------------------------------------------------------------

Just a few evenings ago in Tim's den our three friends were crouched panting, 
heads together in front of a flickering monitor.

Tim:  "Look!  It's at $98.50!!  That's amazing."

Rowan: "It certainly is.  That somewhat battered edition of 'Rollo's Trip to 
Borneo and Afghanistan' couldn't have cost more than tuppence in its earliest 
state.  Calf bound with gilt edges and a signed dedication."

Dix:  "Well, it's all in knowing which books are old and rare and which ones 
are just old.  I happened to know that this particular book was recalled from 
publication because of a printing erratum on page 22 in which an unfortunate 
double meaning occured."

Tim: "Oh, really?  What was it?"

Dix whispers in his ear.

Rowan: "All right, I have ears too.  Ah, I see why it was rushed off the 
market..."

Tim:  "Quite.  I see you're also selling an early Charles Schulz paperback -- 
for over $100?!  Aren't you a 'Peanuts' fan?"

Dix:  "Yes...it would be practically un-American not to be.  But I don't 
collect them.  My favorite cartoonist of all time is Al Capp, and I wouldn't 
part with any of my Li'l Abner comic books and other memorabilia unless I 
were starving.  Why, I'd auction off my body first..."

Rowan: "Oh, I hardly think you'll need to go that far."

Tim: "Hmm.  I wasn't aware that that was the arrangement,--"

Dix playfully smacks him with a 1957 copy of Laugh Comics, bending the cover.

Dix: "That's all right; I didn't really want to sell this one. It has a Katy 
Keene story in it and they're getting quite hard to find."

Rowan: "Hand it here.  I always enjoyed the umm, art work in that series."

    *          *           *


The same scene, some hours later. Our trio is still tightly entwined,--umm, 
grouped around the monitor checking their eBay listings. 

Tim: "My, this *is* fun."

Rowan: "Almost as much fun as watching paint dry. Why aren't they bidding 
faster?"

Dix: "It's Sunday. Many bidders use computers at their places of business... 
anyway, you shouldn't complain,--your Mystery Package is up to 26 cents 
already."

Tim: "I meant to ask you about that, Ro. What's in that package?"

Rowan [innocently:] "Oh, just a specimen meant for scientifc experiments."

Dix: "Uh-huh. Was that why you packaged it in that oil drum marked 'Toxic 
Waste'?"

Rowan: "I believe in truth in advertising. It's high time that Baldrick made 
himself useful. If such a thing is possible."

Tim: "I wondered why that noxious odour of his seemed to have dispersed 
slightly."

Dix: "He *is* a little harder to smell through a few inches of steel..."

Rowan: "And some would say that that is reason enough for shipping him off to 
some fortunate bidder."

Tim and Dix: "How true."

Rowan [looking at the monitor:] "Ah, twenty-seven cents. Perhaps I shouldn't 
have placed such a high reserve on this desirable item."

Dix: "Oh, I'm sure someone will go to a dollar."

Tim: "Say, look at this auction,--someone is selling an autographed photo of 
me for $200. Hmmm, I could start a cottage industry myself and cut back on 
the voiceover work."

Dix: "Great idea. I know quite a number of Timbos who are getting frustrated 
at being beaten at the last minute of these sales."

Rowan: "Odd girls. When they might just as easily acquire MY autograph at a 
reasonable figure."

Dix: "Speaking of reasonable figures, mine is getting slimmer by the minute. 
What say we go out to dinner? I mean now that your former servant isn't 
going to be anywhere near the kitchen again, thank God, I could go for some 
REAL Steak Bernaise for a change."

The vote is unanimous and our trio heads out for the bright lights and 
steaming platters of a little French restaurant in the heart of Hollywood.

            *            *            *

Our scene opens a few evenings later.  Nothing has changed in Tim's den 
except that Dix is lashed to the computer chair by a dozen yards of twisted 
bubble wrap, Tim is poking the fire which is blazing merrily as he feeds 
leftover bits of packing material into it and Rowan is seated on the couch 
glancing through the current issue of "eBay Addicts Anonymous."

Dix [plaintively:] "All right, I agree,--I won't list any more items for a 
week if you'll untie me."

Rowan [not bothering to look up from his magazine:] "Don't listen to her.  
Remember her spurious promises not to *buy* any more books for a week?"

