Chapter Text
Episode 4: Girl's Night Out...ish
After a brutal workweek, their traditional Friday movie night was in full swing...
"I can't believe I'm watching a movie called 'Vampire Cheerleaders vs. Zombie Football Players,'" Helga groaned, slouching deeper into the couch. "And I can't believe it's somehow worse than the title suggests."
"It has an 82% audience score," Phoebe noted, though she, too, looked pained as an obvious rubber zombie head rolled across the screen.
"On what? A scale of 1 to 1,000?" Helga reached for the popcorn bowl only to find it empty.
Lila sighed, setting down her phone. "I suppose it is oh so predictable."
Even Rhonda, who had been scrolling through her socials for the past twenty minutes, looked up. "I'm sorry, did Lila just criticize something? The apocalypse must truly be upon us."
"I didn't mean to be critical," Lila backpedaled. "It's just that we do tend to do the same thing every Friday night. Movies at home, takeout, occasionally ice cream..."
"We? Speak for yourselves; I'm only here because my...uh thing got canceled." Rhonda stammered a bit through her protesting while ignoring a snort from Helga. She tossed her phone aside dramatically. "You all are in a rut. Young, attractive women like us should be out experiencing life, not watching..." she gestured at the screen where a cheerleader was ineffectively stabbing a zombie with her pom-poms, "whatever this cinematic atrocity is."
"What would you suggest?" Phoebe asked. "Our usual options are—"
"If you say Bigal's Café or the bowling alley, I will scream," Rhonda interrupted. "You need something exciting. Something exclusive."
The apartment door opened, revealing Arnold and Gerald carrying grocery bags.
"We come bearing snacks for movie night," Arnold presented. "Though, based on your expressions, we might be too late to save it."
"Rhonda's staging a revolution against our bland Friday nights," Helga clarified, gratefully accepting a bag of chips from Arnold. Their fingers brushed briefly, and she ignored her pulse picking up.
"Count us in," Gerald said, dropping onto the couch next to Phoebe. "No offense to 'Vampire Cheerleaders,' but I've seen better acting in Arnold's grandma's home videos."
"I have news that will change everything," Rhonda professed with her phone in hand, standing for maximum dramatic effect. "I have secured access to the most exclusive nightclub in Hillwood."
"Let me guess – your newest favor of the week owns it?" Helga smirked.
"No," Rhonda sniffed. "Ugh, in all the madness of the week, I almost forgot. But I did a styling consultation for the owner's wife last week, and she was so impressed she put me and any guest of my choice on the VIP list for The Vault."
"The Vault?" Gerald sat up straighter. "For real? That place has a three-month waiting list just to get on the regular list!"
"I'm ever so excited!" Lila clapped her hands. "I've never been to a fancy nightclub before."
"I'm not going," Helga declared flatly. "Clubs are just sweaty rooms full of overpriced drinks and men who think 'Did it hurt when you fell from heaven?' is an original opening line. Pheebs will tell ya'll; I always get hit on by the same pretentious jerk."
Phoebe nodded. "While this is true, I believe there is a lower chance of that happening this time." She said in a less than confident tone but almost sounded like she was pleading for Helga to join.
Rhonda tilted her head. "Helga, darling, if you don't go with, you'll end up in your room writing like a mad woman or shuffling through your tedious files."
"Come on, Helga," Arnold nudged her shoulder before she could react to Rhonda. "It could be fun. When's the last time you went dancing?"
"Bold of you to assume I dance, Football Head."
"Everyone dances," he suggested with that infuriating half-smile. "Some just need the right motivation."
Gerald grinned and began talking with his hands. "Man, you should see Arnold when he gets going. The ladies can't resist."
Arnold's cheeks reddened slightly. "Gerald exaggerates."
"I do not," Gerald objected. "Remember that salsa club in San Lorenzo? Three women gave you their numbers, and you didn't even ask!"
"Ancient history," Arnold mumbled, looking distinctly uncomfortable.
"Well, I'll definitely be there," Gerald continued, smoothing his hair. "The Johanssen charm is always in high demand."
Helga caught Phoebe's little frown at Gerald's boasting and filed it away for later analysis.
"Fine," Helga sighed. "I'll go, but only to witness Arnold and Gerald get drinks thrown in their faces when their 'charm' inevitably fails."
"Your support is touching," Arnold dryly remarked.
"Fabulous!" Rhonda clapped her hands. "Ladies, be ready at 9. I'll be overseeing your fashion choices."
"Excuse me?" Helga's eyes narrowed.
"Helga, dear, The Vault has standards. No flannel, no war boots, no shirts with sarcastic sayings."
