Norbert and Smedley
Father McMurray looked at the screaming young woman with empathy. “I don’t think I’ve ever been kissed quite like that before. I should have you speak with my wife.”
The shrieking abruptly stopped. “Your m-m-m-married?”
“Church of England. We’re allowed. You know, my child, with a kiss like that, you could turn any frog into a handsome prince.”
At the word "prince," Penelope’s cries began anew.
“My darling child,” said the clergyman, “why are you crying? Your dear boy is outside your door. All you need do is exchange me for him, and all will be right as rain.”
“No, Father, it won’t. Look at me. I look like a trollop, a rather-the-worse-for-wear trollop, not his Penelope, and I can’t even find my glasses to do anything about it.”
“Well, there’s a solution to that,” said the kindly man.
“There is?” Penelope brightened. The Americans said, “In God We Trust” and Smedley was American--or was born one anyway--so maybe her marriage to him was still meant to be.
“Yes, there is. My eyesight is good. Let me help you find those glasses.” He stuck his hand into hers. “I’m Father McMurray, by the way. And you are?”
“Penelope. Penelope Wainscoting.”
Penelope shouted in the direction of the closed door, “Everything’s fine. We’ll just be a few minutes,” then led Father McMurray to the loo, where he got down on hands and knees and found her glasses, along with tuppence, a few dustbunnies and an earring. “Thank you. I’ve been missing that since Christmas,” said Penelope sheepishly, taking the earring from Father McMurray's hand. “I thought Sofia had nicked it for that second piercing in her right ear.”
“Now,” said Father McMurray. “I’d suggest we get the rest of that cold cream off your face, put some clothes on you, and maybe do a little something with your hair. Perhaps an elegant chignon?”
“You know about hair?”
“Grew up in a family with twelve sisters. Went into the ministry as much to escape them as to meet God—and it was a blessing on both counts.” He smiled. “Here let me help you.”
To Penelope’s surprise, Father McMurray turned out to be rather handy in setting a girl to rights. Doing her hair first was a smart idea, since it got it out of the way while she washed and dried her face, and by the time she’d finished cleaning up, he had returned from perusing her closet, carrying an outfit that would be absolutely appropriate for an evening with a future fiancé—not too revealing, while still showing little of her shoulders. “I didn’t even think of that,” she said. She smiled her thanks.
“Now,” he said. “Let’s see if we can make the most of those beautiful eyes. Are those contacts I see?”
“Yes,” she said. “They’re new.”
“Not the colored ones, I hope.”
“Well, I did get one pair of brown ones. They add flecks of light, but that’s about it.”
“Let’s stick with those, then,” he said. “Your eyes are your best feature. Such a lovely shade of brown. Why would you want to change your greatest gift? I do think it’s time you stopped hiding them behind these glasses, though, except when they’re tired, of course, and need a break.”
When the transformation from trollop to real beauty was complete, Penelope threw her arms around the clergyman for the second time that night, only this time, there was no kissing and no shrieking, and Father McMurray returned the gesture in kind. “Oh, Father, thank you!” she said.
“Now, my child,” he said. “Let’s find that beau.”
Penelope opened her door. Her jaw dropped.
Smedley stopped kicking when he realized he was kicking at Margaret, but he did not stop yelling. “Wait,” he said. “I heard a shout from Penelope’s room. She’s in trouble. We have to go back!"
“No,” said Jonesy. “I didn’t hear a shout. Certainly not, sir. And that was Father McMurray. He’s a kind man, married, three kids. The wife’s from Memphis, American just like you. Miss Penelope is fine. I’m certain of it. Probably sobbing about this whole mess, but the good Father will set to her rights. No, sir, you’re coming with us, but where we’re going is more than I can fathom. Where is it we’re going, Miss?”
“Right here,” said Margaret. She indicated a door to her right. She released Smedley’s legs long enough to open it and let Jonesy pull him through.
They deposited Smedley on a wooden chair in the kitchen, after which Margaret locked the door behind them. “Keep an eye on him and don’t let him move a muscle,” she instructed Jonesy. “I don’t want him stinking up my apartment.” That said, she went to the loo to wait for Heather’s call. She returned a few minutes later. “Heather says we’re to undress him.”
“What? I’m practically a married a man!” objected Smedley. “Or at least I want to be a married man, if my dear Penelope will ever forgive me. I can’t—”
“How do you shut him up?” asked Margaret.
“I don’t know, Miss,” said Jonesy. “Mr. Norbert has been trying all afternoon.”
