More Jeeves and the Baiser Florentin

[wotwotleigh.livejournal.com]

Title: Jeeves and the Baiser Florentin
Author: Wotwotleigh
Chapter: Aw, heck, let's call it 4.
Pairing:  Jeeves/Bertie
Summary: Jeeves proposes an unusual solution to a young couple's romantic dilemma.
Rating: G (or PG for a vague description of a French kiss)
Words: 2,499
Disclaimer: Jeeves and Bertie belong to Wodehouse. I'm just writing this for fun. 

I'm finally semi-recovered from my incredibly busy weekend, and I'm back with more of this silly business! I'll try to be better about answering comments this time around, since I'm no longer up to my neck in work. :)

Part 1 is here.
Part 2 is here.
Part 3 is here.

 

I must have been lost in thought for some time, because when I finally came back to the surface, Fungus was making impatient noises at me.

                "What did you say, old man?" I said.

                "I asked you why the devil you were just standing there gaping at me, and if you were or were not going to tell me about your technique," he replied, a little peevishly, I thought.

                "Yes, Fungus," I said, twiddling my tie in what was meant to be a nonchalant manner, "that is precisely what I am going to do."

                "What is?"

                "I am going to tell you about my technique."

                Not ideal, of course, for reasons already outlined, but I didn't see any way around it. I couldn't say why, but every fibre of the Wooster being was recoiling that the thought of kissing this blasted Fitzralph. The man may not have been vile, but the prospect didn't please, either. I would have to put my ears back and issue a firm nolle prosequi on any osculatory action. The only thing for it was to take my best whack at describing the whole procedure. Fungus started yes-well-go-oning at me, so I steeled myself and plunged in.

                "Well, ah, you know," I began. "Run your fingers through her hair. Girls always go in for that sort of thing."

                "Oh, that's good stuff," said Fungus, nodding approvingly and producing a pen and a little notebook from somewhere in the recesses of his costume. He began scribbling feverishly. "Run fingers through hair."

                "You might tickle her ear, while you're at it."

                He snorted incredulously. "She's a girl, not a cat."

                "Still, she'd probably like that. The ears are sensitive, you know."

                "If you say so," he said, scribbling some more. "Ears . . . sensitive."

                "Maybe knead her necktie a bit."

                He lifted his beezer from the notebook and gave me the eye. "Margie doesn't wear a necktie."

                "Oh, doesn't she?"

                "No."

                "I thought she might."

                "Well, she doesn't."

                "There's no accounting for girls' fashions these days, you know."

                "I tell you, she doesn't wear a necktie. I would have noticed."

                "Whatever you say. Anyway, that's neither here nor there. Just knead whatever upholstery comes to hand."   

"Why should I do that?"

                "Dash it, how should I know?"

                "It's your technique."

                "Well, don't do it, if you don't want to. I just thought it added a certain whatsit."

                "Let's skip over all that extra business for now," he said impatiently. "What about the kissing part?"

                I chewed the lip a bit and squirmed uncomfortably. "Ah, yes. Well. This kissing part, eh? Yes, the kissing part."

                "Go on."

                "You, ah . . . well, you don't pucker up, if you know what I mean. Keep the lips open."

                He gave me another eye. "Open, you say?"

                "Right. You have to sort of work them around a bit. And – I'm a bit hazy on this part, but the tongue enters into it somehow."

                He reeled. "What do you mean, the tongue? Are you suggesting that I lick her?!"

                "Not exactly. Well, yes. No. Sort of."

                He drew in a whistling breath. "Bertie, she's a girl, not a –"

                "Yes, yes, you said that before."

                "You didn't let me finish. Before, I said she wasn't a cat. This time I was going to say she's not an ice cream."

"I know she's not an ice cream. I never said she was."

"Then why all this business about licking her? I don't understand you, Bertie. You're blithering."

"I am not blithering!"

"Well, I say you are blithering. And you've come over all red again. Are you sure you aren't stinko?"

"I am not stinko!"

"Well, if you're not blithering and you're not stinko, what the devil is the matter with you?"

I tugged at the collar, under which I was feeling distinctly piquant. "Probably just dehydrated. I was exercising before you came in, you know."

"So you said."