Helga stood up with her hands on her hips. "So I should just go naked since you've eliminated my entire wardrobe?"
"Don't be dramatic. I have options for all of you." Rhonda's smile turned calculating. "Trust me."
Arnold and Gerald stood to leave. "We'll meet you there at 10," Gerald said. "Gotta make sure we're looking fresh."
After the door closed behind them, Rhonda turned to the women with a gleam in her eye that made Helga distinctly nervous.
The brunette rubbed her palms together. "Let the transformations begin."
Three hours later, Helga stood in front of Rhonda's full-length mirror, barely recognizing herself.
"I look ridiculous," she grumbled, tugging at the hem of the black dress Rhonda had somehow convinced her to wear. It wasn't overly revealing – Rhonda knew better than to push that far – but it was fitted in a way that accentuated curves Helga usually kept hidden under loose clothing.
"You look ravishing," Rhonda corrected, adjusting the thin silver belt at Helga's waist. "Your little tat is covered. But the combat boots were a necessary compromise, but they actually work with the edgy aesthetic."
"I feel like I'm in costume."
"That's the point of going out," Rhonda explained patiently. "We all get to be slightly elevated versions of ourselves."
Phoebe materialized from the bathroom, and even Helga had to admit Rhonda had worked magic. The royal blue dress complemented Phoebe's petite frame perfectly, making her look both refined and approachable.
"Phoebe, you look amazing," Helga said honestly.
"Thank you," Phoebe adjusted her glasses nervously. "It's certainly a departure from my everyday garments."
"And finally..." Rhonda gestured toward the bedroom door where Lila appeared in a simple but elegant emerald dress that brought out the auburn tones in her hair.
"Oh my," Helga blinked. "If you don't get hit on at least fifteen times tonight, Lila, the men of Hillwood are officially blind."
"You're too kind," Lila blushed. "Though I'm just hoping to dance and have fun with friends."
"We are going to own that club." Just then, the lights flickered. "Not again," Rhonda groaned, pulling out her phone. "I'm texting Arnold. This is the third time this week."
….
The Vault lived up to its name, with a heavy metal door guarded by two imposing bouncers checking names against a tablet. The line stretched around the block, but Rhonda strode confidently to the front.
"Rhonda Lloyd and guests," she said with cool authority, with her phone dangling in one hand daintily. "Oh, and I'm expecting two more. Arnold Shortman and Gerald Johannseen."
The bouncer checked his tablet, expression unchanging. "I see." He sighed. "ID?"
After examining their IDs and giving them each a critical once-over, he unhooked the velvet rope. "Welcome to The Vault."
"Thanks, love," Rhonda winked at the stoic man, who surprisingly returned the gesture.
Inside, the club pulsed with blue and purple lights. The dance floor was already crowded, bodies moving in rhythm to music loud enough to feel in your chest. Private booths lined the walls, while a long bar staffed by bartenders in matching black outfits dominated one side of the room.
"This is ever so exciting!" Lila called over the music, her sea-green eyes wide as she took in the scene.
Rhonda glided ahead of the ladies and whipped around into a modelesque pose. "Let's take a picture to seize the moment."
Lila pranced over, beckoning for Phoebe and Helga to join. Helga slouched over but shockingly straightened her spine to get into a graceful posture right beside Rhonda. Lila and Phoebe got on the outside of them.
A guy at medium height walked close enough. "Hey. handsome." Rhonda purred. "Mind snapping a picture of us?"
He lowered his shades to the tip of his nose and grinned. "Sure." He took hold of the phone and glanced at the ladies. "You girls look hot..." The guy complimented, but it didn't seem sleazy. "okay. Say 'money'."
"Money!" They shouted all at once, and the camera light flashed.
"Whoo..." Rhonda exclaimed, grabbing her phone. "Thanks, sweetie." Her chestnut eyes circled through the pictures. "We do look hot; I'm posting these, FYI... #girls night out, she mumbled as she typed." Then, quickly, her phone was tucked away, and she began scoping out the place. "Let's get drinks," Rhonda offered, already scanning the room for important people to impress.
They made their way to the bar, Helga keeping close to Phoebe who looked slightly overwhelmed by the sensory assault.
The bass of the music vibrated through the floor, and the flashing lights made it hard to focus, but slowly, Phoebe found herself drawn to the energy of the room.
"So," Helga leaned in to be heard. "Are you hoping to see Gerald tonight?"
"I'm curious about the social dynamics in this environment," Phoebe slightly fibbed, adjusting her glasses in that way she did when dodging a direct answer.
