Reggie chewed this over thoughtfully. “Well,” he said at last, “Freddy was my only newt-y friend. Another bloke keeps loons, but that wouldn’t help, I dare say. Pop a loon instead of a newt into your dish and you might be in a sorry stew. Best not to tamper, eh?”
“Well, the newt wasn’t essential to the potion,” Dee said. “It was a substitute for something else actually.”
“What?”
“Two hairs from the head of a red-haired virgin.”
“Hmmm,” Reggie said. “Shouldn’t be too difficult. You must know lots of redheads.”
“Yes, I do, but—” Dee looked embarrassed. “The other requirement is the stumbling block.”
“What’s that?”
“Well, the virgin part, silly.”
“I wish Sari were here,” Reggie said thoughtfully. “She’s great at things like this.”
“Great at virginity, you mean?” Dee said innocently.
“Problems,” Reggie said. “Good head.” Then he snapped his fingers. “Good head, and red as a carrot. I’ll get the hairs from her.”
“You’re sure she won’t mind?”
Reggie laughed. “She’s a great sport. Be glad to help. You’re sure two is enough? Might as well take a handful in case you mess up the first batch.”
“No, two will be perfect.” She came and knelt at Reggie’s knee, and stared at him with wide grave eyes. “You are the sweetest man I’ve ever met. Why didn’t I fall in love with you, I wonder?”
“Hard to say,” Reggie said, getting briskly to his feet. “Well, I’m off. This shouldn’t take long. Pip, pip, and all the rest of it.”
After Reggie left, Dee poured herself a straight shot of whiskey and took it down neat. Then she shook her blonde head slowly. Her expression was dazed; she had seen a vast variety of men over the years, but Reggie was a shatteringly new experience.
A knock sounded. Without bothering to put on a robe Dee strolled across the room and opened the door. The man who stood in the corridor was short and stockily built, with a deceptively open face and smooth black hair. He wore a conservatively cut dark suit, a neatly figured tie, and his manner was pleasant and sincere. Entering the room he put his hat and coat on the sofa, and smiled at the girl.
“Well, bird-brain, how did it go?” he said. He still looked pleasant and sincere, a gentleman by breeding and instinct, but his eyes ruined the act; small and nervous, they were designed to follow the roll of crooked dice or to wink at a confederate in a rigged card game. Samuel Springer’s eyes were meant to go with keyholes or pornographic literature. They were a decided business liability. Glasses were no help—they transformed him into a thieving owl.
“Bird-brain, yourself,” Dee said, staring at him with active dislike. “You picked a rare one, I must say. Reggie What’s-his-name. Where did you find him? In a Who’s Who for mental patients?”
“I asked you how it went,” Springer said. “Unnecessary question, of course. I should have known you’d louse it up.”
“It’s still alive,” Dee said sulkily. “He didn’t go mad at the sight of my maidenly body, but I’ve got a hook in him.”
Springer sighed and sat down on the sofa. “This has got to work,” he said. “Compared to me at the moment, a pauper could make like Ali Khan. I’m broke.”
“So is that new?” Dee said, lighting a cigarette. She slid into a chair and dangled her legs over the arm. “You never had more than coffee-and-cakes money in the time I’ve known you. And that’s been over a year.”
“It has seemed like ten,” Springer said, bowing gravely to her. “If we can take this character, Reggie, what joy it will be to kick you out the door.”
“Listen, you creep,” Dee said angrily. “Anybody does any kicking it will be me. Things were fine until I met you. Remember that, wise guy. And you were going to make a star out of me. Get me my own TV show. Big shot agent from New York.”
Springer said patiently, “You couldn’t get on a giveaway show, bird-brain, even if you gave yourself away. When I met you your prospects were as follows: to marry the counterman in that hash house, or to work yourself up to cashier, and the latter possibility was remote since it would have meant that you had to count. And you can’t count, bird-brain.”
“Yeah? I was a respectable girl. My family was one of the best in town.”
“Sure. There were only three families in town. One was full of drunks, and the other liked to set fires, as I recall. In that company you stood out brilliantly. The poor man’s Jukes family, no question of it.”
