Why Mouchoir de Monsieur? - Act III - Resumed  

dear compagnons i must rest the jetlag ... be at ease in these rooms... MDM will rise ... if we see him will be lucky... come tomorrow and no sorrow...i go upstairs.

Dr. Prefumistico gets pulled out for a house call, and comes back to find the room moved to a completely different location in info space. ("Indeed! The nerve!") Seeing that Lau has gone upstairs to bed, and Luna has move to the kitchen to brew more tea, he contents himself by sniffing a magazine insert for Vera Wang Preppy Princess. ("Flankers. Bloody flankers. Good grief.") He notes that this particular incarnation of Princess is not nearly as enjoyable as Rock Princess, which featured a very intriguing mineral accord, matching both the name and the gray, granite-themed bottle. Alas, Preppy Princess is perfectly designed for the target market. A fruity floral with aquatic undertones, this one seems virtually indistinguishable from dozens of other mass market girlie fragrances out there. The doctor sighs and leaves the magazine insert on the coffee table.

Looking for a place to grab a quick rest, the Doctor spies a couch near the fireplace. He plops down on it and quickly falls asleep. He dreams about a mysterious journey on camels. In the middle of the journey, a cherry-and-jasmine-smelling preppy girl wearing too much plaid is encountered. She tells them that they, like, have to go back to wherever.

Admitting Psychiatrist, checking restraints: "Let's continue, shall we? You were sitting on your front porch in your rocking chair, minding your own business, having a couple of cold ones and suddenly you began having hallucinations about some weird online 'Fragrance Community' board thread.."

kbe, strapped tightly to a gurney: "Y-y-yes. Oh, God! It was, it was ghastly! All this insane banter about Youtube videos..men wearing perfume and frilly clothes!.. dimly lit stages and room redecorations! ..and..and..::kbe begins losing consciousness and, just before total darkness grips his spinning mind he hears..::

Admitting Psychiatrist: Nurse! Nurse!! Code L'Heure Bleue!!

^ LOL Truly, there is no escape from fragrance addiction psychosis.

(Doctor lays down on adjacent gurney. "I say. Make that two!")

Everybody is roaming about the newly decorated double parlor of MDM, exchanging pleasantries and marveling at the transformation. MDM is nowhere to be found. Amid the random musings of his guests, (Luna: Ah! will you look at this? MDM has left his lap top on the floor!) there comes a thundering cry from above the stairs, startling everyone:

NIGEL!!!!!!!!!!!!
NIGEL!
NIGEL!!!!!!!!!

no one has ever witnessed such a tone previously issued from the lips of MDM. All guests stop dead in their tracks. One of them, examining an enormous blown glass bell jar with a stuffed bat inside of it, startled, drops it, and it shatters into bits strewn all over the floor, leaving a limp bat corpse as centerpiece. A morbid silence ensues, someone whispers "where is Nigel?"

Coming, Monsieur! Coming!

Nigel is seen rushing up the stairs. The guests all look dumfounded as they gaze into the stairwell, and listen.


Nigel! What is the meaning of THIS!?! Off Topic?!? (Hiccup) Off Topic?!?

The sound of shattering glass is heard, as if a tumbler is hurled with tremendous force against a wall in the upstairs master.

OFF TOPIC, EH?

Further shattering of glass

All I wanted was to have a bit of fun--with these fine people--and what happens? Hmmm? What, Nigel? OFF TOPIC!!!!!!!
We were not OFF TOPIC: Our delivery modes may have been slightly original, but OFF TOPIC WE WERE NOT!!!!!

a raucous tumult is heard, as if furniture is being thrown, followed by a truly horrendous sound of crashing glass and cracking wood.

(Hiccup) Why, HOW COULD THEY? HOW? Nigel? HOW? Do they assume I came very near to my death over a batch of

Explosive shattering

Crumpets that

Further shattering

Bloody burned in the oven

Cracking wood

While I toiled to (hiccup) to figure out their

Shatter

....their labyrinthine system of

Sound of thud-like dropping which makes all three chandeliers of the set begin to sway

NONSENSE? Hmm?--

Metallic smash, as if a silver tea service were toppled

NIGEL! (Hiccup) Bring me another bottle of Grey Goose! Go On!

More glass shatters

A door slams loudly, and appears to sound as if it is being kicked violently by a pair of Johnny Boots.

At that precise moment, the front door swings open, and reveals a very apologetic looking Dimitri. Under one arm he is carrying a bottle of Beaujolais, and under the other, a small draw-stringed velvet pouch.

My word, what a ruckus. I could hear it from the street.

All eyes turn to the guest at the door... dressing him down for his tardiness.

Dimitri steps over the threshold, sets the wine on a hall-table and walks towards the group. Vol de Nuit swells on the air.

Someone should really clean this up he says, reaching for a black rubbery bat carcass whose claws were reaching skyward, as if longing for one last night-flight. He lifts it to his nose. Odourless.
He presses the corpse into his coat pocket.

The guests murmur as Dimitri picks up concave shards of glass. He sets the velvet pouch down beside him, and all eyes fall upon it.

There is a repetitive thump emerging from an upstairs room and a clatter of metal rails...

Dimitri looks up and sees each of the guests - drinks frozen in hand - wearing holocaust face masks; all turned to him.

He shuts his eyes tight for a moment and swats at the vision like a spider with a rolled up newspaper.

Must be the absinthe he whispers to himself.

Sound Track switches to sounds coming from upstairs, seemingly muffled through a closed door:

Kick

Bloody Hell!!

Kick

(Hiccup) I must....I....NIGEL!!!!! THE GREY GOOSE!!!!!!

