Part 1

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."