Part 2

Marc glanced at the orchestra, a disconsolate group of musicians, wedged uncomfortably into a bandstand that appeared more like a jeweler's show-case. 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.

Marc looked to the people at the tables about theirs, but none of them seemed at all disturbed by this hysterical performance. He shrugged and picked up the bottle from the ice bucket. He had never been a drinking man but he felt that it might help him to understand what was going on.

"Oh, don't we know her?" asked Toffee suddenly.

"Stop pointing--who?"

"The girl just coming in, the one with the white dress and perfectly haunting man."

Marc turned and looked in the direction Toffee had indicated.

"Why, it's Julie!" he exclaimed.

"Who's that with her?"

"Jack Snell, he's an artist with the agency. I never did like him, but he's too good a layout man to lose. I wonder what Julie's doing with him."

"Ask him over," urged Toffee.

Marc raised a hand and wig-wagged in their direction. Jack Snell was a born "Gathering Appraiser," and it didn't take him long to catch the signal. As they moved across the floor toward him, Marc couldn't help noticing that Julie looked especially wonderful. This was the first time he had seen her outside of the office and her white lace dress emphasized all the glamour that her customary business suit suppressed.

"She looks like something out of a dream," he thought and then blanched. He revised the thought hurriedly: "She looks like something out of real life."

"Hello," said Jack. He addressed Marc but looked at Toffee. His face lit up like a pin ball machine. Toffee had run up a winning score.

"Oh, yes," said Marc quickly, "I want you to meet Toffee, my--uh--my cousin."

"She was your niece earlier today," Julie said evenly.

Marc laughed self-consciously as Jack and Julie seated themselves at the table. Julie turned to Toffee.

"Are you enjoying your visit here?"

"Oh, yes," replied Toffee with enthusiasm. "Everyone seems so friendly. Do you know what one man said to me today?"

"I could guess," said Julie flatly.

"I think we should dance," Jack cut in quickly.

"Oh, I'd love to," beamed Toffee.

* * * * *

They rose and started for the dance floor. Turning, Toffee said: "You'll excuse us?" She was looking directly at Julie.

"Did you want to dance," asked Marc without enthusiasm.

"No, thank you," replied Julie. "The floor is much too crowded."

"That's good, I don't know how very well."

"You never go out much, do you? That is, you haven't until lately."

"Why, no. I've been too busy--until lately. Perhaps that was a mistake."

"Perhaps," said Julie cryptically as she turned to the dance floor.

"You're looking very beautiful," said Marc.

"Am I?" Julie continued to look away but she couldn't restrain a faint smile.

Marc found himself with nothing to say, but continued to stare at Julie. He couldn't get over the change in her. His mind wandered off into a lovely, imaginary land without night clubs, in which he and Julie were the only inhabitants.

This was extremely unfortunate for, out on the dance floor, Jack Snell suddenly found himself dancing, inexplicably and most embarrassingly, alone. Toffee had suddenly vanished into thin air. He also found himself alarmingly confronted by Mrs. Claribel Housing, a matron of tremendous prominence, in more ways and places than one. Mrs. Housing understood any misdemeanor perpetrated in the Spray Club as a personal affront, to be dealt with personally. After all, it did cast unflattering reflections on her "Set."

"Young man," she boomed. "I wonder if you realize what a disgusting exhibition you are presenting. I should think that if you must get roaring drunk, you could do it somewhere less public."

Jack turned to her dazedly. "But I had a girl," he said unhappily. "I seem to have lost her."

A soft light came into Mrs. Housing's eyes. "He's gone mad," she shouted, turning to her partner. "He's lost his girl, and it's driven him crazy."

If there was anything that put life into Claribel Housing, it was "straightening out" someone else's life. She looked on Jack with the air of the practiced social worker.

"There, there, son," she roared. "Don't take on so about it. I'm sure she wasn't half good enough for you." She placed a beefy arm about his shoulder, and nodded to her partner. "Everett, we must do something for this poor soul."

Everett Housing had learned to accept his wife's "projects" with resigned good humor.

"Yes, dear," he sighed, and followed obediently as his wife led the hapless Jack from the dance floor. It didn't seem to concern the matron that the dancers were stopping to observe their progress.

