By Emma Redmer
Set any time after the guys joined the Chronicle and before Larry and Jennifer got married and moved (in other words, any time between the 3rd and the 5th seasons)
Rated G
Characters: Balki, Larry, Jennifer, Mary Anne, Wainright, Lydia, Gorpley
Synopis: Larry enrolls himself, Balki, and the girls in a ballroom dance class after he and Balki are invited to the Chronicle’s annual ball.
Archive: If you wish to archive this story on your site, just e-mail me!
Disclaimer: Perfect Strangers is the property of Lorimar Productions and Warner Bros. Television. I just noticed that there weren’t many PS fanfics online and I wanted more!
It was a quiet afternoon in the mailroom of the Chicago Chronicle, one of the Windy City’s premiere newspapers. Balki Bartokomous cheerfully sorted mail. He liked his job at the Chronicle, even if his boss Mr. Gorpley was sometimes a little mean to him.
“Oh, my lord!” The frightened voice of Balki’s cousin Larry Appleton broke the silence. Balki sighed as Larry rushed into the room. It sounded like Cousin Larry was worried about something again. His cousin was always worried about something. “Balki, what are we going to do?”
He handed Balki a sheet of thick paper. He squinted a little over the words. “Mr. Appleton and Mr. Bartokomos, you are cordially invited to attend the Chronicle’s eleventh annual Fancy Dress Ball. There will be cocktails, music, and dancing. Please respev…” He frowned at the last part. “Cousin, what does ‘rsp’ mean?”
“It means respond by a certain time,” Larry explained. “Balki, what are we going to do? According to this, the ball is only three weeks away!”
“What you mean, what are we going to do?” Balki took a stack of envelopes and placed them next to Lydia’s mail. “We are going to go to the ball in fancy dresses and have a very nice time.”
Larry groaned, his eyes widening in the look that indicated he was on the verge of hysterics. “We can’t go to a fancy ball! I couldn’t dance if my life depended on it, and the only dance you know is the Dance of Joy!”
Balki shook his head. “Oh, po po, cousin, is that why you worry? Why does dancing matter so much? All you do is move your legs to the music.” Balki wiggled his legs and hips in time to some Myposian tune in his head. “We’ve been dancing before with Mary Anne and Jennifer, and you did not worry like this.”
“Yes,” Larry wailed, “but that was just at clubs or at home. Balki, balls are very, very elaborate parties. Rich, elegant people will be there, the cream of the crop. They’ll be dancing the fox trot and the cha-cha, not the Dance of Joy.”
“Appleton! Bartokomous!” Sam Gorpley, the obnoxious head of the mailroom, strode over to the two men. “What’s all the commotion?” He glared at Balki. “Shouldn’t you be sorting the rest of the mail?”
Balki grinned. “Oh, Mr. Gorpley, it is so exciting! Cousin Larry and I have been invited to a ball where the cream puff of the croppers trot with foxes!”
Gorpley snorted. “What, they invited you two to the annual Ball? They must have given the invitation to the wrong person.”
Larry glared right back. “They did nothing of the kind. We have as much right to go to that ball as you do.”
“Don’t be ridiculous, Mr. Gorpley!” Balki cheerily shoved the invitation in Mr. Gorpley’s face. “See, it says ‘To Mr. Larry Appleton and Mr. Balki Bartokomous’. Right here, on this line.” He beamed at his cousin. “I have never been called mister by a letter before!”
The taller man rolled his eyes. “Oh, this should be good. Bartokomous will tell bad sheep jokes, Appleton will have one of his famous nervous breakdowns, and then we’ll all get to watch you two trip over your dates on the dance floor.”
“Isn’t it wonderful?” Lydia Markham, the diminutive redheaded advice columnist, burbled as she breezed into the mailroom. “I just got my invitation for the ball! I even have the perfect dress. I bought it for my sister’s wedding, but then she ran off with the band leader on the night of the event.” She smiled dreamily. “I wonder if that darkly handsome drummer with the soulful eyes is available?”
“Lydia,” Balki asked, “have you ever trotted with foxes? Maybe you could show Cousin Larry and me how to trot with foxes, so we’ll know how to dance at the ball.”
Lydia quickly looked at Larry for a translation. “He wants to know if you’ve ever gone ballroom dancing before.”
Gorpley nearly fell over laughing. “Oh, this should be rich. You two can barely do that jump-into-each-other’s-arms routine, much less anything resembling the waltz.” He grinned wolfishly. “I can’t wait to see you look even more idiotic than usual.”
Lydia made a face as Gorpley made for the elevator. “Don’t mind him. Dancing’s not such a hard thing to do. I’m sure you’ll be just fine. I was nervous the first time I danced at the ball, but when I concentrated on the music and having a good time and not on the fact that I was probably stepping on my date’s toes, I had a great time.” She gathered her mail before joining Gorpley on the elevator.
