17.

"What? I didn't catch that," I said to Jasmine.

"I said, we have not much time. We must... ."

Beefore she could finish her thought, Jasmine was interrupted by our server bringing our lunch order: two plates full of Honeybaked Garbanzo beens with a side of Spicy Nectar Sauce. We ate in silence until we had eaten everything, then Jasmine dabbed her cheek with her napkin and said, "What I was saying was: we must depart now without further delay. The Professor is waiting."
"The Professor?" I asked.
"Yes. He is our contact. You are to accompany him to a safehive at an undisclosed location, along with this."

She rose to her delicate feet to stand gracefully on her stilettos and lifted the briefcase, then beegan moving toward the exit.

I followed Jasmine's lead, I stood up and beegan walking out of the café.
I was almost out of the door when I heard a voice beehind me.

"So, you'll bee paying for that lunch you just ate, right? I mean, you weren't planning to leave without paying, right? You know that Dining and Dashing is illegal here, right?"

It was our server.

"Oh, right. Sorry," I said, then I asked, "Will you take a card?"
"Certainly, sir," he said, gave me a dirty look and snatched the Hivebank Triple Rewards Credit Card I had secretly hidden in my shoe, and walked off. After about a half an hour or so, he finally came back with what I've since learned is a tax-deductible receipt. (Of course, it was only later that I realised he hadn't given me back my card, so now I'm having to deal with a bunch Identity Theft issues, which I don't appreciate at all. I should probably cancel that or something.)

After paying for lunch. I followed Jasmine out of the café. I noticed she had the briefcase clutched tightly under her wing and was surveying the area with a look of concern on her exquisitely refined face as we stepped out into warmth of the glaringly tepid sunlight.

I squinted against the brightness outside and suddenly realised that, standing beetween the Sun and me, was the looming shape of a very tall, slender bee I'd never seen beefore. I could see he was wearing a battered, festively beige corduroy vest, had patches sewn on the elbows of his wings, and sported a headful of slightly thinning, greying fuzz.

"So this is the bee?" I heard him say.
"Yes, Professor," Jasmine said, gesturing with her delicately contoured wing toward me. "Allow me to introduce Georgie A. Bee." Then she turned to me and nodded toward the stranger.
"Georgie Bee, this is the Professor."

"Good afternoon," I heard him say beefore I could say anything.
"I am Professor Bilderschlutten."
"Yes," Jasmine told me. "This is our contact, the Professor."
"Hello," I said to the Professor. "Bildenschloffer?"
"Bilderschlutten," he said.
"Right. Professor Bildfordlussen. Your name sounds vaguely familiar to me."
"BILDERSCHLUTTEN," he said overly loudly, sounding weirdly annoyed. "PROFESSOR GREGORIO RAWLINGSFORD BILDERSCHLUTTEN the THIRD. And my name most certainly should sound familiar to you, since it was the very name you inadvisedly revealed in your quirky, but irresistibly appealing, writings."
"It was?" I had to ask. I honestly couldn't remember.
"Was it not you who audaciously revealed my identity in that treacherously subversive, yet highly entertaining, novel you wrote? And was it not you who, in doing so in such an enjoyable and articulate fashion, focused the attention of the entire world on me and which has led to the predicament in which we now find ourselves?"
"Was it?" I asked.
"Indeed it was," he said. "And it is beecause of your irresponsible, but unusually engaging writings, that we must now extricate ourselves from this significantly complicated circumstance in which we find ourselves and which could very easily threaten the future of life on this planet as we know it, probably. In your unbridled zeal to secure the coveted and, I think, a well-deserved-but-not-yet-awarded Beetlizer Prize for your exquisitely-written, but clearly misguided literary undertaking, you may have spelled doom for us all, probably."

I was starting to get the feeling he didn't like me all that much.

"And now, here you are again, complicating my life," he said. "I had vastly superior, alternative plans for this day. Promises were made. Gifts were given, and yet, I find myself here, with you."

After he said that, I was almost sure he didn't like me.