Tim takes pity on Dix who is fixing him with a melting, wistful gaze, and 
cuts the bubble wrap loose.  He is rewarded with a radiant smile and a big 
warm affectionate lingering kiss.  Rowan does look up in time to catch the 
finale and tosses the magazine to Frank.

Rowan: "Ah, bribery.  Works for me too."  He collects a somewhat smaller kiss 
for not being the one to set Dix free.

Dix: "You're both right.  I've been spending way too much time online.  It's 
just that it's so fascinating watching the numbers climb..."

Tim:  "Like that throat-cutting exhibition over that little Peanuts 
paperback?  I couldn't believe it would reach that figure."

Dix: "Well, it *was* a first state, first edition from 1953.  And the winner 
will probably sell it for even more."

Rowan: "I find that hard to believe.  If age were the only criteria, Tim's 
diary should be fetching more than the pitiful six shillings I've been 
offered."

Tim: "What?  I've never *kept* a diary!"

Rowan:  "Oh, haven't you?  Well, perhaps not.  It's just a little thing I 
scribbled the other day, having nothing better to do while Dix was immovably 
glued to her computer."

Dix: "That sounds almost like forgery, Ro.  Only six shillings?  Oh, by the 
way, look what I found when I was digging through the book boxes in the 
garage the other day."

She passes Tim a copy of Mad magazine. 

Tim: "Hmm, it's the January, 1983 issue, number 236, with a cover picture of 
E.T, the Extra-Terrestrial.  And so?"

Dix: "Look at the top where it says, 'Annie,' you adorable silly little Brit."

Rowan [looking over Tim's shoulder:] "Well, open it and let's see how the Mad 
artists caricatured you.  If you dare."

Our trio examines the story, "Awful Annie" and finds four nifty little 
sketches of Tim as Rooster.  

Dix:  "This is definitely a keeper."

Tim: "Hmm, only four..."

Rowan: "Well, you can look forward to the 'Charlie's Angels' parody.  They 
haven't done anything on 'Bean.'  Not that I care, you understand.  A prophet 
is not without honour, save in his own country."

Dix: "...and 'sticks and stones may break my bones, but whips and chains 
excite me.'"

Tim and Ro both look at her with dawning speculation.

Tim: "That's our girl!"

Rowan: "But this time I get to be the one who keeps the keys to the 
handcuffs.  It's embarrassing to try to explain these things to the pool boy 
three days after the event."

             *           *           *

Several days have elapsed since we last caught sight of our trepidacious 
trio, heading for Tim's wine cellar to wait out a particularly nasty winter 
storm,--and the weather hasn't improved since then.  Still, our friends have 
no trouble in whiling away the long hours...

Dix [throwing herself down on a satin chaise lounge in Tim's very 
well-appointed wine cellar:] "Whew.  I don't care what you say, I don't think 
I'm going to live long enough to master that triple somersault with the split 
finish into the vat of whipped cream..."

Rowan: "Oh, don't give up now.  You were so close that last time." 

Tim [licking whipped cream off his moustache:]  "Yes, I thought you showed 
real star quality just before you missed the vat and landed almost on Frank."

Dix: "Thank goodness you had the forethought to spread all the fur rugs and 
cushions around.  I might have broken something important.  Not Frank,--you 
can't rely on him as a landing pad."

Tim: "One thing about this nasty weather, so reminiscent of my own dear 
English home, we've used the opportunity to whip ourselves into top physical 
perfection."

Dix [rubbing a bruise thoughtfully:]  "Don't mention whips just now.  You're 
right, though,--I could lick my weight in wildflowers and you have attained a 
magnificent supple, dangerously panther-like body.  Ro is his usual slender 
coiled-spring and rippling muscular self, I'm quite happy to say."

Rowan: "To change the subject, attractive though it is, and  speaking just 
for myself, I'm getting a tiny bit tired of pizza and Chinese food delivered 
lukewarm by pimply youths who have never seen a wine cellar fitted up in just 
this way and have to be forcibly ejected with large tips."

Dix: "Yes, I'm getting cabin fever myself.  I suppose we ought to poke our 
heads up from our little burrow and see if spring is here yet."

Tim: "Even if it isn't, I could do with a nice hot meal at some good 
restaurant. And since Baldrick is visiting relatives,--did you say, 
Rowan?,--his cuisine needn't be thought of in the same breath as real food."

Rowan [yawning:] "He's paying his annual pilgrimage to the enclosure of 
blue-based baboons over at the Zoo.  And with the tiniest bit of luck, once 
the keepers set eyes on him he'll be joining them."