Balki shrugged. “Now, you see, Cousin, it is not big deal. It’s just a party. We’ve been to parties before.”
“That’s what worries me,” Larry muttered. “Every time we go to a big party, we do something embarrassing. I hate being embarrassed.”
“Cousin, as long as you do not have a nervous break-away and I don’t tell sheep jokes, we’ll be fine.”
Larry sighed and took the invitation from Balki. “I hope so.”
He took his mail and hurried back upstairs, making sure that Balki didn’t see the nervous expression on his face as he left. “We’re doomed!”
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“You want to what?” Jennifer Lyons asked her boyfriend as the two of them prepared the dinner they were making. She moved around him to get the chicken Parmesan out of the stove. Balki and Mary Anne would be back from the grocery store soon with the milk and orange juice.
“I’m going to enroll Balki and me in a ballroom dance class,” Larry explained. He added a little more salt to the pasta he stirred. “It’s high time he learned how to do another dance besides the Dance of Joy, and the exercise wouldn’t hurt me, either.”
Jennifer placed the hot pan on the counter shook her head. “Larry, the last time you and Balki joined a class to get exercise, you spent four hours trying to impress me and Mary Anne at the gym. You two were barely able to move for three days afterwards.” She sighed. “Remember what Mary Anne said about learning your lesson?”
He leaned over and kissed her on her cheek. “I did learn my lesson. We’re starting with the beginners’ class, and we’ll stretch before we do any kind of working out.”
“Why don’t I believe you?” Jennifer sighed. “Every time you claim that you won’t overdo it, you end up either hurting yourself or Balki or both of you, and sometimes taking Mary Anne and me for the ride.”
Larry coughed. “Um, Jennifer, there’s something I want to ask you.”
Jennifer put four plates on the table. “What? Mary Anne and I already agreed to go to the ball with you and Balki.”
Larry put on his most sincere smile. “We, um, we, well, we…I was wondering…”
“Hi there!” Mary Anne and Balki walked through the door with a brown bag that was too large to be holding just milk and orange juice.
“Cousin,” Balki exclaimed excitedly, “you won’t believe what I found!”
“I hope its milk and orange juice,” Larry grumbled as he ladled pasta onto his plate. “You two have been gone for nearly twenty minutes.”
“Well,” Mary Anne went on, “we found that, too. Guess where we got it?”
“Florida and Wisconsin,” Larry replied sarcastically. Naturally, this was wasted on his cousin.
“Of course not. Don’t be ridiculous!” Balki insisted. “Mary Anne and I found a little Mediterranean grocery store down the street that sells Myposian food and ingredients. Look at all the wonderful things we bought!”
Jennifer made a face at the first item that fell out of the bag. “Balki, that’s a pig’s snout.”
Mary Anne beamed. “Balki says he makes a great pig snout and mustard soup.”
Larry held up a container of brownish-yellow fluid. “I hope this is the mustard.”
“It’s the Myposian bilki-bisti mustard,” Balki explained. “It’s made with…”
Larry put his hand over Balki’s mouth. “Please, Balki, we’re about to eat. Tell me the recipe later, after the girls go home.”
Balki cleared off the table and the girls went to get their dinners. Larry groaned when he saw what his cousin put in the refrigerator. “Should I even ask what you intend to do with yak lips and the intestines of a sheep?”
“Yak lips taste wonderful with a little spinach and olive oil,” Balki told his cousin as he went to get his own dinner. “Oh, cousin, did you tell the girls that you want them to join the dance class with us?”
Jennifer and Mary Anne exchanged looks. “Is that what you wanted to ask me about?”
Larry tried to smile. “Jen, I thought it would be easier if we had dancing partners that we knew.”
Jennifer shook her head. “Oh, no. We’ll go to the ball with you, but one or two classes is not going to turn us into Fred Astaire and Ginger Rogers.”
Mary Anne looked disappointed. “I already told Balki I’d sign up with him. I think it sounds like fun. I used to love those old musicals.”
“Mary Anne,” Jennifer reminded her, “the only musical we’ve ever appeared in was the third-grade dental hygiene pageant. You were a toothbrush and I was a germ.” She cringed at the memory. “I got stage fright and nearly fell off the stage, and you couldn’t remember the one line you had.”
“It was a long line!” Mary Anne protested.
Balki got between the two women. “This is all nice, ladies, but we were talking about dance classes, not singing teeth-brushes and germs and stage fear.”
Larry opened his eyes as wide and cute as he could make them go. “Please, Jennifer? If the classes don’t go well, we can get a refund, and we’ll only do it until the ball.”
Jennifer sighed. “I’ll think about it, Larry.”
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