The Trouble with Polly Brown (75 page)

Poor old Boritz felt thoroughly miserable and dejected, for as if life were not already treating him badly enough, he had just heard the supposedly charitable lady horrifically mispronounce his family name and call him “Scumbag.” And if this wasn't enough, to add insult to injury, she had gone on to further insult his good name by calling him “Scumbug.” Yes, she had indeed unwittingly called him nasty, horribly mean names, names that would surely pierce if not mortally wound the heart and mind of any decent, delicate mortal soul, he rather dolefully concluded.

Boritz, despite feeling emotionally choked up, willingly chose to lay this terrible blunder to one side, as he urgently wished to form a close and abiding friendship with this particular financially well-off lady.

“Dear Lady Butterkist, I humbly accept your apology in full, and I assure you now that no offense has or ever will be taken. In truth, I am exceedingly glad to get this rare opportunity to speak with you, albeit by telephone, although I have to add that my dearest wish is to one day meet with you face-to-face.”

“Ditto.”

“Well, that's wonderful to hear, Lady Butterkist.”

“Yes, I too am most pleased to make your acquaintance, Mr. Scumbelli, but as the good doctor stated, I have some things of the utmost importance that I really feel the need to discuss with you alone. I hope I have chosen a choice time to unburden my heavily ladened chest of all these troublesome matters.”

“Now is as good a time as any, so feel free, Lady Butterkist, for I am all ears.”

“Well, thank you, Mr. Skunkberry.”

“Boritz, please,” he exasperatedly pleaded.

“All right, Mr. Boritz. Before you say anything else, I wish for you to consider granting me five very express wishes.”

“Five!” he said, almost choking, as great beads of sweat began to pour from his deeply concerned brow.

“Yes, I do believe it was just five at last count, if that's all right with your good self.”

“Oh, yes, yes, madam. Please tell me what these five special requests are, and I will do all within my power to see that they are fulfilled to your utmost liking,” he fawned.

“Ah, that's all well and good, but while being entertained at this hospital, the good doctor escorted me around the wards. It was during this time that I happened to come upon a young girl named Polly Brown.”

Poor Boritz's heart instantly sunk at the very mention of her name.

“Good grief. I so hoped not to hear that dreadful name for quite a while,” he quietly muttered to himself.

“Speak up, Mr. Skunkberry. I couldn't quite catch what you just said, for this phone line is exceptionally poor.”

“Yes, yes, Lady Butterkist. Do please go on,” the further demoralized man urged.

“Well, you must forgive me for saying this, but I do believe that this hospital is not the place for such a young girl as Polly.”

“I hear. I see.”

“Well, I'm not too sure you really do, Mr. Skunkbelli, for she truly does not belong in such a place as this.”

“Well, madam, may I firstly remind you once more that my family name is Scumberry. And I don't know what she has told you, but trust me when I say I feel obligated to tell you that Polly is just about one of the most profound liars that has ever been entrusted to my care.”

“Really, Mr. Scumberry? Well, I feel just as obligated to inform you that the dear girl has said absolutely nothing to me! Oh, no; it is merely my own much-trusted perception. Call it female intuition or womanly instinct, if you must. And as it is so often stated, women are indeed the most perceptive of the two sexes. Will you not join me in wholeheartedly agreeing that this undeniably is the case?” she abruptly stated.

“Madam, do I really have any choice in this matter? You are, after all, a lady of much caliber and breeding, and therefore my immediate desire is to see to it that all your petitions are utterly fulfilled. So allow me the privilege and pleasure of knowing what your first wish might possible be.”

“Well, the first wish is simply that Polly be allowed to leave this most dreadful institution this very day.”

“What, today?” an utterly shocked Boritz queried.

“Wonderful, Boritz. So we have immediate agreement? For today, as any day goes, is a very, very good day. Now, I have already spoken with Dr. Ninkumpoop, and he is of the opinion that both he and his staff have done all they can for darling Polly. I therefore propose that you find it in your heart to sign your section of the release papers. I promise you, sir, that you will be greatly rewarded for your full cooperation in this otherwise delicate matter. As we speak, the dear doctor is most cheerfully filling in his section of the papers. Aren't you, Poopy, my dear?” she called out to the now thoroughly inconsolable professor of the mind.

“How priceless!” a confused and dumbfounded Boritz quietly muttered, shaking his head in pure disbelief as he tried and failed to imagine what on earth must be going on at the hospital for the good doctor to allow this woman to already be on such familiar and intimate terms that she could get away with calling him ‘Poopy'! He quickly came to the wrong conclusion that the dear lady must have parted company with yet another overly generous check. Why else would he allow himself to be called ‘Poopy' in such a disparaging fashion?

Meanwhile, a feeble and thoroughly demoralized Dr. Ninkumpoop grabbed hold of his teacup and began to furiously gulp down the remainder of its contents, his chosen way of attempting to drown all his sorrows. However, having taken a number of very large gulps, he suddenly found himself in the middle of the most frightful choking fit imaginable, which all too soon found him seriously struggling to take his last breath. Lady Butterkist seemed totally oblivious to this fresh crisis that had transpired in just a matter of a few seconds, as with her back turned she remained on the line, deep in serious discourse with Mr. Scumberry.

