“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.[11]
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.”
11
And let’s be honest here, who isn’t? Because when it comes to royalty amongst the ranks of British entertainers, the Chuckle Brothers reign supreme. No? Well, please yourselves, then.