I
Chiswick, West London
April, 1929
Mary Montague, daughter of the late Lord Bascom Montague, both peer and wealthy investor in South Africa's gold fields, again feels the tickle of warm drizzling rain on her hand as she grasps Charlie Chaplin's and welcomes both him and others waiting rather patiently behind him on the front stoop, including such luminaries as Isadora Duncan, Vincent van Gogh, and a giggling young Queen Victoria, to her third annual 'Dead or Alive' themed fancy dress party. She conducts her guests through the foyer and into the drawing room of her elegant apartment as her maid Cadwyn shakes the dampness off the umbrellas and then folds and plunges each one into a filigreed silver umbrella stand. It is nearly six o'clock, and Mary glances briefly into the drawing room at the current cluster of her invited guests; she surmises that the majority of them have indeed arrived, yet she pivots impatiently back to the doorway and stares into the gloomy evening and the thin curtain of rain illuminated against the shining streetlamps. The grandfather clock in the drawing room soon chimes six while at the same moment a purring yellow taxi creeps up alongside the curb. Now Mary fidgets with anticipation. After a moment or two the passenger door flies open and a figure heavily concealed in a voluminous black cloak, revealing little but a woman's white hands and slender ankles connected to feet shod in flesh-colored sandals, steps swiftly onto the wet pavement and shuts the door behind her. The amiable cabman, already paid and fiercely halted in advance at any attempt at assistance, lingers a bit longer, eager to witness the 'unveiling', if any. He is duly rewarded. The cloak bursts open to reveal a lovely young woman smiling and laughing out loud as she stretches her arms exuberantly over her head, delighting an ecstatic Mary and shocking the hurrying umbrella-toting passersby.
With the exception of a pinned cotton loincloth slung securely around her loins and the aforementioned sandals, Agrippina 'Aggie' Dovecote arrives quite naked and quite unfashionably late.
The satisfied cabman chuckles as he waves a polite farewell to the ladies and deftly weaves his car back onto the glistening street. Aggie darts up the stairs into Mary's welcoming arms, nearly knocking her backwards into the foyer. As Mary then closes the front door Aggie shakes droplets from her tousled chestnut tresses and pats her herself dry with a white bath towel a thoughtful Cadwyn hands to her.
"Did you leave Selfridge's around five or so?" Mary asks.
Aggie nods and warmly thanks Cadwyn before the latter takes both towel and cloak, curtseys and scurries away. "Well, you must realize that it always takes a bit of time and actual elbow grease to put this swell
ensemble together," says Aggie. "Mustn't disappoint, right? Though I usually do, anyway."
"But you are here as 'Time's Renewal' again? Nothing different?"
"No. Why fuck with the classics, Mary? And it's actually a funny thing, too: it occurred to me today that, when you really stop to consider it, Time
is a living entity of sorts, so my lovely little costume has some pertinence to the theme of your bash. Now how do you like
those apples?"
"Say, I do believe you've got something there, Ag!" Mary chirps brightly, then dramatically feigns a sigh. "Well, now, I really don't know what I shall do with those three symbolic cords of firewood I've gathered to burn you with for three years' worth of your fancy dress heresy. Tsk!"
"Hmm, true. I suppose save it all for a Guy Fawkes bonfire, only keep it away from that lot in there because they'd probably roast me in two shakes of a lamb's tail."
Mary stifles a chortle.
Aggie then looks Mary up and down. "I say, Mary, I rather adore your Mary Montague costume tonight," she says, indicating Mary's 18th century Turkish woman's dress. "I knew you would try it eventually. It suits you much better than George Sand ever did! You let them guess again, right? Did anyone ever get it?"
Mary shakes her head and sighs. "No, not this time, the bloody bastards! They're a sharp lot, too, so I think they were just having me on. I even degraded myself by inserting hints into some of my banter. 'Hello, I'm
Mary Montague!'
(They of course knew that already but I still emphasized.) '
Turkey is one of my favorite dinner courses!' (I may as well have been Mary Lamb as Mary Montague for the looks I got just from saying that one!) 'Oh, here's my maid Cadwyn. Please
letter take your umbrellas!' (Not bad, but not good enough. I wanted to use
epistle but didn't see any adequate conversational opening to talk of guns or urination.) And then finally, and sadly...wait for it...'
Seraglio doing this lovely spring evening?' Oh, Ag! And when I finally told them they usually just dryly laughed or smugly sashayed into the next room as if they didn't even hear me!"
"I'm really sorry about that, Mary, and-and I know it's because of me-"
"No, no, don't you ever dare apologize for those...
them, Aggie! Yes, as much as I do loathe many of them a party does require a generous amount of guests, I suppose, even if we do unfortunately share the same station in Life." She pauses thoughtfully. "Hmm. Wish you hadn't mentioned good old Sand to me because I really do miss wearing those trousers right now - so much easier to undo them to have a pee and...whatnot. Ah, well! But thanks much for the compliment, Ag."
"Naturally."
Mary's eyes suddenly widen. "Ooh! I should really let you know before you enter that there are...certain people who are here who you don't really...um...get along with."
Aggie sighs. "Just say her bloody name."
"All right." Mary takes a deep breath. "Anyway, Ginny Blompton is here as-"
"A bitch?" Aggie growls. "Again?"
"Oh, stop it! No! Anyway, she's here as Cleopatra, or some such glitzy version of her, with Tim and Poppy toddling right behind her, as usual; Tim is Caruso this year and Poppy is Mary Tudor. And witty girl that I am I've already dubbed them 'The Cleo Trio.'"
