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Title: I'll dream of you
Author: Henry Farrell
Release date: September 13, 2023 [eBook #71629]
Language: English
Original publication: Chicago, IL: Ziff-Davis Publishing Company, 1946
Credits: Greg Weeks, Mary Meehan and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net
*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK I'LL DREAM OF YOU ***
I'LL DREAM OF YOU
By Charles F. Myers
Toffee was just a girl in Marc
Pillsworth's dreams--until he awoke
one day to find the dream a reality.
[Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from
Fantastic Adventures January 1947.
Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that
the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]
Toffee leaned back against the tree and passed a slender hand through
her red hair. As her arm relaxed, she let it fall carelessly about
Marc's neck. Lazily, her green eyes traced his profile and found it, if
not classic, highly satisfactory.
"Kiss me," she said.
"Oh, for Pete's sake," murmured Marc, continuing to stare straight
ahead.
Toffee followed his gaze to the scene before them. The entire
countryside, apparently unaware of its inherent stateliness, was caught
in a sort of informal gaiety.
"It's beautiful, isn't it?" Toffee asked.
"Yes," replied Marc dreamily.
"You seem fascinated by beauty, almost starved for it."
Marc nodded and leaned his head back further on the tree.
"Then get fascinated, you dope," Toffee leaned forward to face him.
"Huh?" Marc stared at the girl as though he hadn't been quite aware of
her before.
"I'm beautiful too and twice as much fun." It was a simple statement of
fact. "Kiss me," she added.
"Haven't you any restraint?"
"With everything else I have, you ask for restraint!" Toffee drew
nearer.
"You're shameless," said Marc.
"Naturally." Toffee closed her eyes and advanced her lips to his.
Abruptly, Marc threw his hands to the grass before him and boosted
himself to his feet, leaving Toffee's arm to fall dejectedly to her
side.
"Maybe next time," she murmured, shrugging her shoulders. "Even the
glacial age had to come to an end eventually."
* * * * *
Marc caught hold of a limb just over his head and swung effortlessly
to a branch above Toffee, where he settled himself comfortably and
continued his studied contemplation of the landscape. Toffee reached a
hand toward him and waited.
"Well, don't just sit there like a stone image," she called. "Give me a
hand. I want up too."
Slowly, Marc looked down at her and studied the pert, upturned face
with solemn gravity. Suddenly, he shook his head and returned to his
attitude of sombre speculation. Toffee seemed not at all daunted.
"I'll show you," she yelled. "I'll shake you out of there like a
cocoanut." With that, she took hold of the tree and began to tug at it
vehemently until, slowly it began to sway. As though she had pulled a
bell cord, a soft, distinct tolling began to make itself heard, and
as the tree swayed more violently, the sound became louder. Soon the
motion of the tree became so great that Marc found himself clutching
the branch to keep his balance.
"For the love of Mike, Toffee!" he yelled through the uproar of the
bell. "Stop it! Do you want me to break my neck?"
"But I'm not doing it!" hollered Toffee. It seemed that the tree had
become possessed of a will of its own as it rocked back and forth in
a constantly increasing arc. Toffee stood back from it in terror. As
it made a new, deeper lunge, Marc lost his seat but continued to cling
to the branch with his hands. At the end of the arc, the tree seemed
to pause in anticipation of a final gigantic thrust. As it did so, the
clap of the bell was almost intolerable. Suddenly, Marc felt himself
lifted and hurled swiftly into space. He seemed to be flying upward
and away from the earth, as though the force of gravity had utterly
forsaken him.
As he sailed along, he looked back over his shoulder to behold a scene
that was especially disconcerting. All the earth below him seemed to
be caught in the swaying motion of the tree. It rocked crazily in a
see-saw motion, constantly accompanied by the tolling of the great,
ghostly bell. Then, suddenly, the action stopped. The earth shuddered
and seemed to crumble, falling into space. Through the ensuing quiet,
Marc could only wonder at what had happened; then, faintly, through the
sound of rushing air, he began to hear his name being called. He turned
his head quickly to see Toffee rushing through space after him.
"Wait Marc. Wait!" she cried.
He reached a hand out, toward her.
* * * * *
Marc's hand fell heavily to the alarm clock on the bedside table and
the noise ceased. The fact that he was awake didn't mean that he was
rested. He rolled over in the bed without opening his eyes, and began
carefully to review the dream, for it had left him strangely uneasy.
The thing that disturbed him most was the girl, Toffee. As he thought
of her, she became more and more vivid, more and more insistent as a
real personality. It was strange how real she did seem, especially
since she had been so unlike any girl that Marc had ever known. It
wasn't that he wouldn't have liked to have known a girl like that,
it was just that he had been so occupied with the development of the
Pillsworth Advertising Agency that he rarely had time for girls like,
or unlike, Toffee. The dream had brought to him a vague suspicion
that perhaps something was missing in his life, something like Toffee
for instance. There was Julie Mason of course, Marc's secretary, but
although she was an even match for any model that had ever been in
the office, Julie was still a very efficient business woman, and for
some reason that cancelled irrevocably any idea of romance. He sat up
in bed and stretched his arms up, over his head, yawning luxuriously.
Suddenly, he became transfixed, his arms rigid above him and his mouth
wide open. He stared in fascination at the foot of the bed.
Toffee turned and smiled wickedly.
"I almost didn't make it," she said. "Thanks for the lift."
