Surreal continuing story: walking through doors and passageways

[dougie_monty]

“I remember reading about fish falling out of the sky in a book by Frank Edwards. But there are two problems with that. One, I think there’s a spark arrestor on that chimney; and Two, I don’t know whether flounder are native to this region.”
He leaves the room, but returns shortly with an ice chest and ice cubes, and gingerly drops the dead flounder into it. “I’ll show it to Mary Blonda. She or her brother Mark Smith should be able to identify it.”

I think of something myself: “Fred, is there a metal detector around here?”
“Yes—Missus Sharp keeps one in the closet in the Purple Room.”

I go into the Purple Room and, sure enough, I find the detector in the closet. I test it; it works fine. I return to the library with it. The ice chest, made of heavy plastic, is still open. I poke the business end of the detector at the flounder; nothing happens. I switch the machine off and withdraw it.
“Well, there’s no metal in the fish,” I say.

Fred and the others are puzzled.
I explain. “I once saw a ‘Photocrime’ article in Games Magazine. Granted this isn’t all that plausible, but the article mentioned a stolen gem hidden inside a dead fish. Who knows—this flounder seems to have been dead for a while…”

Fred says, “I see what you mean, but we’ll leave this up to Ms. Blonda and her brother.”
“Is someone calling me?” says Mary, just now coming into the library. “Oh! What is that smell?”

She sees the fish in the ice chest. “Ugh! Who brought a flounder in here?”
“Mary, we’d like to know if this fish could have come from local waters,” says Alice.

“I don’t know offhand,” Mary says. “I’m not all that sure whether flounder live in waters in this part of California. It’s been dead for a while…” She closes the ice chest and Fred carries it to the den, where Mary will investigate the matter on the Internet.
“She may also want to look for someone around here with sooty fingers,” suggests Alice. “When Fred comes back we’ll ask him about the condition of the spark arrestor on the library chimney.”

Now we turn to other matters.
“We’ll want to contact Lord Astorbilt about the League member’s report from Jubbulpore, in Parker’s fax,” says Alice.

I sit with her, wrapping my arms around her. “And you’ve been deciphering the code in the ‘Sequel’ book,” I comment. (The Baconian Cipher.)
“Yes, I have,” Alice says. “And so far it seems that the forces warned about in the book that you found in the Morpheus’ attic, are strongly repulsed. I’ll have the complete deciphered text ready after the benefit.

“We should also contact Hermione or Winifred about the broken plank,” Alice continues.
“I’ve been meaning to say something about that,” I add. “I didn’t notice any cuts, saw marks, or impact marks on that second plank I brought down from the lighting grid—it just looked worn.”

“Well, the crime lab will tell us what they’ve found,” says Alice. She kisses me.
Fred speaks up. “I just pointed out to George Sharp that there are visitors, whom I have admitted, from the local YMCA at the pool: Helen and Irwin have other kids their own age to keep company with.”

“At least they haven’t suggested anything to George about his next-older sister Frannie,” I say with a shrug.

We get a call from Winifred. She says Mary has inquired to her about the flounder; and the lab is still investigating the planks. More importantly, we’ll be able to pick up the CD-ROMs, from her or from Bob Long, of The Obscenity of Livers and the book I found in the Morpheus’ attic—unexpurgated, according to Winifred’s contact with Parker.

[NDP]

Immediately after we hang up on Winifred, we hear Mary’s voice calling us from the den. She wants to see something.

Alice and I go into the den as does Fred (who was in the kitchen getting some type of utensil). Mary motions us over to the ice chest which contains the flounder.

“There’s something in the fish,” she tells us. " Right after I got off the internet, I flashed a penlight into the fish’s open mouth and noticed something shiny inside. It looked like a card of some sort."

Fred, who now has the penlight, stares into the flounder’s mouth and reaches for the utensil, which I now see is a pair of bottlenose pliers.

“It’s about the same size and shape as an envelope,” he says as he carefully inserts the bottlenose pliers into the fish’s mouth with his right hand. With his left hand on the penlight, he then slowly moves the pliers around until he’s sure the instrument has a firm grip on the object inside the flounder. Finally, with the care of a surgeon he pulls out the pliers–and a silver colored envelope with crimson red lettering on it. After Fred places the envelope on the table next to the ice chest, I read what’s written on the envelope: my name.

“It’s for you,” Fred says. “Care to open it?”

I say…

[dougie_monty]

“Well, let me check it out first.”
I use my ESP, and find nothing poisonous or otherwise noxious inside the envelope; it contains only a small slip of paper. But remembering a story I read in childhood about little red wagons, I hesitate and ask Alice to help me.

“What do you mean?” she asks.
“I’m concentrating on the silver envelope itself—hey, it might affect me in some way. You never know, what with the kinds of stuff we’ve encountered.”

Alice agrees. We clasp hands, which I like to do anyway.
All we come up with is silver foil. Pure silver foil.

I slit the envelope open with a knifelike letter opener. Nothing unusual about that.
The slip of paper falls out; on it is printed, as with word-processing equipment, a sentence in Esperanto:

“Ni estas la sonĝoj, el kiuj fariĝas la estonteco.”
The sentence is in the New Caledonia typeface, which was used for the text of most of David Feldman’s Imponderables books, the text in Newsweek Magazine, and, until recently, literature published by the government of California, including DMV booklets, ballot initiative handbooks, and income-tax forms. I’ve never seen the font used on a computer before.

None of the others present, except for Alice, know Esperanto. I say, “It translates into English as, ‘We are the dreams the future is made of.’”
“A variation on the mangled Shakespeare quote,” says Fred.

I say, “I have a good mind to take this to Ed Fukushima at Loora’s building—to figure out the material used for that crimson lettering…” The lettering looks almost like script used on birthday-cake icing. My voice slides to a stop as I see small print on the back of the slip of paper: Pescadería Vasquez.
“‘Vasquez’ Fish Market,’” says Alice.

None of us have heard of such a place. We’re all still baffled; but the market can’t be too far away, in any case, else the fish would have started to rot.
We decide to take the mysterious envelope to the police station; perhaps Hermione or Winifred may use magnesium powder or some other process to find any fingerprints on the envelope or the paper.

Meanwhile, Fred sends Bob McMillan, the Sharps’ gardener, to check out the spark arrestor on the library chimney—to see if it’s rusted out, or has been tampered with.
Alice and I, along with Mary Blonda and Gwen, go to the police station. Don Clay is on duty; he says Hermione and Winifred are on patrol.