“You leave my family out of this,” Dee said ominously.
Springer sighed again. “With the greatest of pleasure. Let us try to think of business. Our chump bought the idea of the love potion?”
“Yeah, you were right about him being screwy,” Dee said reluctantly. “He seemed to think it was the most natural thing in the world. He’s gone to get two red hairs from his girl-friend.”
“All right,” Springer said.
“We’ll keep working on him. He’s got to be human in some respects.” He looked clinically at Dee’s long smooth brown legs, at her abundantly curved bosom. “He should make a pitch sooner or later. As a last resort we’ll pull the potion gag. Let both of you drink it. The power of suggestion will work on him, if your charms fail us. Meanwhile I’ll go and try to cadge lunch somewhere.”
“How about me? They shut off room service here.”
Springer rose and picked up his hat and coat, “I’ll try to palm some celery and radishes from the salad,” he said.
Dee swore impressively. “That’s bird food.”
“Right, bird-brain. I’ll see you tonight, dismal as that prospect is.”
Reggie arrived at Sari’s apartment in the middle of the afternoon. When she opened the door he saw that all storm signals were flying; her eyes were green as holly, her lips were set in a tight, uncompromising line, her fingers were opening and closing with slow relish.
“Cheers,” Reggie said in a hollow voice.
“Have we something to be cheerful about?” Sari said in a voice as soft and innocent as a purring bobcat’s. “Precisely what are we celebrating? The fact that I was left hanging at a bar like some forgotten umbrella? Or your introduction to the charms of that dyed-in-the-wool blonde? Just what happened that brings you here to mouth, ‘Cheers’ on my doorstep?”
“I say, are you in a snit?” Reggie said anxiously. “You look a bit liverish, old thing. Might try a gin and tomato juice. Helps sometimes.”
“I am not in a snit,” Sari said slowly. “Nor am I liverish. I am simply and finally sick of being related in a loose sort of way to a man who-—” Sari’s voice broke.
“To a man who—who is either stark crazy, or is the finest actor this side of the Abbey Theatre.”
And with that she slammed the door in his face.
Reggie frowned and rubbed his long jaw. In a snit, no doubt of it. No good saying, “Not in a snit, not liverish.”
The facts were plain. In a snit, definitely.
Over the years Reggie had learned very little about women; he knew they were mildly potty and given to streaks of totally irrational behavior, but beyond that his knowledge was meagre. However, one thing he knew: time alone could fix up these snits. Girl got in a snit, nothing for a chap to do but lash everything in place, settle down with a bottle or two and wait for clear weather. Distance helped too. Go off a goodish bit—India say—and let everything calm down. He was thinking of something along this line when he recalled his errand. Have to settle that first.
He rapped briskly on the door. Sari opened it in a few seconds. There was no change in her manner, he noticed.
“Didn’t you get the general idea?” she said.
“Now see here.” Reggie fumbled with his hat. It was a perfectly simple sort of errand, but for some reason he was suddenly at a loss. “It’s not for me, understand,” he said, smiling uncertainly. “The thing is, it’s her, it’s she, that’s it. She needs them;
I don’t.”
“Are you drunk?”
“No, perish the thought. Had a few Wimp Bloaters with Freddy—” He stopped, blushing. Popped right out! Old clam Reggie!
“Oh, you were at Freddy’s, eh?”
“Now look, Sari, dash it all! The girl needed a newt’s eye, and old Freddy was the only bloke I could think of.”
“A newt’s eye! What for?”
“Well, she’s in love.”
“With newts?”
“It’s a perfectly clear business,” Reggie said stiffly. “She loves a bloke. Bloke can’t see her. So she’s making a love potion. Needs a newt’s eye. Simple enough, what?”
“It’s simple enough, all right,” Sari said. “Simple enough for you, at any rate. Good-bye,”
She started to close the door but Reggie cried, “Please, the poor girl is in trouble.”
“I’ll bet,” Sari said grimly. “And I’ll bet she doesn’t know his name either.”
“Well, this love potion will clear everything up,” Reggie said.