Marc's lips worked feverishly but produced nothing intelligible.
"Well, don't just sit there making faces, tell me how glad you are to
see me--and put your arms down."
Slowly and mechanically, Marc lowered his arms.
"Now," Toffee continued. "Let's not waste time--kiss me." She raised
herself from the edge of the bed and moved toward him.
Instantly, Marc became animated, leaping from the bed like a flushed
bird. He rushed to the window and seemed about to jump, when, suddenly,
he halted. Slowly, he turned and faced her.
"I've gone mad," he muttered. "I'm nuts!"
Toffee remained by the bed in a state of acute bewilderment. This
wasn't precisely the reaction that she had expected.
"We're not going through all that again?" Her voice expressed utter
disappointment.
"Get out!" yelled Marc. "Get out of here you--you--you figment!"
"But Marc, don't you know me? I'm Toffee, your dream girl."
"Go get yourself into a dream then," yelled Marc. "I'm awake."
"Oh, I see what's troubling you." A bright smile lighted Toffee's face.
"Now, just come over here and sit down while I explain everything." She
extended a hand to him and, fascinated, Marc moved toward her and sat
down gingerly on the edge of the bed.
* * * * *
"That's nice," cooed Toffee. "Now just stop being so jumpy and I'll
tell you all about it. In the first place, you dreamed me up. All I
am I owe to you and, judging by the mirror, I'd say that was plenty.
Up until now, I've existed only in your subconscious, but last night,
while you were dreaming, you released me, gave me physical dimensions
and a personality. Now, that works both ways; it was the first chance
I'd had to see you too. Well, it seemed that you were a nice enough
guy, but a little mixed up about a lot of important things, so I
decided to materialize myself and help you out. And let me tell you,
that materializing stuff is no easy proposition."
Marc's eyes filled with wonder.
"You mean to tell me you're really here--in the flesh, I mean?"
Toffee slowly crossed one lovely leg over the other. "What do you
think?" she asked.
"Well, you'll have to go back," Marc yelled, jumping up. "It's very
nice of you to want to help out and all, but I can take care of things
for myself. Thank you very much. Now, goodbye." He stood back from her
as though expecting an explosion, but nothing happened.
"Well, you heard me. Goodbye--fade--dematerialize--do your stuff!"
Toffee smiled mysteriously and shook her head.
"Sorry boss, I can't do it. The only way for me to disappear is for you
to go to sleep, then I have to return, but when you wake up, I'll be
right back. Once you get it started, it works automatically. Of course
there is one way to get rid of me for good but we won't go into that,
not just yet anyway. And while we're on the subject, I may as well
tell you--I'm pretty sick of that subconscious of yours. A girl could
certainly ask for better company. I've never seen so many stuffy ideas.
All that will be changed of course."
Marc shuddered as Toffee sat back with a satisfied smile.
"You're completely unprincipled," he groaned.
"You'd better not start criticizing. Like the man says, you made me
what I am today and you'd bloody well better be satisfied." Toffee was
interrupted by a timid knock on the door.
"Good grief!" cried Marc. "That's Joseph. Do something!"
Toffee knew exactly what to do. She ran quickly to the mirror, and
after several pats at her hair, turned, in a seductive pose to face the
door. It was then that Marc noticed her costume, a light, transparent
affair that seemed but half inclined to stay in place. The tableau
that she presented was effective, but extremely alarming under the
circumstances.
"What do you think you're doing," hissed Marc.
"I like to look my best when gentlemen are calling," giggled Toffee.
Frantically, Marc rushed and grabbed a sheet, then rushed to Toffee
with some idea of concealing her. Of course Toffee was of no mind to
have her obvious charms hidden, and a wild struggle ensued.
* * * * *
Slowly, the door opened and an aged head appeared in the opening.
Large watery eyes fell on the disturbing scene and became even larger.
Instantly, the head disappeared and the door slammed to.
"There, now see what you've done," yelled Marc.
Toffee threw the sheet disdainfully aside.
"And what do you expect a lady to do when she's attacked?"
"Attacked!" Marc screamed indignantly.
"Just because another man comes into the room is no reason for you to
go showing off like a juvenile delinquent."
Marc snorted with helpless rage. "I was trying to cover you up!"
"Oh--," murmured Toffee with obvious disappointment.
"Joseph is one of the best valets in the business, but also one of the
most moral," explained Marc. "I've had to be a regular saint to keep
him, and now _you_--! He'll quit me like a flash."
"You'll be better off without him," said Toffee with conviction. "You
see! I'm beginning to help you already."
Marc tossed a dressing gown to Toffee with instructions to put it on
and wait for him in the sitting room. He dressed quickly and joined her
there with deep misgivings as Toffee looked up brightly from the divan.
"This is a pretty swank apartment, Marc. You must be rich."
"Never mind that, we've got to do something about you," he said,
seating himself beside her.
"I'm just loaded with suggestions," said Toffee archly.
"You're just loaded," growled Marc. "You can't stay here and I can't
turn you loose in that get-up." He indicated her brief costume.
"You could buy me some clothes," suggested Toffee.
Silently, Joseph shuffled into the room, halted just behind them and
fixed his eyes firmly on the ceiling. He cleared his throat with a bark
that would have done _Lassie_ all kinds of credit. Marc started from
his seat as though he had been kicked.
"Breakfast," announced Joseph in a voice that made it sound like a
direct accusation.
