DISCLAIMER: This is a spoof of the television show "The Pretender." 
The characters belong to MTM Entertainment and NBC and have 
been used without permission for the purpose of fan fiction. Any 
added characters are my own invention and any resemblance to real 
persons is purely coincidental.

Copywrite 1997 Lynn M. Schumann 
E-Mail: flint@ballcom.com        

*****       

"I Decide. . ." 

 Seventeen year-old Jessica stood at the counter of Royal Burger, just 
outside Blue Cove Delaware, watching a dark haired man cook french 
fries. When he started, she thought he was cute, and giggled with her 
co-workers that he had a great smile.

But lately he'd been act strangely. He was obsessed with the deep fryer, 
allowing no one else to clean it, or use it.  He stood over the bubbling 
grease repeating the same phrase as if it were a mantra:

"I decide who gets the fries. I decide who gets the fries."

Jessica bit her lip. She didn't want to rat on her fellow employee, but 
Kyle was getting worse.

"Mr. Andersen?" She called out to her manager. "Can I talk to you for 
a moment?"

"Sure Jessie. What's up?"

"Not here. How about at one of the tables?"

She lead him to a spot she was sure Kyle wouldn't over hear them, 
but he was making her nervous by glancing at them.

"What's wrong?" Stan Andersen asked, seeing that the girl was 
obviously upset.

"It's Kyle," she started, watching the man's eyes find hers, almost as if 
he had heard her.

"Has he harrassed you in some way?"

"No, it's not that. It's just that he's so *weird*."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, the way he's so obsessive about the fryer for one. I swear if it 
wasn't bolted to the floor, he'd take it home with him."

"He is a little possesive," Stan conceded.

"A little? He won't let any of the rest of us near it, and after his days 
off, he inspects the whole thing to make sure it's running right, as if 
we could do anything to it!"

"So he's a perfectionist," Stan continued to defend him.

"Perfectionist isn't the word. He insists on cleaning it, changing the 
oil, you know. An all the while he keeps mumbling about how 'he 
decides who gets the fries.'"

"I've heard him doing that too. It's probably just a quirk."

"A 'quirk?' On his breaks he spends his time writing in that blue 
notebook of his. You know what it says?"

"No, I don't." Stan admitted.

"Page after page of 'I decide who gets the fries.' That's not a quirk."

"I suppose you're right," Stan said, rubbing his chin.

"And I'm not the only one who's noticed it. Tiffany, Amber and 
Shaniqua have seen him do it too."

Just then they heard an explosive voice coming from the kitchen. "I 
DECIDE WHO GETS THE FRIES! I DECIDE!"

Shaun, the new kid, blanched as he tred again to reach for a small bag 
of potatoes.

"I just need a few man! Come on! The guy's waiting!"

Reluctantly, Kyle thrust a bag of fries into the youth's shaking hand.

"I'll see what I can do," Stan reassured Jessie. "I'll have a talk with 
him."

He stood and straitened his tie. He had tried to help the outreach 
program by hiring this man, but his behavior was getting out of 
control. Why did Kyle have to act up today of all days? The district 
manager, Jarod McDonald, was coming for an inspection. All he 
needed was for Kyle to go psycho on him.

He came up behind Kyle and clapped him on the shoulder. 
Immediately Kyle whipped around, wielding a pair of tongs like a 
weapon.

"Easy there," Stan said, holding up his hands. "I just wanted to 
congratulate you on the fine job you're doing. Instantly Kyle's attitude 
did a 180 and he was smiling at his manager.

"Thank you Mr. Andersen. You've been a great teacher."

Stan cleared his throat. "Ah, well, be that as it may, I think it's time 
you moved on to another area. Learn the whole operation, you 
know?"

"I know the whole operation. I decide who gets the fries."

"Yes, I know you do, but maybe you can do it from the drive-thru 
window, hmmm?"

"You're the boss Mr. A."

"Yes I am," Stan said with a tight smile.

As Kyle headed towards the drive-up area, Jessica mouthed the words 
"thank you," to Stan.

Kyle picked up the head set and answered the call of the car at the 
outdoor menu board.

"Hi! Welcome to Royal Burger! Can I take your order?"

"Yeah, give me me a Big Deluxe, a fish sandwich, two Cokes and two 
large fries."

Kyle gripped the sides of the counter as he repeated the order. He was 
determind to stay cool. He told the customer the amount and to pull 
forward.

"Here's your order and your change," he said, handing the man a bag 
with a large grin.

The man in the car checked the contents. "Hey man, you forgot the 
fries!"

"I decide who gets the fries!" Kyle said through clenched teeth.

"O.K. Fine. Just give them to me now."

Kyle slammed his fist on the counter, "I DECIDE WHO GETS THE 
FRIES!"

"Hey, it's cool buddy! Too much fat in 'em any way! How about 
salads? Do you decide who gets salad?"

"Kyle's face lit up with a smile. "Of course you can have a salad. 
Would you like two?

Stan heard the commotion at the pick-up window and went to 
investigate. "Have a problem?"

"Oh no," Kyle said. "The customer changed his mind and wanted a 
salad."

"Look, we could really use some tables cleared off, how about you do 
that for awhile?"

"Sure boss."

Stan mopped his forehead and checked his watch. Mr. McDonald 
would be there at any minute. As if the thought had produced him, 
Jarod entered the building. Confidently, he walked up to the manager 
and extended his hand.

"Mr. Andersen? Jarod McDonald. We spoke on the phone?"