During this time, Nigel, having furiously looked through the entire stock of bottles displayed behind, and underneath the bar in the billiard room, finding nothing but empty bottles of Grey Goose, then having opened the door to find Dimitri, an unexpected guest, seems doubly bewildered, so much so that, rendered speechless, he begins to stammer, then nervously pivots on his feet, not knowing exactly what to do. The sounds of crashing upstairs subside, and only the voice of MDM is heard, in a horrific rattle of fragmented curses

Huhhhhh!!!!! House full of guests.

Kick

No BOOZE!!!!!!

Kick. Kick.

.....................Shirley Maclaine and Paul Newman....(Hiccup)

Bump Bump Bump (Suggesting MDM is pounding his newly shorn head against the wall)

Shirley Maclaine..(Hiccup) and....

Kick

Paul Newman

Kick

Making Love to (Hiccup)

Kick

Jeff Buckley sing (hiccup)

..............singing Lilac Wine........

Huhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh.
Haaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa.
Huhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh.

Shirley Maclaine....and Paul Newman....making love.

Haaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa.
Huhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh.

Shirley Maclaine....and Paul Newman....making (hiccup)
....making love.

Haaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa.
Huhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh.

The sound of the door is heard to open, and, slowly, deliberately, steps are heard to emerge from the master. A shiny black pair of Johnny Boots is seen very slowly descending the stairs through the French doors leading to the hall, to finally reveal MDM,
his face reddened and bruised, his shiny shaved head beginning to show the faint suggestion of a nasty hematoma developing
on the middle of his forehead, lending him the air of a kind of fiendish ghoul, on account of his inhumanly elongated frame and newly hairless head and face, all pummeled and bruised. He stops dead at the foot of the stairs, frozen, his eyes searing in a kind of frenzied stupor.

What are You doing here?

Shanti ... soft lynxette, generous cat friend, small lion of mine, precious panther princess ... come we hug in the alpha waves of your purr and my Peace...
...the lilac tree awaits a spring... the hyacinth is growing yet... cold is outside ..warm fire of our soul...
let us laugh with the sunshine pearing low through the drapes.. and the tumult Brother express...loyal Nigel such an angel...
...Dimitri is here, the Sorcerer..
Luna the wise ...
Red the well versed ...
kbe who is he he is that he is
there may be Rem, and the dear cowboy at one point ... to bring forth elements of which carefully measured drops wil fall into Brother's cauldron...may be the metal- of wine and blood - the woods, the grass, the rocks...
and who knows, maybe carnal flowers will dare step into the hall, with their sensual perfection of mystery and temptation ... such as flowers are meant to be in the ephemeral of life here ...
a sweet and handsome girlfriend whom Luna knows better than i...

let us not wear the Iris today, nor the orange sandals, see... you like it..
... the mandoline patchouli dream we hold for when ...
.. the Etro is for ourselves only... the armoise no not this way ...
..i spray between around my heart the mist of stones so soft, the pebbles CDG of the japan exile , brushed with herbs aromatic and caressed by the creek dancing away.. come on ...your paws always refrain to claw.. come in my arms.. the yellow sauvage silk rested there shall we wear.. the hues of sun through branches, shining in the skirt as i walk, of autumn leaves and of spring leaves in turn... come Shanti let us have a day

"So, are we doing better today?"

::somewhat muffled:: "No. It's worse if anything.."

"How is it worse?" ::taking notes::

"Well, the bombastic and apparent protagonist of this Théâtre de l'Absurde, you know, this continuing hallucination I keep conjuring up, one Mouchoir de Monsieur, appears now to be wrapped in the arms of Delirium Tremens, and with a houseful of strange guests ghoulishly awaiting his appearance. Just before you came in I awoke fighting desperately to avoid this horrible memory.

But I am also absolutely reeking of this..this STENCH! ..did someone spill a vanilla milkshake on me while I was out?"

"No. Nothing like that happened, my friend. Let me explain.." The psychiatrist stopped writing and slowly raised his eyes to the large barred window overlooking the outside yard. The sun had disappeared over the horizon and a dream-like blue cast gently blanketed the rolling landscape. First placing the pen back into his shirt pocket he then put his strangely pale left hand over his right ear and scalp, as kbe, bed restraints securely in place on hands and feet watched frozen in horror, the doctor, carefully avoiding finger contact to the still healing hematoma on his bald pate, began to pull in a single piece the skin from his face and head..

...Ah Luna if he wants to be left alone .. i tried to lay my hands but he would not have this from me just now.. let him be at his pace.....
did you feel on the terrace... the air is crisp as cristal
.....

défilé ?
..come Shanti ..
lap tops ..
lapsang ..
Shanti..
Alain Souchon ?

tainted ?

..

souillé...

what strange flower in my throat inflating..

ah Luna ... my brother...

is not over Jicky yet no

kbe, barely awake and feverish, vaguely feels invisible hands hold him up as they forcefully guide his half-numb body and to his side some grotesquely kilted guest called Demi through a dark passageway.

Dozens of arms suddenly pop out Repulsion-like from each side of the passageway wall, each reaching, each gesturing alluringly with glistening bottles of fragrance, each hand rhythmically, sensually spritzing not fragrance but the names of fragrances! In colors and strange fonts they eject from gasping apertures, in banner mists they float ghost-like and back-lit from some unearthly souce in the dim air:


Délice du Prince



.................................................. ...........Djedi


.......Quinacridone Violet


.................................................. .......Rock Crystal


and dozens of others too numerous and fragrantly overwhelming to count.