* * * * *
As the elevator door closed behind Marc and Toffee, a low whistle
issued from the cage. The operator had let them out in the basement,
whether from confusion or discretion, Marc couldn't be sure, but
decided that perhaps it was all for the best. By keeping Toffee low and
behind him, they managed to get to the car in the downstairs garage
without attracting too much attention.
Once out in the street, Marc felt better, but the ordeal to come had
him worried. Toffee had insisted on selecting the clothes in person.
"Now get what you need," instructed Marc, "but get it in a hurry. And
above all, get something to put on just as soon as we get inside."
Toffee nodded excitedly.
By repeating the crouch and run routine, they managed to get into the
store safely, and luckily it was still early enough that only a few
customers were about. Marc quickly hid Toffee behind a clothes rack and
went in search of an understanding saleslady. He spotted a neon marker
at the other side of the store that said: "Ladies' Ready-to-Wear," and
made his way in that direction. As he entered the department a tousled,
gray head jutted from behind a plaster figure and Marc started back in
alarm. Two beady, black eyes rolled crazily and the teeth were bared,
clenching an amazing number of straight pins. Slowly a gnarled hand
appeared beneath the chin and the mouth spewed the pins into it and
broke into a horrible grimace that was apparently meant to be a smile.
"I'm Miss Clatt." The small, piping voice sounded somewhat lost in the
horrible head. "May I help you?" Slowly the head moved from behind
the figure, dragging with it a small, well padded body, perched
precariously atop a pair of delicate pipe-stem legs.
"I need an outfit," stammered Marc. "A complete outfit."
"Oh," replied Miss Clatt disappointedly. "You'll find Men's Furnishings
on the third floor--just take the elevator."
"You don't understand," said Marc hurriedly. "It's a lady's outfit I
want."
Miss Clatt looked disapproving. "You'll find a theatrical costumer in
the next block."
"No, no, I want it for a lady. She's with me, waiting up front there."
Marc gestured toward the main entrance. "I'd appreciate it if you'd
hurry. She hasn't any clothes."
Miss Clatt's hand went to her throat and her eyes began to roll again.
"Naked?" she whispered.
"No, of course not," replied Marc with dignity. "She's wearing a robe."
"Oh," said Miss Clatt as if that explained everything, then on second
thought added: "Oh, dear!"
* * * * *
Swiftly they moved across the store with Marc in the lead and Miss
Clatt hopping along behind him. Marc stopped before the clothing rack
and parted the coats hanging on it, only to be greeted by the blank
wall.
"I left her right here," he said turning to Miss Clatt in bewilderment.
But the old lady wasn't listening.
"Gracious," she said. Her eyes had begun to rotate again and she was
staring toward the sidewalk. Marc followed her gaze and saw what
appeared to be a small riot before the store. Leaving the bewildered
Miss Clatt by the rack, he raced for the door and forced his way into
the crowd.
"It's just shameful what these stores will do for publicity," said a
lady's voice. "Just shameful!"
"Stop crowdin', Bud," said a little man as Marc shoved past him. "I
want to see too. Ain't seen anything like this since I got married."
Marc stretched to his toes and peered into the window. It was even
worse than he had expected. There in the show-case was Toffee. She had
managed to get a black evening gown off one of the mannikins and was
trying to put it on without removing the robe. This operation led to
a series of maneuvers that would have sent any professional stripper
into paroxysms of envy. Occasionally she paused in her questionable
activities to smile at the crowd about the window and acknowledge the
resultant cheers of encouragement. Marc wheeled about and fought his
way wildly back into the store.
"Heavens," gasped Miss Clatt as he raced past, almost knocking her
down. "What a strange young man--so impetuous!"
Frantically Marc clawed at the show-case door and finally got it open.
"Stop that!" he yelled as he jumped into the case.
"But you told me to get something to wear right away," cried Toffee.
At Marc's appearance in the window, the crowd became momentarily
silent, awaiting developments. Marc ran to Toffee and, getting between
her and her audience, tried to disengage the black dress.
"Stop that," yelled Toffee. "I've almost got it on." But her words
were lost in an angry roar from the crowd.
"Just like my husband," murmured a matronly lady. "Never wants me to
have a thing to wear. Look at that poor child--almost naked."
A salesgirl from the five and ten paused on her way to work.
"Just like my Oscar," she remarked bitterly, as she peered into the
window. "No sense of the time and place."
* * * * *
Inside the window, a state of chaos had swiftly been reached. In their
struggle, Toffee and Marc had managed to knock down several dummies and
get themselves hopelessly entangled in the mess. The scene was now made
up entirely of a horrible, wild mass of frantic arms and legs. Suddenly
the mob became silent once more at the rather dismaying appearance of
Miss Clatt in the window. She stopped short and surveyed the terrifying
display with eyes that revolved like pin-wheels. Hastily, she gained
the front of the window by a series of quick, side-stepping hops and
pulled down the huge shade, shutting off the window from the street.
Instantly a loud roar of disappointment was heard from the crowd.
"My, my," murmured Miss Clatt, as she reached into the heap of arms and
legs in an attempt to disentangle the frantic couple.
Toffee was the first to emerge. Miraculously, she had somehow managed,
during the struggle, to get into the evening gown. She smiled at Miss
Clatt.
"I can't stand men who make scenes, can you?" she asked haughtily.
"_I_ make scenes!" yelled Marc, casting a dummy aside.
