ArtisticLicense 2 страница

Unfortunately they bore him in a very short period of time and he would resume his more modern pieces a heartbeat later. I'm fairly certain he only played the Chopin's Nocturne in G Major, for example, because he knew it would please me not out of any appreciation for that composer.

In the next portrait, he was obviously told to gaze directly at the artist. It was also clearly one of the earlier pieces, because instead of the almost candid poses that gave one the feeling of happening along the scene, Mr. Wooster is clearly positioned with purpose. He was also trying not to smile and not really succeeding. It was full colour and his eyes were bright, sparking sapphire, alive themselves with repressed humour. He seemed to be barely containing himself from laughing out loud or asking a question or some other act that would disturb the hard-working artist. I could tell why Mr. Corcoran decided on candid images after this one. Patience is unfortunately not one of my employer's many virtues.

I recognised the expensive leather bound journal in which Mr. Wooster was intently writing in the next image. It commonly resided in the drawer of the night stand on the right side of his bed. It had no lock, merely an exquisite silver clasp, but I had never so much as picked it up. I had been very tempted to on several occasions when I'd seen him writing in it, looking sad or otherwise discontent. If it had been some former employer of mine I wouldn't have hesitated. Of course, I wouldn't have been concerned about them in the first place.

But Mr. Wooster has actually shamed me on occasion with his almost impossibly good nature and forthrightness. I would not pry into his private thoughts because I know he would never dream of invading mine. Indeed, he has always been most accommodating of my privacy. He knocks at my door and only enters rarely and even then only when expressly invited.

He looked serious and thoughtful in the picture; he'd apparently forgotten all about the artist and had been drawn into whatever matters he was recording. The silver fountain pen he was using usually lay on the telephone table in the flat. It was engraved with his initials because Mr. Wooster is incapable of refusing such a service whenever, and wherever it is offered. It wouldn't occur to him to request it, but if a particularly shrewd shopkeeper should suggest it… Needless to say, I'd had to 'dispose' of numerable embossed handkerchiefs, lighters, cigarette cases, flasks, and pocket books by this time.

I'd let the pen stay, however, it was particularly attractive and had B. W. W in a rather nice flowing cursive. Altogether comparatively harmless when one considers the handkerchiefs.

Once more I very nearly lost my reserve when the next piece came into view. Mr. Wooster was showering, something I don't think I'd ever seen him do before. He prefers the traditional English bath.

The steam from the water gave the image a surreal, slightly blurred effect. His head was thrown back and he was washing his chest, soap sliding down here and there, gathering below his naval. The slickness of his wet skin and hair, the heady atmosphere, it made it all very nearly sexual.

There were several women in the crowd fanning themselves and I did not blame them. I had to move on quickly before I embarrassed myself.

I was still breathing rather raggedly when I approached another painting that made me smile. He just looked so very proud of himself; I was immediately reminded of the children's play 'Peter Pan' when the lead character exclaims, " Oh, the cleverness of me! "

Mr. Corcoran had set him up with his very own easel and canvas and he'd evidently been painting for awhile, splashes in every colour of the rainbow decorated his hands and every other part that had come into involuntary contact with the brush. He had a large spot of blue on the side of his nose and some purple on his chin. I wished dearly to see the finished work but it was not visible from the perspective used in the portrait.

I made a mental note to ask Mr. Corcoran about it when I had finished, also to congratulate him on this triumph.

There was another one in which Mr. Wooster was not nude, but in a state of dishabille. He was playing darts clad only in his undergarments. His form was good. He was throwing the second dart, having already scored on the inner bull's eye. I predicted he had been aiming for the small red sixty point space directly above the center. I wondered how he had done; my employer is a very good player, after all despite the laughable tournaments that occur at the Drones Club. One of these days someone (most likely Mr. Wooster as he actually seems to be the brightest spark they have) will figure out that an uneven number of games will solve their constant tie scores.

I've thought about pointing this out but it is simply too amusing.

