accused, asked, âDo you think I should confess?â
He had been bad-mouthing Grace, casting himself and the dog in comic anecdotesâsome outright lies, others mere hyperboleâwith Malcolm playing a world-weary Jeeves catering to the childish and self-indulgent whims of Grace. He was no kinder to her canine friends.
âConfess?â She shook her head slowly, a pinched look on her face. âWhy disappoint them? Theyâre old and alone. Probably you make their day. But you are an impostor. Yes?â
âMrs. Soloff, you always call a spade a spade.â
She shrugged, then asked to know what had happened during walkies that week and seemed amused by what he said. At least she smiled and did not annul it, as she so often did, by shaking her head and wincing. Mrs. Soloff was barely out of mourning. Because of this, Malcolm saved the high jinks for Faye.
âHere he is, the answer to my prayers. How are you this morning, Malcolm?â
âElated.â
Her pencilled-in eyebrows lifted curiously above the big white squares of her glasses frames. âWhat happened?â
âItâs Grace,â he said. âShe has come through for me at last.â
âExplain,â said Faye.
He hung up his coat. âYou remember Mitzi?â
âElsa Parkerâs dog?â
âRight. Well, you know sheâs legally blind.â
âI didnât. Do you want a coffee? I think you have time.â
âDo I? All right.â Faye started to rise.
âIâll get it. You sit right there.â The coffee stand was in the reception area. Malcolm plugged in the kettle. âAnd you remember Hugh.â
âThe pug.â
âEpileptic, or so Mrs. Rodeck claims. We have yet to witness a seizure. And then thereâs Lady with her growth.â
âWhere is this growth youâre always talking about?â
âOn Lady.â
âWhere on Lady?â
âDonât make me say. Suffice it to know that its placement brings into question her very name.â
Faye stared at him.
âItâs pendulous,â he hinted.
âMalcolm.â
The kettle started to shriek. âWaterâs boiling!â he sang and turned away.
Already Faye was laughing. The phone rang and she answered, telling whoever was calling, âIs tomorrow all right? No, itâs not you, dear. Itâs Malcolm. Heâs got me in stitches here.â Hanging up, she hissed, âThat was Gwen Velve!â
âMiss Velve! Get away!â
âHer ears must have been burning!â
âNot hers. Ladyâs!â He brought over the coffee and Faye lifted her glasses and daubed her eyes before she took a sip. âPlease, Malcolm,â she begged. âTell me where it is.â
He made a show of relenting. âAll right, but donât ever mention it to Miss V. Itâs a teat gone berserk. A rear teat. It hangs almost to the ground.â
Faye grimaced. âWhy doesnât she have it taken off?â
âItâs benign! I donât believe thatâs the reason. She wants to fuss.â
âArenât they silly?â said Faye. âWhat about Grace? Whatâs the matter with her?â
âThis is why Iâm so overjoyed. Up until now Iâve had to stand there every day adding nothing to the conversation. You can imagine how difficult that is for me. âPoor Hugh,â says Mrs. Rodeck.â He imitated Mrs. Rodeckâs Britishness. ââHe had another fit.ââ âWhat about Mitzi?â Mrs. Parker counters. âShe fell down the stairs.ââ You get the picture? Well, Grace, she has an annoying habit, but it never occurred to me before that I might elevate it to a condition.â
He paused, toying.
âWhat?â asked Faye.
âShe piddles,â he said.
Faye slapped her knobbly hand down on the desk and snorted.
âParticularly when sheâs happy. She dribbles everywhere.
Carol Durand, Summer Prescott