"Uh-huh. Very scientific approach to watching him hit on other women."
Phoebe avoided meeting Helga's gaze. "Gerald is free to interact with whomever he wishes."
"Of course. And you're free to look like a knockout in that dress and make him regret every flirtatious phrase to anyone else."
Before Phoebe could say more, Rhonda strutted over with colorful drinks. "First round on me, ladies!"
Helga accepted the glass cautiously, bringing it to her nose. "What is this?"
"Something with vodka and possibility," Rhonda informed airily. "Now, I see someone I simply must speak with. Don't wait up!" She disappeared into the crowd, cocktail held aloft.
"And then there were three," Helga murmured, taking a sip. The drink was surprisingly good and fruity without being too sweet.
"Oh my," Lila chirped suddenly, her eyes fixed on something across the room, just in time to catch two tall women who looked like twins. One of them, almost seductively, whispered something to Gerald, and then they walked away. "Is that Arnold and Gerald?"
Helga spun to look and nearly choked on her drink. Arnold and Gerald were making their way through the crowd, both looking impossibly different from their usual selves. Gerald had traded his casual clothes for a sleek button-down and dark jeans that emphasized his athletic build. But it was Arnold who caught Helga's attention – his usual plaid replaced by a fitted navy shirt that made his green eyes seem even more intense, his hair slightly tousled in a way that looked effortless but probably took twenty minutes to achieve.
"They clean up well," Phoebe observed mildly, though her eyes remained on Gerald.
Lila waved enthusiastically, acquiring their attention. As they approached, Helga took another large sip of her drink for courage.
"Ladies," Gerald greeted them with an appreciative whistle. "You all look amazing."
"Thanks," Helga plainly conveyed gratitude. "Rhonda held us at mascara point until we complied."
But Gerald's attention had already fixed on Phoebe. "Especially you, Phoebe. That color is..."
"Complementary to my undertones?" Phoebe supplied.
"I was going to say captivating, but yeah, that too." Gerald's smile was different when directed at Phoebe – less practiced charm, more genuine warmth. Phoebe knew Gerald was flirting, and against her better judgment, she was enjoying it.
Arnold, meanwhile, seemed to be having trouble finding words as he took in Helga's transformation. "You look..." he started, then paused. "Different. Good different."
"Gee, Football Head, with compliments like that, it's hard to believe you don't have women falling at your feet," Helga quipped, but it was more playful.
"You know what I mean," he recovered somewhat. "You look beautiful, Helga."
The unexpected sincerity caught her off guard, and she felt heat rising to her cheeks. Thankfully, Lila intervened, moving her arms like she was at a 90's rave. "Would anyone like to dance? The music is oh so energetic!"
A young man in a designer shirt appeared at Lila's elbow almost immediately. "I'd be happy to join you," he invited her with charming written all over his face.
"Oh! Well, that's ever so kind," Lila beamed, allowing him to lead her toward the dance floor after a quick "See you later!" to the group.
"That was fast," Helga remarked.
"Lila's got that whole sweet-and-innocent vibe that some guys go crazy for," Gerald straightened his collar as he gave his take. "And looks like Rhonda's already found someone, too."
Helga glimpsed where Gerald was pointing to see Rhonda engaged in animated conversation with a well-dressed man near one of the VIP booths.
"So much for girls' night," she muttered.
Just then, a tall man with slicked-back hair approached, eyes fixed on Helga. "Can I buy you a drink?" he asked, completely ignoring the others.
Her eyes went from his shiny shoes to his handsome but punchable mug, knowing right away he wasn't her speed.
"Thanks, but I already have one," Helga phrased with disinterest, holding up her glass.
"Then how about a dance?" He moved closer, invading her personal space.
"Sorry. I'm not interested," This time, Helga nearly gritted her teeth but was holding back.
He didn't budge; instead inched closer to Helga. "You make my heart stop with your blonde beauty."
Helga blinked slowly, then looked to Phoebe with a deadpan face that said, told you so. She rolled her eyes before facing him again. "Then do us both a favor and flatline."
Instead of taking the hint, the man cheesed like she'd issued a challenge. "Playing hard to get? I like that."
"I'm not playing anything," Helga snapped. "I'm not interested."
"You haven't even given me a chance," he persisted, holding out his hand. "I'm Dirk."
Her blue eyes, full of annoyance, stared at his hand dangling in the air until he drew it back. "Congratulations on having a name. Now, please go away."
Gerald coughed to suppress a laugh. Phoebe's brows knit a bit as she glanced at Helga, her hand pausing mid-sip. She shifted forward just a little as if debating whether to intervene, then stared at the man with quiet disapproval. Arnold's lips tightened, something flickering behind his eyes—concern, irritation, maybe something he hadn't quite named yet.
