"Once Upon Another Time"
What with one thing and another, our gallant little threesome has been
undergoing several tiny setbacks lately: no sooner had they recovered from
the viccisitudes of the Lavender Pussycat Affair and narrowly escaped being
slung into the Bastille by enraged gendarmes after the regrettable Eiffel
Tower disaster (it may be made of steel, but no structure could be expected
to bear the weight of two thousand-plus rampaging Timbos, all intent on
showing their ummm,--devotion,--to a certain Monsieur Curry whose disguise as
an elderly elevator operator was cleverly penetrated by a blond Timbo whose
initials are Christine Z.) The Tower is being realigned and most of the
larger girders can be welded.
Tim, Dix and Rowan escaped, barely, with the help of the Diplomatique Corps
(those mail pouches are a tight fit, but any port in a storm) and spent the
next few weeks recuperating at Soda Springs, NM, licking their wounds...
Tim: "A little higher on the shoulder, thanks....aaaahhh."
Dix: "When you're finished with him, do me."
Rowan: "I knew that dog had therapeutic qualities...Here, Frank,--I have a
pulled tendon in the calf that could use some attention."
Baldrick: "My lord, I could,--"
Rowan: "No, you bloody couldn't. I know where your tongue has been, and you
can keep it there. In your for-want-of-a-better-term, mouth."
Dix: "This has been so relaxing...not a Timbo for miles around, fun in the
sun, adequate room service, all the cactus and sand anyone could want,--"
Tim [patting Frank:] "--Our private masseur..."
Dix: "...but I feel the need to get on with our lives. Cautiously, of
course."
Rowan [coaxing Frank with a Frito and indicating his calf muscle:] "Do you
seriously think that it's safe for us to resume our normal activities in any
known part of the world even now? Those dear little Timbo creatures have an
international network...remember those two Eskimo girls? Just when we
thought that the North Pole might be a safe retreat."
Tim: "Yes...how they blubbered when we escaped in the kayaks..."
Dix groans and throws a sofa cushion at him.
Baldrick clears his throat and tugs at Rowan's sleeve.
Baldrick: "My lord, I have a cunning plan..."
Rowan groans.
Baldrick: "No, really...we could all go back home and try going to some
other time,--"
Dixie: "Go out and play in traffic, Baldrick. I know that we're fourteen
miles from the highway, but the exercise will do you good."
Tim: "Baldrick is right."
Dix and Rowan: "???"
Tim: "'Time' is of the essence...I think that Baldrick may have something
there..."
* * *
A few nights later our trio slips quietly through the darkened streets of
West Hollywood and enters Tim's new home through the secret elm-shaded
entrance in the rear.
Tim: "When I find out who erected that neon sign on the roof spelling, 'Get
it Here,' heads will roll. I'm beginning to think that my new agent doesn't
always have my best interests at heart."
Our friends hurry downstairs to the spacious four-car garage and stand in a
circle contemplating a very large packing case. Baldrick, at a nod from
Rowan, takes a crowbar from the workbench and begins to open the crate.
Inside is revealed a large cumbersome boxlike affair with the words "Tieme
Maysheen" printed illiterately over the door...
* * *
To pick up the thread of our narrative, we left our pensive trio gazing
thoughtfully at the strange box-shaped affair sitting ominously in the middle
of Tim's garage...
Tim: "Do you mean to tell us that this oversized tea caddy is actually a
time machine?"
Rowan: "Yup. I didn't believe it either, but Baldrick seems to have set the
laws of physics at naught with this contraption. If you had seen 'Blackadder
Back and Forth', you would have noticed that I as the lead character had
achieved the British throne. With Kate Moss as my fetching consort."
Dix: "Consorting aside, why don't we choose a destination and give it a test
run?"
Tim: "We-e-ell, I must confess that I've often wondered about the historical
period surrounding the Siege of Troy..."
Rowan [tongue in cheek:] "Not to mention getting a look at the Face That
Sank a Thousand Ships, I presume?"
Tim [nonchalantly:] "Helen? I suppose I might just glance in her direction,
for the sake of scholarly research."
Dix: "What about you, Ro? Any research ideas of your own?"
Rowan: "Cleopatra's nose has often crossed my mind."
Tim: "Ummm...?"
Rowan: "I've read that had her nose been half an inch shorter, the history of
Egypt would have been entirely different. Since then, I've had a mental
picture of a short, dumpy and rather swarthy female with a nose like
Cyrano's."
