Jooster Fic: Jeeves and the Club for Inverts (Part 2)

[triedunture]

When I entered the flat, I expected complete peace and quiet in which to mull over this rummy turn of events re: Jeeves and the club for inverts. Firstly, Jeeves was an invert, which was shocking on its own merit. I mean to say, he's the best valet a man could dream of, and I'd never thought of him as anything besides that. Valets and romantic lives were like cats and water in my mind. They just didn't go together, no matter how fit and tanned said valet might look after a holiday at the seaside. But there it was; Jeeves was human, just like everybody else. It would take some getting used to, but facts were facts.

But why would a cove like Jeeves suddenly cease to pursue romantic relations after being quite the Romeo? This was a question which called for a good long stretch of solitary thinking.

But Jeeves must have taken a jet-powered racer back to the flat, because he was already there, dressed in his uniform, and relieving me of my hat and stick before I could say 'What?'

'Good evening, sir,' Jeeves said as he went through his usual motions that my arrival always calls for. 'May I note that you've arrived home early? Was the theatre programme not to your or Mr Bassington-Bassington's liking?' He looked at me with a blank expression of complete innocence.

I goggled at him. So this is how it was going to be, I thought. Jeeves won't say a word about The Black Cloak and expects me to forget the whole thing as well.

Fine, then. I composed myself. 'Yes, we both decided to sneak out early. Cyril was feeling a bit green. Must have been something he ate.' I slipped out of my overcoat and let Jeeves have it. 'And you, Jeeves? Wasn't tonight your evening off?'

'Yes, sir. I passed an enjoyable few hours with an improving book.' And with not a twitch of his face, he hung up my coat and fluttered toward the kitchen. 'Would you like a cocktail before you retire, sir?'

'No thank you, Jeeves,' I said as I watched him go. I must have stood dumbly in the entryway for some minutes before I rallied myself and headed to bed.

I went to sleep thinking that perhaps this strange evening had been just a dream.

But of course I was wrong.

Cyril came round the next afternoon, all aglow. We had a seat in the parlour and, when Jeeves beetled off to get the tea things, Cyril let loose. 'Bertie,' he said, 'last night was absolutely corking. Best time I've ever had in my life!'

'Really?' I asked. 'It's a miracle you can remember any of it, given how completely smashed you were by the end.'

He continued gushing as if I hadn't spoken. 'So many gents there, Bertie. And all so enamoured of me!'

'Yes, I suppose if you don't mind being pawed by coves who've lived through the Great Potato Famine, then it's quite the treat.'

'I've never felt so free, Bertie,' Cyril said, his eyes bright with happiness. His voice became quiet. 'I've never felt so right.'

I didn't have it in me to mock that assertion; Lord knows I felt much the same. I leaned forward in my armchair and patted my old friend on the knee. 'I'm glad, Cyril,' I said with a gentle smile.

'We must do it again,' he insisted.

'Of course, old bean, of course.'

'Tonight.'

I nearly dropped my lit gasper onto the carpet. 'Tonight? Do you think that's wise? I mean to say, you don't want to overdo it, what?' But truth be told, I was less concerned about the health of my old school chum than I was with the thought that, if I went to The Black Cloak that night, Jeeves wouldn't be there; it wasn't his evening off. And I didn't fancy an evening of standing uselessly in the main hall of the club all alone while Cyril mingled.

'It must be tonight,' Cyril said. 'Please, Bertie. If you don't come with me, then I'll just have to go by myself.'

Well, I didn't need a crystal ball to know that was a terrible idea. I acquiesced grudgingly just before Jeeves trickled in with the tea tray. I sipped at a thoughtful cup and wondered what I should wear for the evening's outing.

Of course I needn't have worried; Jeeves had the answer as usual, and he was stuffing me into some finery when I mentioned, 'Jeeves, I might be out quite late tonight with Cyril.'

'Indeed, sir?'

'Yes. I don't want you to wait up, you know. As it will be really rather late, I imagine, when I return.'

'It is no hardship, sir.'