Dirk, apparently unused to rejection, tried again. "One dance. If you don't enjoy it, I'll leave you alone."
"Hmm, intriguing proposal..." Her fingers brushed against her chin with a squint. "But how about you leave me alone now, and we skip the unnecessary steps?" Helga presented sweetly.
"Come on, beautiful. Don't be like that." Dirk reached for her arm.
Before he could make contact, Arnold smoothly stepped between them. "I think the lady was clear," he stated, his voice calm but strong.
"Who are you supposed to be?" Dirk asked, scrutinizing Arnold dismissively. "And how did you even get in this club?" He chortled with arrogance.
"Her dance partner," Arnold answered, ignoring his second question without missing a beat. "And the guy who fixes her heating when it breaks at 2 AM, so I suggest you move along." He turned to Helga. "Ready?"
Helga blinked in surprise but recovered quickly. "Absolutely, Arnold."
As Arnold led her away, she peeked back to see Dirk scowling and Gerald seizing the opportunity to ask Phoebe to dance.
"You didn't have to do that," Helga let him know once they reached the dance floor. "I can handle jerks like him."
"I know you can," Arnold reassured her, that half-smile appearing again. "Consider it me saving him from the verbal evisceration you were about to deliver."
"Very charitable of you."
The music shifted to something with a slower, more insistent beat. Around them, couples pulled closer together.
"So," Arnold began, interrupting the awkward pause. "Do you actually want to dance, or was that just an escape plan?"
Helga considered for a moment. "Might as well, since we're here. Unless you're worried about stepping on my feet with your clumsy moves."
"I'll try to restrain myself," he promised dryly, but there was amusement in his eyes.
To Helga's surprise, Arnold could actually dance. He moved with an easy confidence, keeping a respectful distance while still making it feel like they were dancing together rather than near each other. The combination of the music, the lights, and the slight buzz from her drink made Helga relax more than she'd expected.
"So Gerald wasn't lying about your dancing skills," she commented. "Where'd you learn?"
"Living with grandparents who spontaneously broke into tango in the kitchen has its benefits," he responded. "Plus, I spent a lot of time in different countries. You pick things up."
"Show-off," Helga teased.
The corner of his mouth twitched up. "What about you? You're not exactly stomping on my toes here."
Helga shrugged. "Olga insisted I take ballet as a kid. I hated it, but some of it stuck."
As if summoned by the mention of his name, Dirk appeared again, this time with a friend in tow.
"This is your boyfriend?" he challenged Helga, gesturing at Arnold with obvious contempt.
"None of your business," Helga reacted coolly.
He crossed his arms, leaning back some. "Didn't look like it from the bar," Dirk continued. "Seemed like you were just friends."
"Is there a point to this interruption?" Arnold's usual patience was clearly wearing thin.
"Just wondering why a girl like her would leave with a guy like you when there are better options available." Dirk stepped closer, invading their space.
Helga felt Arnold tense beside her and placed a warning hand on his arm. "Not worth it, Football Head."
"Football Head?" Dirk snickered. "That's what she calls you? Man, you are deep in the friend zone."
Before either could reply, Gerald appeared with Phoebe. "Everything okay here?" he questioned, reading the situation instantly.
"Just fine," Arnold did not take his eyes off Dirk. "These gentlemen were just leaving."
"I don't think we were," Dirk's much shorter friend uttered, walking to stand beside him.
Helga had enough, her signature scowl now on full display. "Listen, Dirk – can I call you Dirk? Oh wait, I don't care – here's the situation. I'm not interested. Not in dancing with you, not in talking to you, not in breathing the same air as you if I can avoid it. Your cologne smells like you bathed in a vat of desperation, and your pickup technique has all the subtlety of a freight train. So why don't you and your similarly clueless friend go find someone else to annoy?"
Dirk's face darkened. "Girls like you act tough until a real man comes along."
"It's not an act," Helga blurted without hesitation.
For a moment, it seemed like the situation might escalate. Then, a familiar voice cut through the tension.
"Is there a problem here?" Rhonda materialized, the well-dressed man from earlier at her side. "Because Noel here is the owner's brother, and I'm sure he'd be fascinated to hear about it."
Dirk and his friend exchanged glances, clearly reassessing the situation.
"No problem," Dirk muttered, a touch of humility finally entering his tone.
"We were just leaving."
As they slunk away, Noel cleared his throat. "If you ever want a quieter corner, our booth has plenty of room—and far fewer creeps."