As they speak, Tim, Dix and Rowan climb the two steps leading into the time
machine, followed by Baldrick. Frank, unwilling to be left out, slips in
behind them.
Dix [to Rowan:] "Watch out for asps...very dangerous. I actually have three
possibilites in mind...Fall River, Massachusetts on August 4, 1892, the
Whitechapel District in the late autumn of 1888 and Fort Sumner, New Mexico
at10:00 p.m. July 14, 1881..."
Tim: "So...you want to find out whether Lizzie Borden really hatcheted her
parents, who Jack the Ripper actually was..."
Rowan: "What about New Mexico?"
Dix: "I want to warn Billy the Kid that Pat Garrett is going to bushwhack him
at 11:30 p.m. and give him a chance to hit the trail."
The interior of the machine is rather crowded. There are only two benches on
the sides of the cramped little room, so Dix sits on Tim's lap. Rowan makes
room for Frank near him and Baldrick leans against the control board on the
opposite wall. Not a good idea, as it turns out, because his elbow brushes
against one of the knobby bits...
The machine begins to shudder convulsively and Dix slides off Tim's lap; a
whooshing sound is heard and the lights, two wall brackets with 40-watt
bulbs, dim and then go out.
Dix: "Ouch! Someone is standing on my hand."
Tim: "Sorry, let me help you up."
Rowan: "Baldrick, come here to me. I wish to kill you."
* * *
The time machine jerks to a halt somewhat like a load of bricks falling off
the back of a truck, and there is silence. The lights begin to flicker
again, but our friends decide not to linger inside the dim interior. Rowan
unlatches the door and pushes it open and they stumble out (having forgotten
about the the two outside steps).
Tim, Dix and Rowan find themselves sprawled on a grassy hillside surrounded
by large shady trees. Frank is ecstatic about this and romps off to amuse
himself.
Tim [brushing grass off his clothing:] "I wonder where we are."
Dix [picking dead leaves out of her hair:] "I wonder WHEN we are."
Rowan [staring at the others:] "To change the subject just a bit, unless my
eyes deceive me, both of you have...changed."
Dix: [staring at Tim and Rowan:] "You're right...both of you look about ten
years younger!"
Tim: "You do too."
Rowan: "Baldrick!!"
Baldrick nervously edges behind a tree and tries to look like a heap of leaf
mold, almost successfully. Rowan walks over to him and takes him by one ear.
Baldrick, who hasn't changed a bit, smiles up ingratiatingly: "I just
tightened up a few loose connections, my lord, an' I refilled the
airconditioner with some pond water so we would be comfy in case we come down
in a volcano or something..."
Dix: "'Pond water,' my foot. Rowan, your gnome must have found the Fountain
of Youth. If he can locate it again,--when we get back to our own time,--we
can make millions selling it in Hollywood, youth-culture capital of the
universe."
Tim has been noticing something: "You know, we must be quite near Hollywood.
I've just seen three antique automobiles pass on that side road over there.
Perhaps there's filming going on in the area."
Our trio wanders over for a better look. As they stand, screened by the
shrubbery, other cars go by.
Dix: "Wait a minute...all those vehicles look like early 1940's models. I
wonder..."
Rowan: "But we ARE quite near Hollywood." He points toward a distant hill,
where the HOLLYWOOD sign is gleaming whitely in the sunlight.
Tim: "Well, at least we've narrowed it down. I believe that the sign
originally spelled 'Hollywoodland' during the 1930's."
Rowan: "We can narrow it down still further." He reaches into his pocket
and pulls out a handful of change. "Where that road leads will be some form
of civilization; Baldrick, go and get us a newspaper. And a few periodicals
as well."
Dix: "Wait! Let's see those coins first...we mustn't try to spend money that
doesn't yet exist. The nickels are all right unless someone looks closely at
the dates; the dimes are useless if it's earlier than 1946. That's when
Roosevelt's head replaced the old Mercury ones. Quarters are all right,
except for the new commemoratives. Pennies are no good,--the wheat sheaves
were replaced by the Lincoln Memorial on the reverse in 1955 or so."
Tim: "Uh-oh." He takes out his billfold and riffles through the cash there.
"We'd better weed out all the new-issue bills too, the ones with the enlarged
Presidents' heads, unless we want to be jailed for passing counterfeit
money..."
* * *
A half hour later, Baldrick returns clutching a newspaper and several
magazines. Tim takes the newspaper and looks at the date:
Tim: "March 23, 1943. Ah, the Golden Age of Hollywood."