He was constructing a rather elaborate card castle next. I was rather impressed despite the fact that all this really illustrated was how much leisure time Mr. Wooster was afforded and what silly things he did with it. His face was very intent and the tongue had made another appearance, squeezed anxiously between his teeth as he lined up another stacking layer. Once more his nudity looked oddly natural, a long, lean form of creamy white uninterrupted by clothing lines.

One of the cards he was holding was visible; it was the king of hearts. I found that strangely appropriate.

I sincerely hoped no one would be arrested when I saw the suspicious looking snifter of amber liquid in Mr. Wooster's hand in the next work. He was gesturing with his other hand, an idiosyncrasy of his, and obviously telling a story. He was seated in a large comfortable looking black chair, legs thrown over the arm.

I imagined that I'd heard whatever anecdote he was sharing already. He tells nearly everything as soon as possible, after all. I've actually seen him come into the kitchen at a sprint to tell me some event or idea, and not all of them for the purpose of acquiring my assistance. Indeed, he'd begun treating me more as a friend and companion almost as soon as we'd met. I don't think he even realises how blurred he's allowed the master-servant boundaries to get.

Knowing him as well as I do now, I don't even think he'd care if he did.

I confess when I saw him practicing his putting in the next one, I thought to myself, 'now I would find that much less irritating if he did it without clothes on at home as well. ' The club was familiar; I'd carried it around every golf course in the state of New York, after all.

I wondered how he managed to get it out of the flat without my even noticing.

Realising abruptly at that point that I had been wandering around examining the exhibit for some time I checked my pocket watch. Upon discovering it had actually been more than two hours and my young master was no where to be found, I immediately set out to find him and apologize for abandoning my post at his side.

I passed several empty rooms before locating him seated on a bench. His posture was slumped and when he looked up I could see he had been crying. This gave me a nasty start as I had never known Mr. Wooster to weep even when pressed at all sides by angry relatives, unappreciative friends, and marriage-hungry females.

It was understandable that he might be upset. It was clear Mr. Corcoran hadn't been very forthcoming on the uses he intended for the sketches. Mr. Wooster's aunts would also indubitably be angry should they find out about any of this. But tears still seemed somewhat inexplicable.

Evidently there was something going on in that dear head of his that I was not privy to, some hidden nook of thoughts that explained this reaction.

When I asked if he were alright he insisted he was fine and asked me if I could find a back door so he did not have to go through the crowd.

In the car on the way back to the flat, he lit up a cigarette and remarked, " I think I'll visit Rocky in Long Island, Jeeves. I need a vacation from this city for awhile. "

I didn't remark that the last time he had done that he'd returned less than week later, unable to handle the monotony of living so far from civilization, " Very good, sir. "

He was uncharacteristically silent for the rest of the drive. As he was getting ready for bed, I asked if he wanted me to send Mr. Todd a telegram informing him of our impending arrival.

He blinked at me in surprise. I realised later this was because he wasn't expecting me to accompany him as I never had on either occasion that he'd stayed there.

" No, don't worry about it, Jeeves. He's not likely to get it. Not big on collecting his mail in a timely fashion, Rocky. I expect he'll be pleased to see us anyway. "

" Very good, sir. "

XXXXX

Rocky Todd lived right in the very center of Nowhere, neighboured by Nobody, and he liked it that way.

He spent his days watching worms and spiders and every once in awhile biffed out a few poems that didn't rhyme about achievement.

Jeeves once commented on this goldy… or was it 'bronzy'. Hang on, I'll ask him.

Irony, that's the stuff. I knew it was some kind of metal.

We'd actually met in London when he'd come across the water for some convention or other and hit it off straight away. He's a decent chap, despite his horror of my native climate, The City.

Oh, dear, this is where it gets a bit awkward. You see, Rocky and I had what Jeeves might call 'an understanding'. We weren't really serious, not even back then, just two birds that happened to favour the same side of the street, if you know what I mean.

I met him before Jeeves even came to work for me, and Jeeves is where my problems sort of lie in these rummy circs.