All the while, brightly shining ahead an illuminated screen filled the far end of the passage with a boldly prominent list of Elizabethan Curses:

kbe!, thou grizzled plume-plucked jack-a-nape!

kbe!, thou impertinent hedge-born undefined!

kbe!, thou brazen motley-minded malt-worm!

kbe!, thou currish clapper-clawed ratsbane!

kbe!, thou saucy milk-livered clotpole!

kbe!, thou saucy beetle-headed dewberry!

kbe!, thou goatish knotty-pated jolthead!

kbe!, thou unmuzzled dismal-dreaming hedge-pig!

kbe!, thou purpled ill-nurtured ratsbane!

kbe!, thou villainous flap-mouthed pignut!

kbe shook his head violently trying to clear it.

"This requires some thought.", he muttered to no one in particular..

lol lol lol lol right back atcha kbe ... would i say if i was in that kind of mood and manners... good for you lol

impertinent hedge ... if my brother learns this language.. oh dear ... he never swears.. dont tempt him !

"....What a sign for some perfumer!"

what great play, amidst the wonderous damp of magic crystal ..

dear friends ...
i must now step to his room and see my brother MDM for a last embrace before my departure...the jet pulls me away.. one hour or less i have..
...enjoy the colours corresponding with smell the sounds with heartbeat and the great imagination
...be good...

must dash as they say down there where i go

The doctor sits down and rests at one end of the couch. His mind wanders. DéjÃ* vu of some kind. He recalls teenage indiscretions of an herbal variety. Television images of frenzied reporters bombard him from the periphery of his perception. He hears the words "conscious dreaming". He remembers his friend in the bar talking about a vision quest. How does one distinguish demonic insanity from angelic vision? He smells a wisp of fragrance. It doesn't fit the decor. He lays his head back on the couch.

Time passes.

He smells the camels. The earth moves. By reflex alone, he catches his balance, as he feels the rise and fall of the beast under him. He worries for his bad lower back. How did he make it this far?

The ancient smells surround him. He looks to the front of the caravan. An empty camel leads them. Other figures, wrapped in cloth, their identity a mystery. He hears strange and wonderful music, which sounds middle-eastern, but an image of a conquistador is recalled. How very odd.

He looks behind him. Two women in veils ride behind him. He cannot see their faces, yet he knows they smile. Though they ride behind, he realizes that they are leading the way.

The camels lurch to a stop, in a slow wave of deceleration which moves through the caravan. He hears a whispering voice in his head.

"defile."

"defile."

"defile."

He looks to the front.

A girl in pink plaid, wearing a blue crown, stands before the caravan.

"Turn back! I command it!"

Silence.

"Turn back! Listen to me!"

The whispering voice fills the sky.

"WHY?"

The girl looks to the sky.

"Because I was born to rule! That's why!"

"DEFILE"

"No!"

"DEFILE"

"No!"

"DEFILE"

"No! You have to listen to me!"

The voice comes again, louder.

"TRUST"

The whispers echo and vanish.

A man at the front of the caravan unwraps his face. He looks back to the caravan. Though dressed in Arab attire, he appears to be East Asian. He dismounts and stands at the side of his camel. He calls out to the girl.

"We mean you no harm or disrespect. We bear gifts for another. This is our way."

"What gifts do you have for me?"

"We can give you gold. All that you can carry."

The girl produces a large bag with the name of her queen, Sephora, written on it. She holds it open. As each camel passes, the rider deposits something made of gold into the bag. When the doctor approaches, he realizes that he has nothing of metal on his person, having passed through security of some kind.

"Gold. Hmmmm. Let me see."

"Hurry up, old guy. I don't have all day."

"Just a moment. Surely I have something for you."

In desperation, he reaches into his pocket. He pulls out a sample, given to him by a kind friend. It is all he has of the fragrance.

"They say this fragrance is like liquid gold. Rooms full of powdered gold. All you have to do is smell it, and you will smell the treasures of a thousand kings."

"Why do you give this to me? Why not give it to the one who receives your gifts? Surely this is worthless."

"My gift is this road. This is what I was told. The one who told me also said this. Gold is the metal which makes men crazy. That this is old knowledge which appears many times, but is never heeded. Therefore, take all our gold, and leave us without it. Even this fragrance, which will surely drive you mad."

The girl snatches the vial from the doctor's hand. She opens it up, and without even sniffing it, pours it on herself.

"Gold! Gold! I want to smell like GOLD!"

Spinning, around, laughing, and screaming, she turns into a dust devil and vanishes.

The man at the front of the caravan smiles and wraps his face. Silently, he mounts his camel, commanding it to rise, and the caravan lurches to a start, moving on. Nobody touches the bag of gold on the ground. All those riding behind the doctor throw something of gold into the bag, or on the ground next to it. As the caravan moves away, blowing sands slowly pile against the bag, finally covering it before it is out of view. The music in the doctor's head, coming in and out of audibility, is all that remains.

The doctor wakes up. He looks at Luna, sitting quietly on the couch next to him, drinking tea.

"Good grief. I do believe somebody put acid in the Grey Goose."

She offers a cup.

"Stick to the tea. We may be here for a while."

"I suppose so. Well, why not. Any story worth telling does take time."