Dix, leafing through a large copy of LIFE magazine with a 10-cent cover
price: "Yes, when they were still making those huge technicolor musical
films. Also, we're in the middle of WWII..."
Rowan [paging through ESQUIRE:] "My, what the well-dressed man was wearing
is nothing like our present attire. Suits, hats, very garish neckwear..."
Dix glances down at her own outfit, casual Banana Republic beige slacks and a
"Kiss Me, You Fool" neon tee-shirt.
Dix: "Good point. We'd better find a secondhand clothing store so our
money will hold out longer."
Tim, as they stroll downhill near the street but ready to take cover in case
another car passes: "Be still, my heart,--look at that petrol station over
there with the sign of the Flying Red Horse,--39 cents a gallon!!!"
* * *
Good fortune has smiled upon our trio; they have been able to locate a thrift
shop specializing in used clothing and for a mere pittance are now dressed in
the prevailing 1940's modes...
Dix: "I like that classy Scotch tweed suit, Tim, and the fedora sets it off
beautifully."
Tim: "It does have a sort of Rex Harrison country-home air about it. Not bad
for $2.98."
Rowan: "I feel like George Raft in this dark blue double-breasted
pinstripe...perhaps we should stroll over to Warner Brothers and see if they
are currently shooting any gangster films."
Dix: "At these prices, I can't decide between the silk jersey bias cut Joan
Blondell model or this nifty rayon floral print that looks like Dorothy
Lamour's sarong, but with a skirt..."
Tim: "Have both. And don't forget the matching hats and bags. No lady would
venture out without them these days."
* * *
It is a clear cloudless and smog-free (!) day, so our friends decide to walk
rather than take one of the local buses.
Dix: "Yes, let's save our nickels. I'm starting to get hungry and we should
be getting near the Brown Derby."
Rowan [looking up at the sky:] "That's odd."
Tim: "Very odd,--it's blue, not brownish-yellow."
Dix: "Oh...you mean that sky-writing plane that's just made the two huge
dotted circles?"
Rowan: "I was expecting him to spell out a soft-drink ad."
Dix: "I guess that Howard Hughes is still trying to promote 'The Outlaw,'
Jane Russell's first movie...as I remember, he produced it in 1941 and
couldn't get a seal of approval for its release until 1947."
Tim: "Why was that?...Oh, I see. Too sexy for the times."
They are passing a theatre and stop for a moment to read the marquee and look
at the poster ads. "Across the Pacific" is double-billed with "Moon Over
Miami."
Dix: "Mmmm, eBay fodder. Look, Bogart, Betty Grable..."
Tim: "Come along. We can't stop and pry those posters loose; remember we
mustn't make any changes in the space-time continuum thingy or it could have
drastic results in the future."
Rowan [smiling slightly:] "Yes, indeed." [He catches sight of himself and
his companions in a plate-glass window and straightens his tie:] "So when we
all become the toasts of Hollywood, heaven only knows what effect our fame
will have on future generations."
Dix spots a familiar-looking young woman going into a jewelry store across
the street; she is dressed in high fashion: a sage-green fitted suit with
mink collar and cuffs and a straw illusion off-the-face wide-brimmed hat with
a short veil. Although about five feet four, she is wearing ankle-strap
platform pumps that match her suit and add another four inches to her height.
Dix: "I'd swear that was Joan Crawford. Wonder if we could convince her NOT
to adopt..."
Tim has stopped to look into that plate-glass window too; he adjusts his hat
to tilt over his left eyebrow.
Tim: "I'm still not used to my new persona...it's all very well to LOOK ten
years younger, but I have an inner maturity that's at odds with my
appearance, somehow."
Dix: "Same here. Anyway, I've always felt that a preoccupation with looks is
a little shallow...Beauty may be skin deep,--"
Tim: "Yes, skinned we'd probably lose a few points in overall
attractiveness."
Dix: Anyway it's always been intelligence, humor and personality that count
with me."
Rowan: "Lucky girl,--we all have masses of those qualities."
Tim: "True. As the great Johnny Mercer put it..." he starts to sing:
"When Madame Pompadour
Was on the ballroom floor,
Said all the gentlemen, 'Obviously
The Madame has the cutest...
Personality.'"
Dix [joining in:]
"And look at all the books
About duBarry's looks,
What was it made her the toast of Paree?
She had a well-developed
Personality."