* * * * *

Back at the table, Julie, noticing the excitement, reached for Marc's sleeve.

"Something's happening to Jack and Toffee!" she cried, jumping up. Marc, jolted from his reverie, followed after her. They reached the group on the dance floor just in time to witness Toffee's reappearance.

"What's going on here?" screamed Toffee, confronting Mrs. Housing.

"Please get out of my way," said Mrs. Housing regally.

"Get out of _your_ way!" Toffee flared. "You should be ashamed of yourself! Picking up a girl's man when her back is turned--and on public dance floors too! And at your age!"

Mrs. Housing seemed to explode.

"How dare you! I should think that you had caused enough trouble,--you little floosey!" It was apparent to her that this was the young lady who had unseated Jack's reason. At this point Jack did, indeed, appear somewhat demented. Through the ensuing uproar, he tried valiantly but vainly to make himself heard, and seemed merely to be babbling to himself. Toffee was beside herself with rage.

"Why, you--you--you old back issue," she yelled. "You outsized pick-up!" She swung her foot behind her and calculated the distance to Mrs. Housing's shin. Unfortunately, her heel caught on the rung of Mr. Kently's chair. That good gentleman, unconcerned of the tumult raging just behind him, was, at the moment, determinedly offering a toast to his wife on the occasion of their twenty-fifth anniversary. He lifted his glass, and with the words: "And to you, my dear--," tossed its entire contents neatly into Mrs. Kently's face. Toffee had jerked the chair swiftly from under him. Mrs. Kently shot out of her chair with a scream designed for blood chilling.

Across the room, a guest, somewhat befogged by too much drink, raised a heavy head and shouted: "Murder!" at the top of his lungs. Across from him, his companion looked up with startled eyes and quietly slid under the table, unconscious. The man looked down at her without concern.

"Can't stand the sight of blood," he explained to no one in particular.

The center of this excitement suddenly dissipated itself with the stately, if hurried, departure of Mrs. Housing and her obedient husband, but the fever of hysteria had already spread to the remaining guests and was raging unabated. The orchestra, caught in the spirit of the occasion, struck up a raucous rendition of "The Beer Barrel Polka." Several guests, similarly inspired, rapped their partners rather ungently over the head with whatever bottles were at hand. The door to the manager's office opened briefly and slammed to. Finally, Marc managed to fight his way through to Toffee.

"Now, see what you've done!" he yelled.

"So this is night clubbing," squealed Toffee delightedly.

"We have to get out of here," Marc guided her away from the dance floor.

"Just when things were really getting started?" asked Toffee. "Where are Jack and Julie?"

"They've gone and we'd better do the same."

"Just a moment," replied Toffee and disappeared into the crowd again. Marc made a grab for her but missed. Presently she returned, beaming triumphantly. Under her arm, she carried a bottle of champagne.

"I don't see why we should let it go to waste," she explained. Marc groaned and hurried her off toward the entrance.

Outside, they were greeted not only by the cool, evening air, but also by what appeared to be the entire police force. The manager of the Spar Club stood behind them.

"There they are, boys!" he yelled excitedly. "Grab 'em!"

* * * * *

Toffee was delighted to find herself, once more, the center of attention. She looked up at the judge with a disarming smile. She felt a little sorry for the poor little man--he seemed so perplexed by everything. Marc stood beside her, wondering vaguely if he weren't dead, and if not, why not. The judge fixed Toffee with a baleful stare.

"Who did you say your parents were?" His voice was that of a martyr.

"A moonlit night and a yearning spirit," said Toffee blandly. The judge's eyes rolled ceilingward.

"Oh, good Lord," he sighed in pure supplication.

"What she means--," began Marc.

"You stay out of this!" snapped the judge. "I'll hear from you later."

"But judge," said Toffee. "I don't know how I can make it clearer."

"Never mind," replied the judge hotly. "Let's hear no more about it. I sincerely wish I hadn't brought it up in the first place. Now, perhaps, you'll tell me what went on in the Spar Club this evening, and never mind the poetry."

