‘You’ve gone somewhat glassy-eyed,’ said Eddie. ‘Are you drunk already?’
‘No,’ said Jack. ‘No, I’m not. I was only thinking.’
‘About the dolly?’ Eddie raised his glass and would have winked had he been able.
‘About a lot of things,’ said Jack.
‘Well, don’t let me keep you from the dolly.’
‘No,’ said Jack. ‘The dolly can wait. We have a case to solve.’
‘Case-solving is done for the day,’ Eddie said. ‘We will start again upon the morrow, as refreshed as and as ready as.’
Jack sank two more glasses of beer.
‘Go on, Jack,’ said Eddie. ‘I’ll be fine here. Go and have a good evening out. I’ll see you here later if you want, or if you have a big night of it, then at Bill’s office at nine o’clock sharp tomorrow.’
‘Okay,’ said Jack, and he rose from his stool, being careful not to crack his head upon the ceiling. ‘If it’s okay, then I’ll see you tomorrow. Is it all right if I—’
‘Take Bill’s car? Of course.’
‘Nice,’ said Jack. ‘Then I’ll be off. And don’t drink too much, will you?’
Eddie slid Jack’s share of the remaining beers in his direction and said, ‘Goodbye, Jack.’
And Jack left Tinto’s Bar.
Jack drove slowly through the evening streets of Toy City. He could have driven at his normal breakneck pace, of course, but he only really did that to put the wind up Eddie. So Jack drove in a leisurely manner, even though he was late to meet the dolly.
Jack did do some thinking as he drove along, about Toy City and about Eddie, and Chief Inspector Bellis and the mysterious deaths of the cymbal-playing monkeys, and at length, when he arrived at Nadine’s Diner, he was none the wiser than when he’d set forth.
The dolly, Amelie, stood outside the now-lit-up diner, her shift done and her temper all-but. As Jack approached her in Bill’s car, he wondered a lot about her. She was, well, how could he put it? So lifelike. Just like a real girlfriend. Whatever a real girlfriend was. One of flesh and blood like himself, he supposed. Did that make his relationship with Amelie somewhat … indecent? Jack asked himself. Perverted? Wrong? Twisted?
‘Easy now,’ Jack told himself.
Amelie noticed Bill’s car before she recognised the driver. She made a very winsome face towards the shiny automobile and hitched up her short skirt a little to show a bit more leg.
‘Strumpet,’ said Jack to himself.
Bill’s car whispered to a standstill and Jack cranked down the window. ‘Care for a ride?’ said he.
‘You?’ and Amelie lowered her skirt. ‘It’s you. You’re late, you know.’
‘Blame the garage,’ said Jack. ‘I have just taken possession of this automobile.’
‘It’s yours?’ The dolly now fluttered her eyelids.
‘All mine,’ said Jack. ‘I have taken a new job. One with considerable cachet. Would you care for a ride?’
‘I would.’ And Amelie tottered around to the passenger door and entered Bill’s automobile.
‘It smells of manky old bear in here,’ she said as she twitched her pretty nose.
‘Mechanics,’ said Jack. ‘Highly skilled, but rarely bathed. You know how it is with the lower ranks.’
‘Oh, indeed I do.’ And the dolly crossed her legs. Such long legs they were, so shapely and slender. They were almost like re—
‘Where to?’ Jack asked. ‘A romantic drive in the moonlight?’
‘A show,’ said Amelie, adjusting her over-tight top, which looked to be under considerable strain from her enhanced front parts.
‘A show?’ Jack said, and his wonderings turned to his wallet. He wondered just how much money he had in it. Not a lot, he concluded, not a lot.
‘A lovely night for a drive,’ he said.
‘Then drive me to a show.’
‘A puppet show?’ Jack asked. ‘A Punch and Judy show?’
‘A proper show at a proper club. Let’s go to Old King Cole’s.’
‘Ah,’ said Jack, as Eddie had done whilst speaking to Chief Inspector Bellis.
‘You’re not ashamed to be seen with me, are you?’ asked Amelie.
‘No,’ said Jack. ‘Not at all. Anything but. If it’s Old King Cole’s you want, then Old King Cole’s you shall have.’
