The Complete Adventures of Toffee

by Charles F. Myers

  “There,” Toffee said. “Now it doesn’t matter if you survive; your life has been rich and full.”

  “Now, see here, you,” Marc said forcefully. “If you’re thinking I’m going to lounge around with you ...”

  “I’m only wondering if you’re strong enough,” Toffee said.

  “Stop saying things like that!” Marc said, holding his voice steady with an effort. “I’m not exaggerating when I say that you absolutely must not materialize—not even a finger!”

  “Oh, never just a finger!” Toffee said with false alarm. “I intend to go much farther than that.”

  “Evidently,” Marc said. “But you must realize...”

  He stopped, for suddenly the valley had begun to blur, strangely, as though it were seen through a panel of water-washed glass. Even as the words died in his throat, a heavy greyness dripped through the sky, chilling its radiance. On the horizon, the odd, feathery trees seemed to melt and merge, and the grass upon which they were sitting became a wavering sea of misty green.

  “Oh, my gosh!” Marc gasped. He turned to Toffee, his eyes filled with alarm. “Now, you’ve got to take me seriously ...”

  “Oh, I will!” Toffee said happily, locking her arms around his neck. “I’m going to be positively grim about you!”

  “No!” Marc cried. “Let go of me!” The darkness was coming rapidly now, and the last traces of the sky were nearly gone. “Let go!”

  “If I feel myself slipping,” Toffee said breathlessly, “I’ll just hook my fingers in your ears.” She drew her lips close to his ear. “Lover,” she murmured, “I’m going to stick to you like a barnacle on a boat. You’ll never scrape me off!”

  MARC stirred. He inched his hand forward tentatively over the cold relentless surface of the floor and opened his eyes. For a moment he couldn’t think where he was, then the dull grey walls and the barred-in opening that looked out on the passage brought it all back to him. He raised himself to his knees and crawled forward. He grasped the bars and dragged himself partially upright. Then he froze, staring fixedly ahead.

  At first it seemed only that his sight had dulled. Then slowly, out in the passage, the haziness before him began to take form, languidly, easily, gathering itself into a dismaying solidity. A bit at a time, Toffee, working from the toes up, appeared in all her vivid aliveness on the other side of the bars. Standing there against the background of iron greyness, she seemed even more outrageously alive and lovely than she had in his subconscious mind. And also more naked. She turned to Marc and regarded him quizzically.

  “Oh, no!” Marc wailed. “No, no! You can’t be here!”

  “But I am,” Toffee said brightly. She studied the bars between them with an air of bafflement “What are you doing in that cage? Why don’t you come out?”

  “I can’t come out,” Marc said. “This is a jail. I’m locked in.”

  “And I’m locked out,” Toffee observed without favor. “We’ll never get anywhere that way. Where do I go to get the key?”

  “You can’t get the key,” Marc said. “The jailer—or somebody—has it—out there.” He made a vague gesture toward the iron door at the end of the passage.

  “Then, I’ll go ask him for it,” Toffee said blandly and started away.

  “No!” Marc yelled. “Don’t go out there! Not like that!” He pressed urgently against the bars. “Come back here!”

  Perhaps it was the effort or maybe it was the awful thought of Toffee loose in the jail, but suddenly it was all too much for him. Marc’s knees buckled and he slid toward the floor. Slowly he crumpled and sprawled backwards. With an anguished murmur he passed out.

  At the end of the passage, reaching for the door, Toffee quickly faded and vanished into thin air.

  It was only three minutes later when Sergeant Feeney, absorbed in a copy of Shocking Stories, looked up apprehensively over the edge of the magazine and turned a ghastly white. If he had not been mistaken—and he certainly had not—there was an odd sort of fuzziness in the air just beyond his feet at the other side of the desk. As he watched this clouded bit of atmosphere, it alarmingly solidified, a bit at a time, and became a strikingly beautiful redhead, clothed merely in what appeared to be a pair of translucent kitchen curtains. The sergeant gulped, and the magazine, which was already trembling like a leaf in a wind storm, dropped from his nerveless hand.

