"Can't I?"
"But you mustn't!"
* * * * *
Toffee lowered herself sinuously to his side and leaned close to him.
She observed him amusedly through langorously lowered lids. "You're
going to see a lot of me, lover," she crooned, "in more ways than one.
If you want a word of sound advice, just relax and enjoy it. That way,
you won't get quite so messed up."
"Now, don't ..." Marc said thinly. "This is no time for nonsense!"
"This is precisely the time for nonsense," Toffee said, slipping a
cool, slim arm determinedly around his neck.
"Don't start anything!" Marc cried, trying without success to
disentangle himself. "Let go of me, you thinly-draped hussy."
"I only wonder why I'm so good to you," Toffee sighed. "I suppose it's
because you may not live much longer--if you don't behave yourself."
"You're not good to me!" Marc said desperately. "You're awful! You're
worse than...."
Whatever Toffee was worse than never came to light, for Marc's words
were smothered beneath a warm, lingering kiss that went beyond words. A
moment passed before she released him.
"There," Toffee said. "Now it doesn't matter if you survive; your life
has been rich and full."
"Now, see here, you," Marc said forcefully. "If you're thinking I'm
going to lounge around with you...."
"I'm only wondering if you're strong enough," Toffee said.
"Stop saying things like that!" Marc said, holding his voice steady
with an effort. "I'm not exaggerating when I say that you absolutely
must not materialize--not even a finger!"
"Oh, never just a finger!" Toffee said with false alarm. "I intend to
go much farther than that."
"Evidently," Marc said. "But you must realize...."
He stopped, for suddenly the valley had begun to blur, strangely, as
though it were seen through a panel of water-washed glass. Even as the
words died in his throat, a heavy greyness dripped through the sky,
dulling its radiance. On the horizon, the odd, feathery trees seemed
to melt and merge, and the grass upon which they were sitting became a
wavering sea of misty green.
"Oh, my gosh!" Marc gasped. He turned to Toffee, his eyes filled with
alarm. "Now, you've got to take me seriously...."
"Oh, I will!" Toffee said happily, locking her arms around his neck.
"I'm going to be positively grim about you!"
"No!" Marc cried. "Let go of me!" The darkness was coming rapidly now,
and the last traces of the sky were nearly gone. "Let go!"
"If I feel myself slipping," Toffee said breathlessly, "I'll just hook
my fingers in your ears." She drew her lips close to his ear. "Lover,"
she murmured, "I'm going to stick to you like a barnacle on a boat.
You'll never scrape me off!"
* * * * *
Marc stirred. He inched his hand forward tentatively over the cold
relentless surface of the floor and opened his eyes. For a moment he
couldn't think where he was, then the dull grey walls and the barred-in
opening that looked out on the passage brought it all back to him. He
raised himself to his knees and crawled forward. He grasped the bars
and dragged himself partially upright. Then he froze, staring fixedly
ahead.
At first it seemed only that his sight had dulled. Then slowly, out in
the passage, the haziness before him began to take form, languidly,
easily, gathering itself into a dismaying solidity. A bit at a time,
Toffee, working from the toes up, appeared in all her vivid aliveness
on the other side of the bars. Standing there against the background of
iron greyness, she seemed even more outrageously alive and lovely than
she had in his subconscious mind. And also more naked. She turned to
Marc and regarded him quizzically.
"Oh, no!" Marc wailed. "No, no! You can't be here!"
"But I am," Toffee said brightly. She studied the bars between them
with an air of bafflement. "What are you doing in that cage? Why don't
you come out?"
"I can't come out," Marc said. "This is a jail. I'm locked in."
"And I'm locked out," Toffee observed without favor. "We'll never get
anywhere that way. Where do I go to get the key?"
"You can't get the key," Marc said. "The jailer--or somebody--has
it--out there." He made a vague gesture toward the iron door at the end
of the passage.
"Then, I'll go ask him for it," Toffee said blandly and started away.
"No!" Marc yelled. "Don't go out there! Not like that!" He pressed
urgently against the bars. "Come back here!"