‘You are such a sweetie.’ Amelie leaned over and kissed Jack on the cheek. A delicate kiss, a sensuous kiss. Just like a re—
‘Old King Cole’s it is,’ said Jack.
Now Old King Cole was indeed a merry old soul and when he wasn’t writing self-help manuals, which was all of the time nowadays as he’d only written the one, he could mostly be found at his jazz club, a rather swank affair on Old King Cole Boulevard, a place where one came to be seen.
Old King Cole had long ago sacked his fiddlers three in favour of a more up-beat ensemble: a clockwork trio, comprised of a saxophonist, drummer and piano player. There had been a brief period when he had toyed with a twelve-piece cymbal-playing monkey ensemble, but in the end had considered it rather too avant-garde, preferring a more traditional sound. The sound of jazz.
Now jazz is jazz. You either love jazz or you hate it. There is no middle ground with jazz and it’s no good saying you like some jazz. Liking some jazz is not loving jazz. All right, neither is it hating jazz, but that is not the point. To truly love jazz you have to have a passion for it. You have to be able to get right inside it, to feel it, to … blah blah blah blah and so on and so forth and suchlike.
Old King Cole loved jazz. Before the passing of the infamous Edict Five, which had dispensed with royalty in Toy City, he had been King of Toy City and with him jazz had reigned supreme. After the ousting of the now infamous mad mayor, he was royalty once more and although jazz had never truly reigned supreme (in anyone’s opinion other than his own) it was back at the top with him, as far as he was concerned, and if you are King you can believe whatever you want because few will dare to contradict you.
Old King Cole’s jazz club was grand. It was stylish. It was magnificent. This was no gaudy piece of flash, this was old money spent well, the work of master builders.
It had been constructed to resemble a vast grand piano, atop it a gigantic candelabra, its candles spouting mighty flames. A liveried doorman, in a plush swaddle-shouldered snaff jacket with cross-stitched underpinnings and fluted snuff trumbles, stood to attention before double doors that twinkled with carbustions of cremmily, jaspur and filigold, made proud with Pultroon finials and crab-handle ‘Jerry’ turrets, after the style of Gondolese, but without the kerfundles.
On his feet the liveried doorman wore crab-toed Wainscotter boots in the trumped end-loungers style and*
On his head he wore a bowler hat.
Jack cruised up in Bill’s automobile, leaned out from his open window and bid the liveried doorman a good evening.
The liveried doorman viewed Jack down the length of his nose. A nose that had been considerably lengthened by the addition of an ivorine nasal Kirby-todger.†
Above his moustache.
‘Good evening to you, sir,’ said he, raising a richly ornamented glove, richly ornamented with …* ornaments. ‘The valet will park your car for you, your lordship. Kindly leave the keys with me.’
‘Splendid,’ said Jack, and he climbed from the car.
Amelie the dolly did likewise.
The liveried doorman stiffened slightly, in the manner of one who is suddenly taken aback. One who has seen something troubling.
Jack turned towards Amelie, who was struggling to pull down the hem of her minuscule skirt, which appeared rather keen to remain where it nestled.
‘Something bothering you?’ Jack asked the liveried doorman, affecting, as he did so, a most haughty tone.
‘Of course not, your lordship,’ said the liveried one, straightening a sleeve that was richly embellished with … rich embellishments.
As further liveried individuals swung wide the double-doors
, with their, er, pretty bits and bobs on them, Jack, with Amelie now on his arm, entered Old King Cole’s.
And Jack became all too suddenly aware that he was hardly dressed for the occasion. And he became suddenly aware of much more than that. Heads were turning, whispers were being whispered behind hands and there were tut-tut-tuttings in the air.
And then it dawned upon Jack that Amelie’s choice of Old King Cole’s for an evening out had hardly been arbitrary. She simply could not have gained entrance here alone, nor in the company of a non-human companion. She would never have got past the liveried doorman.
Another liveried personage now approached Jack. ‘Excuse me, your lordship,’ said he.
‘You are excused,’ said Jack. ‘Trouble me no more.’
‘But I regret that I must,’ said the fellow. ‘Are you a member here?’
‘Naturally,’ said Jack.
‘If I might just see your membership card?’
‘Well, if you must.’ Jack fished into a trenchcoat pocket, drew out his wallet and from this extracted his membership card.