  “Here, now!” Sergeant Feeney gulped. “What do you think you are up to, you?”

  As soon as he had spoken, the sergeant was overwhelmed with a sense of his own utter foolishness; the girl was obviously nothing more than a trick of imagination and everyone knew that such things, no matter how industriously one might question them, could not answer back.

  “I’m looking for the key,” Toffee replied amiably. “Marc fainted, but I guess he’s better now, or I wouldn’t be here, would I? I have to go away when he’s asleep but when he wakes up I come right back again.”

  THE sergeant jumped to his feet, upsetting his chair with a deafening clatter. “Here, now!” he yelled. “Stop that!”

  “Stop what?” Toffee asked innocently.

  “Stop talking to me, now!” Sergeant Feeney gasped. “I’m a sober upright minion of the law, and it’s not right that the likes of you should come jabberin’ around so’s I can hear it.”

  “Well, I don’t see why not,” Toffee said bewilderedly. “How am I going to get the key, if I don’t ask you for it?”

  “There you go again!” the sergeant wailed. Trembling in every fiber of his great hulking being, he turned away from her. “If you don’t stop it, now,” he said, “I’m going to close my eyes, and then you won’t be there.”

  “But I have to have the key,” Toffee protested.

  “That does it!” the sergeant said woundedly. He closed his eyes so tightly they might never have existed. “There, now!”

  “Where?” Toffee said.

  The sergeant visibly flinched. “Where what?” he asked faintly.

  “Where’s the key?”

  “What key, for heaven’s sake?”

  “The key to the cages, of course. Where is it?”

  The sergeant sighed. Then he straightened, and when he spoke again there was an edge of craftiness to his voice. “If I point out the key to you, will you take it and go away?”

  “Instantly,” Toffee agreed. Promptly the sergeant pointed to the wall where the key hung on a metal hook. “Help yourself,” he said grandly. “And a pleasant journey to you.”

  “Thank you very much,” Toffee said. “For so complete an imbecile, you’ve been most cooperative.” Moving to the hook, she removed the key, and swinging it lightly on her finger, left the room.

  The sergeant waited until he heard the door close, then opened his eyes. Looking about, he began to chuckle to himself.

  “Now, isn’t it a wonder how easy you can outsmart a hallucination?” he said to himself. “She’s gone away happy as a lark, and anybody knows a mere thing out of the thin air could never steal a key.

  ONLY five minutes later Marc and Toffee descended the steps of the jail and paused for a moment in the sun. Marc, still a little woozy in the head, waited for his thoughts to clear.

  “Are you sure he gave you that key?” he asked.

  “He fairly begged me to take it,” Toffee said. She glanced around happily at the bright spring day. “What wonderful weather,” she said. “It makes you want to buy things, doesn’t it, scandalous things that hold you in just enough so that you can go all out. If you know what I mean.”

  Marc glanced down at her brief costume. In the morning sun it seemed almost non-existent. Quickly he took off his coat and held it out to her. “Here!” he said imperatively, “put this on!”

  “On one condition,” Toffee said. “I want a new dress. I’m through hinting about it.”

  “And you shall have one,” Marc agreed. “No one ever needed one more acutely.”

  With mild regret Toffee put the coat on. In it, she looked rather like a shapely
scarecrow whose lack of hands had been more than amply compensated for by a pair of stunningly formed legs. This settled, Marc shook his head, just to get the remaining cobwebs out, and looked around.

  “Are you sure this is all right,” he asked, “my leaving like this?”

  “The man gave me the key, didn’t he?” Toffee said.

  “I don’t know,” Marc said doubtfully. “I can’t think quite clearly, but somehow it doesn’t seem quite regular.”

  “Regularity is so dull,” Toffee said, “in spite of what all those cereal manufacturers say.”

  Shrugging, Marc followed along as she started off down the street. A passing delivery boy, catching sight of the briefly-draped redhead, paused to whistle. Toffee waved at him happily and whistled back.

  “Don’t do that!” Marc said. “Stop attracting attention to yourself!”