Perhaps it was the effort or maybe it was the awful thought of Toffee
loose in the jail, but suddenly it was all too much for him. Marc's
knees buckled and he slid toward the floor. Slowly he crumpled and
sprawled backwards. With an anguished murmur he passed out.
At the end of the passage, reaching for the door, Toffee quickly faded
and vanished into thin air.
It was only three minutes later when Sergeant Feeney, absorbed in a
copy of Shocking Stories, looked up apprehensively over the edge of the
magazine and turned a ghastly white. If he had not been mistaken--and
he certainly had not--there was an odd sort of fuzziness in the air
just beyond his feet at the other side of the desk. As he watched this
clouded bit of atmosphere, it alarmingly solidified, a bit at a time,
and became a strikingly beautiful redhead, clothed merely in what
appeared to be a pair of translucent kitchen curtains. The sergeant
gulped, and the magazine, which was already trembling like a leaf in a
wind storm, dropped from his nerveless hand.
"Here, now!" Sergeant Feeney gulped. "What do you think you are up to,
you?"
As soon as he had spoken, the sergeant was overwhelmed with a sense of
his own utter foolishness; the girl was obviously nothing more than a
trick of imagination and everyone knew that such things, no matter how
industriously one might question them, could not answer back.
"I'm looking for the key," Toffee replied amiably. "Marc fainted, but
I guess he's better now, or I wouldn't be here, would I? I have to go
away when he's asleep but when he wakes up I come right back again."
* * * * *
The sergeant jumped to his feet, upsetting his chair with a deafening
clatter. "Here, now!" he yelled. "Stop that!"
"Stop what?" Toffee asked innocently.
"Stop talking to me, now!" Sergeant Feeney gasped. "I'm a sober upright
minion of the law, and it's not right that the likes of you should come
jabberin' around so's I can hear it."
"Well, I don't see why not," Toffee said bewilderedly. "How am I going
to get the key, if I don't ask you for it?"
"There you go again!" the sergeant wailed. Trembling in every fiber of
his great hulking being, he turned away from her. "If you don't stop
it, now," he said, "I'm going to close my eyes, and then you won't be
there."
"But I have to have the key," Toffee protested.
"That does it!" the sergeant said woundedly. He closed his eyes so
tightly they might never have existed. "There, now!"
"Where?" Toffee said.
The sergeant visibly flinched. "Where what?" he asked faintly.
"Where's the key?"
"What key, for heaven's sake?"
"The key to the cages, of course. Where is it?"
The sergeant sighed. Then he straightened, and when he spoke again
there was an edge of craftiness to his voice. "If I point out the key
to you, will you take it and go away?"
"Instantly," Toffee agreed.
Promptly the sergeant pointed to the wall where the key hung on a metal
hook. "Help yourself," he said grandly. "And a pleasant journey to you."
"Thank you very much," Toffee said. "For so complete an imbecile,
you've been most cooperative." Moving to the hook, she removed the key,
and swinging it lightly on her finger, left the room.
The sergeant waited until he heard the door close, then opened his
eyes. Looking about, he began to chuckle to himself.
"Now, isn't it a wonder how easy you can outsmart a hallucination?" he
said to himself. "She's gone away happy as a lark, and anybody knows a
mere thing out of the thin air could never steal a key."
* * * * *
Only five minutes later Marc and Toffee descended the steps of the jail
and paused for a moment in the sun. Marc, still a little woozy in the
head, waited for his thoughts to clear.
"Are you sure he gave you that key?" he asked.
"He fairly begged me to take it," Toffee said. She glanced around
happily at the bright spring day. "What wonderful weather," she said.
"It makes you want to buy things, doesn't it, scandalous things that
hold you in just enough so that you can go all out. If you know what I
mean."
Marc glanced down at her brief costume. In the morning sun it seemed
almost non-existent. Quickly he took off his coat and held it out to
her. "Here!" he said imperatively, "put this on!"
"On one condition," Toffee said. "I want a new dress. I'm through
hinting about it."