"I'd better see if Jeeves has any lemon squash or something lying about. Wait here, old man. I'll be back with you shortly," I said, clutching the brow. I staggered out, leaving the bewildered fellow staring after me.

               

                ---

               

                "Jeeves," I said hoarsely, having stumbled into his lair and shut the door behind me, "the whole thing's a bust."

                Jeeves looked concerned – or at least, as concerned as he ever looks. "I am sorry, sir."

                I waved a magnanimous hand. "It's no fault of yours, Jeeves. The fundamentals of your wheeze are sound. I simply can't whack up the ginger to follow through on the bally thing. Call me craven if you wish, but I'm afraid I must say nothing doing."

                "I see, sir."

                "I don't know why I'm balking like this. At the thought of embracing you, I hardly batted an e."

                "Most mysterious indeed, sir."

                "In fact, I think . . ."

"Sir?"

"I think . . ."

"Yes, sir?"

I'm not sure what I was trying to say, because the whole thing is sort of hazy in my memory, but something kept bringing me up short. I gulped like a stricken bull pup. "I think I need a drink, Jeeves," I finally blurted.

He inclined the bean solicitously. "Are you well, sir? If you will pardon me for saying so, you look rather less than soigné."              

                I didn't have the heart to break out my gag about being way down upon the soigné river. Someday I shall find a way to work it in, but this was not the day. "Dashed if I know. Fungus seems to think I'm off my nut, and I'm starting to think he's right. I feel like an escapee from Colney Hatch. Mix me up something strengthening, if you would. I think a brandy and s. might meet the case, and go easy on the s."

                "Very good, sir."

                He was just fetching the restorative when I heard Fungus let out an impatient cry from somewhere in the outer sanctum.  "What are you doing in there, Bertie?" he hollered. "I haven't got much time!"

                "What do you mean, you haven't got much time?!" I bellowed back.

                "Margie will be here any minute! I told her to meet me here after she got done at Eulalie Soeurs!" came the answering howl.

                "When you say 'Margie will be here', do you mean here as in here?!" I yelled.

                Jeeves coughed gently somewhere abaft my right ear. "If you will pardon me for intruding, sir," he said softly, "your conversation with Mr. Fitzralph would be much facilitated if you were to join him in the sitting room. If you will proceed thither, I shall join you momentarily with your refreshments."

                I had to allow for the fact that there was something in what he said. "Oh, ah," I replied, and oiled out.

 

---

 

                "You ought to have told me Margie was coming," I said reproachfully, when I was once again in the Fungal presence. In my present state, I was hardly in the mood to have the place cluttered up with Margies. The infestation of Fitzralphs was bad enough.

                "Well, I'm sorry," he scowled. "I didn't think of it until just now." Suddenly, his face brightened. "I say, Jeeves, what have you got there?"

                Jeeves had just filtered in with a couple of long glasses on a tray, looking quietly benevolent. "Brandy and soda, Mr. Fitzralph," he said smoothly. "I thought you might both enjoy a bracing cocktail."

                Fungus and I both descended on the tray like a wolf on the fold. Whether or not our cohorts were all gleaming in purple and gold, I couldn't tell you.  "Skin off your nose," I said, addressing the company at large, and downed the soothing elixir in a single gulp. At that moment, the doorbell tootled again, and Jeeves floated off to answer it.

                "That'll be Margie now," said Fungus. His perspicacity served him well. A few scant seconds later, Jeeves opened the door, and Margie blew in.

                "Hullo, Jeeves," she said cordially. "What ho, Bertie, old ass." Then her face took on a sort of melting glow, and she fluttered on winged feet over to Fungus. "Peveril, darling," she said in a breathless warble, throwing her arms around his neck. "Kiss me, you chump."

                "Ah, er, yes. Hullo, Margie," he said, turning about five shades of red and carefully extracting himself from her grip.

                Margie shot me a pointed l. "You see? Just like I told you."

                Fungus drew himself up. It was plain to see that he was taking this pretty big. The pride was smarting. "What do you mean, just like you told him?" he demanded.

                "What do you mean, what do I mean?"

                "You've been telling Bertie all about our troubles, have you?"