The liveried personage took this, examined it at length, held it up to the light and examined it some more. Presently he returned it to Jack. ‘My apologies, your lordship,’ said he.
‘And I should think so, too,’ said Jack. ‘Now guide us to a favourable table and leave us there whilst you fetch champagne.’
‘Champagne?’ Amelie did girlish gigglings. The liveried personage led them to a table. It was a rather far-flung table some way away from the stage and in a somewhat darkened corner.
‘Is this the best table you have?’ Jack asked.
‘The very best, your lordship. The most exclusive. The most private.’
‘Then I suppose it will have to do. The champagne now, and make it your best.’
‘Our best?’
‘Your best,’ said Jack.
And Jack held out Amelie’s chair for her and the dolly settled into it. Jack sat himself down and rubbed his hands together.
‘You’re really a member here?’ asked Amelie.
‘Of course,’ said Jack. ‘A while back, Eddie and I performed a great service for Old King Cole – that of saving his life from the kindly, lovable white-haired old Toymaker’s evil twin. He made Eddie and me honorary life members of his club. Although now that I come to think of it, Eddie never received his membership card. It got lost in the post, or something.’
‘Is Eddie that manky bear who turned up at the diner today looking for work?’
‘Eddie is my bestest friend,’ said Jack. ‘In fact, he is my partner in my new business enterprise.’
‘You are in partnership with a teddy?’ Amelie raised pretty painted eyebrows and pursed her pretty pink lips.
‘This surprises you?’ Jack asked.
‘Teddies are so common,’ said Amelie.
Jack laughed. And the champagne arrived. The liveried personage immediately presented Jack with the bill.
Jack waved this away with the words, ‘I have an account here.’
‘You do?’ asked the dolly when she and Jack were alone once more.
‘Let’s not fuss with details,’ said Jack, pouring champagne. ‘Let’s just try to enjoy the evening.’
‘Dolly Dumpling is on,’ said Amelie. ‘I’ve always wanted to see her perform live. And I’ve always wanted to come here. It’s so big, isn’t it? And so lush.’
‘It’s certainly that.’ Jack tasted the champagne and found that it met with his taste. ‘But personally I hate it.’
Bubbles of champagne went up the dolly’s nose. ‘You hate it?’ she said. ‘You can’t hate this.’
‘I’m not blind,’ said Jack. ‘And neither are you. We both saw them whispering and pointing.’
‘Yes,’ said Amelie. ‘I know. I know that my kind aren’t welcome here.’
Jack shook his head. ‘Eddie was right,’ he said, ‘when he tried to change things, make them better. But it was your kind, as you call them, that rose up against him.’
‘I don’t understand,’ said Amelie. Further champagne bubbles did further ticklings.
‘That manky bear was once mayor,’ said Jack. ‘The mayor who tried to change things here.’
‘The mad mayor?’ Amelie sneezed out champagne. ‘That manky bear? But the mayor had blue glass eyes and those creepy hands.’
‘He cared,’ said Jack, ‘and still does. He would have changed things for the better.’
‘Things can’t be changed,’ said Amelie. ‘Change is wrong, everyone knows that. Things are supposed to be as things are. And toys are supposed to do what they were created for. That’s Holy Writ, everyone knows that. And no one could trust that mayor, not with those eyes and those creepy hands.’
Jack sighed and shrugged. ‘Drink your champagne. Do you like it, by the way?’
‘I love it,’ said Amelie. ‘And Jack?’
‘Yes?’ said Jack.
‘I love you, too.’
Now this caught Jack by surprise. And caused him confusion and shock. He had not reckoned on that. Had never reckoned on that. He’d worked with Amelie for four or five months at that diner. And yes they had become friendly. And yes they had become lovers. But that was only to say that they had ‘made love’, which is to say that they had ‘had sex’. Make love sounds nicer, but making love is really, truly, just having sex when it comes right down to it. And Amelie and Jack had come right down to it on quite a few occasions, and Jack had really been hoping that they would be coming-right-down-to-it once more, later, in the back of Bill’s car. Because location and circumstance are both big factors in making coming-right-down-to-it the very great fun that it should be. And it had not slipped by Jack that coming-right-down-to-it with Amelie had been pretty indistinguishable from coming-right-down-to-it with a re—
‘Don’t tell me you’re drunk already,’ said Jack, smiling as he did so.