Rowan [not to be outdone:]
"And what did Romeo
See in Juliet?
Pierrott in Pierette?
Jupiter in Juno?"
Tim and Dix: "You know..."
Tim:
"A girl can learn to spell,
And take dictation well,
And never sit on the boss's knee,
Unless she has a flawless
Personality."
Rowan:
"A girl can get somewhere
In spite of stringy hair
Or even just a bit bowed at the knee,
If she can show a pleasant
Personality."
Time, Dix and Rowan link arms and start doing a time step as they stroll
along. (There are a few pedestrians on the sidewalk, who watch admiringly
but unquestioningly: this is Hollywood and stranger things are always
happening here).
Tim:
"Why are certain girls
Offered certain things,
Like sable coats and wedding rings,
By men who wear their spats right?
That's right..."
Dix:
"So don't you say I'm smart,
Or have the kindest heart,
Or what a wonderful SISTER I'd be..."
[In a Marlene Dietrich growl:]
"Just tell me how you like my
Personality!"
Acknowledged a round of hearty applause from the bystanders, our friends come
to a halt in front of the Brown Derby restaurant and walk inside.
* * *
To Be Continued in Our Next Installment...
After our scribe's five week hiatus...
* * *
When we left off, our time-traveling trio who have found themselves
unexpectedly in the Hollywood of 1943 had just entered the Brown Derby for a
bite to eat...
Rowan: "And don't think it hasn't been a little slice of heaven,--standing
here waiting for a table for five weeks!"
Tim: "On the bright side, I've slimmed down dramatically."
Dix: "Sorry, fellas, I got sidetracked..."
As they are talking, a neat and businesslike waitress has hurried up and
escorted them to a table in the rear of the restaurant. She smiles
professionally and deals out three menus, then leaves them to decide on their
choices.
Tim: "I think I'll just start with one of everything, then have seconds."
Rowan (looking over the menu:) "I'm torn between a double order of Betty
Grable Prime Ribs and Lana Turner Deep-Dish Chicken Pie..."
Dix: "Hmmm, the Clark Gable Chateaubriand and the W. C. Fields Baked Ham are
hard to choose between."
The waitress, returning and overhearing them, "I'm afraid it's going to be
the Vera Vague Vegetable Plate all around. It's Meatless Tuesday,--don't you
know there's a war on?"
Dix: "Oops. Silly us."
As our friends munch their way sadly through the vegetable course, they
glance around at the other diners who are having similar meals.
Tim (sotto voce:) "Don't look now, but isn't that morose-looking fellow in
the rear booth very familiar?"
Rowan: "Yes. Humphrey Bogart. That prison pallor gives him away."
Dix: "Oh, he's graduated to more romantic roles...Casablanca, for instance.
And I'm still annoyed about that one...he let Peter Lorre be arrested by the
gendarmes and 'shot while escaping.'"
Tim: "Well, Lorre WAS playing a sneaky little parasite role in that one..."
Dix: "Still, he neutralized two Nazi agents and got away with the letters of
transit without which Ingrid Bergman and Paul Henreid would still be stuck in
Casablanca."
Rowan: "Quite right. He should have got a medal."
A short, somewhat sinister-looking dark-haired man has stopped beside their
table. He smiles ingratiatingly.
Man (in a soft pleasant voice with a Mittel-European accent:) "You are very
kind. I too think that poor Ugarte wass unneccessarily sacrificed..."
Dix (looking up into a pair of bulging brown hypnotic eyes:) "Wow! Peter
Lorre!"
Lorre bows in the continental style and raises Dix's hand to his lips: "Ich
kusse Ihre hande, Gnadige Fraulein," and does so.
Tim reaches behind himself and hurriedly pulls another chair to their table:
"Would you do us the honor, Mr. Lorre?"
Lorre smiles and joins them: "You are of course filming a musical? I
applauded the number you performed outside a few moments ago."
Dix: "Well. that was just an off-the-cuff little thing..."
Lorre (sighing heavily:) "It hass been my dream to appear in something light
and fluffy for a change...but no, Hitchock hass appropriated my servicess
again. I am to be a fiendish monster once more in his new film, 'Revenge of
the Crawling Dead'. I, who would not harm a,--"
At this moment, the customer behind him gets up to leave and trips over one
of Lorre's feet.
Lorre: "Vergotterischdammdummkopfterschwein!! Oh, good afternoon, Mr. Wayne.
What sunny weather we are having, is it not?"