    *           *            *

Our friends having fortified themselves with a hearty meal at a nearby Black 
Angus restaurant noted for its extremely hearty meals, they are somewhat 
sluggish as they head back to the parking lot...

A blonde woman in a trench coat approaches them furtively.

Woman: "Quick,--follow me."

She hurries down the alleyway, dropping a small black briefcase as she goes.

Dix: "Oh, I don't think so.  That's one of the oldest tricks in the book, 
hmm, fellas?  Fellas?"

Tim and Rowan, true-blue Brits and gentlemen to their fingertips, have turned 
to follow the sinister blonde.  Tim reaches the briefcase first and picks it 
up.  It is unfastened, so he looks inside.

Rowan: "Is it full of unset emeralds?  A treasure map?  Somebody's lunch? A 
dismembered lawyer?...Am I getting warm?"

Tim [turning pale:]  "Worse.  Much worse."

        *               *                 *

Tim, Dix and Rowan have returned to Tim's home, where he is still strangely 
reticent concerning the contents of the black briefcase picked up in the 
alley...

Dix: "Oh, come on, share. What are friends for?"

Tim, shuddering slightly, re-opens the case and lets an object fall onto the 
coffee table where it leers up at them.  A shrunken head, lips sewn together 
with black thread in the traditional way, its sparse black hair parted in the 
middle and greased down, a tiny pair of horn-rimmed glasses winking in the 
light...

Rowan [recoiling:] "On second thought, why not keep it to yourself?  *I* 
wouldn't mind."

Dix: "Yuucchh!"

Tim: "Exactly,--yuch.  It seems to be the head of my new agent, Charley 
Marley.  Finest chap who ever stood in shoe leather."

Dix [softly:] "You must have thought a great deal of him."

Tim: "Not really,--I scarcely got to know him.  He had that line engraved on 
his business cars."

Rowan: "Quite the shrinking violet, eh?"

Dix: "Well, if we're going to lay Marley's ghost (excuse the expression), 
we'll need to track down that mysterious blonde vixen."

Tim and Rowan brighten.

Rowan: "An arduous job, but someone has to do it.  I'll report back at 
intervals."

Tim: "I couldn't think of your risking your life on such a mission.  He was 
*my* agent, after all,--I'll take the responsibility."

Dix [dryly:] "We're in this together, boys, so stop doing the Alphonse/Gaston 
routine."

Rowan has been poking at the head with a pencil, overturning it.

Rowan: "Your chap wasn't Oriental, was he?"

Tim: "No; part Jewish, part Methodist with a dash of Scotch Presbyterian.  
Why?"

Dix [picking up the head and examining a paper label on the bottom:] "Because 
this specimen was 'Made in Taiwan.' "

One of the tiny black glass eyes drops to the table.

Tim: "I *thought* that those eyes were even beadier than I remembered,--real 
beads!"

Rowan: "This episode is beginning to have all the earmarks of a 
not-very-cunning-plan."  

At the moment he speaks, there is a crash of glass as something round and 
black bursts through the study window...

                *               *              *




Our intrepid Trio had just been startled by a crash of glass as something 
round and black burst through the study window to land on the carpet.

Tim bravely walks over and picks up the object, which has a small envelope 
taped to it.

Tim: "Hmmm, an eight-ball."

Rowan: "How appropriate.  What's in the envelope, plague germs?"

Tim hands the billiard ball to Dix and opens the envelope.  (Dix notices some 
sticky substance on the ball and is about to speak but Tim suddenly looks 
around anxiously.)

Tim: "Have any of you seen Frank since we got home?"

Rowan and Dix look at each other and shrug.

Tim [reading from the note he is holding:]  "'Frank is *all right*,--'"  

Rowan: "Oh, well, no need for alarm then."

Tim [continuing:] "'At the moment.  But unless you follow instructions he 
could end up in several cans of Purina's Extra-Chunky dog food on your 
grocer's shelves.  If you accede to our demands, he will be restored to you 
in mint condition.'  Signed, 'Sinister Blonde.'"

Dix: "'Instructions'?"

Rowan: "'Demands'?"

Tim: "Oh, there's a P.S.: 'All three of you must come to the Playhouse of 
Penzance stage door entrance tonight at midnight.  Fail not,--at Frank's 
peril.'"

