Norbert and Smedley
Episode 11: Smedley Gets the Boot
Smedley was reaching for the door when Norbert stuck an arm out in front of him, palm up.
“Hand it over,” said Norbert.
“I knew you’d change your mind about the ring,” said Smedley. “It’s far too handsome to let outside your family.”
“No, no, you fool. The twitterbox. Can’t have that thing go chirping at the wrong moment, can we? It would ruin the mood. Might deflate things entirely, you know.”
“Oh,” said Smedley. “Oh. Right you are. I’ll just turn it off, then.”
Norbert looked down his long nose at Smedley and tut-tutted with enduring patience. He turned to his butler/driver, who was standing behind him. “Jonesy, my boy,” he said, “do you see what I’ve had to put up with these last four years? The boy is stubborn.”
“Yes, sir.” Jonesy nodded gravely.
“Now Smedley, let me explain,” said Norbert. He clapped Smedley on the back. Smedley tried to duck, but he hadn’t seen it coming and the blow nearly bowled him over. “When we men get excited,” Norbert continued, “we tend to forget about certain things in the heat of the moment. One of those things that we tend to forget is twitterboxes. So, for your own good, I suggest you hand the damn thing over.”
“I’m certain I won’t forget,” said Smedley. “I’m good at remembering.” Penelope was good at remembering, too. He could ask her to help him remember to turn the phone off if he started to get excited about anything. She wouldn’t need to know why he might get excited, would she?
“I shouldn’t like to do this, dear fellow,” said Norbert. “But I will tackle you for it if I have to, so what will it be? Will you give it up nicely, or do I have to fish it out of your pocket myself?”
Smedley realized Norbert meant it, particularly when Jonesy stood tall behind him, ready to back him up. “Here,” he said, tossing the small phone into Norbert’s hand. “And remember, if you need to use it, it opens like a wallet.”
“Right you are, dear boy. Best of luck to you. And protection. Don’t forget the protection.”
Smedley and Jonesy took the lift to the ground floor, and stepped out into the bright sunshine. Sun! thought Smedley. This was certainly an omen. How many sunny days in June were there in London? Not many. It had been raining earlier.
“So, Jonesy, where have you parked?” he asked.
“Right there, sir,” said Jonesy, his voice so weak it was barely audible. “It’s the one under the sign what says ‘No Parking.’”
“Oh, of course.”
“Mr. Norbert said to park anywhere, you know. He said it was an emergency.”
“That’s alright, Jonesy. I understand.”
“But look, sir. It’s wearing a boot.”
Episode 12: What Next?
Smedley looked at the bright yellow boot clamped onto the wheel of Norbert’s limousine and started to laugh. A small, sickly laugh at first, but then it grew stronger until his belly heaved in and out and he was doubled over in a gut-splitting guffaw. He slapped his thighs as tears streamed down his cheeks. His lips worked frantically but he was unable to speak.
Jonesy rushed to his side. “Sir! Sir? Are you alright? Shall I call a doctor?”
“With… what…. Jonesy?” gasped Smedley. “Norbert…has… the… damn… hiccup… phone…gasp!”
A passerby stopped to ask if Smedley was having a seizure. “I don’t believe so, Ma’am,” said Jonesy. “A bit out of his mind right now, perhaps, but no seizure. I think I can put him to rights.”
The woman paled and scurried along as soon as she heard ‘out of his mind,’ allowing Jonesy to return his attention to Smedley. “Please sir, collect yourself. You’re causing a scene, and this is not going to get you to Penelope.”
“Penelope. Ha! Don’t you see? I’m doomed. I’ll never get to her.”
“You most certainly will, sir. Look, what are our options? We must have options.”
Options? Smedley eyed Jonesy for a moment, then let out a giggle worthy of a schoolgirl. “Well of course, you could always drive my car. You’d look perfectly ridiculous, but it would work. Boy, wouldn’t Norbert just love that.”
The color in Jonesy’s cheeks changed from a ruddy pink to something akin to split pea soup. “Your car, sir? A mini? That would be highly irregular. In fact, I think there might be something in the guild rules—”
“You can’t talk rules at a time like this,” said Smedley. He grasped the collar of Jonesy’s coat and pulled him close, looking for all the world like a drunkard. “My future is at stake.”
