V
"Mummay, cawn't I have a qwick bedtime stowway before I go 'ome? Pwease!" a now fully clothed, cloched, and cloaked Aggie cutely begs of Mary as she blithely hops down the front steps, with Emilie trailing behind. Now at just half past nine the rain has completely ceased, with only thick droplets plummeting from eaves, trees and lampposts. The night air is damp and cool, and a certain lush stillness drapes the sodden neighborhood.
Mary smiles and sighs wearily. "Ohhh, no, I don't think so, little one, not tonight."
"But-but I wanna hear da stowway 'bout 'Da Button an' da Bwown-Hole!'"
"What the-?!" Emilie interjects.
"I've already said 'no' to you before, and I shan't change my mind now. The taxi will be here-"
"But
Mummay!-"
"No. And mind that's a soft, patient 'no', understand?"
"But dag nabbit, I said 'please!'"Aggie protests.
"No, you said 'pwease', not 'please'. Not the same thing."
"Yes, it-is. Or...wait..."
Emilie chuckles. "I don't know what you two are going on about but you could probably play the Vaudeville Theatre with material like that."
"I rather doubt it, but thank you, Emilie," Aggie says with a small curtsey.
"Oh, that's not my name, just that of the unsung lady I showed up as tonight. In fact, may I formally introduce myself, at least for your sake, Miss Dovecote?"
"Oh, please call me Aggie, Agrippina if you're ever really quite upset with me."
"Ha ha! I'm sure I shan't be, but will do. Anyway, my real name is Lidia Belzoni, soprano
suprema of the Royal London Opera, at your service, though of course you already know that, Mary. Yes, my name may be richly Italian but I've lived only in England my whole life and consider myself totally British, though I must admit I really quite enjoyed that American beer you'd been drinking all evening, Miss D-Aggie."
"It's the smokiness that gives Schmpf such a swell flavor. And like their slogan says: 'Schmpf's Got Oomph!'"
"Actually I loved it. I hope you'll consider importing more for your July bash, Mary."
"Only if you'll come and perform again."
"I suppose, but only if I may sing arias and not those...well, actually I did enjoy performing at least some of those odd popular songs you asked me to sing. Perhaps if I could alternate between those and my
bella arias next time?"
"That would be perfectly fine, Lidia."
"Um, Aggie, I also wanted to thank you for what you did for me with those awful little twits earlier. Maestro Contini informed me of it after I escaped that...well, orgy, I suppose it was. My God!" She shoots a look of disgust at Mary, who shrugs. "I know you didn't have to do it but still, thank you." She offers her hand, which Aggie immediately shakes.
"Oh, you're quite welcome, Lidia; they were just so absolutely consarned rude to you. And I, in my turn, would like to thank you for your comforting words after my...my..." Aggie blushes and glances shyly down at the sidewalk.
Emilie touches Aggie's arm and sighs. "I saw you from my dais, and as far as that went you had no other choice. And it doesn't matter how much you've had or how ever much they seem to look down on you
they could and should have ceased their bloody waltzing and aided you in your time of need by allowing you to reach the w.c. before that happened. Hmpf! Noblesse oblige, my fat bottom!"
"I believe Lidia's right, Ag," adds Mary. "I'm really beginning to think I shouldn't have any of these uncouth people in my home in future, even for any more of my parties. I've actually quite had it now with the, yes, Lidia, little orgies or whatever they are and the grotesque public display of their
haute addictions that I've graciously allowed. But even if I invited the same number as tonight they would all probably RSVP as 'no' in half a heartbeat, and if so then so be it. To hell with 'em! And wipe that pout off of your face, Ag, I know what you're thinking! Self-flagellation does not become you, so stop it!"
Aggie shapes her moue into a small amused grin and curtsies once more.
"If I may change the subject," says Lidia, "could you please tell me who they are?" She points up to the large drawing room window where two women and a man amiably chat and occasionally glance down at them, the women sipping from slender champagne glasses and the man from a beer bottle. "They said as we were going out that they were wary of more rain coming, even though they do seem to be getting wet enough anyway! It's understandable, I suppose."