Rowan: "Now there's a literal interpretation of 'dog food.'  Rather like 
'baby oil, made from contented babies'."

Dix:  "I think that's 'contented cows,' actually."

Rowan: "Nonsense,--who ever heard of cow oil?"

Tim: "Whenever you two are quite finished trying to resurrect Abbott and 
Costello..."

Dix [looking at her watch:] "Well, that gives us several hours in which to 
formulate a *really* cunning plan.  I think I'll go and see how Mistress 
Masham's Repose is doing on eBay."

Rowan [hopefully:] "That sounds a bit smutty."

Dix: "It's a children's book by T. H. White, author of The Sword in the Stone 
among others.  My copy is unusual; it was bound upside down by the printers.  
And it has a dustjacket, and it was printed in 1946,-possibly the first 
edition."

Tim: "Really?  Let's see it."

Dix: "You may even bid on it if you like; it has a little time left."
    *                    *                  *

Later that evening our friends are preparing for their meeting with the 
Sinister Blonde and her possible cohorts, object: to wrest Frank from the 
clutches of these unknown reprobates.

Tim: "However, if I know Frank he'll escape by himself.  He gets bored 
quickly in new surroundings and his supper dish is the lodestar of his 
existence."

Dix [smoothing down her sweater:] "Still, it was a good idea of yours to have 
us all dress in black; it will come in handy for blending into the shadows."

Rowan: "As long as no-one mistakes us for mimes and shoots us down like dogs. 
 If you'll excuse the expression."

Dix: "Which one,-'shoots'?"

Tim: "'Dogs'?"

Rowan: "No, mime is the four-letter word in that sentence.  Obtrusive swine, 
all of them."

Tim, Dix and Rowan arrive at the playhouse half an hour early in order to spy 
out the surroundings.  It is a small building flanked by an alley and a 
warehouse at one side and a Mom & Pop grocery on the other.  The box office 
is closed, but a banner over the marquee reads, "Coming Soon -- The Hollywood 
Mikado!!"

Dix: "I'm beginning to get a glimmer of an idea here..."

A voice from the shadowy alley advises: "Good.  That's what you're here for!"

              *               *                *

Our friends having followed up the clue to Frank's whereabouts, find 
themselves onstage at the Playhouse of Penzance surrounded by...

Dix: "Timbos!!  Dozens of slavering Timbos!!  Hmm, I didn't realize there 
were so many...must be about five hundred."

Her voice wakes Frank, who has been napping in a satin-lined dog bed in the 
wings, and he trots out wagging his tail.  He strolls over to Tim and begins 
sniffing his pockets for doggie treats.

Tim [patting him on the head:] "Well, don't you look plump and pampered?  
I'll have to get you some low-cal Purina."

Christine Z. edges over, eyes on Tim.

Dix: "Hi, Christine.  Liked your 'sinister blonde' characterization."

Christine: "Oh, it was nothing; I've had lots of practice."

Tim catches Rowan's eye.

Rowan:  "Umm, you weren't taken in by our little charade then?"

Dix: "Not after I noticed the turnip juice on that eight-ball.  But why have 
Baldrick throw it through the window?"

Tim:  "He was supposed to open it first.  Oh, well, all's well that ends 
well."

Dix: "I love it when you quote Shakespeare...(kisses Tim's fingertips and 
starts to work her way up his arm, a la Gomez Addams).

Christine [hastily pulling Tim out of Dix's reach:]  "So what do you think of 
our idea, Dix?"

Dix: "I know what YOUR idea is,--(repossessing herself of Tim's arm)--is 
there another idea that I should know about?"

Cap'n Martha: "We're planning a fund-raiser to place Tim's star on Hollywood 
Boulevard and we need you to rewrite 'The Mikado' for it."

Dix: "Oh, well, if that's all..."

Rowan: "If anyone wants me, I shall be sulking in the orchestra pit."

Martha: "...there'll be a handsome donation to your favourite charity as 
well.  Friends of Stock Car Racing, isn't it?"

Rowan smiles, mollified.

  *              *             *

Three weeks later, the curtain rises on the first act of "The Hollywood 
Mikado."  Dix is taking the part of Yum-Yum by popular demand (hers), Tim 
stars as Nanki-Poo and Rowan glides naturally into his role as Ko-Ko, the 
Lord High Executioner.