"You heard me," said Toffee icily as she stalked from the window with
an air of outraged dignity.
Marc stood, for a moment, glaring after her. Finally, noticing that
Miss Clatt was plucking at his sleeve, he helped her from the case and
followed. When they reached the "Ladies' Ready-to-Wear" department,
they found Toffee posing before a full length mirror. She turned to
Marc and smiled ecstatically. She looked radiant.
"I could almost forgive you," she cooed.
Marc couldn't say anything. He just glowered.
* * * * *
For fifteen years, Marc Pillsworth hadn't been late for work for a
single day, so it was no wonder that his appearance at noon caused
considerable excited speculation throughout the agency. The fact that
he was accompanied by an extremely racy looking red-head in a black
evening gown, lent real shock value to the occasion. To make matters
worse, Marc managed to announce his humiliation to the entire staff
by rushing through the outer office like a reluctant criminal being
taken into custody before a battery of news-reel cameras. Toffee,
however, aware that she was cutting quite a figure, (most of which was
startlingly apparent), was like a flower girl at a wedding. She had
warm smiles for everyone, especially the men.
Swiftly, Marc gained the door to his private office and disappeared
inside, but Toffee, upon reaching it, caught in the gala atmosphere of
the occasion, turned to face the astonished group.
"You wonderful people--," she began. What message she had for the
employees of the Pillsworth Agency was to remain forever a mystery, for
suddenly, she lurched backwards into the office and the door slammed to.
"What do you think you're doing!" yelled Marc.
"Let go of me," said Toffee indignantly. "I was only making friends."
Marc sighed deeply. "And why on earth did you have to wear _that_?
Heaven only knows what they're thinking out there."
"I know," replied Toffee simply.
Marc turned from her in the resignation of despair, and suddenly
stopped short. Facing him, mouth agape, was Julie Mason.
"Good morning, Julie," he stammered.
"Good afternoon, Mr. Pillsworth," said Julie absently. Her gaze
followed Toffee as she crossed to one of the large, upholstered chairs.
"Oh, yes," said Marc hurriedly. "Julie, this is Toffee, my--uh--my
niece. She lost her baggage on the way out and had to wear just what
she had left." He laughed nervously, hoping that the fact that Toffee
had seen fit to be caught short in an evening gown, might somehow
explain itself.
"How-do-you-do," said Julie icily, noting that Marc was a wretched liar.
Toffee peered from the chair to take in the cool, blond Julie.
"Marc has had some lovely thoughts about you," she said gaily. Julie
turned to Marc in bewilderment, but he couldn't think of anything to
say. Suddenly she pivoted and rushed from the room. The door didn't
exactly slam behind her, but there was no doubt about its being closed.
Marc slumped into the chair at his desk and stared forlornly after her.
For a time it was quiet in the office until Toffee rose from the chair
and crossed to a mirror at the opposite side of the room. Suddenly she
turned to Marc.
"Stop that day dreaming," she commanded. "You're making me fade." Marc
glanced up. Toffee had suddenly turned quite pale.
"I forgot to tell you," she said earnestly. "It isn't just that I
disappear when you sleep, I also fade when you day-dream. Please stay
awake."
Marc stared at her in fascination and his expression became quite
thoughtful.
* * * * *
A door at the back of the room opened cautiously and Julie's face
appeared in the opening.
"The models are here for the Sheer Hosiery ad.," she announced.
"I'll be right out, Julie." Marc swung out of the chair and toward the
door. He turned back to Toffee.
"I'll be back in a moment, don't leave the office."
As Marc entered the hall, he saw Julie going into her office next door.
"Julie!" he called.
"Yes, Mr. Pillsworth?"
She turned to him, and for a moment Marc couldn't remember what he had
started to say.
"Would you help me choose a model, please?" he asked finally. Julie
nodded and, together, they crossed to the "Audition" room.
"Raise your skirts, please," said Julie as they entered. Quickly,
the girls formed a line and did as they were told. Instantly, Marc's
eye was caught by a black skirt at the end of the line, being lifted
unnecessarily high. He leaped quickly and caught it just in time.
"Stop that and get out of here," he hissed.
"Not on your life," murmured Toffee acidly. "Any time you go around
looking at legs, you'll look at mine--understand?"
"Can't I make you understand that this is a business office?"
"What a business!" Toffee glanced significantly at the line of shapely
legs.
"Get out of here!" Marc glanced furtively at Julie.
"I'll make you a deal," replied Toffee sweetly.
"Anything!"
"If you'll take me to the swankiest night club in town tonight, I'll
leave with, or without, a struggle--however you want it."
"Yes, yes, anything," said Marc quickly. He took her by the arm and led
her past the line of girls. At the door he turned back to Julie.
"Will you select one and dismiss the others?"
"Of course." Julie kept her eyes on the models.
Quickly, she chose one of the girls, gave her the address of the
photographer and sent the others away. After they had gone, she crossed
to the window and stared intently at the city below her. She didn't
move for several minutes. Presently, she turned and left the room.
Julie wasn't the kind for crying.
* * * * *
"Isn't it heavenly," sighed Toffee as she surveyed the smart Spar Club.
Marc's feeling was one of unmixed apprehension as he took into account
the wayward gleam in her eye.
"Judging by the pagan display on the dance floor, I should say that
this is about as unlike heaven as anything could be," he replied sourly.
"Well, anyway, the music is good."