"Well," said Toffee brightly, "it all started when this old fright tried to steal Mr. Snell from me--right there on the dance floor, too." An earnest expression crept over her face. "She should be locked up, judge."

Marc's thoughts raced wildly. If ever there was a time for Toffee to fade, this was unquestionably it. He clamped his eyes tightly shut and tried frantically to picture peaceful, pastoral scenes in an attempt to induce sleep. However, what occurred to him most frequently were bleak countrysides strewn with assorted wreckage, symbolic of his future.

"Exactly what is your relationship with this man?" The judge nodded in Marc's direction without looking at him.

"Well," said Toffee. "You see, I sort of belong to him, in a way."

"You mean he's your guardian?" This appealed to Toffee and she nodded vigorously. The judge turned to Marc.

"Young man--," he began, then looked questioningly at Toffee. "What's the matter with him?"

Toffee turned to Marc and sudden anger flashed in her eyes.

"You double-crosser!" she hissed. Swiftly her hand shot to Marc's unsuspecting rear and two fingers closed wickedly. Instantly, Marc's eyes flew open and stared wildly at the judge as a piercing scream rent the courtroom and he leaped frantically forward. A small cry of terror was heard from the frightened judge as he disappeared beneath the bench.

"He's attacking me!" he screamed from the floor. "Get him out of here! Get them both out of here! Lock them up before they kill someone!"

As two official brutes closed in on them, Marc angrily faced Toffee.

"If you ever do anything like this again, I'll deliberately contract sleeping sickness!" he shouted.

* * * * *

Marc awoke wondering how long he had been asleep, and, in the grey morning light, began to inspect his quarters without enthusiasm. The cell that he occupied was like any other, but he had been lucky enough to have it all to himself. He lay, face up in the lower section of the steel, double-decker and reviewed the preceding night's activities. Suddenly, he started forward and propped himself up on one elbow. There was a form clearly outlined in the mattress above him. He tried to remember if anyone had been brought into the cell during the night. As he was thinking about it, the form stirred. Slowly, he advanced a hand to the mattress and prodded it gingerly. His suspicions were immediately confirmed.

"Good morning," called Toffee with a hateful cheerfulness as she peered down at him from the upper.

"I thought they put you in the women's quarters."

"They did, but I decided to materialize here, to be with you."

"But, if they find you here--," Marc gave it up. Things couldn't get any worse. "I hope you're happy about this." He waved his hand tragically at the cell.

"Well," said Toffee slowly. "I _can_ think of better places. Let's leave."

"And how do you propose to get out of here?"

"You mean they intend to keep us here?"

"It is likely, considering your performance before the judge last night, that we shall rot in this place."

"We'll just have to get out." Toffee's brow wrinkled sternly.

Marc looked grieved but made no reply. After several moments of concentrated thought, his face lit up.

"Now, look Toffee," he said, "You say that you can materialize anywhere. Suppose I doze off for a while, do you suppose you could manage to "come to" outside and get the keys to this trap? After all, they don't have our names, our real ones, on any of the records yet."

"I could do it with my eyes closed," Toffee cried happily.

"Well, don't get fancy about it."

Marc stretched out on the bed and closed his eyes, and everything became quiet in the cell for a time. Toffee waited expectantly but nothing happened. Marc swung his legs over the edge of the bed and cupped his chin in his hands.

"It's no use," he sighed. "I've too much on my mind.

"Try again," urged Toffee.

"It's no use I tell you."

Toffee sat up and glanced down at Marc. Slowly an intense expression crept over her face. Quietly, she reached down and removed one of her shoes, and regarded it sadly. She leaned over the edge of the bed and poised it over Marc's head. Closing her eyes, she swung the shoe downward as swiftly as she could. Marc slumped to the floor soundlessly.

* * * * *

Marc had been right in assuming that Joseph wouldn't be there to open the door for them. He fitted the key into the lock and turned it.

"You needn't have hit me so hard," he grumbled. Toffee looked hurt.

"I got you out of there, didn't I? Of course, maybe I shouldn't have left that note for the judge." Marc looked alarmed.

"What note?"

"Well, the poor dear was so disturbed about my parentage that I left a note explaining the whole thing. I guess it wasn't such a good idea."