After the "We Are Hollywood's Newest Stars" opener, charmingly performed by 
Timbos Jacquie, Andrea, Betty T. and Cap'n Martha among others, Tim steps 
forward to do his opening solo to deafening applause:

Tim [singing:] 

A minstrel's wand'ring eye
That roves o'er ev'ry maiden,
Leaves her with blushes laden
And many an am'rous sigh...
And should I do her wrong
And she run home to mother,
Who sends an angry brother
Why then shall I do or die?

I'll raise my voice in song,
My repertoire is long;
I'll sing of conquered cities;
I have a store of ditties
To rouse the most cowardly foe.
And if my voice should fail,
I have my feet to friend me,
Where e'er the winds may send me,
--I go now to raise my bail...
I like not the looks of jail.

The play progresses as in the original, with a few changes here and there.  
Rowan as Ko-Ko armed with an axe taller than himself, strides on and takes an 
ominous stance.

Rowan [singing:]

And if one day it should happen
That a victim must be found,
I've got a little list,
A charming little list,
Of all antisocial vermin 
Who would well be underground,
Such as Tim's obscuracist
(We know HE'd not be missed).

Those Academy Awards shows
That are sixteen hours long,
Since those by fortune kissed
Long speeches can't resist;
I'll chop them into sound bytes 
With my freshly-sharpened axe
(This cast can all relax;
We won't be called upon).

And producers in their wisdom
Who keep overlooking skill
And won't give US a part,--
My friends, I say, take heart:
They're topmost on my list
Of felons next to kill,
A sacrifice to Art...
Their heads go in the cart.

Yes, they are on my list,
My lovely little list.

Cries of "Bravo!" as Rowan strides off, twirling his axe, and two adorable 
"Japanese schoolgirls," Peep-Bo and Pitty-Sing (Linda F. and Christine Z.) 
dance onstage singing:

Two Little Maids from school are we,
Chockful of giggles and gaiety,
Ready for fun and frivolity,
--Two little maids from school.

Now we are free
To embrace our lives;
Who knows when we
Shall be boring wives?
Till that unhappy day arrives,
Let us break ev'ry rule!

Two little maids who are not bespoken
Offering hearts to be gently broken,
Ready to give love our tender token,
Two little maids...

Two little maids all bedecked with flowers,
Passing the humdrum lonely hours,
Too much of feminine friendship sours
For love we thirst!

[At this point, Nanki-Poo strolls across the stage arm-in-arm with Yum-Yum.  
The maids are struck dumb by the sight of this gorgeous Man.]

Two little maids, in a mighty passion
Vying for love in a frenzied fashion;
"Mine!" is our cry as we crush and crash on,--
"I saw him first!!"

Tim and Dix exit, pursued by inflamed Japanese maidens.

Nanki-Poo and Yum-Yum are next seen in a new scene:  on a bench beneath a 
flowering plum tree beside a brook.  They are discussing their predicament:  
Yum-Yum is betrothed to KoKo and wishes she weren't as her heart belongs to 
Nanki-Poo.

Dix [singing:]

Were I not to Ko-Ko plighted,
I would say in tender tone,
"Loved one, let us be united,
Now at last we are alone."

What Ko-Ko doesn't know won't hurt him;
Now's the time to think of us.
I could happily desert him,
Let me kiss you fondly, thus... (doing so)

Though I am engaged to wed him,
He's away and thou art here;
Later though I'm pledged to bed him,
Let's make hey-hey now, my dear.

Tim:

No, in spite of such temptation,
I must run to catch my bus.
Still, to try a new sensation
I shall kiss you fondly, THUS!!

(He does so, a marathon Hollywood kiss in which clothing is disarranged and 
heavy breathing predominates to the point where the curtain is abruptly 
lowered.  It rises again in a few moments and "Nanki-Poo" returns with 
"Yum-Yum" to hold hands and bow to the audience which has had its prurient 
instincts aroused needlessly...our friends are troupers to their fingertips.  
Usually.)

The benefit performance goes over so well that the entire cast is welcomed 
back to the Dorothy Chandler Pavilion for an evening of triumph.  Sadly, 
things get a tiny bit out of hand as usual.  The Pavilion is expected to be 
rebuilt by 2020, but the La Brea Tar Pits have had to be closed for the 
foreseeable future.  (Christine Z. got out all right...she can hold her 
breath longer than anyone would believe possible...;-)).


Hoping this finds you all the same, I remain,

Y(Yum-Yummy)FT,
Dix

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