John Wayne, reaching down to pat Peter on the shoulder: "Sorry 'bout that,
li'l feller." He continues out the door and Lorre mops his forehead.
Tim: "You were saying...?"
Lorre: "...that reminds me, I neffer get offered Westerns either. Perhaps
if I were to learn to ride horses...but they are so large and they make such
strange noises."
The waitress brings the check to their table and Lorre takes it: "Permit
me." Tim and Rowan start to protest but he overrules them. "It is not every
day I find such charming fresh faces or such good listeners; let this be my
treat."
As our friends exit the restaurant, Baldrick looks up hopefully from the
curbstone where he has been sailing sticks in the gutter.
Baldrick: "Any leftovers, my lord?"
Lorre stares at him.
Lorre: "Gott im himmel! It talks! My friends, your fortune is made!!"
* * *
Our friends have made a staunch new acquaintance in Peter Lorre (who has no
idea that they are accidentally visiting 1943 Hollywood from the year 2002,
thanks to the usual screw-up by Baldrick). When Lorre learns that they are
"new in town" and haven't yet made arrangements for a place to live, he
offers them his hospitality.
Lorre: "I am leasing an enormous pink elephant,--no, white elephant,--of a
house and at night it is rather lonely. I wander about hearing odd noises,
especially if I have been listening to the radio. 'Inner Sanctum,' 'The
Whistler,' 'Suspense,'--I have appeared on all these programs, but they still
frighten me."
That evening, Tim, Dix and Rowan are sitting in the spacious French
Provincial/Art Deco living room of Lorre's beautiful home on Mulholland
Drive. They are having second helpings of a rich Viennese torte and sipping
after-dinner brandy.
Dix [to Lorre:] "You were right,-this IS a showplace. And what a beautiful
view of Los Angeles you have."
Rowan: "Ten bedrooms and six baths...enough room for six clean guests and
four who aren't as particular about personal hygiene."
Tim: "I can't get over the decor...black marble, floor-to-ceiling mirrors
and chromium furniture with lipstick-red upholstery. And that's just the
kitchen..."
Lorre [smiling:] "This is Deanna Durbin's house. The charming youngster
with the beautiful coloratura soprano, you know. She would practice her
singing at all hours of the day and night, and her neighbor W. C. Fields was
somewhat disturbed by it. He lives three blocks from here, up the hillside,
and every time Miss Durbin would reach a high C several of his gin bottles
would shatter into fragments..."
Dix: "Uh-oh."
Lorre: "And so one day he arrived on her front doorstep cradling a shotgun
on his arm and suggested to her that her 'warbling' was endangering his
cellar...the collection of pre-War gin and other choice liquors that are now
so difficult to obtain...and that his shotgun was filled with bird-shot..."
Tim: "Did she take the hint?"
Rowan: "Coming from Fields, I should say it was more of an ultimatum."
Lorre: "She is a girl of spirit. I feel sure that she would have told him
to go away and roll his hoop, but then she noticed his other hand. He was
tossing and catching a rather large salt shaker."
Tim: "What...oh, I see."
Rowan: "I don't."
Dix: "The old catch-a-bird-by-putting-salt-on-its-tail gag."
Rowan: "The gag being that if one is near enough to salt the bird's tail,
the salt is unnecessary? Very unsubtle."
Lorre: "Miss Durbin decided to remove to her summer home in Palm Springs for
the duration. A friend told me that this place was available and I was
delighted to avail myself of the opportunity. If only it were not for those
strange nocturnal noises..."
Dix: "Not to change the subject, but who lives in that rather forbidding
mansion next door? The one with the overgrown hedges and the top-heavy
turrets?"
Tim: "Norma Desmond, by the looks of it."
Lorre: "I believe it to be empty. I have never seen anyone in the vicinity
and its windows are always dark."
Rowan: "Sounds suspicious, given the housing shortage."
Lorre sets down his brandy snifter and goes to the window which looks toward
the sinister house next door. He draws the curtains and returns.
Lorre [softly and with a new seriousness:] "I as you know am a refugee to
this beautiful country. I have seen things in my former homeland that I
shall not describe. You are British and American and I must request
assistance from someone I can trust..."
Tim and Rowan both reach for Lorre's hand and grasp it firmly. Dix nods.
Dix: "Rely on us."
Lorre: "I have reason to believe that the tenacles of the Gestapo have
stretched their slimy length to even this free country; that agents are
active in Hollywood and are planning a monstrous campaign to aid Hitler's
Reich to achieve victory!"
