian. Who would have known that they would both go down together, not from an airplane flying in the sky, but sinking into the ocean while gazing romantically into each other’s eyes?

  But does anybody think it can’t get worse than this? Please think again.

  Because they had arranged for there always to be one parent left for Maximilian if the other one was no longer around, nobody considered the fact that there ought to be some close back-up relative to take him over. Mr. Fitzbottom probably should have reminded them of this, but somehow never had got around to it. If he had, he would have found there were no relatives at all. This was now sadly discovered when someone actually had to think about it.

  Maximilian had heard boys at Ballyhoo, including Pencival, talking about cousins and aunts and uncles and especially grandparents who always sent splendid presents for birthdays and Christmas. He had sometimes asked his parents why they had no cousins and aunts and uncles and especially grandparents. There was no reason. They just didn’t. Their family tree was only the three of them, and that was that.

  It didn’t matter all that much to Maximilian. Who needed grandparents, anyway, even if they did give splendid presents? He considered grandparents useless unnecessary wrinkled old people. He didn’t like any of them, and said they gave him the creeps. He said that he personally never intended to get old. Besides, he got all the presents he needed without the help of grandparents, thanks to his parents traveling so much and his being able to stage all those super-colossal tantrums.

  Of course, something had to be done about Maximilian. Just what, Mr. Fitzbottom and “we” had not the remotest idea. It was a particularly knotty problem because he was, they all knew, a snotty, rotten-spoiled kid. Who’d want him anyway?

  In the meantime, though, while they were thinking about this, other things had to be done, like selling off The Golden Truffle and the apartment, and everything in both, excluding Maximilian, of course. They held a big estate sale at the apartment to which hundreds of people came. That included Pencival, who arrived with his parents.

  “I don’t suppose you’re going to be able to keep all your toys and games, are you?” he asked Maximilian.

  “I don’t suppose I am,” said Maximilian, which is what he’d been told by Mr. Fitzbottom. There wasn’t much use in lying about it now. All those people milling about poking and prodding everything were not there for a tea party.

  “That’s too bad, old chap,” said Pencival, who quite clearly didn’t think it was too bad at all. “I’ll just look around. My parents will let me have anything I want.”

  This was probably the lowest blow of all. In the end, bathtubs and toilets had aced Rainbow’s End!

  When the sale was over, Maximilian had the pleasure of seeing Pencival leaving with an armload of the best games and toys, and a big smirk on his face. Maximilian wandered sadly about from room to room, wondering what his fate would be. If he got down on the floor, kicked his heels, and had the biggest tantrum of his life, what good would it do? Who would care? He was alone in the empty apartment except for Binge.

  Mrs. Pinkerpon was gone. Gridlock was gone. Only Binge remained, sitting in the kitchen in his shirtsleeves reading a week-old newspaper, because the newspaper subscription was now gone as well. That evening he would serve Maximilian a frozen dinner or something out of a can.

  Maximilian didn’t even have Sir Launcelot or Lady Guinevere to talk to, as a home had easily been found for them. They were, after all, valuable purebred Borzois, and snooty, to boot. That seemed to be a quality greatly admired by several people who all wanted them.

  “Nobody wants me,” Maximilian had said to them before they were taken away just before the terrible sale began. “I suppose it’s because I’m not purebred.”

  “Of course you are, dear,” said Lady Gu
inevere.

  “Perhaps I’m not snooty and elegant enough,” said Maximilian.

  “Certainly you are,” said Sir Launcelot. “All Ballyhoo boys are snooty and elegant, aren’t they? Besides, you can always practice at it. We have, you know.”

  “I sort of thought you did,” said Maximilian. “But there isn’t that much time left. Anyway, who wants a rotten spoiled kid.”

  “Who ran into the street to save a kitten? Let’s not forget that! “ said Lady Guinevere. “I do hope you will manage to save the gold medal, dear.”

  “It’s already in my pocket,” said Maximilian, who had felt like a thief even though he was stealing something from himself. After all, he’d been warned by the people managing the sale that he was NOT TO TOUCH ANYTHING!

  “You’ll write to us, won’t you?” said Sir Launcelot. “From wherever you are?”

  “I think it might be from an orphanage,” said Maximilian, who thought no such thing. He still was all but certain that there was some huge “pile” his father had left for him someplace, and it would soon come to light. But he desperately wanted sympathy, and how better to get it than say you were off to an orphanage?

  Maximilian saw the horror in Lady Guinevere’s eyes. An orphanage! Oh no!

  At any rate, as the telephone hadn’t yet been disconnected, Mr. Fitzbottom had called to say he would be coming by late that afternoon with some important news for Maximilian. “Important news” definitely sounded like a “pile” had been discovered. All that remained was to learn how big it was. Maximilian tried to keep “bigness” in mind as he wandered aimlessly through the apartment, though it wasn’t easy. His footsteps had a sad, hollow sound as he went from room to empty room.

  It was so silent that he nearly jumped out of his skin when the doorbell rang. Binge must have fallen asleep over the newspaper, because it was Maximilian who went the front door.

  “Well, my boy,” said Mr. Fitzbottom, minus Miss Peebles, but with a toothy smile that reached from ear to ear across his pink, pudgy face and back again, “I believe we have found the answer to our problem!”