It's not only the fact that Jeeves doesn't know about my Wildean nature, if he did I'm quite sure he wouldn't still be with me after all. No, one hint of my degenerate state and he'd probably head for the hills, though hopefully not for the nearest police station.

It's also the simple, plain fact that… I'll just bally well come out and say it: I'm in love with my valet.

I've never actually written it out before. I've written all sorts of allusions to it in this journal, if 'allusions' is the word I mean, but I've never written the words.

I'm in love with Jeeves.

I have been from the very first time he pulled me out of the soup re: Lady Florence Craye. I'd come to the conclusion that I better jolly well get married and try to make the best of it. I had pressure from aunts on all sides and from Florence herself.

It seemed like the only thing to do. Until Jeeves came along and saved me from a lifetime of reading things like Types of Ethical Theory instead of Rex West and Agatha Christie.

I still shudder to think of it. Jeeves just asked me if I'm cold. He's always so conscientious of my needs.

And so very observant, which is why no salacious acts can occur at all on this visit. I imagine I'll have a time convincing Rocky of that.

I mean to say, how can anyone not be in love with Jeeves? If they have met him, I mean. He's practically perfect in every single way. He knows everything, can solve even the trickiest sitch without breaking a sweat, AND he can plan a dinner party while he's doing it.

If Jeeves himself did not insist such things didn't exist, I'd swear he had magical powers. When he shimmers into a room everything seems to fall into place. His cooking is top notch, he mixes perfect cocktails, and he can quote Shakespeare and Shelley and Sigmund Freud at the drop of a hat. He can give advice on race horses, sartorial decisions, and award winning wheezes.

And I haven't even touched on what he looks like. I could write pages about that.

He's a paragon of human development, the epitome of all that is good about the race of man, and he makes a perfect cup of tea.

So it made all the worse that he was present for that mess at the MET, which I am resolutely not thinking about. I'm even incapable of asking Jeeves what to do about that.

No, it's best to just forget about it and hope that by the time I go back to the city, everyone else will have forgotten about it, too.

XXXXX

When we arrived at Mr. Todd's cottage, Mr. Wooster did not knock on the door. Instead he sat on the porch swing and stared across the lake.

I put the luggage down on the steps and cleared my throat.

" Oh, don't bother. It's not even one o'clock yet. He'll still be asleep. " My employer removed his hat and jacket, it was a very warm day for April, and put his feet up on the railing.

I have never been bothered by Mr. Wooster's tendency to sleep in until past ten o'clock, but this example of sloth nearly got to me. Honestly, I understand the creative sort lead different lives, but surely one can manage to be out of bed by lunchtime.

" Have a seat, Jeeves, " Mr. Wooster patted the space next to him, " I'd say we have an hour at the most. Look, loons! "

Indeed, a family of the water fowl were paddling along the water surface. As we watched one of the adults dove beneath it obviously seeking nourishment. I sat down in the invited space, trying not to think about the pressing warmth of my employer's hip and thigh against my own.

A comfortable silence descended upon us and I breathed in the pine scented air. I could smell Mr. Wooster as well, beneath the forest setting. He always smelled of Earl Grey, spiced vanilla, and an exotic citrus note I knew came from his very expensive cologne. It wasn't oranges or lemons, rather Satsuma or blood orange perhaps. It was divine.

The swing rocked slightly in the breeze, song birds twittered overhead. I don't like to spend a great deal of time in the country, Mr. Wooster's metropolitan preferences suit me perfectly, but this was a very pleasant excursion so far.

At least it was until Mr. Todd threw the door open, startling everything in existence including myself and Mr. Wooster. We both shot to our feet, calm shattered.

" BERTIE! What a pleasant surprise! Come in! Stay a week, a month, stay a year! Did you see the Saturday Evening Post? One of my poems was featured. Oh, is this your valet? Jeeves, right? Bertie always talks about you! Come in, come in, come in! "

The gentleman appeared to be clad in a pair of blue and white striped pyjamas and seemed utterly unashamed of this fact. When we entered his abode I could see shame wasn't something that compelled him to do much at all.