Rowan: "Over our dead bodies."
Tim: "Amen."
Dix [remembering that the Allies did indeed win the war:] "Absolutely,--you
can depend on us."
* * *
Tim, Dix and Rowan listen as Peter Lorre unfolds more details about the
threat to democracy which he has uncovered...
Lorre: "As you know, one of the most potent weapons in use by the Nazi Party
is propaganda...the Big Lie, as Hitler terms it. Somehow his agents have
infiltrated several Hollywood studios recently and managed to substitute for
newly released films,--reels of Hitler screaming out his plans for a New
World Order. With English subtitles."
Dix: "What was the audience reaction?"
Lorre: "Very encouraging. The patrons with one accord demanded their money
back. Many of them responded by throwing things at the screen, in one case
including the theatre seats."
Tim: "Nasty...but apparently not effective. I'm sure there's more to this
conspiracy."
Rowan: "Yes. Rhetoric isn't a match for heavy artillery."
Lorre [sighing and wiping his forehead with a handkerchief:] "You have put
your fingers on the spot. The films are merely a diversion, a smokescreen.
There is much worse to come."
He declines to say more at the moment, but suggests that our trio accompanies
him that evening to meet a mysterious contact for further information.
* * *
The fabled lights of Hollywood are not in evidence as the blackout is being
strictly enforced every night. The few street lights are hooded and cast
only a dim downward bluish glow; passing cars crawl along with tiny
fog-lights showing faintly. There are few pedestrians until our friends turn
a corner and see a line of servicemen heading for the doors of the Hollywood
Canteen, a huge darkened barnlike structure with welcoming banners and red,
white and blue bunting framing the entrance.
Inside, the joint is jumping.
Dix: "Look over there,--Lana Turner and Hedy Lamarr making sandwiches for the
boys."
Tim: "And there's Marlene Dietrich jitterbugging with a sailor."
Rowan: "And Bing Crosby and Bette Davis tending bar...[sotto voce] this is
like flipping through the pages of a vintage Film Fare magazine."
Lorre has been talking with the Master of Ceremonies, bandleader Benny
Goodman, and now returns to our friends.
Lorre: "I wonder whether you might care to fill an empty spot on the
entertainment schedule while I await my friend...the Andrews Sisters have
sent word that they will be delayed and they were to have been next on the
program." He hands Tim a mimeographed copy of Victory Songs.
Tim: "Delighted." He and Dix and Rowan wend their way throught the crowd
and up to the bandstand. Tim points out a number to Goodman and the band
starts playing their accompaniment as they sing:
Tim:
"Comin' in on a wing and a prayer...
Dix and Ro:
"Comin' in on a wing and a prayer...
All:
"Though there's one motor gone,
We will still carry on,
Comin' in on a wing and a prayer.
What a show!
What a fight!
Well, we really hit our target for tonight!
And we sing,
As we limp through the air:
Look below, there's our field over there...
With our full crew aboard,
And our faith in the Lord,
We're comin' in on a wing and a prayer..."
The crowd is hushed for a moment, then breaks into applause. Goodman
whispers to Tim, and points to another song in the book. Tim nods and the
orchestra begins a more upbeat number:
Tim:
"Down went the gunner,--
A bullet was his fate!"
Dix:
"Down went the gunner,--
And then the gunner's mate!"
Rowan:
"Up jumped the sky-pilot,
Gave the boys a look,--"
All:
"And manned the gun himself
As he laid aside the book!
Shouting,
Praise the Lord, and pass the ammunition!
Praise the Lord, we're not a-going fishin'!
Praise the Lord, and pass the ammunition
And we'll all stay free!
Praise the Lord, and swing into position,
Praise the Lord, we're on a mighty mission,--
Praise the Lord, we're all between perdition
And the deep blue sea!
'Twas the sky pilot said it,--
You've got to give him credt,--
For a son-of-a-gun of a gunner was he...
Praise the Lord and pass the ammunition
And we'll all STAY FREE!"
The entire crowd has joined in the song and shows its enthusiasm with loud
cheering. Tim, Dix and Rowan decide to mingle with the patrons in hopes of
getting some clue to the fiendish plot which has Lorre so worried.
Suddenly Dix spots a familiar face, a young woman in skin-tight red satin and
an upswept blond hairdo.
Dix: "Christine!"
Tim: "It can't be...how could she possibly have picked up our trail?"