'I know, Jeeves. I only mean to say, well,' I lifted my chin to allow him to fix my tie, which had drooped from its perfect butterfly shape while Jeeves had been brushing my jacket, 'if you would like to take the evening off, that would be all right with me.'

Jeeves caught my eye for just a split second before he moved off to choose a pair of highly polished shoes from the wardrobe. That short glance told me nothing of value, as Jeeves is as proficient in hiding his emotions as a professional card player. 'There are several household chores, sir, which need to be seen to tonight.'

'Ah.' I fidgeted my hands in my trouser pockets while Jeeves slipped the shoes onto my waiting socked feet. 'I see. No matter; just thought I'd point it out. In case you wanted to have the evening to yourself.'

'Thank you, sir. However, I believe I will complete the day's chores before retiring with an improving book.'

There was something rummy in the way Jeeves said 'improving book' just then; I gave him the squinty eye, trying to ascertain if he was being honest or if he was being coy like he had been the night before. But as always, it is difficult to tell with Jeeves. I said my goodbyes and left the flat to meet Cyril.

Our second night at The Black Cloak was no quieter than the previous venture, to my surprise. Sunday nights are traditionally treated as a recovery period, when young Turks like myself might nurse our sore heads in bed with a pot of tea and a stack of digestives. The Drones, for example, is often quite empty on a Sunday night. But the Cloak? As hopping as I had last seen it.

Cyril and I entered with our masks firmly in place, and he clutched at my arm as he spotted one of his older gentlemen off in the distance.

'Oh, Bertie, Geoffrey is here again!' he cooed. (I could hear in his voice that this was Geoffrey with a G; Cyril isn't the type to fall for a Jeffrey with a J, even if it was a false name.) 'I simply must speak to him. I do hope he remembers me.'

'How could he forget? I'm almost certain you fell into his lap when I tried to get you down from the tabletop last night.'

Cyril didn't seem to hear me. He made a beeline for his Geoffrey and left me very much in the dust. I looked round the bustling hall. One's eyes might have been playing tricks on one, but I thought I counted one or two Lords of high standing among those assembled. Well, I mean to say. If Lords can get by, then perhaps there was some hope for us after all.

I leaned against a dark wood-paneled wall and rummaged in my waistcoat pocket for my cigarette case. Cyril hadn't so much as thrown a glance back at me, but at least the object of his affections appeared to recall who he was; they were chatting in an animated fashion already. At least one of us will have a fine time, I thought as I finally found my silver case. I hadn't even gotten the gasper to my lips when a sudden flick of a lighter appeared before my nose. I looked up past the little dancing flame to see Jeeves standing there by my side.

'Good evening,' he said. 'Did you need a light?'

I daresay he must have been as fast as lightening; he was dressed in a perfect ensemble, his little domino mask firmly in place. How the devil had he gotten here so quickly, I wondered. Could he really be two identical people? The thought of two Jeeveses orbiting round London floated unbidden to my mind, and I smirked a bit as I leaned in to take the offered light.

'Something amusing, Nicholas?' Jeeves asked after he'd clicked his lighter shut.

'Just wondering at your sense of timing, Victor,' I said, letting the smoke trail out of my nostrils. 'I was resigned to holding up this wall all evening.'

'Now you needn't be,' Jeeves said with that glimmer of a shadow of a ghost of a smile.

'Now I needn't be,' I agreed.

A small silence descended between us, and the noise of the conversation in the hall swelled all round. On the other end of the room, a four-piece brass band pulled out their instruments and struck up a lively tune. It was a popular ditty, one I hadn't yet learned, but one I could hum. A ripple of excitement seemed to sweep through the club, and men began rearranging the heavy furniture to make more space for dancing.

I watched a few couples step onto the dance floor. It seemed the policy for two chappies dancing together varied widely. A few men took the role of the women, allowing their partners to lead them along. Other couples merely wrapped their arms round each other and swayed in a way that was not quite dancing and more like rubbing. Well, necessity is the mother of whatsit and all that. I smoked and watched.

'You wouldn't have stayed by the wall for very long,' Jeeves finally said, leaning close to my ear so I could hear him over the roar of the music. His breath tickled my skin.

'What do you mean?' I asked.