‘No,’ said Amelie. ‘Not at all.’ And she blew Jack a kiss and thrust out her augmented front parts.
Jack blew her a kiss in return. ‘I think you’re lovely,’ he said.
‘But do you—’
‘Oh, look,’ said Jack, ‘there’s someone going up on the stage.’
That someone was Old King Cole.
He’d put on a bit of weight since the last time Jack had seen him. Put on a bit of age, too, as it happened.
‘He looks ill,’ said Jack.
And the old King did.
He had to be helped onto the stage by minions. It must be one of the best things about being a king, having minions. Minions and underlings. And if you are a wicked king, evil cat’s-paws, too. There’s a lot of joy to be had in being royalty. There did not, however, seem to be much in the way of joy to be found in Old King Cole’s present condition. Even though he did have the minions.
And everything.
His minions struggled to manoeuvre his considerable bulk. They pushed and pulled. And two of them, who seemed to chuckle as they did so, went, ‘To me,’ ‘To you,’ ‘To me,’ ‘To you,’ which won some appreciation from those who were into that kind of thing.*
The to-me-ing and to-you-ing minions positioned Old King Cole before the microphone. The old King one-two’d into it.
‘Good evening, my people,’ he said, once satisfied with his one-two-ings, ‘and welcome to Saturday night at Old King Cole’s.’
‘It’s Wednesday,’ said Amelie.
Jack just shrugged.
‘Welcome one, welcome all and welcome to an evening of jazz.’
‘Nice,’ said someone, for nowadays someone always does.
‘Tonight we have a very special treat. A lady who is big in jazz. And when I say big, I mean big. Tonight, we are honoured by a very big presence, a very big talent. It is my pleasure to introduce to you someone who needs no introduction. I give you the one, the only, the Dolly Dumpling.’
There was a bit of a drum roll from somewhere and the crowd at its tables set down its champagne and put its hands together.
/>
Further to-me-to-you-ings took place and Old King Cole was shuttled from the stage. Darkness fell, then lights came up. A curtain rose to reveal musicians. Clockwork musicians, all shiny and well polished, with pressed-tin instruments, printed-on tuxedos and matching moustaches. Matching what? you might ask. And well might you ask it. There was a sax player, a pianist and a drummer, too, and then behind them a further curtain rose and as it did so a spotlight fell.
And a gasp went up from the assembled crowd.
A gasp that was joined to by Jack.
She was simply enormous,
Her frock was a circus tent,
Her chins numbered more
Than a fine cricket score,
And her weight would an anvil have bent.
Her breasts were so large, and I’ll tell you how large,
For if larger there were, none there found them,
Her breasts were so large, and I’ll tell you how large,
They had little breasts orbiting round them.
‘What was that?’ asked Jack.
‘What was what?’ asked Amelie.
‘Must have been poetry, or something,’ said Jack. ‘But that is one big woman.’
And she was. They sort of cranked Dolly Dumpling forward. There was some winching gear involved, which in itself involved certain pulleys and blocks and some behind-the-scenes unwilling help from minions (who did at least say, ‘To me, to you,’) and liveried personages (who considered themselves above that sort of thing). Ropes groaned and blocks and winches strained and Dolly Dumpling moved forward.
The musicians cowered before her prodigious approach, and thanked whatever Gods they favoured when the approaching was done.
A microphone did lowerings on a wire and Dolly Dumpling breathed into it.
It was a deep, lustrous, sumptuous breath, a breath that had about it a fearsome sexuality. A deeply erotic breath was this, and its effect upon the crowd was manifest.
Toffs in dinner suits loosened their ties; ladies in crinolines fluttered their fans. Jack felt a shiver go through him.
Dolly Dumpling rippled as she breathed. It was a gentle rippling, but it, too, had its effect. That such a creature, of such an exaggerated size, could achieve such sensuality with a single breath and a bit of body rippling, seemed to Jack beyond all comprehension, but it was something, something extraordinary. Yet it was nothing, nothing at all, when set against the effect her voice had when that fat lady sang.