“I forgot Hermione told me about that,” says Alice.
“But Bob Long is in the crime lab now,” says Don. He clears the four of us to go back there; a uniformed cop escorts us in.

We wait outside the lab. When Bob Long comes out, we hand him a large Zip-Loc bag containing the silver envelope and the slip of paper.
I also ask him, “Have you ever heard of Pescadería Vasquez?”

Bob pauses. “I may have…I don’t know the place offhand but I’ll check it out. I’ll have those items fingerprinted for you in a jiffy. And I’ll have Hermione call you. And, oh—here’s the CD-ROMs you wanted; Parker authorized me to give them to you.”
Bob hands us jewel boxes with CDs in them; one is for the Livers book and the other is for the Sub-basement book. On both boxes is a sticker with the admonition: DO NOT USE ON COMPUTER WITH MODEM CONNECTION. –James V. Parker, DXM League.

We thank Bob and return to the Sharps’ mansion.

Back in the Green Room, we discuss this latest wrinkle with Fred and Eloise. I sit with Alice on my lap; Mary is present. Now a group of women come in—Lady Astorbilt, Sylvia Goldstein, Dr. Clouse, Jeanette Strong, Samantha, Grace Tolliver, Jane Bradley, and a woman I haven’t seen in a while—Elizabeth Martin, Eloise’s mother. Ms. Martin is a sixtyish, pixieish, thin, animated woman in expensive clothes. They escort Eloise’s son George into the room. They seem very happy with him.

Elizabeth stands her grandson next to her as she approaches her daughter Eloise. She seems to be choking back happy tears.
“You should be very proud of George Alexander Sharp, dear,” says Elizabeth, “for what he has done.”

George acts very shy, and blushes deeply. “Aw, Grandma, it’s not that much,” he says with an embarrassed smile.
“Don’t be so modest, George!” says Grace. “He deserves a commendation from all women!”

“What did he do, Mom?” asks the baffled Eloise.
The delighted Elizabeth clasps her grandson’s hand and says…

[NDP]

“He got everybody in his fraternity to make contributions to the National Breast Cancer Foundation. Together, they raised over $1,000.”

“That’s wonderful George!” Eloise exclaims.

“Yes, but try to keep this on the downlow,” George says. “We don’t want to look like we’re doing this just for the good publicity. Besides, we fratboys have a reputation as beer-guzzling, sexist, un-PC clods to uphold and this might hurt it.”

“Well, I don’t think you should keep this a secret,” Alice happily opines as she gets up from by lap and walks over to George. She kisses him on the cheek. George blushes.

“Excellent work George,” I say as I get up to shake his hand. “You have every reason to be proud.”

“Uh … thank you,” he answers. "Say, I have one question for you and Alice though. I was wondering if …

[dougie_monty]

“…you could get Mr. Nicholas to teach me some more tricks.”
We pause.

Dr. Clouse breaks the silence.
“I want to finish my examination of Nicholas,” she says. “You could discuss that with him then.”

“Thanks, Dr. Clouse,” says George. “I’ve written down some traditional tricks I’d like him to teach me.”
George hands Alice a list. She looks it over.

“These are standard stage tricks,” says Alice.
George adds, “I’d like to improvise some of them, because I want to do a comedy magic act.”

“Well, remember, George, pulling naked Anna out of a top hat isn’t funny,” Eloise points out.
George says contritely, “Yeah, Mom, I know. If I were doing that as a comedy trick, I’d add a puff of smoke—and Anna would stand at my table and I would come out of the top hat. And we’d be wearing each other’s clothes.”

We all laugh. “That is funny, George,” says Eloise.
Now Alice and I leave this happy scene. We go into the Purple Room, accompanied by Sylvia, Jeanette, Dr. Clouse, and Mary Blonda.

“Mr. Parker told me they’ll have some people waiting outside the room I’ll examine Nicholas in,” says Laura. “They won’t interfere with me doing doctor stuff.”
“You must not have much left to do,” I comment.

“Actually, I don’t. I want to show him the results of his blood tests, and other tests, which I conducted. I have a few more questions to ask him, and a cursory examination, and then I can make a diagnosis.”
“What will you do with the results besides tell Nicholas?” I ask.

“Well, I’ll want to report my findings to the League; I’d like to give a professional report to Fields and Bartholomew with suggestions concerning the motive of the minions of Sikes-Potter to track Nicholas down; and I’m considering writing an article for The Journal of the American Medical Association.”
“Sounds impressive,” says Alice, clinging to me.

“I think it will be,” Laura says. “A man of his age would be a remarkable topic for a JAMA report…”
“You may want to bolster that with written support from other physicians so JAMA doesn’t start wondering about you,” Alice comments.

Dr. Clouse says, “I’m way ahead of you. I told Parker that I want other physicians to back my findings up—I’m sure the League would appreciate an effort to bolster a report on Nicholas with other professionals’ findings. And I told Parker I’d certainly want Maggie Johnson to have a session with Nicholas.” Laura leaves now, to take care of business at her medical office.
Now Alice, Jeanette, Mary, and I discuss our plans for Sylvia’s review.

“Your people should go through a complete dress rehearsal—an extra one, for review purposes only,” says Sylvia. “I’ll act as critic and appraise the acts; then I’ll give your steering committee my recommendations.”
Buster trots into the room, and again he jumps onto Sylvia’s lap. He doesn’t say anything, but Alice and I sense he and Ms. Goldstein exchange mutual good vibes, if that makes sense.

Well, pretty soon our whole group returns to the Morpheus. Everybody gets ready, and Arthur and Daniel set up the equipment for Prester John’s Aunt and The Cigar Band.
“Foraker and Donoho were arrested yesterday,” says Fred.

Before we begin the rehearsal Sylvia will review, I discuss something with Jeanette and the others of The Contralto Quartet. In our street clothes, the four women—Jeanette, Jane, Amy, and Sally—and I, get on stage after the rest of our group sits down. Johnny Goss sits at the piano and gives the downbeat. Jeanette and the others sing “Cool Water,” by the Sons of the Pioneers. The only part I sing is the high-pitched word “Water!” in a falsetto voice.

When the song is over, our audience applauds. Buster acknowledges by waving his tail up and down. The audience also busts up laughing at my part. Then Sylvia, as professional critic, comments.

[NDP]

“Amusing,” she says with a flat tone and deadpan expression.

“She seems a bit underwhelmed,” Johnny Goss quietly comments to me.