"And you shall have one," Marc agreed. "No one ever needed one more
acutely."
With mild regret Toffee put the coat on. In it, she looked rather
like a shapely scarecrow whose lack of hands had been more than amply
compensated for by a pair of stunningly formed legs. This settled,
Marc shook his head, just to get the remaining cobwebs out, and looked
around.
"Are you sure this is all right," he asked, "my leaving like this?"
"The man gave me the key, didn't he?" Toffee said.
"I don't know," Marc said doubtfully. "I can't think quite clearly, but
somehow it doesn't seem quite regular."
"Regularity is so dull," Toffee said, "in spite of what all those
cereal manufacturers say."
Shrugging, Marc followed along as she started off down the street. A
passing delivery boy, catching sight of the briefly-draped redhead,
paused to whistle. Toffee waved at him happily and whistled back.
"Don't do that!" Marc said. "Stop attracting attention to yourself!"
Toffee grinned up at him. "It's myself that attracts attention to me,"
she said. "You made me that way and I must say I dearly love you for
it." Glancing down the street, her gaze stopped at a tall department
store building which was fronted by long, gleaming show windows. She
pointed to it eagerly. "That looks wonderfully extravagant," she said.
"Let's go charge things to your account."
As they approached the store, Marc's step became firmer, his head
unclouded. He stopped just outside the entrance with an abrupt burp.
"I just remembered," he said. "I've got to get out to the country
house. I.... What am I going to do with you, though?"
"You're going to buy me a ridiculous dress at a ridiculous price,"
Toffee said. "We'll worry about Julie and her shabby amours with that
lecherous paint-dauber later."
"How did you know about that?" Marc asked.
"From sitting around in that arid mind of yours," Toffee said.
"Sometimes I tune in on what's going on just out of sheer boredom."
* * * * *
Meanwhile, within the jail, a moiling drama of considerable scope was
swiftly reaching a head. Sergeant Feeney had discovered, with much
goggling of the eyes, that hallucinations not only could steal keys,
but had. With a thrill of horror he called in the members of the force
on duty, six in all, and instituted an inspection of the cells. In due
time, it was noted that the jail's prize prisoner had flown the coop.
"Mary, mother of triplets!" Sergeant Feeney shrieked. "We gotta get
that bird back in his cage before the chief hears of this!"
"He couldn't have gotten too far away, sergeant," one of the city's
hearties observed moodily. "We better scour the streets, I think."
"That's it!" Sergeant Feeney rasped, rushing blindly toward the
hallway. "Scour the streets men! Everybody scour! Follow me!"
* * * * *
Thus it was that Marc and Toffee, standing before the entrance to the
store, glanced casually back along the street just in time to witness
a disquieting eruption of blue-clad figures from the doorway of the
jail. So astonishing was the sight that they stood for a moment too
long watching it; Sergeant Feeney, catching sight of them, pointed an
excited finger in their direction.
"There they are!" he roared. "After them, men!"
"The bloodhounds!" Toffee yelled. Taking Marc's arm, she dragged him
forcibly through the entrance and inside the store. Counters laden with
colorful spring merchandise stretched before them in what seemed like
endless rows. A floor manager observed them curiously, and then moved
away.
"Come on!" Toffee said.
"You're insane!" Marc said. By now Toffee had led him to the stairs.
"We can't be bothered with dresses at a time like this."
"I'm going to have a spring dress," Toffee said determinedly. "No
matter what!"
A dark browed lady, upon overhearing this snatch of dialogue,
observed the ascending pair with brooding thoughtfulness. She turned
triumphantly to the pallid, grey-suited individual at her side, on whom
had befallen the misfortune of becoming her husband.
"There!" she said, pointing up the stairs to Toffee's flashing legs.
"That's exactly what I'm going to do next time I tell you I haven't
anything to wear and you ignore me. I'm going to strip down to the skin
and shame you in public. Then we'll see!"
"Then, everyone will see," the man observed gloomily. "There will
probably be fainting in the streets."
