The Complete Adventures of Toffee

by Charles F. Myers

  “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? 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 open 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 getup.” 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. Mare 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 pinwheels.

  Hastily, she gained the front of the window by a series of quick, sidestepping 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 newsreel 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 you’re 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 showcase. 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.