Dix has plunged into the crowd and returns with a slender, smiling and
girlish-looking,--yes, it's Christine all right.
Rowan: "If I am not mistaken, we have been harboring the usual viper in our
bosoms. Baldrick!!"
Baldrick appears from behind the sandwich table, innocently munching a piece
of celery. "My lord?"
Rowan: "Can you explain how this young lady happened to arrive here?"
Baldrick: "Streetcar?"
Rowan [taking away the celery and jamming it into Baldrick's ear:] "I think
not. Explain."
Christine: "It was simple. I was casually for no reason just happening by
when the Time Machine was delivered and Baldrick very kindly offered to build
a little cubbyhole so I could ride along, just for observation purposes, of
course."
Tim: "Mmmm-hmmm. What was Baldrick's price this time?"
Baldrick: "A all-day pass to Tupperman's Turnip Paradise. It's that new
amusement farm with rides shaped like giant turnips, a turnip-petting corral,
toasted turnips on a stick..."
Dix [sighing:] "We get the picture. Are any more Timbos likely to crawl out
of the woodwork, or do we only have dear Christine for cannon fodder?"
Baldrick: "There wasn't room for more than one, so they drew straws."
Lorre hurries over to our friends, his face pale.
Lorre: "There iss no time to lose,--come with me!"
* * *
Our friends, augmented by Christine (who is as adhesive as ever ;)), find
themselves crowded into Peter Lorre's small black English Austin headed back
into the hills of Hollywood. He explains as they cautiously navigate the
darkened winding road to his home...
Lorre: "As you may have guessed, it iss no accident that I am living next
door to that peculiar 'deserted' mansion. We have reason to believe that it
is the headquarters for one of the espionage cells,--and thiss one is by far
the most dangerous..."
Dix: "So you're working for the Office of Special Services then?"
Lorre nods, keeping his eyes on the road. "Very hush-hush as the British
say."
Rowan: "The O.S.S. is most efficient."
Tim: "Just why is this particular group so dangerous?"
Lorre: "By accident two of our agents came upon a certain set of diagrams
for a hideous new weapon. Before they could transmit details, they
disappeared."
Dix: "But how does that tie this place in with the spies?"
Lorre: "A package about one foot square was delivered to our accomodation
depot last week. Opened, it was found to contain ashes and bits of human
bone,--from two different bodies. And through some carelessness or deep
design, the package had a return address..."
He pulls the car into his driveway and as our friends get out, he opens the
garage door and puts the car away.
Lorre: "...and when the materials were examined by fluoroscope, they
emitted a greenish glow suggestive of radioactivity."
* * *
A few minutes later our quiet little group has made a surreptitious entrance
into the dark mansion next door, through a coal cellar at the rear of the
house. Single file, they tiptoe upstairs through disused passage ways until
they come to a curtained recess with a railing.
Lorre [murmuring low:] "Thiss was a musician's gallery." He opens the dark
velvet curtains a bare two inches, and our friends peer through the narrow
opening. Below they can see a long table with a dozen chairs ranged along
its sides. Each chair contains a silent hooded figure in black robes. At
the near end of the room is a large framed picture of Hitler with a swastika
flag hanging beside it.
The hooded figure at the head of the table raises a hand in the Nazi salute
and the others all join in: "Heil, Hiter!"
The door at the end of the room opens and a very small hooded figure stumbles
in, pushing a trolley with a coffee service on it.
Rowan [very softly:] "If that's Baldrick!..."
It is. He circles the table handing cups to everyone and filling them with
coffee, slopping it generously on the tablecloth.
Hooded Figure No. 3: "Where did you get this clumsy oaf of a servant?"
Leader: "I found him searching through the garbage bin yesterday and pressed
him into service. As you know, our former servants had to be...dismissed
suddenly."
All laugh meaningfully.
Leader: "He is far too stupid to serve two masters,--are you not?"
Baldrick grins stupidly: "I'm so stupid I hold the last prize for stupidness
in the county of Stupid, your worship. I never expected a nice job like
this, working for nuns."
The Leader: "Quite. And now to our 'holy' work. Fetch that crate in the
hall."
Baldrick goes out and returns panting under the weight of the crate. He sets
it on the table and takes off the lid. Inside are a dozen large odd-looking
silvery metal weapons with foot-long tubular barrels.
Our friends press more closely to the opening in the drapes, craning to see
what is in the mysterious box, and (almost certainly by accident) Dix crowds
Christine against the railing,--the old wood cannot take the sudden strain
and Christine finds herself falling. She lands on the table below, upsetting
several coffee cups.