"Aw, he's got the last Schmpf from the tub!" moans Aggie.
"Don't worry, pet, I have some more in the icebox. That blonde lady there, Lidia, is Diana Dumont, and that other blonde is Floradora Canning. Adora, for short.
"Well, how
adora-ble! Weren't they the Wilde and Douglas duo from the party?"
"Yes, and they've also just used up all the hot water in my shower bath."
"Both?" Lidia leans closer to Mary and whispers, "I don't want to assume wrongly, and know I shouldn't assume at all, but...are they-?
Mary winks. "Oh yes, they are. Indeed."
A smile flickers across Lidia's lips. "Interesting. What-do they do?"
"They're cohabitating co-artists, call themselves 'neo-Fauvists'. They basically paint abstracts on large canvases, but you won't find any of them displayed in London's more 'respectable' galleries. Mostly they've been sold to scarcely lit bohemian West End clubs with rather peculiar names like 'Adad' and 'Schmerz'. But what's incredible is that Di and Addie have earned more than enough - oh, what was that word Ag used? - dough from selling them to get by on."
"All right. Well, as co-neo-Fauvists do they use any method in particular?"
Aggie and Mary swap uneasy glances. "Method?" Aggie asks.
"Why, yes. Do they have one? It's not any sort of special secret, is it, because I'll understand-"
"No, it's nothing like that," Mary says. "It's just...it's a bit..."
"Scandalous," Aggie finishes.
Lidia laughs softly and shakes her head. "Really? Ladies, I'm an operatic soprano who for the last few hours has regaled those people with songs like 'How Ya Gonna Keep 'Em Down On The Farm After They've Seen Paree?' and 'I Scream You Scream We All Scream For Ice Cream' and such like oddities! Now that may be just enough, or perhaps not even enough, to cause a bit of chatter, and I can certainly bear up against that
, but even if you say there's madness in their method (so to speak) I could probably match that with stories of nearly every one in my company rutting like mad pigs, some some even in public! Yes! There was, for example, Olimpia Puzzini and Jan Dubcek naked under a table at the Folies Bergere-"
Mary coughs loudly.
"Right. Oh well, another time, perhaps. But I so wanted to tell you what they did with the tray of butter pats! And believe me, ladies, it was quite wicked!"
"Just out of curiosity, Lidia," says Aggie, "if you would have no problem relating such a story to us then why did you rush away from that orgy, or whatever it was, like I saw you do?"
"I'm not a prude, Aggie. I have nothing at all against sex except when it's about to be vigorously performed in my vicinity by other randy buffoons, that's all. Ugh! But returning to Misses Dumont and Canning, please tell me what their method of painting is. If it's not such a
fottuto secret then, what?"
"They actually don't use traditional canvasses, per se," says Mary. "Instead they unroll large sheets of paper on the floor of their flat, get just drunk enough to still be able know what they're about, then strip naked and lovingly slather each other's bodies in primary colors. And then the work begins."
"H-how?" Lidia asks breathlessly.
"Simple. They careen all over the papers whilst making violent, torrid love to each other. Then they make violent, torrid love again whilst showering off all that slimy paint and waiting for their masterpieces to dry. Then afterwards there's the framing and selling and displaying and all that tedious stuff, but their method is a rather interesting one, yes? And scandalous perhaps even in this day and age. I should also add that all their output has been rather impressive, if not a bit untidy."
"Mary, remember the one we saw a year ago at that Negro club in Kensington, the one I think was called 'Jelly's Jumpin' Hot Box?'"
"Yes! Good memory, Ag! Now
that was a night!"
"So-so do they have paintings on show at various places in London, then?" asks a stunned Lidia.
"In the West End, mostly. Would you like to know where they're all located, Lidia, if you want to view them? They really are quite good.'"
"Actually yes, but not tonight. I'll ring you before the week's out."
"Lovely. I'll be sure to expect your call, then."