Well at least I wouldn't lack for things to keep me occupied. I immediately began organizing the dishes so I could wash them more efficiently.

" Bertie, what is he doing? " I heard from behind me.

" Oh, you know. Jeeves can't leave things undone. What were you saying about a new poem? "

" Come upstairs to my study and I'll tell you. "

XXXXX

The very moment he closed the door, Rocky was upon me.

I'm not saying it was unpleasant, but really!

" MMMmmmph, Rocky! Jeeves is just downstairs! "

" Oh, he won't know a thing. Bertie, it's been ages! "

Well I felt for him, I really did. After all it had been just as long for me. But the Wooster heart was set already and with the object of my affections in the same house…

No, that just wasn't cricket.

" Rocky, you know I can't do anything with Jeeves in the very same house! " I tried to reason with him.

He sagged dramatically, " Oh, not this torch again! Bertie, extinguish the flames of unrequited love already! "

" It's not that bally easy, Rocky! What kind of poet are you, anyway? "

XXXXX

I'm certain Mr. Todd was unaware of the vents and how acoustically good they were, after all he spends the majority of his time alone in the house.

I must have looked absolutely ridiculous standing there, stunned and frozen mid-scrub and elbow deep in soapy water. But I could hear every word as if I were in the room with them.

XXXXX

" A poet for hire, that's what kind. The moment I inherit my Aunt Isobel's fortune I'm going to write exactly the kind of poems I always wanted. Or rather I'll publish them, since they're already written. "

This briefly distracted me, " Not the ones you wrote about me! "

Rocky waved an airy hand, " Don't worry. It's not as though you're mentioned by name. Anyway, I need some more of your particular inspiration! Forget about your silly infatuation on this butler. "

" Valet. " I said through gritted teeth. And I meant it to sting!

I'd read some of the poems Rocky insisted I had 'inspired', it was steamy stuff, let me tell you. The only line I could recall at the moment was 'something something heated kiss, something something after the body bliss. ' It was a damn sight better than the stuff he sold to magazines.

I'd kept my opinion of 'Be! ' to myself.

" It can't be infatuation, Rocky. It's been a year and a half! Surely I would have lost interest by now if it wasn't love. As it is, it's only gotten worse. "

" Maybe it's just overexposure. He's there all the time so you can't stop thinking about him. Speaking of which, " Rocky now looked quite annoyed, " Why did you bring him if we can't do anything when he's in the house? "

" I didn't realise he'd want to come with me. And then I couldn't think of a reason for him not to. And then I kind of wanted him here, even though he saw the whole fiasco and I can barely look him in the eye. When Jeeves is there, nothing is as bad as you think. He always makes me feel better. " I sighed and lit up a meditative cigarette.

" What fiasco? "

I realisedI'd been wanted to talk about this since it happened, but naturally I couldn't talk to Jeeves about it because he'd been there and seen it all and somehow that made everything so much worse!

" Do you remember Corky Corcoran? "

" The artist you introduced me to last time I was in town? Vaguely. Didn't he illustrate that comic series in the Post? "

" That's the blighter. " I muttered, " And yes, he's a comic artist. I used to think his stuff was funny, too. Let me tell you it isn't so funny when you end up the subject of it! "

" He drew funny pictures of you? " Rocky finally stopped edging closer on the chaise and sat up.

" Worse than that, he painted them. And I'm… you see, he convinced me he was going back into legitimate portraits and all and… I'm naked in just about all of them! " I blurted out feeling a suspicious sting in the old eye area again.

" He painted funny naked pictures of you? " Rocky was staring at me, wide-eyed.

" Yes, only I don't happen to think any of it very funny at all. But the public seems to disagree. " And they did, I'd heard quite a lot of laughter from my little hiding place in the Modern Art exhibit.

" He published them! " Rocky looked gratifyingly upset, it did my poor wounded heart some good.