“I have a bathrobe to put him in for now,” said Margaret, pointedly ignoring Smedley’s ongoing jabbering, “and Heather is going to remove Norbert’s clothes for Smedley. We’re to throw Smedley’s clothes in the rubbish heap.” She wrinkled her nose. “He smells like he’s been down at the docks cleaning fish. Or worse.”
“I couldn’t agree more, Miss,” said Jonesy.
“But… but… Norbert’s clothes? What will he wear?” asked Smedley.
“We’ll let Heather worry about that,” said Margaret. “She’s got him in her apartment right now.”
“He suffers so much for me,” said Smedley.
“He does, sir. Indeed, he does,” said Jonesy. “Well, let’s begin with the jacket, shall we? And then, if you’ll remove your shoes, we can do the pants?”
“Here?”
“Why not, sir?”
“There’s a lady present.”
“I’m sure she won’t look, sir.” Jonesy turned to Margaret, “Will you, Miss?”
“No,” she said. “And I’ll be getting that robe. Heather said to keep your skivvies.”
In no time, Jonesy had Smedley out of the tuxedo. “I think you’ll be needing these, sir,” he said, removing the wallet and jeweller’s box.
Smedley’s felt his face flush with embarrassment. Jonesy had saved him yet again. If it weren’t for Jonesy, his already bad day would have grown worse. He could just see himself sliding down the rubbish chute after Norbert’s tuxedo in search of Norbert’s family heirloom, and he could just imagine how he would smell when that deed was done. Penelope would really love him then. “Thank you, Jonesy. You are indispensable.”
“That’s the idea, sir.”
Smedley reached for the box, but Margaret was too quick for him. She snatched it from Jonesy’s hand, opened it and squealed with delight. “This is for Penelope? It’s the most beautiful ring I’ve ever seen. All the girls will be jealous, even Sofia. Oh, Smedley, you really are her Prince.” She planted a big kiss on Smedley’s cheek.
“I’ll be right back, sir,” said Jonesy, holding the tuxedo away from his body between the thumb and forefinger of one hand. He looked as if he would have liked to have pinched his nose with the other, but propriety prevented it. “The sooner we put this stench behind us, the better. “The rubbish chute, I believe, is right down the hall.”
Jonesy stepped out the door and walked briskly down the hall. He had nearly reached the chute, which was adjacent the lift, when Smedley remembered. He ran for the door.
“Smedley, where are you going? You can’t leave dressed like that. You’re indecent and you have lipstick on your cheek!” said Margaret, but Smedley didn’t hear her. Margaret chased after him.
“No, Jonesy,” called Smedley. “Wait. I forgot. The little silver envelope. It’s still in my pocket.”
“Yes, sir,” said Jonesy, turning gray. “Of course. Right you are.” His face took on a pinched expression as he gingerly rummaged through Smedley’s pockets. “Ah, here it is,” he said, relief on his face when he could once more hold the smelly pants with his arm outstretched, their waistband pinched between his thumb and forefinger.
Neither Margaret nor Jonesy nor Smedley noticed the open door to Penelope’s apartment.
23: Cufflinks
Sofia opened the door to her apartment and stepped behind it. Once the London Bobby had followed her into the entryway, she slammed it shut behind him and threw the deadbolt, then leaned against its smooth wood surface, hiding the purloined handcuffs and billy club behind her. She opened her grey eyes wide and batted them at the officer, more out of panic than an attempt at seduction, and tried to think what to do.
Why had Heather been so certain Sofia would have ideas? Sofia had no experience with the police. She wondered what the other girls were doing with their charges. Heather was probably having a tête-à-tête—or was it lip-to-lip?—with Norbert. And Margaret probably had Smedley and the butler engaged in a game of Canasta. Sofia wondered what Heather expected her to do, moreover what should she do that would be in keeping with her reputation? Think, she told herself. What would the girls do in one of those James Bond movies?
Sofia was so deep in thought, she didn’t hear the policeman the first time he spoke. He tapped her shoulder, cleared his throat and tried again. “Miss? Excuse me, Miss, but do you mind telling me what you are on about?” He smiled. “There are strange goings on here, particularly for an all-girl building. First the bloke down the hall, and now you’ve got me cuffs and me stick. It’s risky business thieving from an officer.” His hand shot out to reach behind her for the handcuffs.
Sofia was too quick for him. She hastily lowered the handcuffs, pressing them against the wall with her buttocks so the officer could only have removed them by getting fresh with her. “I’m trying to get myself introduced,” she said with a coy smile. “I’m Sofia. And you’re?”
“Her majesty’s officer who is going to arrest you. I don’t socialize with criminals.”
Sofia grinned.
While he spoke matter-of-factly, his body language was playful. He leaned towards her, bracing his hands against the wood on either side of her.