“I know,” said Jonesy, with a look of triumph. “You could call a cab!”
“Won’t work. I haven’t the cash.” In his wallet, next to the envelope with the theater tickets, were just a few pound notes to cover tips. He’d planned to pay for the evening with plastic. He had a bit more upstairs, but the amount was negligible.
“I could run up and borrow some from Mr. Norbert,” said Jonesy.
“No. We haven’t the time.” Smedley grabbed Jonesy by the arm and pulled him around to the car park in the back of the building, where he slid open his car’s window on the driver’s side to reach and open the door. “Penelope would resent being made to wait, and I can’t risk it. We’ll have to leave now. But I sure wish I had my twitter—er I mean my phone, so I could call and tell her. She thinks we’re coming in Norbert’s car. It will no doubt be a big disappointment when she sees my car after all.” Smedley went round to the passenger’s door, slid the seat forward and climbed into the back seat.
“Yes, sir. A disappointment indeed.” said Jonesy as he started the engine.
“Just a moment, I need to shut the door.” Smedley slid open the passenger window, leaned out, reached for the handle, and pulled the door shut.
“Wouldn’t that have been easier from the inside, sir?”
“If there was a handle, Jonesy. No outside handle on the driver’s side, no inside handle on the passenger’s.”
“Rather unique, sir. I suppose it keeps you from getting them mixed up.” Jonesy looked down his nose and laughed at his little joke. At least Smedley hoped it was a joke. “Shall we be going then?” asked Jonesy.
“Yes. We have two minutes.”
Episode 13: Can It Get Any Worse?
Penelope waved off her friends and turned to press the button for the lift. “No. I do not need company while I wait for Smedley. I do not want company while I wait for Smedley. He is probably already waiting for me. Smedley is punctual.” She breathed a sigh of relief when the sliding door closed behind her, shutting off their criticisms of Smedley, and turned her wrist over to check her watch. She saw bare skin.
“A lady leaves her watch behind on important occasions so she won’t be tempted to check it. Checking her watch would make the chap think she’s not having a good time,” Sofia had said with an air of superiority.
“And you wouldn’t want to give him that idea,” Heather had added. “I think he’s going to propose.”
Penelope’s heart had done a tap dance at the prospect. Her Smedley propose? Really? That, of all things, would make her the happiest girl on earth. She’d removed her watch and looked carefully in the mirror to think what else she might want to remove. Perhaps the dreadful hairdo? But she hadn’t the nerve for that, so she’d taken the lift to the ground floor, still looking a bit like a poodle, to wait for him out front. At least he was picking her up in a limo. She nearly swooned at the thought.
When she exited the building, her heart leaped with delight. While there was no sign of Smedley, the last rays of June sunshine were warming the wrought iron bench in front of the building. Sofia had pestered all the girls to go in on buying it, although she was the only one that wanted it. They had a beautiful garden in the back, a private garden. What use did they have for a bench on the street? But Sofia had insisted they needed it. Penelope was of the opinion that it gave Sofia an opportunity to show off her handsome beaux, emphasis on the plural, to the world at large. The rest of the girls preferred to entertain on the quieter patio. Penelope blessed Sofia now, though, as she settled herself on the seat, taking care not to wrinkle her dress.
Of course, there was a down side. It was quitting time in the neighborhood. As Penelope sat there, wondering if she’d read the clock wrong and come down a tad early, she had to cope with the whistles, calls, rude remarks and occasional polite inquiry of construction workers, accountants, lawyers and civil servants. “It’s not so bad,” she told herself. “Change your attitude. Chin up, girl. If you weren’t beautiful, they wouldn’t notice. It just means Smedley will notice. Think about Smedley and they won’t matter so much.” She blinked back tears. No one had ever whistled at her before.
Two or three times, perhaps four, she saw a car drive by that looked like Smedley’s, but it didn’t stop. A strange man was driving, with a shadowy figure just visible in the backseat. How odd! she thought. Two cars like Smedley’s? What was the world coming to?