At this juncture, as Marc and Toffee disappeared up the stairs, there
was a blast at the entrance of the store, announcing that Sergeant
Feeney, his redoubtable six and his whistle had arrived and the
situation was slipping rapidly out of hand.
"Everyone stay where you are!" the good sergeant bellowed, charging
about frenziedly. "Everyone keep calm!" And so saying he dashed
headlong into a small grey-haired lady and knocked her forthwith to the
floor.
Displaying an agility not to be looked for in so old a party, the
sergeant's victim leaped to her feet and snatched up her parasol.
"Fool!" she snapped. "Idiot!"
"Stop hopping about!" the sergeant yelled, sitting up. "Everybody stay
still!"
"How can I stay still when you keep knocking me down?" the little woman
demanded hotly. She rapped the sergeant smartly across the bridge of
the nose to emphasize her point. "Lummox!"
The sergeant grabbed at his nose and observed the lady with deep-seated
hostility. "Lady," he said, "you're tamperin' with the law, you are!"
"You've tampered with worse than that!" the little lady retorted. "If I
were a little younger I'd have you for mashing!"
Meanwhile, Marc and Toffee, taking the stairs two at a time, had
reached the third floor where, in a dim cavern of soft lights and muted
music, the Parisian styles were being displayed, as they should be, on
lovely living models. Marc turned to Toffee and burped impatiently.
"If you're determined to do this," he said, "be quick about it." He
burped again. "The law is practically breathing down our necks!"
"Why do you keep making that revolting noise?" Toffee asked
interestedly. "It sounds like hogs rooting in the mire."
Marc winced at her indelicacy. "I can't help it," he said. "When I'm
upset it affects my stomach."
"Then do something about it," Toffee commanded airily and drifted away.
Marc started to protest that there was very little he could do about
it as long as she kept him upset, when he remembered the bottle the
druggist had given him and took it from his pocket. Removing the cap,
he took a deep, hurried draft. This done, he screwed the cap back on
and replaced the bottle in his pocket.
* * * * *
He completed this maneuver just in time, for no sooner did the syrup
hit his gullet than he issued an explosive cough and staggered forward
as though he had received a healthy blow from and to the rear. The
liquid burned inside him like liquid fire.
Gasping, he beat his chest for relief and steadied himself against the
wall with a trembling hand. The dizziness that he had only just gotten
rid of, returned. He closed his eyes in the hope that it would pass.
His eyes were still closed when the scream issued piercingly from
across the room. Opening them, he glanced across to where the models
appeared and almost wished he hadn't bothered. It was too insane.
Toffee had evidently found the dress she wanted, an ethereal affair
consisting of a couple of scraps of filmy stuff arranged to make its
wearer look like nothing so much as a gift-wrapped Diana out for
the kill. As Parisian dresses went, Marc supposed that this flimsy
confection was only a little bit worse than most, but it had one
glaring flaw which almost anyone--anyone, that is, but Toffee--would
have noticed at a glance; the dress was still on the model. Toffee,
however, was not deterred, not even by the girl's desperate screams.
She was industriously disrobing the poor creature before the startled
eyes of the other customers.
Marc, forgetting his dizziness, shoved himself away from the wall and
ran forward. "Stop!" he yelled. "You can't do that!"
Toffee cast him a fleeting glance over her shoulder, but did not stop
her frantic efforts with the illusive dress and the struggling model.
"It's difficult all right," she shot back, "but I think I can manage."
"Madam, please!" the model shrieked, her air of aloof stateliness
demolished. "Oh, _please_!"
From a curtained doorway, a small dark woman, the manageress of the
department, looked out and emitted a thin cry of disbelief. The model,
now stripped to the waist, was hugging herself in a paroxysm of horror.
Throwing back the curtains, the manageress ran forward.
"Madam!" she cried. "Madam! You really mustn't!" She hastened to
Toffee's side and tried to pull her away from the terrified girl. "If
you like the dress, please step back to the fitting room."
"Step back to the fitting room yourself!" Toffee snapped. "And don't
call me madam!"
"But the model...."