“Well, she did say she liked it,” I respond. “Maybe she’s just reserved when it comes to expressing like or dislike in public.”

Next, Prester John’s Aunt will be performing one of Gwen’s songs. However, before she joins the rest of the group on stage, Alice has something to say to me about Vasquez’ Fish Market.

“I looked up its address in the phone book,” she informs me. “It’s located just south of downtown on South 46th Street. I think we should take a quick trip over there after our performance.”

I agree and tell Alice good luck as she heads over to take her position at the piano. And, with Gwen Berry on the guitar and lead vocals, Prester John’s Aunt performs their number–a downbeat song about a woman’s broken relationship and her disappointment with love.

I think it’s an interesting song. I not exactly bowled over by it initially but it does seem to get better as it goes along. When the number ends, I look over at Sylvia who says…

[dougie_monty]

“On one hand, your song is quite solid—the theme is emphatic, and the chords fit the ‘downbeat’ theme well. Your rendition is, of course, technically perfect.
“On the other hand”—her voice starts to quaver—“You seem almost clairvoyant, Miss Berry…” Sylvia breaks down and cries hard. Alice, Gwen, Eloise, and several others approach to console her. Buster jumps onto her lap, and gives her a reassuring meow.

Betty Galloway and Elizabeth Martin step in front of her to ask what’s wrong.
The critic pulls herself together.

“Forgive me, ladies…the theme of Prester John’s Aunt’s song hit me where I live…
“Two years ago I was dating a man whom I’d seen for years in my synagogue in New York. I was walking on air… then he found out I had passed muster as a professional theatrical critic and he decided he didn’t want me. He even convinced the rabbi to bawl me out!” Sylvia breaks down again.

Ms. Galloway and Ms. Martin continue to offer condolences.
Betty says, “If you don’t feel up to it, Ms. Goldstein, perhaps we can postpone the rest of this rehearsal…”

“No! The show must go on and so must the critiquing!” Sylvia is adamant.
It sounds as if she has been trying to prove she can hold her own with male critics and won’t even let her own emotions stand in her way, Alice tells me telepathically.

I imagine she’s as vulnerable as the rest of us, I reply.
The performance continues. Lloyd Werdin’s “The Queen Is Dead” routine; the punk band (here Sylvia seems absolutely unflappable); Lorna McManus; The Cigar Band, and so on. When the latter group performs, Ms. Goldstein seems greatly awed by Jeanette’s bold appearance, flowery guitar style, and powerful contralto voice, especially since the combo’s first number is “Milord,” which Jeanette sings with all the panache of Edith Piaf, or Louise English, who sang the French song in a Benny Hill skit.

Next, Joanie Sharp performs Leroy Anderson’s “The Typewriter,” with Jane Bradley at the piano (to give Johnny Goss a break). Arthur sets up the screen; the primly caparisoned Joanie receives an appreciative round of applause from us, and a thoughtful facial expression from Sylvia.
Then the five husbands—Jack Sharp, Stan Brown, Joe Bradley, Pete Oranjeboom, and Bob Blonda—do their slapstick “Penguin” piece. For the first time I hear Sylvia laugh—and she drops her note pad. I feel happy that the critic has recovered from her sad mood, and I sense that all the others present feel the same way.

The last performer is Claudia Hart, doing her mime act. She starts out, of course, by signing This act was created by Marcel Marceau; and Sylvia writes something down even before Jane, at the piano, speaks to interpret what Claudia has just signed.
When all the acts are over and the applause dies down—and for Claudia, Sylvia made her applauding quite visibly obvious—the critic finishes writing individual comments and says, “I’ll prepare a written critique of the entire performance later today…Eloise, may I use the computer in your office?”

“Sure, go ahead,” Eloise says. She walks with Sylvia to Jack’s office.
The rest of us bid Sylvia “so long” for now. Before she leaves the seats, she surprises us by signing something to Claudia.

Now Alice and I, with Jeanette and Phil Ramírez, drive over to Pescadería Vasquez. On the way, the car amuses us by repeating Ms. Goldstein’s comments, in the Fran Drescher voice.
The car also says, “I understand Foraker, Donoho, and Dennis Walsh are in custody.”

“Yes, Car,” says Alice. “Hermione phoned me a little while ago and said Foraker’s and Donoho’s fingerprints—and nobody else’s—were all over those planks.” (She noted that mine were on it too, as were Daniel’s; but that’s not an issue at the moment.)

We get to Vasquez’ fish market. As we approach the counter, we see a tall, young, robust, Hispanic man, with a walrus mustache, behind the counter. He speaks in Spanish to another customer. He has the name “Luis” on his uniform shirt. When it’s our turn, Alice, Jeanette, Phil, and I, approach the counter. Phil speaks first, unsure whether counterman Luis speaks English. Phil says, “¿Tiene lenguado?” (“Do you have flounder?”)

[NDP]

“Yes, I have sole,” he answers, “and speak English. I’m from Portland, Oregon for God’s sake.”

“Oh … heh … sorry,” Phil apologetically says. “Anyway, we were specifically looking for flounder. Do you have that?”

“Yes, what kind do you want?” Luis inquires. “Yellowtail? Southern? Summer? Starry?”

“Well, it’s not so much what kind we want as what kind we’ve got,” Alice states. “It seems as though a flounder was delivered to a friend of mine’s house in a rather bizarre manner–it was dropped down the chimney.”

“That’ll get it dirty,” Luis comments.

“Yes, it will,” I say, “and I even haven’t gotten to the weird part yet. After we put the fish in an ice chest, we discovered an envelope inside the flounder’s mouth that had my name on it. I opened the envelope and discovered a slip of paper with sentence written in Esperanto on the front and the name of your fish market–Pescadería Vasquez–on the back.”

“I hope you don’t think I had anything to do with that weird stunt,” Luis says. “I don’t even know Esperanto. By the way, do you know what the message was?”

“Ni estas la sonĝoj, el kiuj fariĝas la estonteco,” Alice answers. "That translates as, ‘We are the dreams the future is made of.’”

“We’re not accusing you of anything,” I tell Luis. “We just wonder if you remember anyone buying any flounder in the last three days?”

“I think I sold flounder to several people,” he answers. “Do you mind if I go in the back and check my receipts and records?”

“Go right ahead,” Phil says. “We’ll wait right here.”