When she was sure she’d waited a good half hour and Smedley still hadn’t arrived, Penelope decided she’d had enough. She fished her phone from her purse and dialed Smedley’s cell.
It was answered on the first ring. “Hello?”
That was the last word Penelope ever intended to hear spoken from Smedley’s lips.
“Smedley Christopher, if this is your idea of a sick joke, then you’d best plan on playing jokes on someone else. I’ll have you know that I tried on four different sexy dresses tonight before I settled on the right one. I switched to contacts instead of glasses, and I dyed my hair and put it up special just for you. I’ve been sitting on the bench in front of my building for more than half an hour waiting, and I’ve endured whistles and propositions—a few of them quite tempting, I might add—but where were you? All afternoon, you call me with a countdown, and then you don’t show. You’re laughing in some pub with Norbert, no doubt. He put you up to this, I’m sure. Well, I’m through with you. No more. Done. Quit. Ended. Good bye. Do not call me. You are not my Prince Charming. You aren’t even a frog. You are a great big toad and you have warts.”
Penelope took a deep breath, then turned, walked determinedly to the lift, and returned to her flat to remove her dress and make-up, and take down her hair. She planned to fix herself a nice cup of tea, find a sad romance novel from the common library and have herself a good cry. Who needed the likes of Smedley? Hadn’t the girls told her he was a mistake? She should have listened.
Episode 14: Cut to the Chase
Through the length of Penelope’s tirade, Norbert tried to get a word in edgewise. He tried very hard, but by the time she rang off, he hadn’t even managed a “But Penelope…” That’s one forceful young lady, he thought, as he sat down heavily on top of Woofington, who was asleep atop Smedley’s bed. He ran his fingers absently through Woofington’s thick coat. The dog, in response, roused himself to lick Norbert’s face.
“Dear Woofies, what are we going to do now?” said Norbert. “Smedley has his heart set on marrying that girl, though I can’t think why, and it seems the boy not yet arrived. Can’t think why on that account, either. Still someone has to got to set this matter to rights, let the girl know how much he loves her, and I guess that someone will have to be us. Go and get your leash.”
Woofington took one last slurp of Norbert’s face, from the tip of his chin to the top of his forehead, then jumped off the bed to retrieve the requested item. He barked impatiently after he’d dropped it at Norbert’s feet.
“Yes, yes,” said Norbert. “I know we have to hurry. It would be so much easier, though, if you didn’t make everything quite so soggy.” Norbert looked about and grabbed the first thing that fell to hand. “I guess Smedley will forgive us, won’t he, Woofums?” He twisted Smedley’s pajamas into a wad, ran them along the length of the leather lead, then carefully shook them out and hung them over the back of the chair to dry when he was done. “There, none the worse for it, I daresay. And it was, after all, an emergency.”
Norbert understood why Smedley hadn’t arrived by limo as soon as he reached the curb. Norbert’s limo, boot and all, was in the process of being towed by a driver who was forced to endure the presence of Mrs. Parker-Smythe while he was about it. The irate old lady appeared intent on giving the man an earful, and at such a volume Norbert could hear her every word from the lobby. “It belongs to Norbert Bennington the Third, I tell you. And why he has to go blocking in old folk who park as they are supposed to in legal spaces is beyond me. He has a driver, after all. And his dog frightens my little FooFoo.” The biddy petted her purple ball of fluff—said ball looking more like an animated pile of clippings from Mrs. Parker-Smythe’s last haircut than an actual dog, but Norbert would never have been so rude as to say so, nor would he call her a biddy to her face. “Such a big thing that dog is,” continued Mrs. Parker-Smythe. “Boys these days. I tell you. They have no—”
Norbert ducked around the side of the building as quickly as he could. He had no intention of getting into it with Mrs. Parker-Smythe. If he did, she would call a Bobby, and the Bobby would certainly detain him. It would take hours, and he’d never be able to help Smedley. No. It was either a taxi or the Tube. He looked down the street, where traffic was hardly moving, and made a quick decision in favor of public transit.
“Your best behavior now, Woofington. And NO SEAT!” He shook his finger at the dog. “Those are the rules.” Woofington hung his head, but his tail, as ever, did not stop wagging, nor his body along with it.