Laureline, showing off the unusual step and lithe winsome ways in which her every movement seems cast, turns to approach the closed door under the stair case, into which MDM and Nigel have discretely slipped, with the diminutive yet forceful Nigel gently closing it behind him: MDM's private study. She stands in front of it for a prolonged moment, then turns away, walking toward the front doors of the residence, to let herself out, the sound is heard of her gently closing the enormous bronze and glass gate behind her. There is a plaque on the door underneath the swooping stair, previously of brushed nickel with the word "PRIVE" engraved upon it in elongated, deco-inspired font. Barely noticed by spectators, it is now of burnished brass, framed in an ornate, sculpted garland of wheat-like flowers, baring the same word, in gothic script "old english" style font, written in Flemish. The confusing, erratic state of the set, all stunned players, some in a frank state of delirium, shifting, oddly cast lights streaming through the high windows, and jumbled music, a kind of radio static, seemingly many songs of various styles playing simultaneously, seems to dim slowly, as a series of scrims drops, one after the other, achieving a kind of slow burn haze that eventually erases the scene entirely, leaving a kind of smoky abstraction to be viewed by the audience. The music becoming barely audible, morphs into a soft, poignant violin concerto, and a spot appears upon the scrims, showing MDM and Nigel seated face to face, both characters clearly obvious in silhouette due to the extreme difference apparent in their height. (Many have been those who have suggested that MDM takes such exquisite care of Nigel, and pays him so generously, soley because he, along with his willingness to put up with the impetuousness of Monsieur, manifests such a distinctly petite frame, which, seen alongside Monsieur's inhumanly elongated one, "Makes MDM look taller.") The following conversation is heard to be exchanged between these two, intimate friends: (Many also have been those that have secretly discussed the exact nature of this partnership, which, to the amazement of all and sundry, seems unbreakable, in spite of MDM's recurrent fits of frenzy. Nigel, being very like MDM in comportment, but not in size, is forever witnessed, both publicly and privately, tenderly attentive to Monsieur's every whim. It is a well kept secret that Monsieur, who many view as physically untouchable, melts, and becomes frankly affectionate, when those few and far between, male or female, dare to lay the slightest touch upon him. Inherently aware of this, Nigel, having sat Monsieur down in one of the pair of "Chauffeuse" type chairs facing his desk, and seated himself in the other, is seen in silhouette to get up, and standing behind the towering shoulders of Monsieur, begin to massage the back of his neck, the base of his ears, and at one point, appears to bend down and plant a kiss upon one of them. This scene, which takes place without dialogue, proceeds with the following exchange of words clearly broadcast to the audience, atop the very faint sound of delicate violins:

Shhhhhhhhhhh. Calm yourself, now. There's a good fellow. Shhhhhhhhhhhh. Everything is going to be fine. I say, old man, why ever do you put yourself in such a state? You know we all love you now, don't you? Well. You know your Nigel Loves you, Sir, and nothing would ever take me away from you. You hear that, Sir? Nothing. Why, you could put me in chains and lock me in the cave and I'd patiently wait for you to release me, loving you all the while, I would. Of course I'd be in good company with all that wine, wouldn't I? Shhhhhhhhhh. There we are. (another soft kiss on the ear) Now come to your senses. I won't leave you: For nothing in the world will I leave you, do you hear? In fact, I've the key to this room somewhere upon me, and I've locked it from the inside. So you see, Sir, you won't be leaving me either, now, will you?
Neither of us will leave it until you can get hold of your passions. There's a good old man. Quiet now. Breathe. Just calm yourself.......

(Hiccup!!!!!)

Ah, now there's an idea! here we are, see now, see how lovely this is--let me just pour you a nice bit of tonic.

The sounds of emery stoppered crystal decanters are heard to be uncorked, and that of a liquid being poured into a glass

Here you go, Sir, a Flower Bomb: Just what the Doctor ordered--just one drop of Shalimar--Drink, Sir. There's a dear.

[I]Nigel is seen to change position, seating himself in the chair opposite MDM.


Now, Give me your feet. Up here. Come on now. (tap tap)

MDM lifts his mile long legs, with their distinctive size 48 Johnny booted-feet, and places them on Nigel's lap. Nigel begins unzipping and pulling off boots, and then peeling off socks. He then begins diligently to rub each of MDM's bare feet with his hands, which seem doll-like in comparison to MDM's enormous, boat-like feet.

Alright then. You're going to be just fine, Sir. If your Nigel has anything to do with it, Sir, you're going to be fit as whistle in no time, you are. There's a good old man: Just breathe, and let your own Nigel take care of you.

Huhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh.
Haaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa.
Huhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh.

That's right, Sir. Remember: Your Nigel will never leave you. For nothing in the world, do you hear? Nothing could take me from you. Nothing at all, Sir.

(Hiccup)

Would you like another Flower Bomb, Sir?

Huuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuu.
Haaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa.
Huuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuu.

Good enough. Everything will be fine. And we can stay in here all night, we can, Luna's outside, you know, and she can take care of everything. She has her keys, and, you know, I've left her guest room unlocked, changed the sheets, left her favourite Guerlain soaps--what are they called now, Sir?

Savon du (Hiccup) Jeune Age.

That's right. Luna will take care of what's outside that door. And your Nigel will take care of what's inside this door: Including unlocking it, Sir, and believe you me, Old Man, nothing will get the key into that lock except a refreshed and revived MDM. How are you now, Sir? feeling better?

Oh, Ni......

I know, Sir. Things are sometimes not as easy as they first appear, aren't they now? But trust in me, Sir: Remember. Your own Nigel here on the inside, and Our Luna on the outside. Everything is going to be fine. Here now. Give me your other foot.

Ni, I simply can't come to terms with all this.

Yes you can, Sir, and you're going to. You'll see: I give you 10 minutes and you'll be just dandy, you will. Just dandy.

But Ni it all seemed so easy, you know, and innocent. And now there's Lau, she's haunting me Ni. She's haunting me.

I know she is, Sir. To be honest, I'd be willing to bet you're not the only one she's haunting. Why, Doctor Perfumistico seems to have some odd ideas about her as well. Somewhat shocking ones, actually.

Of course he does. What man living wouldn't.

Well, Lau's quite the Temptress! Why, even I....well, what I mean is, I believe that Lau has eyes only for you, Sir. I can feel it, I can. The way she looks at you. I've seen many women sizing you up Sir, but none with eyes like that.

Is that so, Ni?

Why yes it is, Sir. Yes it is. When Lau looks up at you, she sparkles.