While we wait for Luis, I start to look over the fish market. My eyes wander over to the refrigeration case where several shelves are stocked with jars of pickled herring. It’s there, in a row of sweet wine pickled herring jars, I see one with yet another silver-colored envelope inside. Like the one found in the flounder, this too has my name written on its front in crimson red lettering.

“Alice, can you come here?” I say as I pick up the herring jar with the envelope. “I don’t think we’ve reached the end of this.”

I show Alice the jar. She gasps and says…

[dougie_monty]

“Good Lord—someone must be doing this from the inside!”
Now Luis comes back to the counter.

“I have had four flounder sales in the last two weeks: Pablo Echevarría, Mike Weston, Linda Stephanopoulos, and Dennis Walsh.”
That name rings a bell. Walsh may have bought the flounder just before Don Clay arrested him in the House of Tracy.

“Er—Luis, did you see this?” asks Alice. She points out the herring jar.
“¡Caramba! I knew we shouldn’t have hired that idiot!”

“What do you mean?” I ask Luis.
“This tall guy named Brent Donoho! Said he was a cook and ‘pantryman,’ whatever that is. My dad hired him. He was supposed to prepare jars of pickled herring—and he puts something like this on display.”

“You’re sure Donoho did it?” asks Alice.
“I’m positive. My Mama showed Donoho how to set herring up in Mason jars. She couldn’t do it—she has arthritis real bad.”

Now an older couple comes out of the back room. They identify themselves as Wenceslao and Luz Vasquez, Luis’ parents. Luis tells them, in Spanish, what happened.
The senior Vasquez curses under his breath. “That bastard Donoho—I should not have hired him. Luis, Luz, let’s check the rest of the stock out here.”

The Vasquez family scrutinizes the prepared fish in the customer area; the jars of herring and other fish carry the label “Pescadería Vasquez” in brightly colored lettering. No other jars contain fish with envelopes—or any other object not belonging there—in the mouth.
The senior Vasquez goes into the back. He returns, saying he’s found nothing unusual in the stock in the back, either.

“Just that one jar with the envelope in the mouth could have cost us a lot of business,” says Luis. He photographs it and calls the police.
As luck would have it, Hermione and Winifred come out. They investigate the matter, and take their own photographs, and take fingerprints, including samples from Luis, Luz, and Wenceslao. Then they take the unique herring jar with them.

“Walsh must have put this up just before Don Clay arrested him,” says Hermione. “Now he has these charges to go with public drunkenness and creating a public disturbance.”
With our work at the fish market finished, we buy a few things. I buy two pounds of abalone, and Jeanette buys three dozen oysters. We pay Luis promptly.

Just before we leave, I ask Luis, “Do you know a woman named Lupe Guzman?”
Luis blushes. “Oh, yes…dear woman…she cooks for a man named Señor Sharp. I have dated her…”
We thank Luis and leave.

“Well, it looks like Donoho and Walsh got in a few licks before they cashed in,” says Alice. “We’d want to know, of course, who put the flounder into Eloise’s chimney—and how.”
“Well, I hope we don’t have to rely on some suspect not washing his hands,” I say. Alice, Jeanette, and Phil—and the car—snicker at this.

We return to the Morpheus. We put the seafood we bought into the refrigerator in the backstage kitchen. Sylvia is still poking at the computer in Jack’s office, preparing her written appraisal of the program.

Now we meet Claudia and Susan Bradley. Claudia has a computer setup of her own, in the theater manager’s office; it has a TTY—teletypewriter for the deaf—connected. According to what Susan tells us, Claudia has a special report from Al the Alien and from her great-grand-uncle Red Nicholas. Susan says the report exposes a “residual” organization of remaining Sikes-Potter operatives—and it specifically mentions Reid Foraker, Brent Donoho, Dennis Walsh—and Pula Kinlai, Lemoyne’s office manager—the midget Alice chased down the tunnel to the valley. (I wonder—was he released from the hospital or something?)

We decide to give Susan and Claudia’s report to Fred.
Now we go into the conference room. Among the others there, we see all fifteen of the Sharp kids, along with Jack, Eloise, and Grandmother Elizabeth Martin. But two of the 15 kids look different.

There’s a boy, age 19, with a muscular physique (like the other Sharp boys), and Eloise’s light brown hair but Jack’s blue eyes. And there’s a girl, age 18, with a shapely figure (like the other Sharp girls), Jack’s black hair and Eloise’s gray eyes. I remember all 15 Sharp kids as having coloring the other way around.

They identify themselves as George Sharp’s next-younger siblings, Henry and Irene, rather than Helen and Irwin.
I think, Something very strange is going on here!

I’m puzzled. I ask Eloise, “Where are Helen and Irwin?” She is slightly bemused; Henry and Irene nod to me. They both show their DXM rings; Irene also holds a copy of the book Myra Breckinridge.

[NDP]

Myra Breckinridge is a satire on sex and Hollywood written in the 1960’s by Gore Vidal. I’ve never read the book–but I did stumble on the absolute train wreck of a movie made from it starring Raquel Welch and Mae West on cable one sleepless night. I thought the movie was like being trapped in a room with your grandparents as they told the most obscene jokes imaginable so I gave up after about 20 minutes. Anyway, Myra Breckinridge is about a man who undergoes a sex change operation. Adding 2 + 2, I automatically conclude something similar has happened here.

“How did it happen so fast?” I inquire with astonishment.

“How did what happen?” replies Henry who’s holding a copy of Orlando by Virginia Woolf.

“You know,” I say. “Helen-Henry, Irwin-Irene.”

“Who are you talking about?” asks Eloise.

“Well, as of yesterday, two of your children included a boy named Irwin and a girl named Helen,” I state. "Now, you have–

“I’ve never had any children named Helen and Irwin,” Eloise corrects me.

I do a quick ESP scan of Eloise. She definitely believes what she’s saying.

"But just the other day, George got into trouble with you because he mistakenly assumed that–

“George was not in any type of trouble,” Eloise says. “We’ve had no trouble with George at all.”

“No trouble?” I say incredulously. “What about his magic trick/striptease with the naked girl who came out of the top hat? You certainly remember that?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Eloise states. “I have no memory of that at all. Besides, I think George has absolutely no interest in magic.”

I look at everybody and see they’re all staring at me as though I was delusional. I turn to Alice and, judging from the look in her eyes, she thinks that…

[dougie_monty]

…we have somehow stumbled into the Twilight Zone.
I excuse myself and go into the manager’s office, just as Sylvia finishes up with the computer; she returns it to the desktop view. I get on the Internet and go to my e-mail service.