Norbert and the dog ran to the station, paid for a ticket, went through the turnstile, flew down the stairs, and onto the train, which fortunately had just arrived. Two stops later, they were but three blocks from Penelope’s. They jumped off, ran through the onslaught of humanity pushing towards them on their way home from work, and continued their frantic pace down the sidewalk.
“Look, Mum,” said a small boy. “He’s chasing a bad man. But where’s the Bobby? Shouldn’t there be a Bobby? Bobby! BOBBY! HELP HIM!” Came the small shrill voice behind him.
Norbert became aware of another set of footsteps pounding the pavement behind him, and then others after that. When he reached Penelope’s building, he paused, but only for a moment. Panting and out of breath, he stopped to read two signs. The first read, “ABSOLUTELY NO MEN BEYOND THIS POINT,” the second had a listing of residents and their room numbers. He ran his finger down the names until he came to “Wainscoting, P. Room 414.” He ran to the lift. It was paused on the 12th floor. He cursed, then ran to the stairs, taking them two at a time. The owner of the nearest set of footsteps cursed as well, and followed, though at a slightly slower pace. And, if he’d taken the time to listen, he’d have various murmurs and sundry curses, then other pairs of footsteps behind, as well. Norbert was drawing a crowd.
Episode 15: My Kingdom for a Phone Book
Smedley and Jonesy circled the block for the fifth time.
“Are you certain you don’t see her, sir?” asked Jonesy. “There’s a gorgeous blonde sitting there on the bench. You did say 56 Dalrymple Stree, did you not? Tall building, perhaps 12 floors?”
“Yes, Jonesy, I did. That’s probably Sofia. She’s out in the evenings a lot. A big show-off, that’s what she is. My Penelope’s a brunette and not what you’d call gorgeous—to anybody but me, that is. You’ll know her by the glasses. Big horn-rimmed glasses. Damn, I wish I could get a better view out this window.” Smedley tried desperately to peer through the scratched plexiglass behind Jonesy, but he couldn’t get a clear view.
“Perhaps if you cleaned it a bit, sir.”
Smedley nodded his head in agreement at the sense of the suggestion, and looked around him in the Mini-Cooper. Unfortunately, there was nothing by way of cleaning materials to be had. No cloth, no napkins, no paper. He was a neat sort, and promptly disposed of all such material. Well, this was an emergency. He removed the Norbert’s cummerbund, spit on the inside of the waistband, and rubbed the window vigorously. After a great deal of effort, he managed to clear a small patch, perhaps 4 centimeters in diameter. Not much, but enough to peer through with one eyeball, which was one more eyeball than he’d been peer through with a moment earlier.
“You’re correct, my dear patient Jonesy,” said Smedley. “No sign of the sweet girl. We’ll have to find a phone to call her.”
They stopped at the first booth they came to, but there was no book.
They stopped at the second, but the book had been lifted there, as well.
“Pardon me, sir. But you don’t know your own girlfriend’s phone number?” said Jonesy.
Smedley hung his head. “I’m sorry to say I do not. She has numbers one through nine on my speed dial. Our little joke. I can always find her, even if I dial in the dark.” He gave a weak laugh. “But I’m not sure I’ll be needing to find her now.”
“Look, sir. There’s another booth. And I believe I see a book.”
Smedley was in too great a hurry to bother reaching out the window to open the passenger door. Instead, he slid his whole body through the open window, then ran to the phone booth. He opened the book, thumbed through the pages, then burst into tears. Someone had removed the page with the “Wab - Wak” listings.
“Face it, Jonesy. The heavens are telling me something. I’m doomed.”
“I’ll face no such thing, sir. Me Mum would say that the heavens are just testing your mettle. Of course, she’s into her sauce most of the time, so she says a lot of things, but just this once, I happen to think she’s right. Why don’t we pop on over to Miss Penelope’s building and have a talk with the lass. Explain things to her right proper. I bet we can set the situation right. Especially when she sees the jewelry. Ladies love jewelry.”
And, thought Smedley, I still have the envelope. Norbert said it would come in handy at just the right moment. I mustn’t forget that.
Episodes Sixteen through Twenty