Marc glanced at the orchestra, a disconsolate group of musicians,
wedged uncomfortably into a bandstand that appeared more like a
jeweler's show-case. These men peered malevolently from their perch and
alleviated an obvious resentment for the paying guests by blasting away
at them with their instruments as loudly and unrelatedly as possible.
One young man, with some sort of horn, seemed to be nursing an especial
grudge, for occasionally he would leave his seat, and coming to the
front of the minute platform, set the thing into a squeal that was
nothing short of terrifying.
Marc looked to the people at the tables about theirs, but none of them
seemed at all disturbed by this hysterical performance. He shrugged and
picked up the bottle from the ice bucket. He had never been a drinking
man but he felt that it might help him to understand what was going on.
"Oh, don't we know her?" asked Toffee suddenly.
"Stop pointing--who?"
"The girl just coming in, the one with the white dress and perfectly
haunting man."
Marc turned and looked in the direction Toffee had indicated.
"Why, it's Julie!" he exclaimed.
"Who's that with her?"
"Jack Snell, he's an artist with the agency. I never did like him, but
he's too good a layout man to lose. I wonder what Julie's doing with
him."
"Ask him over," urged Toffee.
Marc raised a hand and wig-wagged in their direction. Jack Snell was a
born "Gathering Appraiser," and it didn't take him long to catch the
signal. As they moved across the floor toward him, Marc couldn't help
noticing that Julie looked especially wonderful. This was the first
time he had seen her outside of the office and her white lace dress
emphasized all the glamour that her customary business suit suppressed.
"She looks like something out of a dream," he thought and then
blanched. He revised the thought hurriedly: "She looks like something
out of real life."
"Hello," said Jack. He addressed Marc but looked at Toffee. His face
lit up like a pin ball machine. Toffee had run up a winning score.
"Oh, yes," said Marc quickly, "I want you to meet Toffee, my--uh--my
cousin."
"She was your niece earlier today," Julie said evenly.
Marc laughed self-consciously as Jack and Julie seated themselves at
the table. Julie turned to Toffee.
"Are you enjoying your visit here?"
"Oh, yes," replied Toffee with enthusiasm. "Everyone seems so friendly.
Do you know what one man said to me today?"
"I could guess," said Julie flatly.
"I think we should dance," Jack cut in quickly.
"Oh, I'd love to," beamed Toffee.
* * * * *
They rose and started for the dance floor. Turning, Toffee said:
"You'll excuse us?" She was looking directly at Julie.
"Did you want to dance," asked Marc without enthusiasm.
"No, thank you," replied Julie. "The floor is much too crowded."
"That's good, I don't know how very well."
"You never go out much, do you? That is, you haven't until lately."
"Why, no. I've been too busy--until lately. Perhaps that was a mistake."
"Perhaps," said Julie cryptically as she turned to the dance floor.
"You're looking very beautiful," said Marc.
"Am I?" Julie continued to look away but she couldn't restrain a faint
smile.
Marc found himself with nothing to say, but continued to stare at
Julie. He couldn't get over the change in her. His mind wandered off
into a lovely, imaginary land without night clubs, in which he and
Julie were the only inhabitants.
[Illustration: Jack danced on, completely at ease while around him
people started to edge away with startled glances....]
This was extremely unfortunate for, out on the dance floor, Jack Snell
suddenly found himself dancing, inexplicably and most embarrassingly,
alone. Toffee had suddenly vanished into thin air. He also found
himself alarmingly confronted by Mrs. Claribel Housing, a matron
of tremendous prominence, in more ways and places than one. Mrs.
Housing understood any misdemeanor perpetrated in the Spray Club as a
personal affront, to be dealt with personally. After all, it did cast
unflattering reflections on her "Set."
"Young man," she boomed. "I wonder if you realize what a disgusting
exhibition you are presenting. I should think that if you must get
roaring drunk, you could do it somewhere less public."
Jack turned to her dazedly. "But I had a girl," he said unhappily. "I
seem to have lost her."
A soft light came into Mrs. Housing's eyes. "He's gone mad," she
shouted, turning to her partner. "He's lost his girl, and it's driven
him crazy."
If there was anything that put life into Claribel Housing, it was
"straightening out" someone else's life. She looked on Jack with the
air of the practiced social worker.
"There, there, son," she roared. "Don't take on so about it. I'm sure
she wasn't half good enough for you." She placed a beefy arm about his
shoulder, and nodded to her partner. "Everett, we must do something for
this poor soul."
Everett Housing had learned to accept his wife's "projects" with
resigned good humor.
"Yes, dear," he sighed, and followed obediently as his wife led the
hapless Jack from the dance floor. It didn't seem to concern the matron
that the dancers were stopping to observe their progress.
* * * * *
Back at the table, Julie, noticing the excitement, reached for Marc's
sleeve.
"Something's happening to Jack and Toffee!" she cried, jumping up.
Marc, jolted from his reverie, followed after her. They reached the
group on the dance floor just in time to witness Toffee's reappearance.
"What's going on here?" screamed Toffee, confronting Mrs. Housing.
"Please get out of my way," said Mrs. Housing regally.
"Get out of _your_ way!" Toffee flared. "You should be ashamed of
yourself! Picking up a girl's man when her back is turned--and on
public dance floors too! And at your age!"
Mrs. Housing seemed to explode.