But Ni, she sparkles all the time.

It's because, you see, when you look at her, Sir, she's looking back at you. Don't you see that, Old Man?

And what do you make of that....that roue Aussie....coming in here uninvited, after nearly taking my life with his....his wanton ways?

Well, now, Old Man, I'm sure he's a good egg. Greek, you know. As Orthodox as they come.

You think so, Ni?

I couldn't say for sure, but Luna told me his name is Dimi.

I thought it was Jimmy.

One and the same, Sir, but, it's Dimi. And, you know, one isn't called Dimi without baring the name Dimitri, and then I furthermore seem to recall something he was saying at one point about being on a ship, and drinking Kouros deodorant.

Ni? Kouros deodorant? Why ever would one drink Kouros deodorant? I should think that would be a vile drink if ever there was one.

I'm sure it was Sir, but, you see, he framed the gesture in a predicament.

What predicament?

He said he was ship bound, with the Greek Army, and they were rationed of fresh water.

You don't say?

I do, Sir. Now. Now see here, Sir: How can this fellow be as bad as all that? Aussie's don't serve in the Greek Military, now, do they Sir?

Well, Ni, you might have a point. If he's Greek, I reckon I shouldn't be so hard on him. Do you think he's got designs on Lau?

Not a bit of it, Sir. Why, he'd sooner have designs on you, Old man, if I were to make an educated guess. You, if anybody, Sir, know how strapping young Greeks can be, don't you, now, Sir?

I suppose you're right, Ni. Though, only about the nature of Greeks. I can't imagine that one would be inclined to be so interested in me! Did you see how tan and fit he is? Why ever would some one like him be eyeing a mile high marble white skeleton dipped in wax such as me?

You under estimate your capacities Sir. You see how the Ladies all fawn on you where ever you go?

Is that so, Ni?

Indeed it is, Old man: Why, my MDM leaves a trail of corpses wherever he wanders. How many years have I been witness to this now, Sir?

It's only because they're afraid, Ni.

You'd be surprised, you old bugger! Why--look at Lau: She could have anyone she wants, yet here she is, all a-twinkle before you.

At any rate, I don't require the attentions of anyone as long as I have you, dear, devoted Ni. But, you know, for that which concerns having anyone one wants, I suspect the same could be said about Jimmy, couldn't it, Ni?

It's Dimi, Sir.

With that Nigel is seen to bow his head to place a tiny peck of a kiss upon the tip of MDM's right toe, and the lights go out.
The violin concerto fades.

kbe suddenly awoke as if from an opium-laced dream to stare directly across the room at the frightening visage of a now glassy-eyed and baying Luna.

Poetry--fully 40 lines--had miraculously taken form and filled kbe's unconscious, and now, in volcanic eruption, spewed forth in words he could not understand but only shout out with trilling Truman Capote voice coupled with Stentorian volume:

"Pour Xanadu and Kublai Khan"!
The stately MdM decreed
"Such that a sacred river doth run
O'er posters dedicated to fun
Down past the place of pee".

But oh! past that deep romantic chasm which slanted
Down. A green hill athwart a cedarn cover!
A savage place! as holy and enchanted
As e'er beneath a waning moon was haunted
By woman wailing for her lost Miss Dior (edp)

And from such chasm, with ceaseless turmoil seething,
As if this earth in fast thick spritzes were breathing,
A mighty shift momently was forced:
Amid whose swift half-intermittent twist
Keratinous fragments vaulted like rebounding hail,
Or chaffy grain beneath the thresher's flail:
And 'mid those dancing locks at once and ever
The chasm avoided momently the sacred river.
Five hand-withs meandering with a mazy motion
Past fuzz and pale the sacred river ran,
Then passed that cavern measureless to man,
And sank in tumult to a lifeless floor


Shaken to full reality and unable to finish those barely rememberd lines because of the untimely ringing of a doorbell (loudly announcing the arrival of the FedEx delivery person) he quickly crossed himself twice, once in the Eastern and once in Western fashion then immediately fell backward to the floor, already deeply, mercifully entwined in the arms of Morpheus..


(Humble apologies to Samuel Taylor Coleridge )

The sound of the door to MDM's private study is seen to gently open, and, furtively, Nigel slips out, closes it very quietly behind him, and proceeds to tip toe through the entrance hall and into the drawing room, where he sees Dr. Perfumistico, who seems to struggle slightly with his posture on the new Dutch Renaissance couch, and an unknown snoring underneath a plaid throw.

Bless you, Dr. Perfumistico, for staying. May I fetch you something? anything at all? Good grief what ever is that?

Nigel eyes the garish plaid throw covering the unidentified body emitting loud snores sprawled out on the matching divan opposite the Good Doctor.

Nigel! How's MDM?

Oh, very kind of you indeed to ask, Doctor, I think he'll pull through. I'm quite accustomed to his rages of passion, you know, nothing out of the ordinary.

Really? You mean he acts like this all the time?

Oh, well, now Doctor I wouldn't say all the time, but, you know, Monsieur has his moments.

Nigel eyes the heaving mass of plaid curiously, pressingly distracted by it, and begins to pivot on his feet, a symptom of disarray in the typically cool-mannered Nigel.

Now.....ehm.....Doctor. What may I get you? A nice bit of Scotch, perhaps? Monsieur drinks only Grey Goose vodka, with various additives, and yet we....we have all this.

Nigel turns to indicate the fully stocked bar in the billiard room, with its' smoky mirror backed, underlit soaring display of glass shelves containing hundreds of bottles.

I....I dare say I can offer you any Scotch in the world, prepared however you like. I say, Doctor, what ever is that?

Nigel turns to look down upon the breathing, snoring plaid quilt.

Oh, Yep. That's Kbe.