" No, he exhibited them at the MET and sold them. And made prints and sold those as well. There are thousands of them, Rocky! Thousands of pictures of me naked for people to laugh at. I thought he was my friend! " I'm sorry to say my voice cracked a bit here and I felt like I was firstie at Eton again.

" Wow, he managed to get into the MET? " Rocky asked. I looked at him and something in my face must have snapped him out of his ridiculous admiring mood, " I mean, that dog! "

I put out my cigarette in an overflowing ashtray nearby, " And Jeeves was there! Is there anything worse than that? Have you ever had someone you had feelings for see you looking completely stupid? "

" Well, the night we first met you had to help me back to the hotel because I was drunk and walked into a door. And then I threw up on your shoes. " Rocky pointed out helpfully.

" Yeah? Well imagine something like that happening every single day and you get the Wooster in situ. But usually I'm wearing clothes, of course. So now he doesn't just think that I'm idiot, he also thinks I'm ugly and funny looking! "

" Well, you could just start being naked more often and he won't think that anymore! " Rocky, bless him, trying to make me feel better. Even though he was lying through his teeth it was well meant, you have to admit.

Of course, then he continued and actually made me feel worse.

" Anyway, I don't understand why you pine after someone you just said thinks you're an idiot. What reason has he ever given you that makes you want him so? Has he complimented your eyes? I've written two odes about them! Has he praised your impossibly sweet nature? I've written four, FOUR sonnets about that! I've mapped your face in iambic pentameter and free versed every square inch of your body! Tell me, what has he done besides make you feel stupid? "

I felt that suspicious sting return, " Nothing. He's never made me feel like anything but a useless fool. But… but you shouldn't love people for how they make you feel about yourself. You should love them for their own sake, right? And I love Jeeves because he's brilliant and every single thing he does is beautiful and amazing. And he can do anything. And he's honest and kind and, you must admit, terribly good-looking. What isn't there to love about Jeeves? It's not his fault his employer can barely dress himself; in fact, I should be lauding his patience! "

" But Bertie, " Rocky said in a very gentle tone, " He isn't like us. "

I had to bite my lip just then, and the horrible moment passed, " I know, and if he knew about me he'd leave. "

" You'd be lucky if that's all he'd do. "

I blinked rapidly, " He wouldn't turn me in, not to the police at least. He might tell my Aunt Agatha. "

" Are you sure? "

" No, " I realised then that I wasn't sure. Jeeves was very proper and he never hesitated to act when something was outside his approval, " No, I don't know. I hope not. "

" You have to get a new butler… valet, whatever. Bertie, this isn't healthy! And it's dangerous. I don't want you to end up in jail! "

" I can't lose Jeeves! I wouldn't last a day! "

" I know it will be hard, but there are other people you can hire! Bald men with liver spots and thick spectacles, and I'm sure they can iron your shirts just as well. "

" It's not just about bloody shirts! " I was a little startled at my own obscenity, " Without Jeeves I'd be sunk. I'd be married off to the next conniving beazel that came along! And what would I do then, Rocky? Tied to some harpy for the rest of my life, what if they wanted children? How exactly should I manage that? It would all come out anyway! "

" Why can't you just not get engaged? " Rocky asked, like a man who had obviously had no contact with womankind for decades.

I gave him the sort of look he deserved for this kind of question.

" I can't lose Jeeves, " I repeated, " It's out of the question. I will simply go on as I have been. "

" Forever? You want to be alone forever? "

" I won't be alone, I'll have Jeeves. " I crossed my arms over my chest.

" You know what I mean! Yes, great, you'll have a servant until he decides to find another position. Wonderful. Meantime, you don't have anyone to touch you or kiss you or sleep beside you, ever? "

" That's not the only thing in the world! Maybe I'll be better for it, I went years before I met you, you know. I can go longer, maybe even forever. I'll admit I was spoiled a bit at Eton and Oxford, but I got used to being alone after a while. It's not so bad, I mean, you're alone here a lot of the time, aren't you? " I turned back to face him.