                Not terribly sporting of him, I thought. After all, he had just been telling me all about their troubles not fifteen minutes ago. I thought about saying as much, but decided against it on consideration.

                Margie was not so reticent. Her eyes flashed, and she tossed her raven curls like one of those Rosie M. Banks heroines. It was one of those things I didn't know people really did. "Yes, I jolly well have been," she said. "Why shouldn't I? Bertie's a pal."

                "Oh, he is, is he?"

                "Yes, he is."

                "Terribly sympathetic, I suppose."

                "Frightfully sympathetic."

                "No doubt you wept on his chest."

                "I did not, but it's not such a jolly bad idea. I'm sure his chest would be more fun to weep on than yours."

                "What!"

                "Bertie may be a colossal fathead, but I'll bet he at least has the sense to know when to put his arms around a girl."

                "Oh, is that so? Well, let me tell you something, you little squirt –"

                "Who are you to call me a little squirt? I wish you'd go boil your head!"

                "Did you just tell me to boil my head?"

                "I did, and I meant it! Or sautée it if you prefer. I don't much care what you do with it."

                "Well, of all the – blast it, Bertie, why are you prodding me like that?!"

                I'll tell you why I prodded. My keen Wooster senses had clicked into gear and were putting me onto the fact that this was one of those tides in the affairs of men which, taken at the flood, lead on to fortune. "Do it now!" I hissed.

                "Do what?"

                I jerked the lemon meaningfully in Margie's direction.

                "Oh!" said Fungus, turning vermillion. "Oh, ah."

                "Go on!" I urged, giving him another good prod at the base of the spinal column.

                "What's the matter with you two?" demanded Margie, growing hep to the fact that something was in the offing.

                Fungus squared his shoulders and plunged in. Jeeves's restorative must have braced him up, for he set into the thing with a good deal of spirit. "Margie," he said in a commanding voice, "I have something to say to you, so you'd better simmer down for a moment and listen."

                She gave one of her snorts. "Oh, really? Well, I'm not interested."

                "You'll be interested in this," he said boldly, and he strode forward and wrapped his arms around her.

                I mean, so far so good, what? I was feeling pretty bucked, thinking that he had the situation well in hand, and was just about to turn away discreetly when I noticed that all was not well on the Fungus and Margie front. She was squirming and sort of whacking at him with her handbag, making little indignant squeaks, and a quick glance was enough to tell me why. He was bearing down on the poor girl like a cross between Boris Karloff and an agitated halibut, all gaping maw and groping hands. The blasted blighter was following the letter of my teaching, but not the spirit.

                I don't know if you have ever had the experience of watching someone foul up something that you're a bit of a nib at, but if you have, you'll know how dashed frustrating it is. I'm sure that Jeeves would be better than me at explaining the psychology of the thing, but the thing I've noticed is that it brings on an almost irresistible urge in most red-blooded birds to shove the bungler aside and do the dashed job yourself. Once when I was a pimply young lad in my days at Malvern House Preparatory School, I induced the Rev. Aubrey Upjohn to spend about half an hour showing off his skill on the unicycle in the middle of the school grounds simply by coming a few rather spectacular purlers on the thing in his presence.

It was much the same with me and this Fitzralph. "Not like that, you idiot," I said in a reproving sort of tone, and, having rent the two lovers asunder with a sharp yank on Fungus's shoulder, I gathered Margie into my arms and let her have it with all the spunk and ginger at my disposal.

A fatheaded thing to do, of course, and I knew I was making the bloomer of a lifetime before the lips had even docked at home port, but it seemed as if the laws of inertia had set in with unusual severity, and the whole sordid deed was already well underway before I could even think of turning back. And it was dashed good stuff, if I may say so. Margie melted in my arms like a pat of butter on a hot skillet. When I finally released her from the clinch, she stood swaying for a moment like a reed in a strong wind.

"Oh, Bertie!" she breathed, when speech finally returned. "Oh, Bertie!"

At that moment, the awful gravity of what I had done struck home. I have noted this disturbing tendency on the part of the female populace at large to go about the place saying "Oh, Bertie" at me before. Depending on the method of delivery, it can signify any number of things – usually, various levels of irritation – but this particular strain was the most sinister of all.  I hadn't heard it often, but enough to know what it signified. A quick shiver wracked the frame, and I backed away a step or two.