Rhonda shifted to the others triumphantly. "And that, my friends, is why connections matter."
Helga, half under her breath with a smirk, mumbled, "At least not every guy here's a Dirk."
Noel caught it and gave a soft laugh. "I'll take that as a compliment."
"From her, you should," Arnold added dryly. "And thanks, Rhonda," he sounded more sincere.
"Please," she waved dismissively. "I couldn't have those troglodytes ruining our evening." She placed her manicured hands on Noel's shoulders. "Now, Noel has invited us to his VIP booth. Lila's already there with her new admirer."
As they followed Rhonda across the club, Gerald tilted to whisper to Phoebe, making her laugh softly. Ahead of them, Rhonda walked arm-in-arm with Noel, clearly in her element.
"You okay?" Arnold fell into step beside Helga and found himself wondering.
"Of course," she answered automatically, then reconsidered. "Actually, thanks. Not for the white knight routine – I can handle myself – but for the dance. It was... not terrible."
Arnold chuckled. "High praise from Helga G. Pataki. I'll take it."
He leaned slightly closer as they slowed to a stop.
"You know, you surprise me sometimes."
Helga raised a brow. "Just sometimes?"
He showed her that warm, unreadable curl of his mouth again. "Only when I'm paying attention."
She didn't have a comeback. Not one she'd be proud of, at least. And Arnold noticed.
"VIP section's waiting," he added, brushing past her gently.
Helga lingered behind for a second, wondering if maybe he felt it too.
They reached the VIP section, where Lila sat chatting animatedly with a handsome man who looked at her like she'd hung the moon. The booth was luxurious, with plush seating and a dedicated server bringing bottles of champagne.
As the night progressed, Helga found herself actually enjoying the evening. The VIP treatment kept away further unwanted attention, and the easy camaraderie of their group – now expanded to include Noel and Lila's new associate, Michael – felt comfortable despite the exclusive surroundings.
At one point, Helga excused herself to the restroom. When she returned, she paused at the edge of the VIP section, taking in the scene. Rhonda was holding court, clearly in her element among the wealthy and connected. Lila and Michael were deep in conversation, her genuine interest bringing out his best qualities. Phoebe and Gerald had moved to a corner of the booth, sitting closer than strictly necessary, his arm casually draped behind her as she explained something that had him completely captivated.
And there was Arnold, looking up at that exact moment as if sensing her presence, his green eyes finding hers across the crowded club. He smiled – not the half-smile he gave everyone, but something warmer, more personal. Something that made her heart do that stupid little flip it had been doing since grade school.
Helga slowly resumed her steps, watching Arnold as he interacted with Rhonda and Noel; for the first time, she saw him in a new light. Not just the kid she's known all her life and may have obsessed over at one point, and not just her neighbor and property manager. But a fully developed man. It's strange how simply going to a club has that effect. She quickly brushed it off—probably the drinks. Or possibly it was just the music. Or maybe… it wasn't.
Arnold chuckled as his joke landed with Gerald, Rhonda, and Noel. But his eyes involuntarily moved to the booth just as Helga was moving some hair behind her ear. Her expression was nonchalant as usual as she surveyed the crowd, but he caught a softness in her eyes—something thoughtful that didn't quite match her usual irony. He found himself suddenly curious about her inner monologue and how she saw things. Then found himself wondering if he'd ever really seen her before—not like this. But his introspections were cut off by Phoebe and Lila joining their circle.
Helga snorted a little too loudly when she saw Phoebe all but batting her eyelashes at Gerald before he turned to talk to Arnold.
Then Lila clutched Phoebe's arm and tugged her towards their seats.
Suddenly, Lila, Phoebe, and—surprisingly—Rhonda flanked Helga, the latter lifting a glass with a gleam in her eye.
"Cheers to..." Rhonda began, eyes flicking around, oddly unsure.
"To positivity!" Lila finished brightly.
"To self-care," Phoebe added, raising her glass.
Helga shrugged when they all stared at her. "To telling off pinheads."
The glasses clinked.
Helga sipped her drink, pretending she wasn't enjoying the attention. Or the music. Or the way Arnold had looked at her like she wasn't just one of the guys anymore. Not that she'd ever acknowledge it under torture.
And despite herself, Helga smiled, feeling there was the tiniest of chances club night wasn't the worst outing in the world.
And it was at that instant that she locked eyes with Rhonda, who held a certain knowing in her expression. Like she knew Helga was enjoying herself more than her deadpanning let on. With a smirk, she sipped more of her drink without verbally admitting any of that to the loveably conceited Rhonda Wellington Lloyd.