  Toffee grinned up at him. “It’s myself that attracts attention to me,” she said. “You made me that way and I must say I dearly love you for it.” Glancing down the street, her gaze stopped at a tall department store building which was fronted by long, gleaming show windows. She pointed to it eagerly. “That looks wonderfully extravagant,” she said. “Let’s go charge things to your account.”

  As they approached the store, Marc’s step became firmer, his head unclouded. He stopped just outside the entrance with an abrupt burp.

  “I just remembered,” he said. “I’ve got to get out to the country house. I ..

  . What am I going to do with you, though?”

  “You’re going to buy me a ridiculous dress at a ridiculous price,” Toffee said. “We’ll worry about Julie and her shabby amours with that lecherous paint-dauber later.” “How did you know about that?” Marc asked.

  “From sitting around in that arid mind of yours,” Toffee said. “Sometimes I tune in on what’s going on just out of sheer boredom.”

  MEANWHILE, within the jail, a moiling drama of considerable scope was swiftly reaching a head. Sergeant Feeney had discovered, with much goggling of the eyes, that hallucinations not only could steal keys, but had. With a thrill of horror he called in the members of the force on duty, six in all, and instituted an inspection of the cells. In due time, it was noted that the jail’s prize prisoner had flown the coop.

  “Mary, mother of triplets!” Sergeant Feeney shrieked. “We gotta get that bird back in his cage before the chief hears of this!”

  “He couldn’t have gotten too far away, sergeant,” one of the city’s hearties observed moodily. “We better scour the streets, I think.”

  “That’s it!” Sergeant Feeney rasped, rushing blindly toward the hallway. “Scour the streets men! Everybody scour! Follow me!”

  THUS it was that Marc and Toffee, standing before the entrance to the store, glanced casually back along the street just in time to witness a disquieting eruption of blue-clad figures from the doorway of the jail. So astonishing was the sight that they stood for a moment too long watching it; Sergeant Feeney, catching sight of them, pointed an excited finger in their direction.

  “There they are!” he roared. “After them, men!”

  “The bloodhounds!” Toffee yelled. Taking Marc’s arm, she dragged him forcibly through the entrance and inside the store. Counters laden with colorful spring merchandise stretched before them in what seemed like endless rows. A floor manager observed them curiously, and then moved away.

  “Come on!” Toffee said.

  “You’re insane!” Marc said. By now Toffee had led him to the stairs. “We can’t be bothered with dresses at a time like this.”

  “I’m going to have a spring dress,” Toffee said determinedly. “No matter what!”

  A dark browed lady, upon overhearing this snatch of dialogue, observed the ascending pair with brooding thoughtfulness. She turned triumphantly to the pallid, grey-suited individual at her side, on whom had befallen the misfortune of becoming her husband.

  “There! she said, pointing up the stairs to Toffee’s flashing legs. “That’s exactly what I’m going to do next time I tell you I haven’t anything to wear and you ignore me. I’m going to strip down to the skin and shame you in public. Then we’ll see!”

  “Then, everyone will see,” the man observed gloomily. “There will probably be fainting in the streets.”

  At this juncture, as Marc and Toffee disappeared up the stairs, there was a blast at the entrance of the store, announcing that Sergeant Feeney, his redoubtable six and his whistle had arrived and the situation was slipping rapidly out of hand.

  “Everyone stay where you are!” the good sergeant bellowed, charging about frenziedly. “Everyone keep calm!” And so saying he dashed headlong into a small grey-haired lady and knocked her forthwith to the floor.

  Displaying an agility not to be looked for in so old a party, the sergeant’s victim leaped to her feet and snatched up her parasol.

  “Fool!” she snapped. “Idiot!”

  “Stop hopping about!” the sergeant yelled, sitting up. “Everybody stay still!”

  “How can I stay still when you keep knocking me down?” the little woman demanded hotly. She rapped the sergeant smartly across the bridge of the nose to emphasize her point. “Lummox!”

  The sergeant grabbed at his nose and observed the lady with deepseated hostility. “Lady,” he said, “you’re tamperin’ with the law, you are!”