In the Drafts section, I find an e-mail I had sent to the Sharps about two months ago, just after George’s hat trick. George, Helen, and Irwin are mentioned. I’m satisfied and print a copy of this message.
I also send an e-mail to my Mom, Donna Niles, concerning Evelyn Robinson, whom the Sharps had hired as a nanny when their eldest son Andrew was a toddler. She is nearly at retirement age now but still works part-time with the current nanny Marie Naveira, tending Eloise’s six kids who are still minors.

Alice now joins me in the room. The chair at the computer is quite large and she and I sit side by side as we discuss this turn of events.
“None of Eloise’s other kids seem to know Helen or Irwin, not even George,” Alice says. She snuggles up to me and hangs her long auburn tresses over my shoulder. I gently stroke the hair.

“Well, what about the other people in the room?”
“None of the other people in the room were anywhere near the Sharps—almost as if the Sharps weren’t even there! In fact, I don’t remember seeing Grandmother Martin there this time, do you?”

“I’m positive she was present when we entered the room,” I say. Alice continues to cling to me. “Then again, she may have left right away.”
“Well, we should definitely take this up with Fred Moreland—as the Sharps’ butler and as our main League contact,” I reply. “If someone is screwing with reality on us again, we’ll want to scotch it right away.”

When I finish printing stuff out, I unboot and shut off the computer. Alice and I leave the room and quietly go upstairs to our favorite private dressing room.
She and I undress and we happily screw the daylights out of each other. Then we fall asleep, still in each other’s arms.

The nap is quiet and refreshing. But at the very end I have a nightmare—Lemoyne is present and driving the performers like slaves. I howl in fright and wake up. I see Alice, of course. She grips my hand.
“Are you all right, Luv?”

I catch my breath and realize I’d been dreaming. I hold Alice close. She playfully spreads her long hair over my head. I smile and kiss her. “I had a nightmare,” I say.
“So did I,” she says. But she smiles and holds me close.

Then we hear a very loud snap—like someone slapping a leather belt against a naugahyde chair.

We wash up, get dressed, and return to the conference room. Sylvia is discussing something with Jack and Eloise, with Jeanette and George Galloway looking on. Grandmother Martin and Nanny Robinson—in the Morpheus for the first time—chat with the fifteen Sharp kids; they appear normal. George sits and tells funny stories to his next-younger siblings, who sure seem to look like the very normal Helen and Irwin. Eloise now holds the books Myra Breckinridge and Orlando, and she also holds George’s stage hat and wand.

Now Fred Moreland comes into the room. With him are Maggie Johnson and Laura Clouse; each of them carries a notebook with a caduceus on it. Fred directs them to Jack and Eloise. He holds a portfolio himself, and approaches Alice and me. Buster sees him and scurries over.

Alice, Fred, and I sit at the card table. Jeanette’s cards are still on it, along with a box of poker chips. Buster jumps onto the table.

Fred opens a folder, in the portfolio; he glances momentarily at the Sharp kids and nods. The folder he opens in the portfolio is marked “Contacts with J. V. Parker.”

He tells Alice and me, “You’ll want to know about this…”

[NDP]

“It seems George Sharp has been hanging with Red Nicholas over the last few days. I assume to get some new ‘magic trick’ ideas.”

“How did he get permission?” I ask.

“He went down with Dr. Clouse,” Fred explains. “She said that initially their conversation was pretty harmless–just a discussion about card tricks–but later there were some strange exchanges followed by silence. At the time, Dr. Clouse didn’t think much of it but she now realizes there was still communication going on.”

“Telepathic?” Alice inquires.

“Most likely,” Fred answers. “I discussed this with Parker and we now think George and Red were communicating via ESP about how to do a unique type of magic trick–a magic trick that involves the temporary warping of reality.”

“So the sudden reversal of Helen’s and Irwin’s genders?” I ask.

“Was part of the magic trick,” Fred states. “We’re pretty sure that was George’s idea–especially after what happened the other day. The heavy-lifting, so to speak, was mainly done by Red.”

“Why?” Alice asks.

“I think George Sharp just wanted to mindfuck with you,” Fred says. “Basically, a teenager’s prank–albeit one that involved a drastic alteration in reality for a short period of time. Red, of course, was more than happy to help.”

“So that’s the reason why Maggie Johnson and Laura Close are talking to Jack and Eloise right now?” I ask.

“Exactly,” Fred replies. “I’m going to talk to them next. Oh, by the way _____, you’d probably like to know what was in that envelope with your name on it that was in the herring jar.”

“What was it?” I inquire with interest.

“Another card,” Fred answers. "It said…

[dougie_monty]

“‘The time has come, the Walrus said, to talk of many things…’
“No punctuation follows. Then there’s the date ‘4-26-03.’”

I think back. “That’s the day before the FBI shot Argo Rank dead on the roof of the Morpheus,” I say.
“Yup,” says Fred. “And what happened on April 26?”

“The FBI agents talked to Harriet McKenna at her office just as Lena and I were leaving.”
Fred muses. “I may want to bring this up to Parker or Breastly—they are the senior DXM people who have sort of a liaison with civilian law-enforcement agencies.”

“So that means they maintain their own contact with Hermione and Winifred and the others,” says Alice.
“Exactly.”

“You know,” I say, “I can’t help but wonder whether there is a connection between the envelope in the herring’s mouth, and the plasma TV set.”
“How so?” asks Fred.

“Well, I sense that Red probably resisted being sent back down into the Hellmouth. It’s just a shot in the dark, but if Red had any intention of colluding with Rank—”
“Stop there, brother,” says Fred. “They only way Red could have done that would be by mental telepathy—and between the mind-numbing TV programs he was watching, and the entreaties of Father Abromowitz and the others, he wouldn’t have been able to hatch a plot with a clever duck like Argo Rank.”

“OK, I see what you mean,” I say.
Fred now introduces us to his wife Lucretia (not “Letitia”), a graceful and affable older woman who resembles Phylicia Rashad, and their daughter Latonya, a pretty young miss who reminds me of Serena Williams.

Stan Brown interrupts. He reminds me that the men’s tournament finals are tomorrow at the House of Tracy. (I just barely made it to the finals. The others are George Galloway, Stan, Jack Sharp, Bob Blonda, Pete Oranjeboom, Joe Bradley, and Hector Guzman.) The men’s finals take place at the same time as the bridal shower Alice is holding for Lorna McManus; the women’s finals are much later that day.
“Yeah, that’s right,” I say.