Now doubled over, Dr. Ninkumpoop quickly began to go purple in the face as he desperately tried to gasp for air. Still struggling to breathe, he then shot up from where he was seated, choking, coughing, and heaving violently as he continued to struggle for air.

All the while her ladyship continued to remain utterly oblivious to the life-threatening crisis going on behind her back as she stoically carried on her very intense negotiations with his very dear and close friend.

Moments later, with hot tears streaming furiously down his face and with the help of two of his long, nimble fingers, the visibly shaken, discombobulated doctor finally managed to extract a large, white feather that rather mysteriously had lodged itself at the very back of his throat.

Feeling feeble and thoroughly confused, he stood staring at the feather in disbelief as he realized that this stupid, insignificant white feather had in a matter of minutes almost brought his life to a horrid and most abrupt end. Now feeling seriously weak and in a turbulently homicidal mood, he stumbled like a crazed man back toward his desk and chair, wishing with his whole heart for this day, if not the whole world, to end—and sometime soon would be much preferred.

With impeccable timing, Lady Butterkist turned around just in time to witness the forlorn doctor slumped over his desk in the manner of a limp lettuce considerably beyond all hope of revival. Catching his eye, she quickly placed her hand over the receiver.

“How's the tea?” she innocently mouthed in his direction, flashing him the sweetest smile before turning back to carry on with her serious bargaining.

The poor, bewildered doctor was on the verge of physically tearing out his hair. However, as he had not been overly blessed with a decent enough crop of hair to take up this latest challenge, he therefore opted to give his forehead a couple of hard bangs on the desk. He felt forced into these extreme actions, as he could no longer control an inner compulsion to begin venting some of his most potent pent-up feelings of pure rage and anger, which he no longer wished to contain or disguise for as much as one more miserable moment.

Now, to be perfectly honest, Boritz wasn't faring much better either, as he too was now feeling considerably vexed, for up until this moment in time he had not the faintest clue that this difficult request was going to be the first demand on her long list of requests.
What on earth would be coming next?
he anxiously deliberated.

He knew instantly that Mildred would be furious with him, but what else could he do? At the end of the day he really was no fool, and he knew for certain that if he did not show himself both eager and willing to comply with all her seemingly innocent requests, then she would most certainly decline his invitation to join them for tea and cakes at the castle. This could never be allowed to happen, no, not in a month of Sundays, as with all his heart he believed that in terms of financial support this meeting was vitally crucial.

“All right, Lady Butterkist. You have my humble and sincere word on this one. So pray, tell me something of your second request.”

“Hmm. Mr. Scumberry, strange as this might seem, I wish to become something of a guardian to young Polly.”

“Guardian! Madam, please grant me the pleasure of fully explaining yourself, for I am now most confused as to what possibly you mean by all of this, as she already has a legal guardian, who, I might add, just happens to be me.”

“Oh, if only that were truly so, Mr. Skunkbelli, then she would not have been abandoned to the confines of this painfully pitiful institution. But setting this aside for the present, I am just after some form of loose involvement. Yes, I would like to be considered something of a guardian, although in this special case there would be no involvement whatsoever with the courts. Call it an honorable agreement amongst ourselves if you must.”

“No judicial involvement?”

“None whatsoever! Mr. Skunkbelly, there wouldn't be any sort of legally binding contract or obligation. Oh, no. This would merely be a pact between friends, so to speak, and I take it we are now friends?”

“Yes, yes.”

“This way, whenever I am passing by I can hopefully consider popping in to the castle to see how Polly is doing and at the same time hand over another check. I mean, would the scenario I have just described fit comfortably with you and your good wife?”

“Who, Mildred?”

“Well, I cannot say categorically that she is your good wife, for only you two know if you truly ever tied the knot and thus have a marriage that is legally binding and recognized by the church. But if I'm not mistaken she is your other half, is she not?”

“Yes, yes, Lady Butterkist. We are indeed well and truly joined at the hip. But I assure you now that Mildred will do exactly as I say, for in truth she has absolutely no other choice.”

“Splendid! You know something, Mr. Scumberry? I like a man who is bold and fearless and knows how to keep a woman in her place.”

“Really, Lady Butterkist?”

“Yes, really. There are not nearly enough men of such flawless moral caliber around these days,” she said.

“Why thank you, Lady Butterkist, for it is well known in these parts that I keep my dear wife-in-strife exactly where she truly belongs, and that is rigidly under my thumb,” he stated as he began to glow from head to foot.

“Yes, under your fat thumb and squashed to a seedless pulp,” Lady Butterkist murmured under her breath.

“I think I am beginning to like this woman,” he muttered, at the same time placing his hand over the receiver to ensure his furtive comment remained private.

“Oh, Mr. Scumberry, I am so very pleased that we are seeing things eye to eye like this, for this shows that we are on track for a very long and rewarding relationship, and I just happen to believe that, like most young, vulnerable children, Polly is a wonderful and very gifted child. I'm sure, as with everything else, you will readily agree with me on this one too.”

“Yes, yes.” He coughed and spluttered.

“Good. Then do I have your full cooperation on this one also?”