"How dare you! I should think that you had caused enough trouble,--you
little floosey!" It was apparent to her that this was the young lady
who had unseated Jack's reason. At this point Jack did, indeed, appear
somewhat demented. Through the ensuing uproar, he tried valiantly but
vainly to make himself heard, and seemed merely to be babbling to
himself. Toffee was beside herself with rage.
"Why, you--you--you old back issue," she yelled. "You outsized
pick-up!" She swung her foot behind her and calculated the distance to
Mrs. Housing's shin. Unfortunately, her heel caught on the rung of Mr.
Kently's chair. That good gentleman, unconcerned of the tumult raging
just behind him, was, at the moment, determinedly offering a toast to
his wife on the occasion of their twenty-fifth anniversary. He lifted
his glass, and with the words: "And to you, my dear--," tossed its
entire contents neatly into Mrs. Kently's face. Toffee had jerked the
chair swiftly from under him. Mrs. Kently shot out of her chair with a
scream designed for blood chilling.
Across the room, a guest, somewhat befogged by too much drink, raised a
heavy head and shouted: "Murder!" at the top of his lungs. Across from
him, his companion looked up with startled eyes and quietly slid under
the table, unconscious. The man looked down at her without concern.
"Can't stand the sight of blood," he explained to no one in particular.
The center of this excitement suddenly dissipated itself with the
stately, if hurried, departure of Mrs. Housing and her obedient
husband, but the fever of hysteria had already spread to the remaining
guests and was raging unabated. The orchestra, caught in the spirit of
the occasion, struck up a raucous rendition of "The Beer Barrel Polka."
Several guests, similarly inspired, rapped their partners rather
ungently over the head with whatever bottles were at hand. The door
to the manager's office opened briefly and slammed to. Finally, Marc
managed to fight his way through to Toffee.
"Now, see what you've done!" he yelled.
"So this is night clubbing," squealed Toffee delightedly.
"We have to get out of here," Marc guided her away from the dance floor.
"Just when things were really getting started?" asked Toffee. "Where
are Jack and Julie?"
"They've gone and we'd better do the same."
"Just a moment," replied Toffee and disappeared into the crowd again.
Marc made a grab for her but missed. Presently she returned, beaming
triumphantly. Under her arm, she carried a bottle of champagne.
"I don't see why we should let it go to waste," she explained. Marc
groaned and hurried her off toward the entrance.
Outside, they were greeted not only by the cool, evening air, but also
by what appeared to be the entire police force. The manager of the Spar
Club stood behind them.
"There they are, boys!" he yelled excitedly. "Grab 'em!"
* * * * *
Toffee was delighted to find herself, once more, the center of
attention. She looked up at the judge with a disarming smile. She
felt a little sorry for the poor little man--he seemed so perplexed
by everything. Marc stood beside her, wondering vaguely if he weren't
dead, and if not, why not. The judge fixed Toffee with a baleful stare.
"Who did you say your parents were?" His voice was that of a martyr.
"A moonlit night and a yearning spirit," said Toffee blandly. The
judge's eyes rolled ceilingward.
"Oh, good Lord," he sighed in pure supplication.
"What she means--," began Marc.
"You stay out of this!" snapped the judge. "I'll hear from you later."
"But judge," said Toffee. "I don't know how I can make it clearer."
"Never mind," replied the judge hotly. "Let's hear no more about it. I
sincerely wish I hadn't brought it up in the first place. Now, perhaps,
you'll tell me what went on in the Spar Club this evening, and never
mind the poetry."
"Well," said Toffee brightly, "it all started when this old fright
tried to steal Mr. Snell from me--right there on the dance floor, too."
An earnest expression crept over her face. "She should be locked up,
judge."
Marc's thoughts raced wildly. If ever there was a time for Toffee to
fade, this was unquestionably it. He clamped his eyes tightly shut and
tried frantically to picture peaceful, pastoral scenes in an attempt to
induce sleep. However, what occurred to him most frequently were bleak
countrysides strewn with assorted wreckage, symbolic of his future.
"Exactly what is your relationship with this man?" The judge nodded in
Marc's direction without looking at him.
"Well," said Toffee. "You see, I sort of belong to him, in a way."
"You mean he's your guardian?" This appealed to Toffee and she nodded
vigorously. The judge turned to Marc.
"Young man--," he began, then looked questioningly at Toffee. "What's
the matter with him?"
Toffee turned to Marc and sudden anger flashed in her eyes.
"You double-crosser!" she hissed. Swiftly her hand shot to Marc's
unsuspecting rear and two fingers closed wickedly. Instantly, Marc's
eyes flew open and stared wildly at the judge as a piercing scream rent
the courtroom and he leaped frantically forward. A small cry of terror
was heard from the frightened judge as he disappeared beneath the bench.
"He's attacking me!" he screamed from the floor. "Get him out of here!
Get them both out of here! Lock them up before they kill someone!"
As two official brutes closed in on them, Marc angrily faced Toffee.
"If you ever do anything like this again, I'll deliberately contract
sleeping sickness!" he shouted.
* * * * *
Marc awoke wondering how long he had been asleep, and, in the grey
morning light, began to inspect his quarters without enthusiasm. The
cell that he occupied was like any other, but he had been lucky enough
to have it all to himself. He lay, face up in the lower section of the
steel, double-decker and reviewed the preceding night's activities.
Suddenly, he started forward and propped himself up on one elbow. There
was a form clearly outlined in the mattress above him. He tried to
remember if anyone had been brought into the cell during the night.