He tipped his head, indicating something over my shoulder, and I turned to look. There was that blasted Peter, the one-track cove from the night before. He was lounging on a chaise with a flute of champagne in hand, openly staring in my direction. When he caught my eye, he raised his glass in salute. I returned the gesture with my cigarette, not wanting to appear rude.

'Peter has a liking for,' Jeeves paused, and his voice seemed to drop even lower as it breathed against my ear, 'fair young gentlemen. I suppose he will want to dance with you.'

'Oh, really?' I hoped that Jeeves was mistaken, but even as I watched, Peter lifted himself into the vertical position and began stalking his way toward me. 'Oh. Really.'

'If you wish, I might explain to him that you are here only to escort your friend Sebastian,' Jeeves offered.

'Would that dissuade him, do you think?' I whispered out of the corner of my mouth as Peter came closer and closer.

'Probably not,' Jeeves admitted.

'Fantastic.' I forced a smile onto the Wooster visage as Peter pulled abreast of me. 'What-ho, what-ho!' I hailed jovially.

'Would you care to dance?' Peter asked me, his eyes glued to what appeared to be my hip region. I was about to stammer out some sort of reply (what, exactly, I haven't the slightest idea), but Jeeves stepped in as if Peter's question had been directed at himself!

'Yes, Peter, I'd love to,' he said, and took the other man's arm before he could protest. Peter turned rather red in the face and sputtered some, but Jeeves was the bigger cove, so Peter was manhandled onto the dance floor nicely. I waggled my fingers at him when he craned his neck round to stare balefully at me as he was dragged off.

Of course, Jeeves sorted it so that he was the one leading. I chuckled behind my hand as the blister was forced to place a hand on Jeeves' shoulder like a lady would; he was just fuming at the indignity of it, but what could he do but be led? Peter was a sure-footed chap, it seemed, but he didn't have a patch on Jeeves' dancing skills. I watched them take a few turns round the floor, and then I biffed off in search of a drink.

A few minutes into a topping martini, I heard the song end and another begin. Jeeves drifted back to my side soon after.

'Very white of you to take the bullet, so to speak,' I told him as I gestured to get the barman's attention.

'I couldn't have stood idly by and allowed you to brave Peter alone,' Jeeves said. He asked the barman for a whiskey sour and returned his attention to me. 'He steps on one's toes rather forcefully.'

'Ah, yes, but does he always step on toes, or is it just your toes he has it in for?' I laughed.

Jeeves received his drink, and I instinctively offered the rim of my glass for a shared toast. It's the thing to do when you're having a corking good time with a friend at a night club, what? I didn't even think twice about it.

But Jeeves looked at my offered glass like he was faced with Solomon's bally puzzle. My grin faltered; was toasting too intimate a thing to share between employer and employee, even when they were pretending to be just two normal chaps?

However, after a mere second of indecision, Jeeves clinked his glass against mine gently, and the light ring of it brought my smile back.

'Jolly good,' I said, and drank. Jeeves followed suit. We had quite a few cocktails as we chatted about light topics. The cinema, mostly. I hadn't known Jeeves to be a regular patron of the pictures, but he seemed to have a lot to say about it. He'd seen The Big Parade three times already, and intimated that he wouldn't mind seeing it for a fourth.

I'd liked it well enough, but when I'd seen it for the first and only time a month before, my enjoyment had been severely handicapped by a woman in the row behind me who sobbed loudly into her hands from the first scene to the last. As a result, I'd missed most of the story. Jeeves attempted to fill me in, bunging in a lot of technical details on the camerawork and so on.

'You're quite the expert on this, what?' I shouted into his ear over the din. The crowd at the bar was absolutely crushing us on all sides, and the noise made it very difficult for Jeeves to make out my words.

'Pardon me?' He leaned in closer.

'I said—! Oh, dash it, it's much too loud in here,' I cried. 'Can we go to one of those alcove thingummies, Victor?' (A small thrill ran through me every time I used that false name; it was like a secret game that only the two of us could play.)

Jeeves stared at me for a moment before saying, 'I'm sorry, I must have misheard you again.'