"Yes, it's good to meet you. Where would you like to start? The 
kitchen is this. . . "

"Who is that cleaning tables?" Jarod interupted.

That's Kyle Raines, he's from the Centre outreach program I told you 
about."

"Yes," he answered, distracted by the memories of the man he had 
known as a boy. 

"Kyle?"

The younger man looked up and studied him. "Do I know you?"

"Yes, you do. I'm Jarod."

"Jarod's dead. They told me Jarod died."

"Did they tell you how?"

"He choked on a french fry," he answered, his voice thick with 
emotion. "Now I decide who gets the fries!"

"But they lied to you! I just escaped last year," he told him, taking a 
seat and motioning Kyle to do the same.

"But they made me simulate your death, over and over until my 
brain was mush. The only thing I cared about was who got the fries."

Jarod's eyes started to fill with tears. Was there no limit to the Centre's 
cruelty?

"Mr. McDonald? Stan said, trying to get the man back on is inspection 
tour and away from this time-bomb, "We can get started anytime 
you're ready."

"I'll let you know when I'm ready!" Jarod shouted. "Can't you see I've 
found my brother after *years* of wondering if he lived or died?"

"I'm sorry, I didn't realize. . ."

"Just get us a couple of shakes and some animal crackers and we'll call 
it even, O.K.?" He turned to Kyle.

"It's so good to see you again! Now we can travel the world and hang 
out like real brothers!"

"Jarod," Kyle said, toying with the straw of the shake Stan had 
delivered, "I'm not the boy you once knew. They did things to me. 
Things you can't show on T.V. They surrounded me with toys, all 
with fast food themes. Gave me one of those machines that turns 
Play-Doh into yellow strips that resembled french fries. They made me 
simulate working in burger joints until I didn't know if I really *was* 
the King of Royal Burger or just a rat boy performing for Raines' 
amusement. And they they told me you choked on a fry.  It was the 
last straw. you were my last link to some kind of reality. When you 
were gone, I decided who got the fries."

"But when you escaped, why did you come here? Hadn't you had 
enough?"

Kyle shrugged his shoulders. "I knew the job, it was the only thing 
that I was qualified for, and this way, I decide who gets the fries."

Jarod tried to change the subject. He pulled a paper hamburger 
container from his jacket and moved the carton to act as a puppet, 
mimicking his words.

"Remember this? How Dad used to make us toys out of take-out 
cartons?"

"Yes," Kyle answered, the memory slowly coming back to him. "Lucky 
for us Mom couldn't cook."

"Let's get out of here," Jarod said.

"Get out? Go where?"

"I don't know, somewhere, where they won't find us. We'll search for 
our parents together."

Kyle grabbed his coat and headed out the door.

"Mr. McDonald!" Stan called, "What about the inspection?"

"You passed," Jarod said, quickly filling in a form and tossing it to the 
astonished manager.

"This is your car?" Kyle asked, staring at the battered, late model 
sedan. 

"It fit the image of an underpaid inspector. We'll trade up in the next 
town."

Halfway to New Jersey Kyle said, "I don't know if this is such a good 
idea. I mean you're this Robin Hood vigilante, and I'm just a hood."

"It'll be fine," Jarod told his brother. "All we have to do is avoid any 
place that has french fries and you'll be fine."

"Oh sure. Easy for you to say. You don't know what it's like to go cold 
turkey like this. I close my eyes and I smell that hot oil I hear the sizzle 
as the potatoes are plunged into the fryer's scalding depths. I can 
almost taste the salty-crisp outside and the fluffy white inside. I 
DECIDE WHO GETS THE FRIES!"

"Kyle! It's just a flash-back! Fight it! Stay with me!"

Kyle's breathing slowed to normal. "Thanks Bro. You just don't know 
what it's like to be so consumed."

"I think I've got a pretty good idea," Jarod said as he ate an entire 
package of Pez in one mouthful.

"Do you hear sirens?" Kyle asked, turning around to see if he could 
spot anything. Through the cloud of dust he saw the flash of red 
lights.

"OHMIGOD! Step on it Jarod!"

"What? Who is it?"

"It's the Health Department!"

"The Health Department? What do they want with you?" He asked, 
trying to speed up and keep the car controlled on the gravel road.

"A violation of proper oil storage."

"Proper oil storage?"

"Yeah, I had the containers on the floor rather than a shelf six inches 
off the tile."

"And the Health Department would track you down for *that*?"

"It's my third offense. They made me take a sanitation class, but it was 
too late. I was too far gone. Now they're going to put me away for 
good! I'll never see a fryer again!"

Jarod spun around a corner and lost control of the car. After rolling 
four times, it finally came to a rest. Both men were battered and Kyle 
had broken his leg.

"Come on!" Jarod urged. We can make it to those trees. We'll hide 
and then we'll get away under the cover of darkness."

"You go," Kyle said. "Find our parents. But do me a favor?"

"Anything!"

"Don't tell them I grew up to work at Royal Burger, it would kill 
them. Now go before I bring you down with me!"

Jarod watched from the trees as the sanitation officials clamped his 
brother's hands in cuffs and dragged him back to their white van, 
heedless of Kyle's broken leg.

Jarod felt a protest welling up in his throat, but he held his tongue. He 
knew there was nothing he could do th help his brother now, and 
getting caught wouldn't help either of them. He was sure there was 
coruption at every level of the Health Department. All he had to do 
was ferret it out, and then he'd have his brother again. He had gotten 
out of the Centre, withstood all their pressure to submit to their 
agenda. He could handle the Health Department. He was sure of it.

The End