As he was thinking about it, the form stirred. Slowly, he advanced
a hand to the mattress and prodded it gingerly. His suspicions were
immediately confirmed.
"Good morning," called Toffee with a hateful cheerfulness as she peered
down at him from the upper.
"I thought they put you in the women's quarters."
"They did, but I decided to materialize here, to be with you."
"But, if they find you here--," Marc gave it up. Things couldn't
get any worse. "I hope you're happy about this." He waved his hand
tragically at the cell.
"Well," said Toffee slowly. "I _can_ think of better places. Let's
leave."
"And how do you propose to get out of here?"
"You mean they intend to keep us here?"
"It is likely, considering your performance before the judge last
night, that we shall rot in this place."
"We'll just have to get out." Toffee's brow wrinkled sternly.
Marc looked grieved but made no reply. After several moments of
concentrated thought, his face lit up.
"Now, look Toffee," he said, "You say that you can materialize
anywhere. Suppose I doze off for a while, do you suppose you could
manage to "come to" outside and get the keys to this trap? After all,
they don't have our names, our real ones, on any of the records yet."
"I could do it with my eyes closed," Toffee cried happily.
"Well, don't get fancy about it."
Marc stretched out on the bed and closed his eyes, and everything
became quiet in the cell for a time. Toffee waited expectantly but
nothing happened. Marc swung his legs over the edge of the bed and
cupped his chin in his hands.
"It's no use," he sighed. "I've too much on my mind.
"Try again," urged Toffee.
"It's no use I tell you."
Toffee sat up and glanced down at Marc. Slowly an intense expression
crept over her face. Quietly, she reached down and removed one of her
shoes, and regarded it sadly. She leaned over the edge of the bed
and poised it over Marc's head. Closing her eyes, she swung the shoe
downward as swiftly as she could. Marc slumped to the floor soundlessly.
* * * * *
Marc had been right in assuming that Joseph wouldn't be there to open
the door for them. He fitted the key into the lock and turned it.
"You needn't have hit me so hard," he grumbled. Toffee looked hurt.
"I got you out of there, didn't I? Of course, maybe I shouldn't have
left that note for the judge." Marc looked alarmed.
"What note?"
"Well, the poor dear was so disturbed about my parentage that I left a
note explaining the whole thing. I guess it wasn't such a good idea."
"What did you tell him?"
"That my father was a Welsh." Toffee smiled mysteriously and crossed to
inspect herself in the mantle mirror.
"I'm a wreck. You miss me while I fix up a bit?"
Marc fell into a chair as she left the room. He sat there regarding
the apartment listlessly. It seemed to reflect his own life. Orderly,
dignified, unexciting and infinitely lonely. Suddenly his reverie was
interrupted by a knock at the door. He crossed and opened it. There,
looking particularly miserable, stood Julie.
"I hope you'll excuse my coming here," she said timidly. "I've been
waiting at the office for you all morning. I tried to call you here
several times but there wasn't any answer. I decided to come over and
wait for you. Its odd that Joseph didn't answer the phone.
"He wasn't in," said Marc. "Is something wrong?"
"Well, no--not exactly." Julie hesitated. "It's just that--well--it's
just that--I want to quit my job with you, Mr. Pillsworth.
"What?" Marc's eyes widened with surprise.
"Yes, Mr. Pillsworth, I want to quit." The words came in a rush.
"Now--today. I don't want to ever have to go back."
"But you mustn't leave." There was an immediacy in Marc's tone. "How
would I get on without you? If it's a matter of salary--."
"No, it isn't that. You give me more than enough to get by on. As a
matter of fact, I don't know where I'll ever get a better job."
Marc looked at her questioningly.
"Well, I don't know just how to explain it. It's just something that's
come over me all of a sudden. I've a strange feeling that I'm wasting
my life there, as if something were closing in on me to cut me off from
everything I _really_ want--as though the job itself were a menace to
my happiness. I guess it came over me yesterday when your cousin--
"Niece," interrupted Marc.
"--When your _niece_ was in the office. She seemed so gay, so much that
I should be, but am not. It seemed only fair to talk to you first,
before leaving." Marc glanced nervously toward the bedroom door.
"But what has the agency to do with it?"
"I wish I knew," said Julie. "It's just a feeling that I have."
"But I can't let you go, Julie." The note of urgency crept back into
Marc's voice. "And you mustn't envy Toffee. You see, she's just
escaping a dull existence herself--and only momentarily. She'll be
returning soon. Perhaps right away." A sudden light came into Julie's
eyes. "Besides, I know what you feel. I've felt the same thing myself
for years. The trouble was that I let myself get used to it and after a
time, I didn't know the difference. I'm sure I know how to help myself
now and I think that I could help you too--if you'll let me--if you'll
stay. Please don't leave, Julie."
As Julie listened to Marc, her expression became softly radiant.
"Perhaps you're right, Marc," she said quietly.
Marc reached out and took her hand in his. Suddenly, from behind the
bedroom door, came the soft hiss of a shower. Instantly, Julie drew
back.
* * * * *
"Joseph must be back," said Marc quickly.
"Taking a shower?"
"Oh, yes--he often takes showers this time of day. Very clean man.
Says cleanliness is next to Godliness, or something of the sort. Very
clean--spotless, you might say." Marc began to realize that he was
babbling and stopped short.