Stan also says that Louise wants him to buy some stuff for her at Victoria’s Secret, about two miles from the theater. She gave him some pictures of her, and her sizes. He shows me the pictures. She wears a businesslike skirt-suit in one photo; her usual cardigan and jeans in the second; and a skimpy white bikini in the third.
I turn to Alice and ask her, “Have you been to Victoria’s Secret?”

She blushes slightly. “Only a time or two. And I would like you to get some things for me there—but I don’t have any snapshots to give you for that.”
Alice writes down a list of her sizes, as she walks with me to talk to Frannie, Eloise’s third daughter. The 21-year-old Frannie has become a professional photographer.

Alice calls Louise over; they talk and giggle a little, smirking at Stan and me. Then they go backstage to where Frannie has stored her equipment.
Meanwhile, I ask Fred what we should do about Red Nicholas and George Sharp.

“Well, I’ve thought about that myself,” he replies. “I intend to ask Claudia and Jeanette to contact Nicholas and persuade him to lay off. If that doesn’t work, I’ll ask Parker and Breastly to scramble Nicholas’ telepathic messages so nobody—including George Sharp—can pick them up.”
“OK, then.”

I note that almost all of the men and boys have left the conference room now. Eloise and her six other daughters—Brenda, Doris, Helen, Jean, Linda, and Nancy—are all now wearing cut-off jeans and red gingham blouses tied in front. They really look fetching—and wise, considering how warm it’s been lately.
Fred, too, is about to leave. “We’ll want to have a meeting later today,” he says as he leaves with Lucretia and Latonya. Buster trots off, too, apparently toward the kitchen in quest of cream and liver.

Alice and Frannie return. Alice is in her skimpiest cut-offs and a bright red tank top; Frannie is dressed like her mother and sisters. Alice hands me three fresh prints with poses much like Louise’s—and I blush deeply. :o Now I have Alice’s sizes and the snapshots. Alice also tells me what she wants—two teddies, a bustier, a sexy nightgown, some pantyhose, and a few pairs of plain cotton panties; she tells me what colors she likes. I embrace her, and Stan and I prepare to leave. He has his old, slightly battered green pickup parked in the Morpheus’ private lot.

Before Stan—with a sandy beard and a physique much like Brad Garrett’s—leaves the room with me, I notice that Jack and his boys blush slightly at the presence of Eloise and her girls, in such sexy country-style outfits. Now Frannie sets her equipment up to photograph her mother and sisters, and herself, and the two dozen or so other girls and women who remain. Grandmother Martin, Nanny Robinson, and Betty Galloway look on.

As Stan and I drive off in the pickup, he speaks about this kind of thing; he’s been to Victoria’s Secret—and Frederick’s of Hollywood—for Louise before. (And I know Louise still makes him blush from time to time.)
Stan wisely comments:

[NDP]

“When you’re there, just play it deadpan. If you do get flustered, however, don’t be afraid to ask the staff to help you. They’ve encountered problems like this many times before. And whatever you do, don’t act too interested. You don’t want to look like a perv. Oh, by the way, is this the first time you’ve shopped for lingerie for a girlfriend?”

“Yes,” I answer.

“Are you nervous about it,” Stan asks.

“More uncomfortable than nervous,” I state.

“Well, don’t worry,” Stan advises. “I felt the same way the first time I did this for Louise. Just take a deep breath and keep focused. Don’t let yourself get distracted by the displays or let your imagination run wild while you’re there.”

“Thanks,” I reply as the truck pulls into the parking garage for the Platinum City Megamall–a typically gargantuan monument to consumerism. After searching for ten minutes, we find a spot on the fourth level near the section where the Victoria’s Secret is. We leave the garage through a series of walkways, passages, and elevators, and emerge onto the second level right where the store is.

I walk into Victoria’s Secret with Stan feeling cool, calm, and collected. Nothing’s going to faze me here–until exactly one second after entering the store. Right at my eye level on a rack of red bras I see a partially obscured glint of something that’s out of place–but familiar to me nonetheless. Not paying attention to anyone or anything around me, I walk over to the bra rack and pick up a large red bra. Inside one of the cups is another silver envelope with my name on it. I immediately feel all the blood in my body rush into my head. Why are these things popping up? And how does whoever’s doing this remain one step ahead of me.

I look around and see that Stan is chatting with one of the salesgirls at the counter. Not trying to call attention to myself, I quietly try to get his attention to come over. After several failed attempts, Stan finally notices me and walks over to the bra rack.

“What do you want?” he asks. "Oh, that bra you’re holding is way too big for Alice. It’s a 36 D and Alice is–

“I know it’s the wrong size,” I whisper. “Just look inside the right cup.”

Stan looks at the silver envelope and says…

[dougie_monty]

“Good God! These things just follow you around!” :rolleyes:
Well, Stan, of course, has the power of mental telepathy, same as I do. And I’ve had enough of these envelopes, much like Brutus did in Julius Caesar. We send a telepathic message to Fred and the DXM in general: * “Tracking suspected—home in on someone or something tracking my path!”*

Stan and I hear a loud snap, much like what Alice and I heard in the Morpheus after the “Henry and Irene” episode.
Then silence.

In fact, I look at the envelope. I open in, and the writing inside is gibberish, written with an ordinary No. 2 pencil. The writing on the outside, in the cake-icing style I first saw on the envelope in the flounder, shows my name and today’s date—and suddenly starts to crumble. I fold the envelope and stuff it into a hip pocket.
Now a prim, older woman, perhaps Filipino, approaches us; she’s obviously a senior salesperson. “May I help you?” she asks.

Stan smiles and opens his portfolio. He says, “I’m here to get some things for my wife. That includes two red bras, size 34D.” He shows the woman the picture of Louise in the bikini.
“The red bras are right here, Sir.”

Stan winds up with two red bras, a white nightgown, a teddie (black!), two pairs of pantyhose, and a bed jacket. He tells me, “Louise isn’t expecting the bed jacket; I think she’ll like it.”
The clerk rings up Stan’s purchases; he presents his credit card. She prints a charge slip and has him sign it. She hands him the register receipt and a large bag with his purchases.

The woman now turns to me. I produce the list of sizes and items—two teddies, a bustier, a sheer nightie, pantyhose, and plain cotton panties—Alice wanted. “They’ll probably be much like what Mr. Brown here got for his wife.” I show the saleslady the sizes and the photos of Alice that Frannie made.
The saleslady notices the similarity between Alice and Louise. She is skeptical, but she directs me to the teddies and the bustiers.