"What did you tell him?"

"That my father was a Welsh." Toffee smiled mysteriously and crossed to inspect herself in the mantle mirror.

"I'm a wreck. You miss me while I fix up a bit?"

Marc fell into a chair as she left the room. He sat there regarding the apartment listlessly. It seemed to reflect his own life. Orderly, dignified, unexciting and infinitely lonely. Suddenly his reverie was interrupted by a knock at the door. He crossed and opened it. There, looking particularly miserable, stood Julie.

"I hope you'll excuse my coming here," she said timidly. "I've been waiting at the office for you all morning. I tried to call you here several times but there wasn't any answer. I decided to come over and wait for you. Its odd that Joseph didn't answer the phone.

"He wasn't in," said Marc. "Is something wrong?"

"Well, no--not exactly." Julie hesitated. "It's just that--well--it's just that--I want to quit my job with you, Mr. Pillsworth.

"What?" Marc's eyes widened with surprise.

"Yes, Mr. Pillsworth, I want to quit." The words came in a rush. "Now--today. I don't want to ever have to go back."

"But you mustn't leave." There was an immediacy in Marc's tone. "How would I get on without you? If it's a matter of salary--."

"No, it isn't that. You give me more than enough to get by on. As a matter of fact, I don't know where I'll ever get a better job."

Marc looked at her questioningly.

"Well, I don't know just how to explain it. It's just something that's come over me all of a sudden. I've a strange feeling that I'm wasting my life there, as if something were closing in on me to cut me off from everything I _really_ want--as though the job itself were a menace to my happiness. I guess it came over me yesterday when your cousin--

"Niece," interrupted Marc.

"--When your _niece_ was in the office. She seemed so gay, so much that I should be, but am not. It seemed only fair to talk to you first, before leaving." Marc glanced nervously toward the bedroom door.

"But what has the agency to do with it?"

"I wish I knew," said Julie. "It's just a feeling that I have."

"But I can't let you go, Julie." The note of urgency crept back into Marc's voice. "And you mustn't envy Toffee. You see, she's just escaping a dull existence herself--and only momentarily. She'll be returning soon. Perhaps right away." A sudden light came into Julie's eyes. "Besides, I know what you feel. I've felt the same thing myself for years. The trouble was that I let myself get used to it and after a time, I didn't know the difference. I'm sure I know how to help myself now and I think that I could help you too--if you'll let me--if you'll stay. Please don't leave, Julie."

As Julie listened to Marc, her expression became softly radiant.

"Perhaps you're right, Marc," she said quietly.

Marc reached out and took her hand in his. Suddenly, from behind the bedroom door, came the soft hiss of a shower. Instantly, Julie drew back.

* * * * *

"Joseph must be back," said Marc quickly.

"Taking a shower?"

"Oh, yes--he often takes showers this time of day. Very clean man. Says cleanliness is next to Godliness, or something of the sort. Very clean--spotless, you might say." Marc began to realize that he was babbling and stopped short.

"Of course," said Julie, smiling. "I should have remembered Joseph. It gave me rather a start, I thought we were alone.

"You'll be back in the morning then?" Marc asked anxiously. "Please say you will."

Julie regarded Marc thoughtfully.

"Yes," she said slowly. "It doesn't seem now that there was ever anything wrong." She turned toward the door.

"Julie--"

"Yes?" She turned, and as she did so Marc caught her in his arms. He kissed her briefly and released her, stepping back embarrassedly. Julie smiled up at him for a moment and then said quickly:

"It's a wonderful job, I wouldn't quit for anything." The door closed softly behind her.

When Toffee entered the living room she found Marc staring out of the window with a curiously foolish grin. She stood beside him for a moment and looked out at the city.

"Go put some clothes on," he said. Toffee was wrapped in a huge towel, draped precariously over one shoulder.

"What for? At this moment, more of me is covered, than at any time since we met."

"Yes I guess so." For a moment they stood silently before the window.

"Toffee--," Marc began.

"Yes, Marc?"

"Why are you here? What is it you want--really?"

"My wish is for you Marc, it has been from the beginning. If I've caused you trouble, perhaps it was because you needed it. I'll be returning soon, but I can't help wanting to linger for a while."

