Dumbo Olivier III stared at his reflection in the dressing-room mirror. His trunk drooped as he examined the growing number of wrinkles on his once-youthful face.
‘C’mon, Dumbs, this could be your big break.’ His agent waved the new script at him. ‘It’s regular work, Dumbs.’
‘A middle-aged medical examiner in a two-bit cop show?’
‘A show which airs every Sunday afternoon, Dumbs. This is the real deal!’
Dumbo shook his crinkly ears. ‘I’m not ready to be a character actor.’
‘Chicks love older men. Think of George Clooney!’
Dumbo turned to regard his profile. ‘Move over, George,’ he murmured.’
Alys stirred the copper cauldron. Three times widdershins and three times sunwise.
‘What’s next, Sparky?’ she glanced over at the diminutive dragon who was sitting on his purple haunches reading from the ‘Spell-book of Beauty for Witches’. Just out of her apprenticeship, Alys had been set to work on a particular potion for the Sisterhood.
‘Eye of newt and ear of bat…’
‘Stop messing, Sparky. Even I know that’s from Mr Shakespeare’s play.’ Alys laughed and flicked the long-handled spoon she was using to stir the pot at her tiny familiar. Small spatters landed on the pages of the spell-book where they sizzled ominously.
Sparky ran a tiny gleaming claw down the text. ‘Add five drops of crocodile tears and twelve drops of tincture of unicorn hair. Stir vigorously sunwise, then add tiny pinches of campfire dust until the mixture begins to glow.’
Alys added the ingredients and stirred.
‘I wonder if it’s supposed to look like that,’ said Alys, peering at the potion. ‘Oh well, it’ll have to do. Agatha of Aladore will be here any second.
Just then, Agatha materialized on the doormat. She grinned, holding out a small copper jug expectantly.
Alys filled the jug, wondering whether any potion could possibly work sufficient magic on Agatha’s gnarled and warty complexion. But Agatha cheerfully smeared the hot gloop over her face.
The potion began to fizz. ‘Oooh,’ exclaimed Agatha.
Her face puffed up like a poppadum. Then, with a loud hiss, the outer skin vapourised. Agatha’s hands flew to her cheeks.
There was a moment’s silence.
Agatha removed her hands. Her face was beautifully smooth. Her eyes shone wide and blue, clashing unfortunately with the colour of her skin which was… GREEN!
Agatha snapped her fingers; a small mirror hovered in front of her.
There was another moment’s silence.
Now I’m for it, Alys thought.
‘I LOVE IT!’ Agatha threw her arms around Alys. ‘Just the right tinge of witchery menace.’ She clapped her hands together. ‘I’ll tell all my friends!’ She tottered onto the doormat. ‘Vogue for Witches here I come!’ echoed her voice from the ether.
Alys held out her hand; Sparky sprang up and gave her a high five.
Breathlessly I peddled up the hill. Jack loved the woods. We were going there anyway, but as soon as I’d reached for his collar he’d bolted out the back door.
I threw my bike down at the end of the lane. Sandals pounding over the dry earth, I called out, running this way and that.
No Jack.
I ran deeper into the woods. ‘Jack! Jack!’
Where would a little dog go? Suddenly the woods seemed huge.
Calling his name, I ran and ran until I could run no more. I leant against the nearest tree, fighting my rising panic.
Tears ran down my cheeks. I closed my eyes and began to howl.
Then I felt something rub against my leg. I opened my eyes.
It was Jack!
I crouched down and put my arms around my little dog. I’d gone to find him, but it was he who’d found me.
I stare wide-eyed at my invitation. As if I wasn’t already the breaker of a thousand diets.
I do not need any more temptation in my life. My fingers stomp on the keys like an over-weight middle-aged woman taking out the trash in which she’s concealed the evidence of her failure to stick to salad.
It’s virtual, a celebration for us girls, the ones who can only dream of those lithe bodies with which they once entwined.
Virtual chocolate cake? What’s the good of that?
Are you sure I can’t tempt you? Go on. See how many hits you get.
Author’s note: I was so taken with Violet Lentz’s response to this same challenge that this is what I found myself compelled to write. It’s also a little experiment about the magical pull of lust and chocolate!
– You know, my Big Red Button. The important one! I want one like everyone else.
– Everyone else, Prime Minister?
– Yes, Putin’s got one, Trump’s got one, that slitty-eyed fellow in North Korea, even Monsieur Whatshisname in France has one.