Lidia glances back up at the window. "They do make a nice couple, don't they?"
"They do, indeed," says Aggie softly.
"And him? What's his story?"
"Ah, that is-" Mary begins, but stops and gazes dreamily up at the man, who pauses in his muffled conversation with Diana and Adora to beam warmly at her.
"Mary, are you all right?" asks Lidia.
"Hm? Oh, yes. Um, he's Lord Archibald - no, Arch, Arch Windham. Or Archie. He despises being called that. A-archibald, I m-mean. Ahem!"
"What! He's a
lord, Mary?" Aggie asks incredulously.
"Yes, Arch is a nib, but he's a good nib - no, a good friend I've known since we were both quite small. And what he did tonight absolutely proves it."
"What he did? Wait! He was one of those naked 'Titan' chaps, wasn't he?"
"Yes, he was, Ag."
"Quite a good friend indeed!" murmurs Lidia.
"And brave," adds Aggie. "But where are the other three, Mary? Did they leave already?"
"Yes, they needed to go, but they give you their regards and hope you're doing much better now."
"Oh, that's nice! Would you please thank them for me if and when you see them next?"
"Of course."
"And here's your taxi at last, Aggie," says Lidia, as yet another one sidles up next to the ladies on the curb.
"Summon call fer a cab?" the old gruff-looking, bewhiskered driver, quite different from the young and curious one from six o'clock, asks through the half-open passenger window.
"I did, for my friend here," Mary tells him.
"Excuse me, sir," Aggie says, "but could you wait for just a few more minutes? There's something I need to do."
"Ag?"
"Be right back." She hurries back up the front stairs and disappears into the house, only to re-emerge seconds later in the front window where she energetically exchanges friendly goodbyes and quick pecks with the three young people.
"Arww, whatsis then, eh?" mutters the cabman. "Bloody wimmen allus needin' one more convo 'fore they go!"
"Oh, hold your damn horses!" Mary chides sharply.
"Yes, and the horsepower they came with! Stay put! And shush!" adds Lidia.
"Arww!"
"All right, here I come!" says a hurriedly returning Aggie. "Please open that back door, Mary!"
"I say, would you like me to sing you off into the night, Aggie?" asks Lidia cheerfully. "I'll try to be as soft as possible."
"Will you really? That would be so lovely, yes, thank you!"
Aggie slides into the back seat as Lidia in
pianissimo begins "Addio, senza rancor" from
La Boheme.
"Oi, wot's that fat bird singin'?" demands the cabman. "Sounds arful!"
"It's opera! And that beautiful 'bird' told you to shush, you scary old thing!" snaps Mary.
"Hrmm!"
Mary leans into the taxi's interior. "Ag, do you still have that fare money?"
"Right here in my, I mean your coat pocket, thank you. I'll pay you ba-"
"No, no. And I hope you'll understand if I ask you not to call on me tomorrow, because I've got to refurnish the drawing room and have Cadwyn clean up some more. Hopefully she won't try to give notice again."
"That's fine. Shall I ring you tomorrow evening?"
"Absolutely!"
Aggie frowns. "And...Teddy?" she whispers.
"Ginny phoned when you ladies were in the shower. Her friend called his name as he drove around here and eventually found the poor man hiding and sobbing amongst some dustbins not far from here, but by now he should be safe and sound, completely warm and dry and clothed and doubtless taking late tea and biscuits back at his own flat in Whitechapel. No need to fret anymore."
"That poor man! Now I really must apologize-"
"You shall, you shall. Eventually." She again kisses Aggie gently on the forehead. "But it's good night for now, little one."
"Goo' night, Mummay. And Lidia? Thanks again."
Lidia winks.
"Se vuoi, se vuoi, serbarla a ricordo d'amor!"
Mary shuts the door and bangs twice on the side. "Take 'er away, cabbie! Bethnal Green!"
"Finally!" grunts the cabman. "Allus one more convo!"
As the taxi drives off Aggie waves a vigorous farewell
to her friends old and new, and they gladly mirror her. She eases back into the plush seat and sighs deeply as hot tears again flood her wan face, the last line of Lidia's aria cooing gently in her addled mind.