His lips formed a petulant pout, " Yes, which makes it all the more irritating for you to tease me like this. "

Suddenly I wanted to give in, to press my mouth to his and give him free reign over every part of me. I wanted so much to be touched as he had said before. It had been a long time and would be a long time again.

The first time I had come to visit he asked me to live here with him and I had dearly wished I could. It would be just the two of us, no one anywhere around. No aunts, no women to constantly be falling in and out of engagement with, nothing and no one else.

But I'm fundamentally a city bird and you can't change a thing like that. I need the cinemas, the dance halls, the clubs, and the restaurants. I need other people, too.

And it was no good asking him to come live with me, even just in New York, because he loathed the metrop.

It was the fundamental reason why Rocky and I would always be two ships passing in the night, or whatever that poet Johnny said.

The love of my life was downstairs washing the dishes and even though he could never want me, I wasn't going to give anything of myself to someone else. Because I belonged to him whether or not he knew it or even cared.

" I'm sorry. " I said softly, as if apologizing were going to make it any easier.

" Oh, Bertie, " Rocky said with a distinctly fond tone to his voice, " You really are absolutely hopeless. "

XXXXX

I could hear my young master sigh and there was a lull in the conversation. I glanced down and realised I had finished washing and drying the dishes. I had also apparently put them away, washed the countertops and the stove.

I had no memory of doing any of this as my mind had been completely on the eavesdropped conversation. I have often noticed this phenomenon in the past, completing familiar tasks with an utter lack of awareness while I schemed new ways to free my employer from whatever plagued him.

I set the cleaning rag down and took several deep breaths for it felt like I had been holding them in the entire time I had been listening. My mind raced with new information; indeed I had so many thoughts at once that I felt rather dizzy.

It was a combination of delirious elation, profound sadness, and vicious jealousy, I decided.

I was obviously beside myself with excitement that Mr. Wooster felt the same way I did. I had been fantasizing for so very long at first I almost thought I'd imagined what I'd heard. Auditory hallucinations brought on by wishful thinking and too much silver polish. I had inhaled a great many cleaning and polishing fumes in my time, after all.

And then I realised I had no idea what to do with this information. I had never approached another man in this way before. That violent kiss in the barn long ago and a handful fumbling kisses with girls did not an Oscar Wilde make. I certainly had an idea of what two men might do together, but a certain lack of practical experience made it all rather intimidating. Undeniably the most exciting thing I could imagine, but utterly, utterly terrifying all the same.

I also had the added difficultly of having come by this knowledge in a rather unseemly (though accidental) manner.

This brought me to the other problems, as I finally had an explanation for Mr. Wooster's strange behaviour. He had completely misinterpreted Mr. Corcoran's exhibit. Understandable, I suppose, as Mr. Corcoran had a career as a comic artist and Mr. Wooster hadn't lingered in the show room at all at get a really good look at any of the pieces.

He described hearing laughter and I'm sure he had. He just assumed the people doing so were laughing at him.

This horrible misconception had to be corrected immediately. It had clearly already done considerable damage. I had no idea Mr. Wooster's opinion of himself was as low as I had just heard. He often used self-deprecatory humour, but this was something else.

Hearing what he thought I thought of him was nearly hurtful. I say nearly because at the very beginning of my employment I was, of course and still am, very attracted to Mr. Wooster physically. But I had him written off as mentally negligible.

Getting to know him was really falling in love in itself. First you realise that this is possibly the kindest person you have ever met, that he is generous and noble, irrepressibly cheerful and positive. This only adds fuel to the fire so to speak and you find yourself excusing any and all other flaws because his good points are so many and beauty so overwhelming.

Then, and this takes an astute observer, you realise what you originally thought as a lack of intelligence is actually simply a different kind. For Mr. Wooster does not lack for brains at all, he simply thinks in completely different ways.

Indeed the first time I heard him playing something very complicated on the piano that I'd never heard before, I came into the room intending to ask him where he had purchased the sheet music.

When I came up beside him, he had no music in front of him at all.

" Do you like it, Jeeves? I heard it in the club last night but I don't remember what it's called. "

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