"Yes, well," I said, and I gave one of those light, airy laughs, although it may have come off more like the death rattle of a strangled duck. "Well, there it is, and all that." I thought about elaborating on the theme, but nothing more sprang immediately to mind, so I subsided.  

Margie repeated the "Oh, Bertie" refrain a couple more times, and then biffed off, presumably to get some air or something. Fungus, who had been making motorcycle noises in the background throughout, shot me a look that went through me like a hot knife through treacle and took off after her, slamming the door behind him.

I buried my face in my hands and howled for Jeeves.

 

Comments

[coffee-n-retcon.livejournal.com]

Oh now that should be a title right there: Howl for Jeeves

So... Will we be getting any '"Oh Bertie," breathed Jeeves' soon? Please?

[wotwotleigh.livejournal.com]

Hee, yes. A few years ago I read a little anthology of Lovecraft/Wodehouse crossover fic that was entitled Scream for Jeeves. It was pretty awesome.

Don't worry, Bertie will get his priorities all sorted out soon. ;)

[coffee-n-retcon.livejournal.com]

I've been looking for Scream for Jeeves, on the rare occasions I've seen one it's just been much too expensive.

And yay for Bertie with properly sorted priorities!

[wotwotleigh.livejournal.com]

I can't remember how I happened to get my hands on it. I think I might have gotten it through inter-library loan or something, because I'm pretty sure I never actually owned a copy, alas.

[saylee.livejournal.com]

Howl for Jeeves makes me think that werewolves are involved somehow. Which would be awesome.

[wotwotleigh.livejournal.com]

As it happens, part of the reason I'm on this Jooster fanfic kick is that I recently roleplayed as Bertie and Jeeves in an online game of Werewolf (http://eblong.com/zarf/werewolf.html) on another forum. It was the most fun I've had in a long time, and it reawakened the old Wodehouse obsession.

Poor Bertie and Jeeves were eventually eaten by the werewolves, but not before taking down several of them. Playing as Jeeves forced me to play smart.

And now I'm thinking about what it would be like to play Werewolf with an all Wodehouse cast . . . *ponders*

[saylee.livejournal.com]

I think I'm about to say "Oh, Bertie," myself, in a tone of amused and affectionate exasperation.

Delightful, as always. I need more!

[wotwotleigh.livejournal.com]

Thanks! :) More will come soon!

[erynn999.livejournal.com]

Good Lord. You knew Bertie was going to muck it up somehow and that the beazel was going to be insistent upon marrying him while he was at it. It's not Bertie otherwise!

Poor, dear fathead. I do hope Jeeves rescues him soon. I'm sure he realized that Bertie was just trying to show his idiot friend how it was properly done.

*giggles hysterically*

[wotwotleigh.livejournal.com]

Oh yes, there's no way Bertie could make it through a scenario like this without somehow blundering into a romantic entanglement with the wrong person. Jeeves must have seen it coming. ;p

[erynn999.livejournal.com]

Seen it coming? I'm sure he planned for it! It's all that fish, you see.

[trista-zevkia.livejournal.com]

the soigné river.

My new favorite pun, and I dearly hope Bertie gets the chance to drag it out!

Fantastic, begging for more!

[wotwotleigh.livejournal.com]

Haha, thank you! I'm afraid I can't take credit for that particular gag -- it's one of Plum's. But it was too fantastic not to use.

[sunquistadora.livejournal.com]

Oh Bertie, indeed! Sigh. Loving this!

[triedunture.livejournal.com]

Bertie, you idiot!

Well, at least Margie received some nice smoochies. I just hope Jeeves isn't TOO jealous. >.>

<.<

[emeraldreeve.livejournal.com]

It's great to see more of this story! I love the howl for Jeeves.

[baskervwatson.livejournal.com]

*snort* Oh Bertie, you silly goose. Bless him. Really love this story, can't wait to read more.

[the-archandroid.livejournal.com]

I have noted this disturbing tendency on the part of the female populace at large to go about the place saying "Oh, Bertie" at me before.

ROFLMFAO!! and yeah, i would imagine that howling for Jeeves is precisely what happens after a woman says "oh bertie"

absolutely hilarious.