"But how will your return be accomplished?"

"You'll know when the times comes." She smiled up at him. "Maybe it's time I put those clothes on after all." She went into the bed room.

Marc slumped into a chair. In a way he had enjoyed Toffee and her trouble, but now she would be in the way. "You'll know when the time comes," she had said. He was certain that the time had arrived, but he still hadn't any idea about sending her back to the subconscious. Perhaps it would be best to go back to the beginning. How had it started? He reviewed the strange occurrence over and over again. For the fifth time, he went back to the beginning. Suddenly, he brought his fist down on the arm of the chair.

"Of course, that's it," he murmured. "Her father was a Welsh." He laughed shortly. "It's so simple, I should have known all along."

* * * * *

After a time, the bed room door flew open. Toffee was making a grand entrance. As she moved toward him, Marc thought briefly that he had never seen her so beguiling. At the center of the room, she paused.

"Isn't it wonderful? I like it even more than the black one."

"You might say, it leaves everything to be desired," said Marc.

"Oh?"

"--by some young swain," he added.

"Marc there just isn't any hope for you."

"I'd have agreed with you two days ago."

"And now?"

"Who knows?"

"I'm sure I don't."

"That's as it should be." Marc started for the bed room. "I could use a little sprucing up myself." At the door he turned back. "Suppose we make a special occasion of dinner tonight--go somewhere, where the food is especially good? I know a place that serves a wonderful welsh rarebit. I was there just night before last." Toffee's smile immediately disappeared and for a moment her eyes searched Marc's face, which had, suddenly, become quite serious. Her smile reappeared as suddenly as it had faded, but it seemed a bit more set.

"I'm sure I'll love it," she said.

Marc spoke slowly and his voice carried a touch of sadness.

"And remind me to stop by the drug-store for sleeping tablets. I ran out the other night."

"Sure Marc." Toffee looked away toward the window as Marc left the room.

* * * * *

The countryside had somehow reassembled itself--as lovely and serene as before, with a blue mist playing about the trees. Toffee and Marc moved down the hillside toward a small valley obscured by the mist.

"I should be angry with you," said Toffee. "You didn't waste any time in sending me back, once you knew how."

"You said I'd know when the time came."

"How did you find out?"

"I kept wondering where it had all started, and then I remembered that foods sometimes cause certain kinds of dreams. Then too, I remembered that you had said that your father was a Welsh. I didn't have to be clever to put it all together and get welch rarebit, especially since it was the very thing I had eaten the first night. It all seemed pretty silly, but somehow it sort of fitted in with what's happened. You're not angry are you?" He looked down at her affectionately.

"Of course not, Marc. There's something you've forgotten. I exist only in your mind. I am as you see me. If I had stayed longer, if I had come to stand in the way of your happiness, I should have become ugly and wretched. I've served my purpose and it's time for me to return. Really, you haven't so much to do with it as you suppose. It's been a wonderful adventure for me, Marc."

"I'm glad, Toffee," Marc said simply. "I'll never forget what you've done for me."

"Just remember Marc, that I'm not so unlike other, ordinary women. There is none of us who can remain lovely unless she does so in the eyes of a man whom she loves. Be good to Julie."

"You knew about Julie?"

"Of course," laughed Toffee. "I knew from the beginning, before you did. I know more about you than you do yourself. That's another point I hold in common with other women."

They had reached the edge of the valley and suddenly Toffee stopped.

"This is where I have to leave you." She smiled up at Marc. Suddenly, he took her in his arms, very tenderly, and kissed her. As he released her, the bell began to ring in the distance, as it had before.

"Goodbye," Toffee said softly, starting toward the valley.

As she moved, the earth seemed to dissolve behind her, leaving a narrow chasm between them. With each step the bell became more and more distinct. Suddenly, impulsively, Marc turned toward her.

"Wait!" he called, and reached out a hand to her.

* * * * *

Marc's hand fell to the alarm clock and he awakened to a bright, new morning with a vague sense of loss. Suddenly he swung his legs over the edge of the bed and got to his feet.

Julie would be at the office. He didn't want to be late.