Kbe? I'm not sure I understand, Doctor. I meant not to ask who's that. What I meant was....

Nigel pivots ever more nervously

....was, what's that? That quilt?

Funny Luna and I were just trying to figure that out. Nigel, I...I'd love a Scotch and soda. Please let me serve myself.

N...Nonsense, Doctor. I'll just...I'll just get that for you straight away. Do you have a preference of Scotch?

You said MDM never touches the stuff?

Well, he sometimes has me heat a cup of it to add to his morning pot of tea, but only in instances when the morning has been preceded by...ehm....excesses, in which case he prefers J&B.

J&B, huh?

Yes, Doctor. I don't think he's ever even tasted any of the others.

So what else ya got, Nigel?

Oh, I think we may have at least thirty different kinds. Monsieur's father is a fan, and collects some of the rarest vintages in the world. That's why we have so many, for the....for the odd visit of Monsieur Senior.

MDM's dad come here a lot?

Hardly ever, Sir. He and Monsieur don't get on as well as they could, on top of which Monsieur Senior carries a cigar, or, failing that, a tobacco pipe lit and smoking at all times, and this drives Monsieur positively crackers. It's usually not fifteen minutes in to one of Monsieur Senior's visits that the two of them aren't at each other's throats, though Monsieur promises each time prior to the arrival of his father that there will be no such scenes.

When was the last time the Dad came?

Oh, two and half years ago, I think.

You expecting a visit anytime soon?

I should think not. At this point in time the two of them haven't spoken a word to each other in over a year.

Tell ya what, Nigel, gimme the best in the house. Straight up. And we'll go from there.

Excellent Doctor. I...I'll just be right on it.

Nigel pivots wildly, about to exit toward the back billiard room, turns, walks two steps toward it, pivots again, then turns around and approaches the divan facing Dr. Perfumistico.

Excuse me, Doctor. I'm afraid I must....I must....Oh, do please excuse me Doctor. I'll go fetch you your Scotch.

Before returning to the back billiard room, Nigel swipes the plaid coverlet off the snoring Kbe, and hastily scurries off into the billiard room to consult the rows and rows of bottles.

Nigel--Hey, why'd ya do that?


From the Billiard room, where Nigel has hidden the plaid coverlet so fast that it seems to have ceased to exist.

Well, Doctor, it's because I've left the door to Monsieur's study unlocked, and Monsieur is inside, you know, and he risks making an appearance at any instant. Don't let's imagine the effect being confronted with an alien bit of plaid cloth would have on him in his current state of fragility were he to do so. Monsieur has....a bit of an aversion to plaid.

Funny that's what Luna was saying.

Having rolled a built in wheeled ladder toward the extreme left of the glass display of bottles, Nigel is seen mounted midway upon it, reaching for a Baccarat Crystal stoppered bottle of Scotch with a worn and tattered label disintegrating on the front of it.
From atop the ladder:

Is Mistress Luna still here, Doctor?

Yep.

Descending the ladder, bottle in hand

Where is she, do you know?

Nope. Went off in search of Dimitri.

Pivoting again, Nigel can barely wrench the stopper off the seemingly ancient bottle of Scotch.

Dimitri, Doctor? I thought he left when Monsieur came downstairs?

That's what we thought. But Luna thinks he's still here.

Still here, Doctor?

Nigel, pivoting and shaking noticeably, returns to the drawing room, and, placing a pewter coaster on the massive, inlaid and carved low table separating the two divans, gently places a squat (Baccarat "Harcourt") tumbler half filled with dark amber liquid in front of Dr. Perfumistico.

Thank you, Nigel. Yep, she thinks he's still here.

I wonder why, Doctor?

Well, for one thing, that was Dimi's kilt you just....what did you do with it, Nigel?

His Kilt, Doctor? Oh, yes, indeed, he was wearing a kilt, wasn't he. Well, if that was in fact Dimitri's kilt, how then would Dimitri leave bereft of it?

You got it, Nige. That's why Luna thinks he's still here.

So, you mean to suggest, then, Doctor, that, if indeed Dimitri is still here, why, then he would be parading about the house without...I say without...his...bottoms?

Dr. Perfumistico takes a languid sip of the Scotch.

Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhh. Damn! Yep. He had on a coat, too, remember? (sip) Damn that's some smooth Scotch. Don't think I've ever tasted anything like it. What is it?

I'm not sure, Doctor, the label is so worn that the gilt writing on it is unclear. I do believe it's well over a century old: It happens to be Monsieur Senior's favourite.

(sip) That Monsieur Senior's got some fine taste, Nige.

Not according to Monsieur Junior, Doctor.

Luna glided down the dimly-lit passageway whose wooden parquetry floors were embellished with antique čilim rugs; ones that had been created on hand-crafted looms in 19th century central Serbia. To her right, a swinging door erupted outward and Dimitri suddenly appeared. He cradled a cup and saucer of exquisitel Japanese porcelain in one hand, and dunked something on the end of a string into the brew with the other.

Luna let her breath out in a huff of relief.

I was wondering where you had gone. The guests are talking about you.

About Me? Whatever for?

Dimi pulled the string from the teacup to reveal a sodden, pulpy bat corpse dangling from the end. He dropped it onto the saucer to the side of the cup with a wet plop. He bought the teacup to his lips and exhaled slowly. The liquid rippled like fine chiffon.

You seemed to leave the room so swiftly when Monsieur appeared. No-one noticed.

I slipped away, ashamed. I have come here uninvited. But had hoped to offer Monsieur an apology.

He sipped the tea and winced. Too hot.

And of course, there are these.

Dimi patted the velvet pouch that rested in his coat pocket. Luna heard a muffled rattle.

Care for some tea?