"Ha ha! Very good, Mary, but-" She quickly peeks into the drawing room. "I really think I should perhaps leave right now. I'm sorry but I don't want to face-"
"Oh no, you can't leave, my dear, because I haven't told you my other news yet, and you will absolutely
abhor it!"
"My goodness, really?"
"Oh, yes! You will scream. Do you remember the chap last year who came as Alexander the Great?"
"No. Oh wait, yes! Was he Teddy something?"
"Teddy Crewecott. Remember now? He's my bank clerk acquaintance from Whitechapel; he's supposedly sharing a flat with his sister and splitting the rent down the middle, though I've never met her and don't at all know what she does. But a bank clerk! Tch! You know, I'm sure if he really wanted to he could make an excellent showing as an artist's model. My God, especially with that firm build, that smooth, flaxen hair, those deep, Aegean-blue eyes...ohhh!"
"Snap out of it, girl! Say, wasn't he here back in '27, too?"
"Yes, as Nelson."
"Ah! Nelson and Alexander. Brave, spirited men both."
"Yes, but it's rather too bad he's so very timid, though an excellent listener, as the timid usually are."
"Right, so what exactly am I supposed to abhor and scream about, Mary? What is he tonight?
"
He says he's Eros."
"What, do you mean like the one in Piccadilly? That's quite a difference from the past."
"Well, he's not much like that one. Pretty close, though."
"Hmm, let me see...all right, so he must be wearing some hideous white cardboard wings on his back, for sure carrying at most a toy bow with a quiver of (obviously) toy arrows, and since he can't go 'round totally starkers he's probably sporting a sort of loincloth just like I am, yes?"
Mary grins knowingly and nods her head. "Yyessss, but it's really one of those out of three, my dear." She moves close to Aggie's ear and whispers,"And guess...which...one!"
"What?!"
"Shh, not so loud! But yes, that's right, you indeed have a twin here tonight. Unfortunately his 'nappy' hangs rather loosely, but I've also noticed that he seems to be wearing underwear, too, and it rather sticks out a bit, thereby belying the poor boy's bravado. I'll wager he could learn a thing or two from your own...well, 'arrangement,' I suppose you could call it."
"Yes, I suppose I could," Aggie mutters darkly.
"He actually smells rather nice, too, all lotion and talcum powder-y," Mary continues brightly. "Unless that's a horrid new kind of men's cologne, which then makes it a bit too much. But guess what? He's also walking around barefoot, too! Not really a bright notion even for playing Eros, who by the way is
also an allegory like yourself
. I mean, really, you two!"
"God-
damn, I cannot believe this! He is
not Eros!"
"Well, that's what he said he was. But what are you so upset about, Ag?"
"Don't you see, Mary?!" Aggie growls
sotto voce. "This is plagiarism! This is
my costume,
my brainchild! It doesn't matter to me one bit that - and yes, I'm well aware people have said this - that I'm not hauling around an onerous prop like an hourglass, wearing a slippery satin sash over my tits or a flimsy top hat on my weedy-haired noggin! Or even calling myself the
Infant fucking New Year, which I clearly am not! There's something to be said for originality, for daring, for not giving a shit about what anybody says,
especially by people who bloody hate me! And yes, do call it three years' repetitive, but I have never as an Englishwoman felt so god-damned liberated in my life
ever! I think that perhaps only an American woman would know how I feel, bless her! And I hope Teddy looks an absolute gangly ass in his 'nappy,' especially if it's as loose as you say it is."
"You'd hope, but would be quite, quite wrong. But Ag, what if this is his way of...well..."
Aggie's eyes narrow menacingly. "Oh, don't you even dare say-"
"...flattering you. And perhaps he also fancies you, as well. Yes, yes, of course! He fancies you, yet he's much too timid to talk to you, let alone anyone else, so this is way-"
"Stop it, Mary!" Aggie interjects firmly. "No! No, I doubt it's that, but...all right, is he in there now?"
"Unless he somehow left without our noticing, yes, he is."
Aggie sighs. "Well, I suppose I should see him for myself. It's high time I went in and faced them all, anyway. Could you please take this, Mary? Thanks." She hands the damp towel to her slightly disgusted friend.
"Are you still angry?" asks the latter.
"No, I think I'm feeling a bit more resigned now. Don't worry, I won't kill him. Cripple and disfigure him terribly beyond all recognition, perhaps, but not kill him."
"All in good time. But please do try to relax and enjoy yourself a bit first."
"Well, I'll try. I'm sorry I went off on you like that, Mary; you're always such a swell listener and-"
"No, no, think nothing of it. Now come on, button your brown-hole and-"
Aggie starts. "Wait, hold the telephone! Button my
what?!"
Mary chuckles. "It basically means 'shut up'. It's an ancient family saying, and I don't think I've ever really used 'til just now; a rather interesting tale hangs behind it, but I'll tell you all about that later. Besides, I have a little surprise waiting for you on the buffet table in there. And yes, it's been something you've been wanting for quite some time."
"Really? Gosh, thanks so much, Mary!"
"You go in first and then I'll move off into the...offing. Right. Oh! There's one more thing I should let you know before you make your grand entrance."
"Yes?"
"There are some robed gents out in the sitting room that I've arranged to do something quite interesting at around seven o'clock. I've told all the others this, too, but when you see them don't engage them any conversations, idle or otherwise, because I want them rested and composed for what's to come."
"Ooohhh!
'For what's to come!' Sounds ominously tantalizing, Mary! But no, I won't speak to them. I suppose I should skedaddle now."
"You are darn tooting, Ag!"
"Ha ha! Not bad, Mary. See you later!"
"Ta, girl."
As Aggie strolls out towards the drawing room she murmurs, "Brown-hole? Well, I can't wait for
that story!"
TO BE CONTINUED