I make some choices based on what I believe Alice likes.
While the salesperson rings this stuff up, I glance out the store window into the mall walkway area. I hear indistinct shouting, and some vile cursing, and then a police whistle. Then I see mall security guards handcuff a man I’ve never seen; he’s holding a sheaf of silver envelopes and a red marker! A city policeman—whom I don’t recognize—appears and takes custody of the person, Mirandizing him and using a police radio to call in the arrest.

Then Stan and I see Fred Moreland sitting on a bench nearby. He sees Stan and me, and nods.
We finish our business in Victoria’s Secret, and are just about to leave the store. The sales clerk, whose name tag reads “Ivy,” tells me, “You must excuse me—those two women whose pictures you showed me look very similar to each other. I sensed at first you were both buying for one woman.”

Stan smiles. “Yeah, it’s strange—but it’s just a coincidence. They aren’t related.” He now shows Ivy a picture of Louise and Alice standing together, wearing orange blouses and black slacks. He supposed that a store employee would be skeptical, so he had Frannie make this picture, too, he says. Ivy smiles and thanks us for our purchases. (I use a check.)
Now we meet Fred in the mall walkway. “I got your telepathic message,” he says. “When we get back to the Morpheus, I’ll tell you what happened. Apparently the man who followed you and planted those envelopes was just arrested—for indecent exposure, of all things.” Fred waves goodbye and Stan and I drive back to the theater.

We meet Louise and Alice in the lounge. Stan shows Louise what he bought her. She is delighted—and squeals with ecstasy when she sees the bed jacket. They now sit in a big chair and talk to each other, and constantly embrace.
I show Alice what I got for her, including something she had not ordered—a “cut-away” black bra, and crotchless black panties! She gasps at the sexy gift—then she giggles and kisses me.

Before she, or Louise, is ready to go try anything on, Fred meets us—Stan, Louise, Alice, and me—to tell us about what happened in the mall walkway. With Alice clinging to me and tittering uncontrollably about the sexy bra and panties, the butler gives us the details. Alice pulls herself together and I hand Fred the envelope that was in the bra.

[NDP]

He closely scrutinizes for about a minute and holds it up to the light to see through it.

“Did you mind-scan it?” he inquires.

“Oh … of course,” I reply, “I keep forgetting I can do that.”

I focus my mind on the envelope; nothing inside but a slip of paper.

“It’s clean,” I inform Fred who then, using extreme care, opens the envelope.

Out falls a slip of paper on which is written a sideways “8”–an infinity sign. We also see that the paper is yellowed around the edges indicating it’s old and, on top, is a letterhead for the Galaxy 100 Mall.

For a few seconds, we all look at the paper trying to figure out how it fits in with the other notes. However, I notice Fred has a disturbed look on his face–as though some secret’s been revealed that wasn’t supposed to be revealed.

“I have to go call Parker right now,” he says rushing out of the room. “Don’t touch anything on the table until I come back.”

For several moments, we stare at the note with the infinity note and the dead mall’s letterhead and then look at each other.

“Fred certainly looked worried,” Louise states. “Do you have any idea why?”

“No I don’t,” I answer, “but I’m quite sure that weird guy they arrested at the Platinum City has something to do with it.”

Fred hurries back into the room. “Parker will be joining us in a little while,” he says. "He told me that…

[dougie_monty]

“…One of the senior administrators of the DXM League is suspected of illegal use of member data.”
This is something to be concerned about. Alice, Stan, Louise, and I look worried. But Fred calms us.

“Don’t get too upset,” he says. I remember a line of Joe Friday’s from Dragnet: ‘When the Department gets hinky [highly suspicious] about an officer, they keep him off key assignments. Then they wait for him to braid a long-enough rope; then they hang him.’”
“I remember the episode well,” I say. “It’s the same one involving that stolen military ordnance—well, you remember…”

Alice remembers too: the whammy that could have killed her and me.
Fred now says, “Your urgent tracking message was relayed promptly. This one administrator failed to acknowledge receiving it and the rest of them wanted to know why.”

“Is this person anyone we’ve already dealt with?” asks Alice.
“No,” Fred answers. “This administrator is named Arty Morty.”

I chuckle suspiciously. “How did he get a name like that?”
“His real name is Artur Mortimer. Apparently his parents named him for Artur Rubinstein, the famous pianist. He was a member of the Baker Street Irregulars and an early fan of Mad Magazine, back in the comic-book era. He read the story ‘Shermlock Shomes—The Hound of the Basketballs.’ ‘Arty Morty’ was Shomes’ adversary named in the Mad story and Artur adopted the name Kurtzman used since his own real name was similar.”

Now James Parker joins us. He shows us a picture of administrator Arty Morty, who bears a strong resemblance to 60s TV comic actor John McGiver—pudgy and balding, with a permanent scowl.
“The other senior administrators have voted to suspend Morty indefinitely, pending investigation of the charges.”

I ask, “What does that mean to us?”
Parker smiles. “It means that you won’t get any more envelopes or cryptic messages, at least until the investigation of Mortimer is completed.”

Parker opens his portfolio again.
“Ms. Terwilliger, I understand you have the ‘sequel’ book that _______ found in the Sharps’ mansion?”

“Yes, I do,” Alice says; she now sits on my lap and has one arm around me. “I’ve been decoding the ‘Baconian Cipher’ message…”
“Well, when you finish, prepare a text of the decoded message and send it to me at my e-mail address—that’s jvparker@dxmleague.org—and we’ll proceed.”
I ask her, “What’s the message about so far?” I can’t resist stroking her hair—and surreptitiously slipping one hand up inside her blouse. She giggles at this.

“Well, if I’ve read it right, it suggests that the evil forces Fred said were mentioned in the ‘Sub-basement book’ are to be routed thoroughly.”
Parker says, “Oh—incidentally, you can pick up the CD-ROMs for the ‘Sub-basement’ book and the ‘Livers’ book from Clay or Long, at the police station, any time you want to.”

He continues. “We can’t exclude the possibility that Nicholas has been secretly manipulating things even as he claims to be your friend; he may even be in collusion with Mortimer.”
“That’s possible,” I say with a sigh.
“We may also want to question Jeanette Strong and Anna Luglio. Don’t misunderstand me—I’m not accusing either of them of anything. If Nicholas is pulling strings, they may be unwitting accessories—like a truck driver who hauls a load he doesn’t know includes drugs or other contraband.”