"Of course," said Julie, smiling. "I should have remembered Joseph. It
gave me rather a start, I thought we were alone.
"You'll be back in the morning then?" Marc asked anxiously. "Please say
you will."
Julie regarded Marc thoughtfully.
"Yes," she said slowly. "It doesn't seem now that there was ever
anything wrong." She turned toward the door.
"Julie--"
"Yes?" She turned, and as she did so Marc caught her in his arms. He
kissed her briefly and released her, stepping back embarrassedly. Julie
smiled up at him for a moment and then said quickly:
"It's a wonderful job, I wouldn't quit for anything." The door closed
softly behind her.
When Toffee entered the living room she found Marc staring out of the
window with a curiously foolish grin. She stood beside him for a moment
and looked out at the city.
"Go put some clothes on," he said. Toffee was wrapped in a huge towel,
draped precariously over one shoulder.
"What for? At this moment, more of me is covered, than at any time
since we met."
"Yes I guess so." For a moment they stood silently before the window.
"Toffee--," Marc began.
"Yes, Marc?"
"Why are you here? What is it you want--really?"
"My wish is for you Marc, it has been from the beginning. If I've
caused you trouble, perhaps it was because you needed it. I'll be
returning soon, but I can't help wanting to linger for a while."
"But how will your return be accomplished?"
"You'll know when the times comes." She smiled up at him. "Maybe it's
time I put those clothes on after all." She went into the bed room.
Marc slumped into a chair. In a way he had enjoyed Toffee and her
trouble, but now she would be in the way. "You'll know when the time
comes," she had said. He was certain that the time had arrived, but
he still hadn't any idea about sending her back to the subconscious.
Perhaps it would be best to go back to the beginning. How had it
started? He reviewed the strange occurrence over and over again. For
the fifth time, he went back to the beginning. Suddenly, he brought his
fist down on the arm of the chair.
"Of course, that's it," he murmured. "Her father was a Welsh." He
laughed shortly. "It's so simple, I should have known all along."
* * * * *
After a time, the bed room door flew open. Toffee was making a grand
entrance. As she moved toward him, Marc thought briefly that he had
never seen her so beguiling. At the center of the room, she paused.
"Isn't it wonderful? I like it even more than the black one."
"You might say, it leaves everything to be desired," said Marc.
"Oh?"
"--by some young swain," he added.
"Marc there just isn't any hope for you."
"I'd have agreed with you two days ago."
"And now?"
"Who knows?"
"I'm sure I don't."
"That's as it should be." Marc started for the bed room. "I could use
a little sprucing up myself." At the door he turned back. "Suppose
we make a special occasion of dinner tonight--go somewhere, where
the food is especially good? I know a place that serves a wonderful
welsh rarebit. I was there just night before last." Toffee's smile
immediately disappeared and for a moment her eyes searched Marc's face,
which had, suddenly, become quite serious. Her smile reappeared as
suddenly as it had faded, but it seemed a bit more set.
"I'm sure I'll love it," she said.
Marc spoke slowly and his voice carried a touch of sadness.
"And remind me to stop by the drug-store for sleeping tablets. I ran
out the other night."
"Sure Marc." Toffee looked away toward the window as Marc left the room.
* * * * *
The countryside had somehow reassembled itself--as lovely and serene
as before, with a blue mist playing about the trees. Toffee and Marc
moved down the hillside toward a small valley obscured by the mist.
"I should be angry with you," said Toffee. "You didn't waste any time
in sending me back, once you knew how."
"You said I'd know when the time came."
"How did you find out?"
"I kept wondering where it had all started, and then I remembered that
foods sometimes cause certain kinds of dreams. Then too, I remembered
that you had said that your father was a Welsh. I didn't have to be
clever to put it all together and get welch rarebit, especially since
it was the very thing I had eaten the first night. It all seemed pretty
silly, but somehow it sort of fitted in with what's happened. You're
not angry are you?" He looked down at her affectionately.
"Of course not, Marc. There's something you've forgotten. I exist only
in your mind. I am as you see me. If I had stayed longer, if I had
come to stand in the way of your happiness, I should have become ugly
and wretched. I've served my purpose and it's time for me to return.
Really, you haven't so much to do with it as you suppose. It's been a
wonderful adventure for me, Marc."
"I'm glad, Toffee," Marc said simply. "I'll never forget what you've
done for me."
"Just remember Marc, that I'm not so unlike other, ordinary women.
There is none of us who can remain lovely unless she does so in the
eyes of a man whom she loves. Be good to Julie."
"You knew about Julie?"
"Of course," laughed Toffee. "I knew from the beginning, before you
did. I know more about you than you do yourself. That's another point I
hold in common with other women."
They had reached the edge of the valley and suddenly Toffee stopped.
"This is where I have to leave you." She smiled up at Marc. Suddenly,
he took her in his arms, very tenderly, and kissed her. As he released
her, the bell began to ring in the distance, as it had before.
"Goodbye," Toffee said softly, starting toward the valley.
As she moved, the earth seemed to dissolve behind her, leaving a narrow
chasm between them. With each step the bell became more and more
distinct. Suddenly, impulsively, Marc turned toward her.
"Wait!" he called, and reached out a hand to her.
* * * * *
Marc's hand fell to the alarm clock and he awakened to a bright, new
morning with a vague sense of loss. Suddenly he swung his legs over the
edge of the bed and got to his feet.
Julie would be at the office. He didn't want to be late.
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