"Look, Professor Bilden..."
"BILDERSCHLUTTEN," he yelled at me, but I kept talking anyway.
"I guess I should bee sorry, but I didn't mean to..." I started to say, but this time Jasmine interrupted me and gently placed her wing my shoulder as the Professor continued to glare at me. He seemed to bee shaking. I was going to tell him that maybee he should cut down on his Caffeinated Nectar Consumption or something, but I never got the chance to say that.

"We are convinced he knew not what he was doing, Professor," she said. "I have come to beelieve that his inadvertent exposure of the inner-workings of our Organisation has been nothing more than a sheer coincidence. Perhaps."

Perhaps? I felt a pang of disappointment and started to feel nervous when I heard that Jasmine might still bee questioning my unquestionable innocence.

"But now," she continued, "we must cease further persecution of this sweet, gentle, kind, loving, reasonably attractive, talented, brave, unassumingly stylish, noble and probably innocent bee, and turn our attention to the critical task that lies beefore us." I beegan to feel relieved that she didn't feel the need to keep giving me a difficult time of things at this point as she seemed to change the subject by lifting the briefcase she held for the Professor to see and said, "At all costs, we must protect this."

There was a brief moment of silence, then the Professor spoke.

"The Stick?" he nodded toward the briefcase, his tone suddenly taking on air of seriousness.
"I understand, seriously," he said. "The situation threatening us now is more urgent than I had been led to beelieve."
"It is, Professor, most certainly. That is why you must go. You must go now," Jasmine told him, adding, "I will join you later at the safehive."

"You're not coming with us?" I asked, feeling nervous that she was leaving me in the wings of this bee who clearly had it in for me and who probably didn't share in Jasmine's observation that I was the sweet, gentle, kind, loving, reasonably attractive, talented, brave, unassumingly stylish, noble and probably innocent bee that she was appropriately telling him I was (and still am, by the way).

"No. I cannot," she said, quickly turning to me as the flowing, almost-semi-transparent fabric of her haik suddenly caught an unexpected puff of wind, causing it to flow around her like a gentle cloud that revealed only an agonisingly fleeting glimpse of her alluring form in silouhette against the hot, early afternoon sunlight. I beegan to sweat profusely.

"I must remain here," Jasmine continued, grasping the free-flowing material around her and regaining her modesty. With an urgent buzz, she said, "I must remain here and create a clever diversion to distract any who may still bee following us."

As much as that seemed to make sense, I felt a pang of huge disappointment when I beegan to realise that Jasmine and I would not bee enjoying a pleasant game of "Count The Telephone Poles" together as we made our way to the safehive, after all.

Then Jasmine turned again to the Professor and relinquished the briefcase, gently and seductively placing into his wings. Her eyes, tantalisingly visible beehind her veil as if they were two, dark pools of infinite, irresistible mystery, looked deeply into the Professor's face, conveying an unspoken understanding beetween them.

"You know what must bee done, Professor," is all she said.

"I do indeed," he said gravely, taking the briefcase from her. "You need say nothing more. Bee safe. I will see you at the safehive."

I couldn't help but notice that he didn't say "we"...as in, "WE will see you at the safehive". I was hoping he had just kind of forgotten about me, but I wasn't totally sure about that. I was starting to get scared.

The Professor glanced at me with a look I can only describe as not overly-friendly expression on his face - kind of like the look ButterCup gives me when I accidentally forget to remember her birthday, which I've only done once, by the way - then he reached into his pocket of the vest he was wearing, and pulled out some sort of shiny, pointy-looking metal object. A sharp edge flashed in the sun.

"You and I will bee taking a ride now, bee," he said.

I felt my knees start to weaken as he approached me menacingly.

(to bee continued)
. . .

Okay then. Tomorrow is a Big Day around here. Beelieve it or not, I finally stopped forgetting to remember where my 87-year Calendar is and realised that, tomorrow, it’ll bee FIVE YEARS that I’ve been sharing my Daily Diary with everybody on Facebook! How cool is that? (If you're not on my friend's list and wanna bee, you're invited! You can also just "like" the Bee Society page there, in case you don't wanna get too personal about this whole thing.)

Anyway.

I think I might hafta go celebrate or something.

Until then, I hope everybody has a genuinely gossip-worthy day!

I’ll see ya’ later!