'The alcove business! A quiet place where we can talk!' I gave up on trying to yell over the throng of men at the bar and instead took Jeeves' wrist in my hand. 'Come on.' I led him through the pressing crowd in what I thought was more or less the direction of the alcoves. I picked one hallway and pulled back its heavy velvet curtain. 'Ah, here we are,' I said, seeing the narrow hall lined with small niches. Each was a little horseshoe shape carved into the wall, complete with a cosy cushioned seat and small table. Those alcoves that I saw were unoccupied, as it seemed the ones that were already taken had their own little curtains drawn to hide them from the eyes of outsiders.

'Oh, this is a much better place to hold a conversation.' I flopped onto the nearest empty seat, testing its springiness. 'Don't you think?'

Jeeves remained standing, his face taking on that stuffed-frog expression even behind his domino mask. I was about to ask him what the matter was when I heard the distinct sound of male moaning from the niche next to mine. I glanced over to see a bare foot, toes curled tight, poking out from under the curtain. Another moan wafted from that direction, along with a happy giggle.

'I say,' I I-sayed. I hadn't realised that when Jeeves said 'a quiet place' he'd actually meant 'a place to fornicate rather blatantly'. Now that it dawned on me what the true purpose of this section of the Cloak was, I could hear and see the signs of illicit liaisons all round. A discarded sock in the middle of the hallway, as if it had been tossed there blindly in a mad dash to unclothe a lover. A low smacking sound of fierce kissing down the way. A whispered direction that I dare not repeat here, as it was rather rude.

'We might go back to the bar for another drink, if you'd like,' Jeeves said in that gentle, knowing way of his.

But I was feeling stubborn and not a little silly for dragging the both of us to this place. I didn't want Jeeves to think I was a complete innocent, after all. So I said, 'I'm not about to jump and cry "ho!" at the sight of a bare foot.' I patted the cushion next to me. 'Sit and tell me some more about these new cameras you know so much about.'

After what appeared to be an internal struggle that lasted several moments, Jeeves finally did sit down. I sipped at my cocktail while he spoke. 'Sebastian is fortunate to have such an understanding friend accompanying him. You're very kind, Nicholas.' He placed his whiskey on the little table before us and laced his fingers together between his knees. 'But you needn't attempt to accommodate me at the risk of your own comfort. You don't have to prove to me how sympathetic you are to men such as myself; it's readily apparent.'

I didn't get his meaning. 'I don't get your meaning.' I furrowed a curious brow. 'Men such as yourself?'

'Homosexuals,' he clarified.

I had never heard that word spoken aloud. Bally strange, I know, but it wasn't one that was bandied about the Drones very often, and certainly not at my aunts' dinner tables. Reading it in the papers or books of ethical theory, as one sometimes does, gives one the impression of a hard-edged word, rough and lewd. But the way Jeeves said it, it could have been music.

I recovered from that shock as quickly as I could. 'Victor, why would I worry about appearing unsympathetic toward homosexuals?' I frowned. 'I am one, you know.'

Jeeves paused, lifted his drink, and took a long sip. This action betrayed no tremor of shock, but I, who knew him well, could sense it coming off of him in buckets. When he was finished draining his glass, he said, 'I had assumed you were merely supportive of your friend. I . . . was under the impression that your tastes ran to the female.'

'Golly, a gentleman shouldn't kiss and tell,' I said, 'but I think I'm right in saying I gave women their fair chance.' I shrugged. 'That never went anywhere.' I didn't particularly wish to elaborate; the embarrassment was particularly painful to recount. I mean to say, one can objectively proclaim a profile to be top notch, but when said profile is facing one straight-on and in a darker and emptier room, it takes on a whole new look, what? One of many reasons, I'm sure, why I wasn't suited to the owner of that corking profile.

'You also expressed disinterest in Peter, and—'

'Oh, yes, well.' I gestured vaguely. 'The chap's all right, I suppose. Not bad to look at, of course, but just not my type of biscuit, what?'

'Nicholas, I've also noticed that you do not seem openly interested in any other men in the club. It is the norm for patrons to appraise each other, yet you have not.'

