***
"Love the mutton," Conestoga smiled, holding aloft a plate piled with hors d'oeuvres and finger foods from which Stinky was sampling two-handed. "So delicate."
"Mrs. Potsdam labored long and hard keeping with the theme of the script," I smiled confidently, pleased with the generous turnout of theatre-goers at the post-production party. "And thank you for attending."
"We wouldn't have had it any other way, Baron," Stinky replied, patting my shoulder and, in the process, doubling the use of my jacket to remove the lamb au jus from his fingertips. "Your Barrymore is second to none."
"And such wonderful support you've received, Baron." Conestoga swept her arm across the Library, the tip of her cutty spoon serving as a pointer to quickly count those present. "My goodness, there are dozens of partiers out on the veranda as well. What a beautiful evening."
It was, indeed, a gorgeous night. I angled past the buffet line where a frazzled Mrs. Potsdam hurried to refill a bowl of peanuts next to the serving trays filled with her homemade California rolls, inarizushi and hosomaki. "Splendid job, Mrs. P. Thank you so much for your wonderful presentation."
"You're welcome, sir," the amiable cook replied, flashing me a momentary smile before returning with furrowed brow to her table of goods.
Moving past the end of the line I lifted a fresh flute of champagne while accepting the accolades of a half-dozen well-wishers. Just beyond, next to the marble column of the fireplace, stood a solemn Smudgely surveying the room. "Sir?" he asked upon my approach.
"See to it Mrs. Potsdam is bolstered with a glass of strong sherry during her next retreat to the kitchen, would you kindly?"
"Yes, sir. She has indeed put her heart and soul into the evening's menu."
"Not too much sherry, mind you. Just enough to provide her the energy to finish out service, right?"
"Sir."
"And Miss Angelica would be?"
"She's on the veranda, sir, visiting with the Goofy Whites and Mr. Rottweiler." Smudgely nodded in the direction across the room.
"Froggy?" If there was a chance these festivities would come to a foul conclusion, the formula would be found in the interaction Froggy displayed with Angel. "I should rescue her momentarily."
"That you should, sir. I have," Smudgely continued, raising one eyebrow, "placed the iced champagne and tray of food in your private quarters, sir, as instructed."
"Very well. The door will be locked behind me, so that you know."
"And I shall adhere to the strict instructions of not disturbing you, sir."
"Except for delivering a pot of English Breakfast when summoned."
"Naturally, sir." He adjusted the white gloves on his hands. "Would you care for Irish whisky on the side, sir?"
"Brilliant, Smudgely. You're always one to be thinking."
"Part of my service to you, sir."
"Let me be off, my good man. I thank you in advance of your efforts." I patted the servant's elbow, admiring his perfectly pressed and starched butler's uniform. "Oh, one last thing, Smudgely. Would the Hodaka be ready to ride at sunup tomorrow?"
"Your motorbike has been prepared to the precision of your directions, sir."
"Thanks once more, stout fellow."
"Thoroughly enjoy your evening, sir."
I worked the room on as straight a line as possible, with Point A being the fireplace and Point B represented by Angel. Many congratulatory remarks were made and accepted. As gracious and thankful as I was, Agnes deMaelstrom's hedging toward the dais in the corner served as a constant reminder of my need to urgently exit the proceedings. Finally, with all the determination of holiday shopper at a discount store on sale day, I squeezed through the center set of French doors and managed to accidentally nudge Froggy's arm just as he was about to sample his champagne.
"Son of a bitch!"
"Terribly sorry, old fellow," I said, hastening to resurrect a used napkin from the nearby table for mop-up duty. "Thankfully, like yourself, it's a brut. It should blend right in."
"Very funny, showoff," Froggy said, tipping the brim of his half-full glass toward Angel. "Just when I was making headway with this ebony beauty right here."
"Apologies again," I said, taking Angel's hand and applying a light kiss to the top of it. "Was I intruding?"
"Gosh, no," Angel beamed her delicious smile, "I believe the gentleman was discussing his doggy rottweiler."
"I gave you my name! Froggy Rottweiler!"
"How bizarre." Angel cocked an eyebrow before closing ranks next to me. "This young couple holds a great deal of admiration for you, Baron."
"Edwina, Goofy Eddy," I said, extending my hand successively to each. "Two of my favorite Faithful Hill residents, to be sure."
"You're too kind, Mr. Baron." Goofy Eddy pumped my hand. "Say, I surely did appreciate the subtle inference of theocracy dominating act one tonight."
"And the introduction of ocean life hit me like something out of Kafka," Edwina quickly added.
"Indeed. You're both quite astute students of the stage." I found the release button on Goofy Eddy's wrist and was able to claim my hand back as my own. "Say, not to shift gears or what all, but the Hodaka?"
"Is clean as a whistle and ready to run one hundred thousand miles, Mr. Baron."
"And all the parts are?"
"Exactly as you asked. I didn't touch nothing that didn't need fixing. It's just the way you presented it to me, 'cept it's running one hundred percent now."
"Quite. You're a good man, Goofy Eddy, one blessed with a lovely bride. Miss Edwina, if you'll excuse us now, I believe Miss Agnes will be addressing the guests soon and I must have a moment with Miss Angel beforehand."
With that and my well-placed heel pressing firmly down on Froggy's left set of toes, Angel accepted my offer to depart by interlocking her arm within mine. We gracefully skirted the edge of the room without a word to one another, making our way to the sparsely populated grand foyer at the base of the stairwell. My final view of the first floor included the dapper Smudgely providing me a knowing look as he carried a decanter of sherry toward the kitchen door. Leading the way up the wide carpeted steps, I was mindful of our pace as Angel gathered her lengthy dress in her free hand, shaking the bunched fabric back and forth with each stride. In spite of our anxiousness we moved in unison as though a rising cloud, floating above the buzz of a busy civilization and entering a heaven which was privately our own.
Steps from my bedroom door at the end of the third floor hallway, the firm voice of Agnes deMaelstrom was heard piping through the public address system below. "Where's Baron? Where's our star? What is he up to now?"
I took Angel into my arms, applying a long-awaited kiss directly onto her lips while dipping her slightly toward the inspirational Van Gogh Man Home from Sea oil painting hanging to the right of my bedroom entrance.
"Wow," a pleasantly startled Angel whispered as I let off her, bringing her gently upright. "What is Baron up to?"
"Baron," I replied while swinging open the massive oak door, "is about to take a long hot bubble bath with his good friend." My evening was complete when noticing Smudgely's deep consideration and keen foresight in supplying us with not one but two bottles of celebratory Krug Clos Du Mesnil. Once settled into the warm froth of water, the overflow following the popped cork added considerably to the start of the night's mirth.
Baril de Singes [Barrel of Monkeys] Page 57