Luna studied the drenched night-flyer on the saucer and swallowed hard.

No thanks.

Her eyes traced Dimitri's silhouette, and for the first time she noticed his kilt was gone. In its place, he wore a blue gingham pinny. She raised an eyebrow and pointed.

Whats with the "Dorothy from Oz" look?

Dimitri looked down and his cheeks flushed with red.

Oh this... um, its a little complicated! Perhaps you should speak with kbe. Its all his doing.

The pair turned sharply on their heels as a clatter of footsteps drew near. They could make out a silhouette in the hallway, but who...?

Nigel turns to face Dr. Perfumistico, who has now kicked off his shoes and is lounging comfortably on the Dutch Renaissance couch, with his feet propped atop the table between the two facing couches, one of which still contains the snoring Kbe, uncovered. With a quick fidget, Nigel bends to collect an embroidered pillow, and approaches the Good Doctor with it. The Doctor, perfectly entranced by the heavy crystal glass he holds at eye level, now empty, barely notices as Nigel lifts his two legs by their calves and inserts the pillow underneath his feet.

Doctor?

Oh! yes, Nigel? Sorry. I was dozing. Been a hard couple of days.

May I refresh your glass, Doctor? It's empty, you know.

Nige. Are you sure you're real? I mean....Sometimes I just can't fathom how

In a rare breach of etiquette, Nigel cuts the Doctor off, seeming somehow pressed and pivoting again.

Doctor. May I refresh your glass? It's empty. Would you care for another?

Damn, Nige! Have at it!

Yes, Doctor. Just one moment.

Nigel scurries off into the billiard room to collect the bottle, and returns with it, half fills Dr. Perfumistico's tumbler with its deep, rich, amber liquid, and then, after carefully placing yet another pewter receptor onto the table, nestles the crystal stoppered decanter into it.

Thanks, Nige. You're a Pal.

Much obliged, I'm sure Doctor. It's my pleasure. At your service. Doctor, do you mind if I excuse myself for just a few minutes,
I'm sure I won't be long.

Dr. Perfumistico eyes the decanter that Nigel has thoughtfully left on the table at arms length, next to his feet, now propped up on the table.

Not at all, Nige, go right ahead.

And I'm sure our....our friend here...won't mind?

I'm sure he wouldn't mind if you kicked him in the ass, Nige--in the state he's in.

Very Good, Doctor. I shan't be long. Please. Make yourself perfectly at home. If Monsieur emerges in my absence, please, if you will, pull that cord there, to your right, you see? the one with the tassel on the end of it.

You got it Nige! Cheers!

Thank you, Doctor.

With this Nigel opens a door perfectly concealed within the elaborate woodwork of the walls of the drawing room, and disappears into it, closing it soundlessly behind him. As soon as Nigel is gone, Dr. Perfumistico lifts himself up, looks over his shoulder, to his left, and to his right, then on to the snoring mass of Kbe, then downs his entire shot of Scotch, and, with great haste, reaches to the crystal decanter, lifts the stopper, and refills his glass, being careful to replace it in precisely the same angle where before it was perched, with its tattered label facing the French doors leading to the entrance hall to his left.
He then settles back into his former position, holds the heavy tumbler half full of Scotch to the light of the windows, and looks tenderly at it, licking his lip.

Ahhhh, Great and Wonderful Thread. Wish i was powerful in speaking, and i could join you.

kbe: "zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz...unh..zzzzzzz....uh?..un h....zzzzzzzzzzzzzz.."

The doctor, now decidedly drunk, looks around rather stealthily again, but takes no more drink.

"Damn. Where'd that Australian Greek Scot fragrance pornography fellla run off to? What the hell was his name? Demi! That's right."

He seems to think KBE is still on the other couch. He addresses the empty room.

"You know, buddy - this M&M cat is one heck of a bloke - 'er whatever they call 'em in this part of the world. Why - I'll bet he has fragrance fanatic followers all over this cotton-pickin' globe. Ya know?"

Silence.

The doctor takes another long drink, hisses with satisfaction, shakes his head, and lets out a loud "YEE-HAH!" He hold his glass toward the empty couch.

"You know - I'll betcha that before this - (hic) - that before this here experiment thingy is over, some guy from who-knows-where 'll just come knockin' at the door. You know? Why, M&M's got friends all over. He's just that kinda guy! Anybody with a sidekick like that Nige fella is gotta be right in just 'bout everbody's book. (hic)"

Somewhere else in the house, KBE bumps into furniture and something crashes. Laughter and muffled voices follow.

The doctor raises his glass in toast.

"I hear ya, good buddy!"

As the doctor lays back, snoring on the couch, his nameless muse comes to him. Sensing a grand opportunity, she sends him off to a long sleep with these words...

Perchance to sleep
And thus to dream
Where eye hears mote and nose feels beam.

Let journey slip
Across time's sand
And sense reach out to distant land.

O bit physician
Rest your brow
Sun which falls is rising now.

Precious cargo
Epic tale
Mem'ry serves where riches fail.

Flow'r and mushroom
Seed and brew
Ones and zeros all askew.

Find ye now
A fragrant truth
Bits fall back unto their youth.

Never resting
Never done
All is zero, all is one.

Seek ye now
The fragrant laws
Truth and beauty, their own cause.

Sleep ye now
Perchance to see
Should fragrant vision come to thee.

Feigning sleepwalking isn't as easy as it seemed it would be kbe soon found out. That damn demilune he ran into in the dimly lit hallway smashed directly on his shoeless left big toe, re-breaking his old 'war wound', the one for which he had received a Purple Heart (he never admitted the truth to his CO, whom he disliked because he suspected he secretly wore women's perfumes). Kbe had brutally stubbed it while wending his way to the latrine one pitch dark morning --he had convinced the old bastard it had come from individual foot-to-hand combat with the ninja camp infiltrator he encountered that morning, an infiltrator that no one else seems to have seen) during his brief military stint. To keep from screaming and breaking his sleepwalking cover by admitting consciousness of the searing pain that radiated from the now-throbbing toe took Herculean effort. It was no comfort to him that he had broken the damn thing a second time, and for the same reason.