I lit a nervous cigarette. Was he saying I was some sort of eunuch? 'I suppose I haven't had much time for it,' I said. 'I've been too busy chatting with you, haven't I? And you haven't been giving any birds the glad eye either.'

Jeeves seemed to bristle at this thingummy of mine; what's the word? Starts with def- I think. Deferential? Deflection! That's the ticket.

'My affairs are no business of yours,' he said, and his voice was so cold, his tone so bally chilly, that I immediately regretted what I'd said.

'Sorry, old thing. I didn't mean to touch a nerve.' I offered him my open cig. case, hoping it might smooth things over. He accepted a gasper and, as I had my lighter handy still, allowed me to light it for him. I did so carefully, mindful suddenly of how close we were on the little plush seat. My knee brushed his as I leaned close.

We smoked in silence for a short time before Jeeves said, 'My apologies. You had no way of knowing you were treading on a sensitive subject.' His eyes seemed to focus on something far in the distance, an old memory perhaps. 'My celibacy is not exactly a secret, but it is not something I can easily explain.'

Now, I wasn't about to judge. After all, the youngest of the Woosters had, for all intents and purposes, rebuffed the tender arts as well. Not that I'd set out to become celibate, of course, but after leaving Oxford and failing so dreadfully to click with the female of the species, I had sort of foundered on the rocks of love. And being beached was just fine with me; at least I was out of the bally water. So of course I did not look down on Jeeves for his decision.

'No need to explain,' I said. 'It's your Aston; keep it in the garage if you like.' I used my empty martini glass as a substitute ash tray and shot him a little grin.

The half-smirk of his let me know he hadn't taken my gag the wrong way. 'You certainly have a way with words,' he said.

I gave an embarrassed wave of my hand as if swatting away a complimentary fly. 'Most people just think I'm barking mad when I say things like that.'

Jeeves gave a twitch of his lower lip that said let 'em think what they like. 'I think you have a real gift.'

I fidgeted like a schoolboy, first with the end of my finished cigarette, then with the stem of my dirtied martini glass. Maybe you're not aware of this, but I'm not often showered with praise. My friends and relatives all seem to barely tolerate my habit of writing out my little stories for serials and whatnot; certainly not one of them has ever congratulated me on the feat. I had always assumed that Jeeves, too, had no taste for my scribblings. Which was fine; they were frivolous, and he was not. I had had no inkling that he might actually consider me mildly entertaining. It felt, well, I daresay it felt rather fantastic.

'I—I say. Thanks awfully.' I looked up at him, still a bit nervous that Jeeves was putting me on and would, at any moment, laugh at me and reveal the whole thing to be a ruse. But he was only sitting there, smoking my cigarette, his dark blue eyes doing that sparkling trick they sometimes do when he wants to smile but can't be bothered.

And, again, he was sitting much too close. I could smell the faint lingering scent of his aftershave. My gaze dropped from his eyes to his mouth.

Everything went all quiet for a moment. My ears had even blocked out the quiet moans that were going on all round us. The world seemed to shrink down to just that little alcove containing Jeeves and myself.

Just then, Cyril came bursting in. Of course.

'What-ho!' he cried, nearly giving me a heart attack. 'Bert— I mean, Nicholas, thank goodness you're here! What luck.'

Cyril had his silver-haired gentleman in tow, and I realised I had to introduce them both to Jeeves. Oh Lord, I prayed, please don't let Cyril ruin this for Jeeves.

'Sebastian, this is Victor,' I stressed. 'I just met him last night.'

Poor Cyril, who's even dumber than this Wooster, shook Jeeves' hand without even a hint of recognition passing over his face. 'Good to meet you, good to meet you. This is Geoffrey.' And we all had another round of hand-shaking and how-do-you-do's. Then Cyril said, 'Look, Ber— I mean, Nicholas, would you mind terribly if I borrowed your alcove? You don't seem to be using it, you see.'

I glanced round the hall. During the time that Jeeves and I had been talking, the other alcoves had all filled up, leaving us with the only non-curtained niche in the whole place.