Dix: "Oooooppps..."
* * *
A few crowded moments have passed since Christine made her impromptu entrance
by landing on the conference table of a group of black-robed Nazi spies. Our
friends have been spotted, overpowered (Tim: "I knew we should have brought
some artillery...") and are now standing in a defiant line against the wall
of the of the meeting room.
Lorre [sotto voce to Tim:] "Stall them...the F. B. I. will be arriving
shortly."
Rowan [equally softly:] "I've also sent Baldrick for assistance, but by the
time he finds help they can all join in at our memorial service..."
Dix: [loudly to their captors:] "I suppose you so-called members of the
Master Race usually extend the accustomed courtesies to your victims?"
Leader [with one of the strange weapons in his hand and a sneer on the lower
half of his face, all that is visible beneath his hood:] "You shall all
receive the 'courtesy' of being used as a field demonstration of our new
Final Weapon!" With a mocking bow toward Dix and Christine who stare back at
him defiantly: "I suppose that you effete mongrel representatives of a
doomed race would like blindfolds?"
Dix: "Save 'em. But we WOULD all like a last cigarette, wouldn't we, gang?"
Tim: "I've been trying to quit,--" (Dix's foot finds his shin) "--but I
suppose one or two more won't hurt."
Rowan: "I HAD quit, but this seems the ideal time to renew the habit."
Lorre: "I usually smoke only imported Havanas. If I might go next door to my
home, there are some in my den..." (as the leader turns his weapon menacingly
in his direction) "...but I also find that Lucky Strikes are, as they say,
'so round, so firm, so fully packed...'"
Tim and Dix, who have each bought a few packs of cigarettes at the
unbelievable 1943 price of 10 cents a pack, quickly share out smokes for
their friends. The hooded figures have each picked up a weapon and are
forming into a firing squad facing them...
Although Tim, Dix, Rowan, Christine and a reluctant Peter Lorre smoke
ve-e-e-r-r-r-y slowly, all too soon their cigarettes are finished.
The menacing figures aim their weapons and as the leader drops his hand
abruptly there is a blinding row of bright green flashes...
A sickening odor of burnt flesh and thick pungent smoke fills the room.
Dix: "I feel fine,--how about you guys?"
They stare astounded at the sight that meets their eyes: twelve smoldering
piles of blackened foul-smelling ashes where the firing squad had been
standing.
Rowan [wiping his forehead:] "I could use another cigarette. Baldrick!"
Baldrick crawls out from under the table and smiles up innocently: "My
lord?"
Rowan: "Tell me all. Now."
Baldrick: "Well, my lord, when I went to that all-day Turnip Fair, I saw some
guns that shot turnips and if you hit the BIG turnip, you won a prize."
Tim: "Which was?..."
Baldrick: "A HUGE turnip. So when I saw these funny guns, I tried loading a
little turnip in each one of them but I didn't get a chance to try them out
before the head nun told me to bring them in..."
Christine: "Come here, Baldrick,--I'm about to kiss you."
Baldrick ducks shyly, but Christine thinks better of her offer and shakes his
hand instead.
Lorre: "Now you see what this 'deathray' can do. It causes spontaneous
human combustion in its targets."
Tim: "Much like those stories in the National Enquirer. I've heard that some
theories hold that the mysterious cases are caused by a combination of
alcohol and rage."
Dix: "Could be...I wonder if a very depressed person could fall victim to
spontaneous drowning? You know, awash in self-pity, the body would be found
with its lungs full of water and the rest of the room would be totally
dry..."
* * *
Tim, Dix, Rowan and Christine (and Frank and Baldrick) have decided that the
Timbo-infested twenty-first century is after all a safer place to be and have
returned to their starting place in Tim's garage.
As they disembark from the Time Machine, Tim has a thought.
Tim: "I can't help noticing that we have all regained our normal ages and
appearances. Baldrick, do you remember whereabouts you got the water with
which you filled up the air conditioner before we left?..."
A few minutes later, our friends are gazing at the corner of two busy
streets, where a brand-new car wash is advertising opening-day specials.
As they watch, a long sleek dusty black limousine drives into the entrance.
Moments later, a small black,--and very clean Volkswagen exits, dripping.
Tim: "Right. Let's go get a bite to eat."
The End (for this time travel). :)
Y(smokin')FT,
Dix