– You mean the MAD button, Prime Minister?
– Oh no, this isn’t mad, it’s actually quite serious.
– MAD stands for Mutually Assured Destruction, it’s a mnemonic, Prime Minister.
– Never mind how it works, Humphrey, get me the person in charge of our Big Red Button.
– That would be the Chief of Defence, Prime Minister.
– All right then, get the army chappie over here and tell him to bring me my Button.
Later that day.
– The Chief of Defence is here to see you Prime Minister.
A man dressed in uniform with lots of gold braid enters the PM’s office. He places a metal briefcase on the desk and opens it. The Prime Minister rubs his hands together.
– Excellent. Now show me how it works
– Once all the protocols have been agreed, Prime Minister, you simply push that button in the centre of the control mechanism.
– Oh, that one? It’s not very big, is it? And it’s not very red.
– Nevertheless Prime Minister, that is Britain’s Big Red Button. Only to be used in the most dire of emergencies.
– But I’m the one who gets to push the Button?
– Yes, Prime Minister.
– Golly, isn’t politics exciting!
Sir Humphrey shows the Chief of Defence out, closing the door behind them both.
– Tell me that’s not the real thing, Nick?
– Good heavens no, Humphrey! We wouldn’t want something like that in the hands of a politician.
– Does it actually do anything?
– Well, it is armed. Otherwise it wouldn’t look authentic.
– Armed? Good Lord. What might he set off?
– Oh, nothing serious, just a few fireworks in the shrubbery.
With sincerest apologies to everyone who was involved in that great BBC institution, the TV series ‘Yes, Prime Minister’. For anyone who’s never seen it, here’s a little taster:
The Queen gazed out of the window as a team of paramedics, flanked by dark-suited security men, slid the stretcher into the ambulance. Its occupant, whose face was covered, had been pronounced dead at the scene, slumped over his dinner at the top table in the Long Library. It had only been by great good fortune that the contents of the glass he’d been holding had missed her spangled evening gown. White silk was a devil to clean, apparently.
Standing by the back of her chair, her butler coughed discretely. The Queen turned to him and gave a conspiratorial wink. ‘Don’t worry, Watkins. You were only acting under orders.’ The Queen smiled serenely. ‘And I am monarch and above the law.’
‘Very good, ma-am.’
‘Worked a treat, didn’t it?’ she giggled. ‘Something Philip was given on a State visit. I knew it would come in handy one day.’
‘Indeed, ma-am. If I might be permitted to say, the poisoning was entirely justified. Not that one’s Royal Highness would need to.’
‘He might have been the Leader of the Free World, but in all my years as Queen, I have never, ever come across such an odious man.’
‘He actually asked for a Coca-Cola when Blenheim has such a wonderful wine cellar!’
They both glanced at the portrait hanging over the fireplace. ‘I’m not sure what Mr Churchill would have made of him, or his own current successor.’
The Queen raised her glass to the portrait. ‘He’s a problem for another day.’
Kitty Katz stared intently into Marvin’s special StudioSpyScope. Two men were gazing at a wide screen monitor. On the desk in front of them was her publicity file which her agent had recently distributed to his industry contacts.
‘Pretty little thing,’ said the first man, licking his lips lasciviously.
‘She sure is,’ the second man agreed, stroking the photograph which pictured Kitty posing coyly on a pink chaise-longue.
‘She’s very young; good for a few years before the sparkle wears off.’ The first man leered at the monitor where Kitty’s first screen test was playing. ‘I wouldn’t mind giving her the once over.’
‘Or the twice over,’ said the second man rubbing his thigh.
Kitty cringed and snapped the petals of the StudioSpyScope closed. She looked up at Marvin, with horrified eyes.
‘Well, Kitty,’ said Marvin, scratching his ragged ear with his back leg, ‘that’s the movie industry for you. D’you still want to be a part of that?’
Kitty screwed up her eyes. ‘I do not.’
‘Good call, Kitty!’ Marvin smiled kindly at her. ‘In any case, it’s not as if you don’t have other talents.’
Kitty’s cellphone beeped. Her whiskers twitched with excitement as she listened.
‘The news you were waiting for?’
Before Kitty had the chance to answer her cellphone beeped again. Marvin waited patiently for her to finish.
‘No, thank you, Jed, I don’t want to be a movie star. My publisher’s got me a large advance and a three book deal on my ‘Kitty Tails.’