"Addio, senza rancor."
_____________________________________________________________
In the cozy dinginess of her flat's living room Aggie, swaddled in her robe and pajamas, relaxes in a tattered armchair under a dusty shaded lamp and pores intently over
Thrilling Wild Western Tales, an American pulp magazine, one of many issues of various genres she owns sloppily heaped up in a pile in the corner where she sits. Aggie lifts a cracked china teacup from the wobbly end table and imbibes another sip or two of chamomile tea; she dares to again peer into the
chiaroscuro eeriness of the room, laying eyes on the shadowy hulks of a faded green baize loveseat flush against the wall to her right, its own fraying antimacassar sadly complementing it in shoddiness, and just beneath it a small, cowering coffee table spotted with amoeba-shaped smudges, a poor relation of the one that served the 'Titans' well. And then near to these is the barely more fit twin of her chair diagonally facing her, in the gloom seeming almost to glare back in sullen envy.
Aggie cranes her neck to glance through the archway behind her into the dining area. The light only touches the rear frameworks of a few varnished oak chairs and part of a ghostly white tablecloth pending low to the thin butterscotch-colored carpet. She shudders and considers switching on another light or two, or even kindling a temporary fire in the hearth near her feet, but the yawn she barely stifles convinces her it's about time for bed. She rises and nearly trips over one of the two padded footstools in front of the hearth, but she cups her hands on the mantel and once again gazes lovingly at her most prized possession in the whole wide world: the pipe collection she inherited from her dear mother.
There aren't many of them, only about four or five perched upright in their ebony rack, mostly unremarkable. But Aggie smiles when she sees the corncob she remembers her mother smoking whenever she read
The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn, one of their mutually favorite books, aloud to her in the parlor after dinner, the smoke's writhing, pirouetting curls and its heavy sweetness hypnotizing the rapt girl into dreaminess amidst her mother's lively narration. The lucid memory makes Aggie suddenly wish she was taking a few puffs on it instead of drinking herbal tea by a dark fireplace. Her antique shelf clock pings eleven times, and with a heavy sigh she moves back to her chair.
She doesn't bother looking out at the damp city through her droplet-streaked window again, knowing it'll only remind her of Teddy, safe though he is and really much closer to her in distance than she knew before. Instead she looks over at the tall bookcase behind her chair and the many secondhand tomes of different sizes, colors and subjects crammed inside from top to bottom. Aggie folds a corner of the page of
Western Tales she had left off reading and lays it carefully on the pile. She takes a cursory look at her book collection and on a whim tugs out the thick
and raggedy
Pedant's History of England, Vol.1. She resits and flips casually through the first few pages, only to have her attention abruptly arrested by one of the few color pictures the book provides. It's one she remembers coming across here some years before and had given her at most a mild jolt, yet it now births a mischievous idea in her mind when she then remembers the third and last of Mary's annual parties. Aggie never attends it, though, instead opting to remain at home, read and smoke a pipe by a small, cozy (and existing) fire
. But now as she gapes at this picture with an obscene relish, her interest in that party - and the day it falls on - grows and strengthens quite intensely
.
Halloween.
Aggie chuckles.
Oh, good-bye, 'Time's Renewal', good-bye!
She snaps the book shut, drains her cup, and after surrendering her home to the patient darkness yawns deeply and shuffles off to bed.
DB/Ch.I-V, 2013-14
TO BE CONTINUED (EVENTUALLY)
IN 'AGGIE DOVECOTE: DOMESTIQUE'
Guess what, all?
I have a suggestion for Aggie's theme song, if she could have one.
Ready to hear it?
You sure?
Okay...here it is...
(Drum roll)
'Liberty' by Steve Vai!!
Hell, yeah!
I know it's an odd choice but I think it's perfect, and I hope you do, too.
I also hope you enjoyed reading this first of my three 'Aggie' stories.
Thank you all so much for your interest in my work.