Gritting his teeth he blindly lumbered along. forcing himself to refocus on the problem at hand--where was that damned Loo located anyway?--when that meddling woman, the one with the glass-like eyes who had bayed like a Hound of the Baskervilles last night, shunted him into the kitchen forcing him to take a most uncomfortable seat. The urge to void his swollen bladder grew huge as he watched through slits in his eyelids a continuous stream of liquid slide through the air and heard the crystal tinkle of her pouring...pouring...pouring tea .

"More tea?", the glassy-eyed woman purred as she refilled the cup he hadn't realized he had drained.

There was something strange going on in this house and by God, swollen bladder and throbbing toe or no, he was going to sit tight and find out just what!

Dimi lookeed at Luna's praying mantis head and decidedly sat the bat tea to one side. He closed his eyes, and when he opened them again, he saw KBE had joined them... his face with boar-like protrusions jutting from his jaw.

The Absinthe... the absinthe...

Dimi closed his eyes again and suddenly felt faint. Fearing he was about to topple, he steadied himself by desperately paddling at the air until he found Luna's arm.
When he opened his eyes, there she stood with a stare every bit as tepid as the water he had been sipping from.

Must pee, moaned KBE, his legs crossed like a pretzel.

Not now, Dimi answered. Now I have a small audience, I'd like to share what I have in this satchel.
His hand slipped into his coat pocket, and emerged with the pouch.

Luna's eyes sparkled for a moment.
KBE craned his neck from his seated position; a bead of sweat rolling down his temple.

Dimi tipped the contents of the satchel onto the kitchen table with a clatter.
Luna and KBE leaned in closer to see the stones that had spilled from the bag.

Runes! Luna gasped.
She studied their primordial engravings.
Are you a seer? A soothsayer?

KBE reached forward to pluck one of the stones, but Dimi's reflexes left KBE's hand with a red welt in a millisecond.

Dont touch! Dimi hissed. It is no coincidence the call me Sorcerer. I have bought them to read for Monsieur...

"Oh dear! Look at your poor toe!", the Lunatic chortled. "I have just the remedy for that. An old family remedy that has worked like a charm for many a broken digit." She immediately filled a large glass with tepid tap water and handed it to kbe to drink.

"I don't.."

"Now now. Do as I say. It is a family cure that really works! Just drink it down quickly!". Luna grasped the glass over kbe's reddening fingers (from Demi's nasty slap) and guided it to his lips.

"Drink...drink up, my dear.."

The lip of the glass was forced between kbe's lips and the water poured in as he desperately tried to keep up with quick swallows.

Visions of dams overflowing, rivers pouring over sandbagged embankments, bung-less barrels emptying out their insides, tides roaring through narrow inlets filled kbe's head. Merciful relief now seemed gallons away from achievement and far beyond what one pitifully small drain could ever hope to accomplish...

::But the runes! What will runes tell us?':: he managed to force the thought to the surface of the large, bulging, wet, roiling ocean of liquid that filled his mind. He thought he felt stretch marks beginning to form on his distended abdomen..

- Luna.. pss.. Lulu sweetest..here behind you

Luna glances around in a twirl...
-Lau is here but where ...oh the small mirror with bamboo frame .. who left that hanging.. Heey Lau... are you good ? .. startling every time seeing my reflection your reflection... although nothing can startle me much lately..

-I know Luna I know.. you deserve more than.. Amelie is keeping me for the night ..i have watched with a laughter to the defile of Dimi's tartan.. i will never be able to call my small blanket a plaid ever again.. oh Dear i hope you do not have to much at hand.. although all seems at peace now.. for how long.. lol.. what a well gifted gathering of spirits at the Hall... and spirituals.. thank you for administrating dear lady... i cannot be there as much... thank God for Nigel... I shall try contact MDM.. but for now..

...i go tomorrow to Safi .. then East..and I need advice on what resins to gather for Dr. P and Monsieur-my-flower 's perfume experiment... Yemen holds sacred ones... but i wish for a mere echo of those given in offerande .. a vegetal mineral sand wrappping up human frames in a smoke..no.. mist....bubbles ..with tiny prays of thanks fractaly multiplicating...

please Luna do not forget to visit the mirrors sometimes... i want expert guidance for my pickings

- oh Lolo you know i do no forget .. it is my calling...revive what once was never to be forgotten..

- yes Luna and that is not the only reason you are loved

Aime dis Aime .. oulah .. tu dors.. oushiousha.. si tu dors ne bouge pas ..si tu veilles répond moi..

- Lau is this you I hear ? what trick have you unveiled ..

- yes indeed under the veil... the old mirror there.. oh

- oh Lau Lau to see you I see me

- of course my Dear this is a mirror

- I see myself and yet no beard..

- I see you and you have no hair .. I would giggle if you were not so bruised..

- You know I need no other care than what I receive.... but i shall take care of you ... what with all your desappearings.. you nearly well deserve a good spanking

- Monsieur de Moi I would swiftly escape the threat.. and lay my finger on your lips.. for now, I am even further travelling ...going Sahara West to East, across Egypt and Sinaï into the sands of Jordanie and greater Arabia.. what kind of incense do you want and what kind should we not defile ?

pour Djimi

A chilling voice cuts through the black:

The runes! The runes!!! Theres something I must....

An annoyed voice comes sailing down from upstairs

In your pocket!

...