“She’ll make a fortune with it then,” Sari said. “Now get your foot out of this door, and take it away with you. Far away.”
Reggie saw there was no point in pressing the matter further. Sari—for some mysterious feminine reason—was obvious y out of sorts. Tomorrow she’d probably be up in the clouds. Whimsical creatures, he thought. Not a brain in their heads really. Just moonbeams and all that rot.
“I say, who’s that in there?” he said, almost bursting with guile.
“Where?”
“In your living room, of course.”
Sari turned around. Reggie selected two strands of fine golden hair, lifted his eyes to heaven, and yanked hard!
“Ouch!” Sari yelled, spinning around like a cat whose tail has been pulled.
But Reggie was already on his way down the stairs.
A strange little man pressed the buzzer of Reggie’s apartment at roughly the cocktail hour. Clive, Reggie’s tall and formidable valet, opened the door, regarded the little man with eloquently raised eyebrows. There was good reason for his questioning stare; the little man was brown as saddle-leather, wore a white turban, and sported a flowing black beard.
“Yes?” Clive said, and managed to convey by his tone the utter unsuitability of this chap on his doorstep.
“I look for a Reginald van Amer—Amering—” The little man gave up. He smiled sheepishly at Clive. “Is he here?”
“Not at the present. Who shall I say called?”
“Well—” The little man shrugged and tugged at his beard. “He is getting himself into serious trouble, I fear.”
Clive took the news calmly. “Perhaps you’d better come in,” he said.
The buzzer sounded again, about ten minutes later, and Clive found Sari standing in the corridor, looking very lovely and very anxious.
“Clive, the most terrible ”
“Now, now,” Clive said. “I know all about it. Please come in. I want you to meet Ali Bulla, a distinguished visitor to our shores from far-off India.”
Sari stared in confusion at the little man in the turban. The flowing black beard seemed to fascinate her; it curled down the front of his silken waistcoat, as ropy and luxurious as a well-cared-for snake. “How do you do?” she said faintly.
Ali Bulla bowed from the waist. “My pleasure.”
Clive glanced at his watch. “Miss Sari, permit me to brief you on developments, as news commentators are fond of saying. Time is of the essence. The Master has got himself into a rather neat mess, even for him.”
Sari sat clown weakly. “He’s absolutely mad. Or madder, I should say. He pulled a handful of hair from my head a few minutes ago, and then ran like a thief.”
“It all fits in,” Clive said judicially. He put the tips of his long fingers together and paced the floor frowning slightly. “The Master has fallen into the toils of a confidence team which consists (a) of a young woman whose character is no more honest than the color of her hair, and (b) a man named Springer who would stand out, as a rapscallion in a Thugee gathering. Their intention is to involve the Master in an amatory situation with the young woman, and force him into a marriage which it would be understating matters to describe as catastrophic.”
“Well, it would serve the silly fool right,” Sari said brushing away a tear. Then: “But what are we going to do about it?”
“We must act with speed and firmness,” Clive said. “The crux of their scheme turns on a love potion which they stole from our Indian visitor, Ali Bulla. They believe the potion to be the fruit of some quack, but the lotion is, in fact, authentic and powerful.”
“Most powerful,” Ali Bulla said, nodding in a pleased fashion.
“Ali Bulla trailed these scoundrels to their hotel, realized that they had ensnared the Master, and therefore followed him here. Now we must strike!”
“But Clive, do you believe this nonsense about a genuine love potion?”
Clive smiled tolerantly. “I spent a good deal of time in India, Miss Sari. I their love potions. In fact, a Maharini once attempted to—”
He cleared his throat. “But that’s another story. Now to call their hotel …”
Reggie sat in the small kitchen, swigging a drink and watching in fascination as Dee prepared the love potion at the sink. She had changed from her Bikini into a foamy, peach-colored negligee which followed the lines of her full young body with loving attention. Her blonde hair brushed her shoulders, and her eyes glinted with mischievous excitement as she fussed about with vials and test tubes.
“Almost ready,” she said in a happy, little-girl’s voice. “Aren’t you excited?”