  “You’ve tampered with worse than that!” the little lady retorted. “If I were a little younger I’d have you for mashing!”

  Meanwhile, Marc and Toffee, taking the stairs two at a time, had reached the third floor where, in a dim cavern of soft lights and muted music, the Parisian styles were being displayed, as they should be, on lovely living models. Marc turned to Toffee and burped impatiently.

  “If you’re determined to do this,” he said, “be quick about it.” He burped again. “The law is practically breathing down our necks!”

  “Why do you keep making that revolting noise?” Toffee asked interestedly. “It sounds like hogs rooting in the mire.”

  Marc winced at her indelicacy. “I can’t help it,” he said. “When I’m upset it affects my stomach.”

  “Then do something about it,” Toffee commanded airily and drifted away.

  Marc started to protest that there was very little he could do about it as long as she kept him upset, when he remembered the bottle the druggist had given him and took it from his pocket. Removing the cap, he took a deep, hurried draft. This done, he screwed the cap back on and replaced the bottle in his pocket.

  HE completed this maneuver just in time, for no sooner did the syrup hit his gullet than he issued an explosive cough and staggered forward as though he had received a healthy blow from and to the rear. The liquid burned inside him like liquid fire.

  Gasping, he beat his chest for relief and steadied himself against the wall with a trembling hand. The dizziness that he had only just gotten rid of, returned. He closed his eyes in the hope that it would pass.

  His eyes were still closed when the scream issued piercingly from across the room. Opening them, he glanced across to where the models appeared and almost wished he hadn’t bothered. It was too insane.

  Toffee had evidently found the dress she wanted, an ethereal affair consisting of a couple of scraps of filmy stuff arranged to make its wearer look like nothing so much as a gift-wrapped Diana out for the kill. As Parisian dresses went, Marc supposed that this flimsy confection was only a little bit worse than most, but it had one glaring flaw which almost anyone—anyone, that is, but Toffee—would have noticed at a glance; the dress was still on the model. Toffee, however, was not deterred, not even by the girl’s desperate screams. She was industriously disrobing the poor creature before the startled eyes of the other customers.

  Marc, forgetting his dizziness, shoved himself away from the wall and ran forward. “Stop!” he yelled. “You can’t do that!”

  Toffee cast him a fleeting glance over her shoulder, but did not stop her frantic efforts with the ill
usive dress and the struggling model.

  “It’s difficult all right,” she shot back, “but I think I can manage.”

  “Madam, please!” the model shrieked, her air of aloof stateliness demolished. “Oh, please!”

  From a curtained doorway, a small dark woman, the manageress of the department, looked out and emitted a thin cry of disbelief. The model, now stripped to the waist, was hugging herself in a paroxysm of horror. Throwing back the curtains, the manageress ran forward.

  “Madam!” she cried. “Madam! You really mustn’t!” She hastened to Toffee’s side and tried to pull her away from the terrified girl. “If you like the dress, please step back to the fitting room.”

  “Step back to the fitting room yourself!” Toffee snapped. “And don’t call me madam!”

  “But the model ...”

  “She’ll have to take her chances,” Toffee gritted determinedly. “I need this dress worse than she does.” The skirt came free in her hand, revealing the model in nothing more than a pair of very sheer panties.

  “Oh, madam! the girl wailed.

  “Well, don’t just stand there, exposing yourself!” the manageress cried. “Grab something and put it on!”

  Gazing about frantically, the girl’s eyes shot to the next model who had been displaying a negligee when all the trouble started. Reaching out, she deftly grabbed the zipper and yanked. The garment relinquished its hold and slithered to the floor in a vaporous cloud. The first model snatched it up and hurriedly put it on. The second model, finding herself revealed in the flesh, announced her shock in a shrill scream and made a wild grab for the mink coat that lay in the lap of a nearby customer. The customer, however, was too quick for her. Despite her over-padded figure, she shot out of her chair on the run.

  “No you don’t!” she screamed, “not after all I went through to get this!”

  “Come back here!” the model yelled determinedly and took out in hot pursuit.