"She'll have to take her chances," Toffee gritted determinedly. "I need
this dress worse than she does." The skirt came free in her hand,
revealing the model in nothing more than a pair of very sheer panties.
"Oh, madam!" the girl wailed.
"Well, don't just stand there, exposing yourself!" the manageress
cried. "Grab something and put it on!"
Gazing about frantically, the girl's eyes shot to the next model who
had been displaying a negligee when all the trouble started. Reaching
out, she deftly grabbed the zipper and yanked. The garment relinquished
its hold and slithered to the floor in a vaporous cloud. The first
model snatched it up and hurriedly put it on. The second model, finding
herself revealed in the flesh, announced her shock in a shrill scream
and made a wild grab for the mink coat that lay in the lap of a nearby
customer. The customer, however, was too quick for her. Despite her
over-padded figure, she shot out of her chair on the run.
"No you don't!" she screamed, "not after all I went through to get
this!"
"Come back here!" the model yelled determinedly and took out in hot
pursuit.
* * * * *
As bedlam became the general order of the day in the salon, Sergeant
Feeney and his crew charged heroically up the stairway, announcing
their arrival with a shrill blast from the sergeant's whistle. At the
sight of the scrambling customers and models, the men in blue jolted to
a flat-footed halt.
"Lord in heaven!" the sergeant gasped, removing the whistle from
his lips. The fur-bearing customer and denuded model shot past him,
collided with a plaster manniquin and tumbled to the floor in a frantic
tangle of arms, legs and mink. The sergeant flushed furiously and
turned back to his followers. "Scour lightly here, men," he said. "We
don't want nobody bruised."
Taking advantage of the sergeant's momentary dismay, Marc shoved a bill
into the hand of the screaming manageress, grabbed Toffee, who had now
struggled into the dress, and, flanking the befuddled law, led her
quickly to the stairs.
"Hurry!" he said. "And be quiet."
"You're under arrest!" the sergeant roared behind them. "Everybody's
under arrest--probably!"
In record time, Marc and Toffee gained the level of the second floor
and kept on running. As they ran, Toffee returned Marc's coat and he
slipped it on.
The pain from the gas medicine had departed now, and Marc was feeling
better. In fact, now that he stopped to think about it, he was feeling
so much better he was actually beginning to enjoy himself. Striding
forward, counters, customers and gaping clerks fading rapidly into the
background, he even found time to admire Toffee's new finery.
"That's probably the briefest dress known to man," he remarked amiably.
"I hope it shall be well-known to man," Toffee returned happily. "One
man in particular. At least I shall endeavor to make it count for the
most."
"Or the least," Marc said.
Arms and legs flashing, they quitted the china department and,
according to the signs, entered Sportswear on the left and Imported
Liquors on the right. Thinking this a curious arrangement of
merchandise, Marc turned to Toffee. He started to speak, then jolted to
a halt with a thin wheeze of astonishment. Toffee stopped and turned
back.
"What's the matter?" she asked. "What are you gaping at?"
Marc could hardly believe his eyes. He had turned to Toffee only to
observe one of the most astonishing and upsetting things he had ever
witnessed. Before his very gaze, her new dress was slowly dissolving
into nothing. Already, the skirt had melted away to her thighs.
"Holy smoke!" Marc gasped. Then, feeling that affairs were rapidly
going too far, he looked quickly away. He fixed his eyes firmly on a
female manniquin costumed for tennis.
"What's the matter with you?" Toffee demanded.
"Your dress ..." Marc said weakly.
"My dress?" Toffee said. "What's the matter with my dress? I thought
you liked it."
Marc opened his mouth to answer, but the words refused to come;
suddenly he was confronted by still another cause for alarm. The
phenomenon that had so mysteriously struck Toffee had now transferred
itself to the manniquin. As he stared at it, the clothes began to fade
from its plaster torso with unbelievable rapidity.
"Good heavens!" Marc rasped. "Look at that!"
"Look at what?" Toffee said, staring at the manniquin. "What are you
carrying on so about?"