“Oh, fearfully,” Reggie said. Actually he was quite sleepy, but he didn’t want to spoil the show.
“Did your girl mind parting with a bit of her lovely hair?” Dee said, smiling at him.
“Oh, not at all,” Reggie said, waving a limp hand. “Sporting type and all the rest of it.”
Dee came over and sat down on his lap. She put an arm around his neck and nuzzled her nose against his check. “You are a lamb,” she whispered.
She was pretty heavy, Reggie thought. Looked light as a feather, but the fact was otherwise. Definitely otherwise.
“Where’s the bloke?” he said.
“What ‘bloke?’ ”
“The bloke you’re stirring up the love potion for?”
“Oh, he’ll be along shortly.” She snuggled closer to him and crossed her legs. The robe parted, revealing a pink and dimpled knee. “I’m not impatient,” she said. “Are you?”
Reggie yawned. “No, not a bit. Restful here, as a matter of fact.”
Dee got to her feet and shook her head. Nothing worked with this character! She glanced at her watch. It was almost time for Springer.
One thing disturbed her; a half-hour ago the desk had called to explain that her room was needed for a prior reservation. Full of apologies, the hotel wished to transfer her to a suite at no increase in price. This was Springer’s doing, she guessed, but she couldn’t imagine why …
“Look,” she said to Reggie, “I’d like to try this love potion before my—ah—friend arrives. I know it’s a lot to ask, but you’ve been such a dear I’m sure you won’t mind.”
“Mind what?”
“Well—trying it with me.”
“First-rate idea,” Reggie said. “No point using the old stuff if you’re not sure of it.”
Dee stared soulfully at him. “We’ll really fall in love,” she whispered. “I just know it. Then what will we do?”
Reggie frowned. “Just go off and forget each other, I suppose. It happens all the time in the movies. Bloke bites the bullet, wanders off to Africa and figures out cure for sleeping sickness.” He yawned again, prodigiously. “Can’t imagine what they do with the bloody cures, though. Not on the market, eh?”
“But you will take the chance?”
“Least a chap can do,” Reggie said.
“But supposing we can
’t forget each other?”
Reggie laughed cheerfully.
“No problem there. I can forget anybody. Even myself. Always forgetting who I am, for instance. One time I thought I was my father. Just a shaver then. Smoked his cigars, drank a snootful of brandy every night, raised a devil of a row. Another time—”
“All right, I get the idea,” Dee said hastily. “Now here’s what we have to do. You take a glass and I take a glass, and we go into the living room and turn out the lights. You understand?”
“Righto.”
“In pitch darkness we each empty our glass. Then we turn on the lights. Are you ready?”
Reggie yawned again. “Pip, pip. Into the breach.”
He accepted a glass of milky fluid from Dee, and strolled into the long living room. The sofa looked wonderfully inviting, he thought. Once this business was over, there’d be time for something important. A good session with the old downy …
Dee moved to the light switch. “You stand at the end of the room now,” she said. “I’ll turn off the lights and count to five. Then we’ll drink the potion. All right.”
Reggie waved a hand. “Fine,” he said, yawning.
Dee threw the switch. Darkness filled the room.
“One!” Dee said firmly.
Then: “Two!”
A hand closed over Reggie’s mouth. Someone took the drink from him …
“Five,” Dee said. “Drink up now!”
“Awwwwk!” Reggie said.
The lights came up.
The hand removed itself from Reggie’s mouth.
“Sorry, sir,” Clive said.
Reggie wasn’t surprised to see Clive: Clive had a habit of popping up unexpectedly. But he was surprised to see a stocky young man who stood in the middle of the room staring with dishonest but soulful eyes at Dee. And Dee was staring at him in the same rapt fashion.
In their hands were empty glasses!
“Darling,” Dee said, taking a step toward him.
Springer let the glass fall from his hand. “Dearest,” he murmured. Lost in each other, transfixed with the glory of it all, they embraced.
“All’s well,” Reggie said, nodding crisply to Clive. He liked to be crisp with Clive. It mitigated his suspicion that Clive thought him an ass.
Collected Fiction (1940-1963) Page 316