Well, what's a gentleman to do but let an old friend have it? Jeeves and I acquiesced as gracefully as possible, and Cyril and his chap took our places and drew the curtain, muffling their delighted giggles. Now that our spot had been taken, I wondered how wise it would be to venture back to the bar. The thought of running into Peter again didn't cheer me. I stood there awkwardly with Jeeves, wondering what to do next, when I heard the band strike up a new number. It was a favourite of mine, that new waltz from that Irving Berlin fellow.

A thought occurred to me: if Jeeves could pretend to be someone he was not, and do and say things he normally wouldn't be able to do and say, then I could try the same. After all, I was merely Nicholas Benton, Esq., inverted piano player. I could do whatever I wanted. I slid my hand into Jeeves' and quirked a smile at him.

'Would you care to dance with me? I promise your toes will come out intact.'

Jeeves' eyes took on a hooded appearance within their mask-holes. 'I'm not sure that would be a good idea, Nicholas.'

'Oh, come. You'll dance with the likes of Peter, but not me?' I pulled him toward the main hall. 'That's not very sporting of you.'

As we neared the dance floor, Jeeves leaned down to speak into my ear. 'Would you rather lead or follow?'

'Tosh. I could do either.' I nodded in the direction of two chaps who'd circumwhasited the issue altogether, with the both of them wrapping their arms round each other's hips and dancing close. 'Or we could just do as they do.'

'I'll lead,' Jeeves said dryly.

So he did.

I don't know if you know this Berlin waltz? 'Always', it's called. It's usually sung by a very robust woman with a good set of pipes, but the Cloak had only a tenor chap on hand. He did a passable job of it, though. Anyway, this four-piece band slowed down considerably in their playing of it, making it even more melancholy than when I'd first heard it. I allowed Jeeves to lead me round the floor, which was quite crowded at this juncture. I pressed closer to Jeeves so we were dancing cheek-to-cheek. His hand tightened minutely on my hip, but otherwise he did not flinch.

'When the things you plan,' the singer cooed, 'need a helping hand, I will understand. Always.'

'Al~ways,' I breathed along with the refrain; the word brushed along Jeeves' cheek under my lips.

I have no idea what Jeeves did for the rest of the dance, but I let my eyes close as we glided along. Since we are both on the tall side, there was no ungainly shifting as there sometimes is when one dances with a diminutive filly. It was simple, and it was pleasant. When the song tapered off to a close, I felt like someone about to be woken up from a topping midday nap. I didn't want it to end.

When the band stopped playing, and everybody clapped for them, Jeeves and I separated. I looked up at his masked face, and I knew I'd made a bloomer. He did not look like a man who'd just danced a lovely waltz with his new friend, Nicholas Benton. He looked like a man who'd been tossed into a cage with a hungry lion and told, 'Try to pull the tooth that's ailing him'.

For one moment, I nearly forgot myself. 'Jee—' I paused and tried again. 'Victor. Are you all right?'

'Please forgive me. It's getting very late and I must go,' he said, and, as the band took up a new song, Jeeves turned away from me and began steaming his way through the crowd. I stood rooted to the spot for a second or two before vaulting after him; he was headed toward the exit.

'Victor, wait!' But he beat me to the foyer door, and it closed behind him with a loud click. I tried to open it, but it was locked. A helpful chap passing by with a tray of drinks explained all to me: since patrons removed their masks in the foyer, the doors were kept locked until the foyer was empty. I would have to wait for the attendant to unlock it. But by then Jeeves would already be gone.

I tried to follow anyway once I was able, thinking maybe I could catch up to him, but this is Jeeves we're talking about. He had disappeared like a fine mist after sunrise. 'Was it something I said?' I muttered to myself as I stood on the pavement. We had only danced, after all. Jeeves had done as much earlier in the evening with that Peter cove. Surely it wasn't an affront to his celibate lifestyle that I had waltzed with him, what?

No, I was sure my dancing was not what had upset Jeeves. It was the fact that I was his employer. No matter how hard I pretended to be someone else, he would always see me as that silly, empty-headed Wooster. And silly, empty-headed employers do not waltz with dashing, brilliant employees. It was just not on. I kicked a stone and began the plodding journey back home, wondering what I would say to Jeeves once I got there.


Continue on to Part 3.