“Is that so?” she said breathily, staring into his eyes. She ducked beneath his arms and moved into the kitchen.
“Yes. But I expect to get my tools back any minute now,” he said, his eyes locked on hers.
“How?” she asked. She dangled the handcuffs in front of her like a pendulum, accidentally springing them open when she touched the mechanism’s pin. “Oh, my. Look. They work.
“Of course they work. If you’ll hand them over, I’ll show you just how well they work.”
Sofia wasn’t about to give up so easily. Although the young man kept pursuing her, she had the feeling they were each after the other for different reasons, and that bothered her. But at least she had his attention, which meant he was not out in the hall, and that meant Heather would be happy. She was beginning to run out of idea, however.
Perhaps if she made use of the handcuffs… But if she did, she’d need to figure out a way so that the keys were out of his reach, and so he’d be stuck in her apartment. Easier said than done, she was afraid. She was so preoccupied with these thoughts that she almost missed his sudden lunge in her direction. She stepped backwards, tripping on the first of three stairs to the upper level of her apartment before catching herself on the railing. The railing! That was the answer. She allowed herself to stumble again and pretended to lose her grip on the handcuffs. When the Bobby grabbed for them, she quickly reached around the rail and fastened a link around each of his wrists before he knew what was happening. She laughed in triumph.
The young officer eyed her calmly. “You think you’ve won, eh?” He reached for his belt. “No matter. I’ll just be unlock—“ A metallic clunk interrupted both his speech and his movement. “You little minx. You’ve locked me to the banister.”
“Have I?
“Now, if you’ll just hand me my keys,” he said. “There’s a good girl.” He flashed her a wide smile.
Sofia moved as close to him as she dared, her face even with his, and, never taking her eyes from his, removed the keys from his belt. “These keys?” She dangled them in front of his nose.
“Yes. Those would be the ones. The little one, with the three teeth--” He watched Sofia hold it up and nodded. “Yes, that one. It unlocks the handcuffs.”
“Oops. I dropped them,” said Sofia. She tossed them carelessly over her shoulder.
“No!” he screamed.
When Sofia didn’t hear them hit the floor, she looked behind her and felt the sudden need to sit down. What, she wondered, was the penalty for kidnapping and attempting to seduce a police officer?
24: Running the Bases
Norbert closed his eyes, enjoying the sensation of Heather’s full lips against his. He couldn’t figure out where he’d gotten the reputation of being such a cad, such a ladies’ man. He wasn’t good with the ladies, really he wasn’t. He had no shortage of first dates, but relationships rarely progressed past the second, and if they did, he could count on the fingers of one hand the number that had survived to a fourth or a fifth. And it wasn’t that he took liberties on the first date, either. He wasn’t a Hugh Grant sort of a man, although he could pass for the man’s cousin. Norbert just didn’t wish to waken to the sight of some girl combing out her hair while wearing the top half of his pajamas. No, sir. It wasn’t proper, and his insistence on propriety seemed to be the problem.
Girls didn’t want proper chaps anymore and were disappointed to find out he was one. They lost interest when he insisted on wining and dining them, taking them dancing and out to tea, introducing them to Mother and the Ladies at the Club, engaging them in a game of croquet on the lawn. They didn’t understand that there was a ritual to be observed, and not until its completion might he consider love, or love-making.
Heather’s curves, her lusciousness, her scent, however, had caused him to come momentarily undone. He supposed he could make an exception just this once, yield to her advances. How did the Americans put it? Oh, yes—he could run the bases, but stop short of a home run. She’d just said she wasn’t that type of girl, so where was the harm in enjoying a kiss? Norbert relaxed, put his arms around her, and kissed her back. He paid no attention when she unbuttoned his shirt and slipped it off, nor when she removed his belt and unzipped his trousers. He was only doing his part for Smedley, after all.
When she pulled him to his feet and reached for the belt of her robe, however, Norbert panicked. His eyes flew open, his heart pounded, and beads of sweat formed on his forehead. “I, er, meant what I said about dinner.” He paused to clear his throat. “Heather. Dear girl. I don’t even know your last name.”
Heather batted her eyes at him. “It’s Nutterley, but does it matter?” She reached for the pile of Norbert’s clothes. “Let me just take—”
“No!” Norbert said, louder than he’d intended. “I’ll do it.” He grabbed the clothes and ran from the room, without bothering to put on the robe that Heather had thrown across the back of the couch for him. He shut the door behind him, determined to escape Heather, who was trying to pull him back into her arms. When he heard it lock behind him, he immediately recognized his mistake.
“Well, if that’s how you feel, you can just forget it!” said Heather, from behind the door.