“I know how that bit goes,” says Stan.
Parker’s business is done for now. The rest of us return to the big conference room and join the crowd there.

“Do we have some unfinished business?” I ask, with Alice on my arm. She carries my Victoria’s Secret purchases; ditto with Louise and Stan.
“Not that I know of, except that I’m continuing to decode that book,” Alice answers. “But you got a call from Thad White. The ball is ready.”

“Oh, thanks, honey,” I say. I kiss her.
We drive over to White’s and I pick up the colorful ball with “23” scattered in it. Thad has drilled the holes, of course, and polished the ball so it glistens like a gem.

We return to the Sharps’ place for the night. Alice and I, and Buster, spend the night in Bedroom No. 35. In the morning, Alice goes over to Kerrie’s for her hairdressing appointment—the day has come for Lorna’s bridal shower. I have time myself before the finals in the men’s division of the tournament, so I carefully scrutinize Letitia Frazier’s portfolio items—the three Manila envelopes, two bearing caduceuses on the outside, the other blank—along with Fred and with Joan Breastly, who is visiting the Sharps as sort of a follow-up to Parker’s last meeting with us.

[NDP]

“Which one do you want to open first?” Fred asks.

“The blank one,” I answer.

“I want to open the blank one too,” agrees Joan.

“The blank one it is,” Fred replies as he carefully goes about opening it up. Inside, there are two ancient parchments written in a text and language I can’t identify.

Along with Joan and I, Fred examines the parchment. “It’s Sanskrit,” he says. “That’s one language I don’t know. Too bad Alice isn’t here.”

“Does she know Sanskrit?” Joan asks.

“A lot more than I know,” Fred replies. “All I can do is identify it. I guess we’ll have to set this aside until Alice gets back.”

With the contents of the blank envelope remaining a mystery, we move on to one of the envelopes bearing a caduceus on its front.

“This is probably pretty obvious but I’m guessing this is some kind of medical report,” Fred states as he opens the envelope and pulls out a spired notebook.

We look at the cover. It reads…

[dougie_monty]

“Medical Log on Administrators 1, 2, 3, and 4.”
The paragraph just below the title says:

“This log is being started because of the possibility that the other senior administrators of the DXM League may be mentally disturbed…”
“Well, whoever wrote this knows his, or her, movie dialogue,” says Fred. “That’s a variation on a voice-over line spoken by Van Johnson as Steve Maryk in Caine Mutiny.”

Joan glances at it. “Excuse me, Fred, I want to do something…”
Ms. Breastly brings in a fingerprint kit much like the one Hermione uses. As we turn each page of this notebook, she lightly brushes the page with a compound she calls “mag powder”—a compound used to raise fingerprints.

The Fred produces a box, too. His is a large stainless-steel locked box. He unlocks it and produces a thick notebook and a large rubber stamp, along with a stamp pad. Joan writes information on a blank line in Fred’s notebook.
Fred then stamps the page with the rubber stamp, inked from the stamp pad. He’s a notary public.

We sit together and read the first few pages of the “medical log.”
Unlike the blank-envelope notebook, this is written in plain English—and in a clear hand.

“Artur Mortimer wrote this,” says Joan. “I’d know that handwriting anywhere.”
Before they opened this notebook I had sensed the presence of a toxic compound on the pages, but after Joan brushes the pages with mag powder I detect no toxin at all. Besides, we’ve chosen a well-ventilated area to view it, and we’re all wearing plastic gloves, just in case.

After reading a few pages, and scanning elsewhere in the notebook, Fred and Joan are satisfied.
“Arty Morty is trying to get the senior DXM officers to have us—the senior administrators—fired, arrested, or ‘put away’ in a mental institution.”

“What’s the difference between ‘senior officer’ and ‘senior administrator’?” I ask.
“The same as between President or Vice President of the United States, and a Cabinet member,” says Fred.

“Oh,” I say. “Fred, why did you notarize the notebook?”
“So Joan’s fingerprint detection would be admissible in court,” he answers.

Now I use ESP to read the title page of the other envelope bearing a caduceus. I scowl. “This is a similar ‘medical log,’ I say, “in the same handwriting—on Alice; you, Mr. Moreland; George Galloway; Edmond Bartholomew; Salbert; Mary Blonda; and me. Only it uses the word ‘insane’ instead of ‘mentally disturbed.’ Even Mister Maryk didn’t use ‘insane’ in written references to Captain Queeg.”
Joan says, “I’ll take this to the League’s own laboratory for thorough processing.” She uses a pay phone in the hallway—an idea of Eloise’s to deal with freeloading visitors at parties—to call in a report to the League. She also phones Edmond Bartholomew to tell him, separately, what we’ve found.

“As for Letitia Frazier—she’s in hot water already with that fake contract Erika had drawn up,” adds Fred. “So is Erika herself, of course.”
Joan finishes her report. She leaves the mansion.

Before Alice and the other women return, Sylvia Goldstein gives Fred and me a preliminary draft of her recommendations for the performance. I use the computer in the Sharps’ library to key up the draft in a larger typeface, and I also key up a copy of the final draft of the program, that Vickie Sanders had given me. Then I use the photocopier in the library to make several copies of both items.

Now Alice, Lorna, and the other women return from the hairdresser’s. They go immediately into a large “drawing room” with wide sliding doors, to put on their dresses for the shower. While I wait I’m joined by Stan Brown, Joe Bradley, Pete Oranjeboom, Jack and Andy Sharp, Daniel, and Arthur; waiting for their wives. Lloyd Werdin—still keeping company with Harriet McKenna—also appears. I hold the pages I’d printed on the computer, along with the envelope with the text in Sanskrit; Alice had asked me to show it to her as soon as possible. We guys will want to see how the women appear before we pile into Eloise’s big van to go to the finals of the men’s division of the tournament at the House of Tracy, while the women will go to the Green Room for Lorna’s bridal shower.

Fifi and Lupe approach the doors of the drawing room. When Eloise says “We’re ready,” her maid and cook open the sliding doors and the women appear to us, all at once. Oh, are they ever ready.

[dougie_monty]

[The fact that I mentioned the married men does not mean that their wives, along with Alice and Lorna (and Harriet McKenna, who is dating the widowed Lloyd Werdin), were the only women in the “drawing room.” I intended to include Gwen, Lena, Amy, Jeanette, Dr. Clouse, Vickie, and others.–dougie_monty.]