In front of Norbert stood a group of the building’s residents, all young women, their eyes fixed upon him. They let out a collective gasp. He could only guess what they must be thinking at the sight of his tousled hair, lipstick-smudged cheeks and naked body, save for the tighty-whities his grandmother had given him last Christmas. Damn! If only Jonesy had done the laundry, Norbert could at least have been wearing a clean pair of boxers.
Then Norbert saw Smedley, and he forgot about Heather, the staring women and his own nakedness.
Smedley was nearly as naked as Norbert, clothed only in a terry cloth robe, a lipstick mark on his cheek. What truly horrified Norbert, however, was the little silver envelope Smedley held aloft in his right hand. “I’m coming, Margaret,” said Smedley. I’ve got it!”
Norbert also saw the open door to Penelope’s apartment and a transformed Penelope standing just inside, staring aghast at Smedley.
“Smedley, no!” said Norbert. “You fool! Now what have you done? You can’t be that fickle!”
“Fickle?” Smedley giggled. “Who’s fickle? ” He took the clothes from Norbert and clapped him on the back. “Now I’ve got everything I need to ask Penelope to marry me. Thanks old buddy. Thanks a million.”
25: Raincoats
When Penelope first saw her half-naked prince walking down the hall, lipstick on his cheek and holding the foil-wrapped condom aloft like a prize, she was stunned. When he’d called, “I’m coming, Margaret! I’ve got it!” her heart had burned with hatred towards him and her former friend. She’d been torn between running into the hallway to let him have it, to speak her mind once and for all, to let him know how she felt, and slamming the door, never to see him, speak to him, or even think of him again. But like passersby who cannot turn from the scene of an accident, who stop and stare at the blood and gore, gawking at others’ misery while at the same time thankful it is not their own, or perhaps more like sufferers of toothaches who cannot stop probing the tender spot, she stood rooted in place, watching the scene unfold.
“I have everything I need now to ask Penelope to marry me?” Smedley had said.
“And what’s that supposed to mean?” said Norbert. “Did you think you needed some practice with her girlfriend so Penelope wouldn’t have to be your first?”
“What a great idea,” said Smedley. “I’ll give it a go.” He turned towards Margaret’s room.
Norbert grabbed Smedley’s arm and spun him around. “Smedley, dear boy. Do you have any idea what I’m talking about?”
“Of course I do. What do you take me for? A fool? I’m going to go ask Margaret to marry me. Practice on her, you know, so I don’t get tongue-tied.” He clapped Norbert on the back appreciatively. “You have the very best ideas. But there’s one thing I should ask you… er… man to man.” Smedley dropped his voice to a whisper, so Penelope had trouble making out all the words. “What… envelope… when… appropriate… time… ring… or after?”
“Good Lord, Smedley! It’s a raincoat, for heaven’s sake.”
“A raincoat? Won’t it be a bit small?”
“I say! Well, I never!” Norbert began to laugh, a little at first, then harder and harder, until tears streamed down his cheeks.
Woofington began to scratch at Heather’s door, then to whine, and finally to bark so loudly that Heather had to open the door to let him out. The dog ran to Norbert and danced wildly around him. When Heather saw Norbert laughing, she demanded to know what was so hilarious, but Norbert couldn’t speak. He could only point to the little silver envelope that Smedley still held in his hand as he stood watching Norbert’s tears.
Heather took one look at Smedley and turned on him. “And I suppose you know what’s so funny?”
Heather’s voice was so commanding, thought Penelope, that even a hardened criminal would be singing like a canary under her questioning. She’d have to speak to Heather about that—perhaps Heather should change her studies from stress reduction and guided relaxation to criminology. Penelope shook her head, and returned her focus to Smedley.
“I only asked Norbert what was in the little envelope, and how I would know when the appropriate time was to give it to Penelope. Now I’m so confused!” Smedley wailed. He grabbed Heather by the shoulders, while Norbert clutched his knees and gasped for breath from laughing so hard.
“You see,” said Smedley, “it’s my first time proposing. Norbert said I might need protection and that I’d know when, but it being the first time and all, I really wasn’t sure I would—so I wanted to know when I was to give it to her. Now he says it’s a raincoat, but there’s no rain today. I want to do this right. Do you think before the ring or after?”
Penelope’s anger melted, and she began to giggle. She turned to Father McMurray and locked her arms around his neck in a hug.
“He’s not the brightest boy,” said Father McMurray, “but I think he means well. Now I think you’d better claim him before Norbert does any more damage.”
“Yes, I think you’re right. And thank you.” Penelope gave Father McMurray a quick peck on the cheek, then went running towards her handsome prince. She covered his eyes with her hands.
“Guess who?”
“Margaret?” answered Smedley.
Penelope punched him.