Blotto, Twinks and the Stars of the Silver Screen

by Simon Brett

  As he crested the embankment slightly ahead of his sister, Blotto realised he had arrived only just in time. With their backs to him stood two of the Barolo Brothers desperados, watching what a third brother was doing down at the railway line. Three cameras were set up and already running. Again, Blotto couldn’t help wondering what kind of stenchers would want to make a record of such a tragic scene. He wondered if the cameramen represented any danger to him and decided they didn’t. They weren’t part of the Barolo Brothers gang, just hired hands. Like most cameramen, so long as they were paid, they would shoot whatever their employers told them to shoot, no questions asked.

  Already through the heat haze Blotto could see the approaching locomotive, travelling at huge speed, its triangular cow-catcher leading the way like the prow of a lethal ship. The volume of its engine roar grew as it came nearer, and the mounting rattle of the rails foretold its evil approach.

  Then Blotto looked at the central focus of the scene. Mimsy La Pim chained to the railway lines. She was desperately mouthing her distress and pleading for mercy. She had played the scene so often in silent movies that it didn’t occur to her to vocalise her terror now that the threat she faced was real.

  Blotto knew he had to act fast. Putting a finger to his lips for Twinks’s benefit, he then felled the thugs with their backs to him with two blows from his cricket bat. Before the third had time to draw his revolver, he was immobilised with an upward smash to the chin that sent him flying to the ground. (For purists, it should be noted that the first two strokes were unorthodox and would have caused pained wincing at Lord’s, but the third was a perfect straight drive.)

  ‘Manacle them,’ shouted Blotto to his sister, as he rushed down to the railway track.

  Twinks extracted from her sequined reticule three sets of handcuffs and leg irons and had the Barolo Brothers thugs immobilised before any of them came to.

  ‘Mimsy!’ cried Blotto, finally seeing what he had come to Hollywood to see.

  ‘Blotto!’ cried Mimsy La Pim, remembering him well from their encounter in the South of France.

  But this wasn’t the moment to catch up on the minutiae of how they had both spent the intervening years. They had other, more pressing, priorities.

  The vibration of the rails was now so ferocious, and the shriek of the approaching locomotive so loud, that Blotto realised he had only seconds to effect the rescue.

  He knew that in some movies of the tying-women-to-the-railway-line genre, a cross-country race by the hero would lead to a message somehow reaching the engine room of the train and the grimy driver slamming the brakes on, so that the huge machine stopped within inches of its fair prey. But Blotto didn’t think that scenario was in the script of the movie he was currently featuring in.

  He wished for a moment that he had some more useful instrument than a cricket bat to break through the chains that imprisoned Mimsy. A pair of bolt cutters perhaps. But he remembered the words of one of his beaks at Eton who’d said, ‘It is the mark of an English gentleman that, in hostile foreign parts, he can always make do with what is to hand.’

  And a cricket bat was what Blotto had to hand.

  Besides, he had another advantage – his strength was, after all, as the strength of ten because his heart was pure. He hooked the bat under the chains, gripped hard on each end and pulled upwards with a cry of, ‘I’m going to rescue you, Mimsy!’

  The locomotive was now so close he could see the driver’s eyes. There was no compassion in them, only cruel, evil purpose.

  The cow-catcher was within inches of cleaving the pair of them in twain.

  Suddenly Blotto’s efforts were rewarded. The chains broke. Lifting Mimsy up bodily, Blotto wrapped his arms around her and the pair of them rolled off the rails into the dust, nanoseconds before the monstrous locomotive screeched past.

  Blotto had found his Holy Gruel!

  28

  Gratitude

  ‘OK,’ shouted one of the cameramen, ‘it’s a wrap.’ With a lack of emotion that characterises their profession, he and the other two cameramen started to pack up their equipment.

  Blotto and Mimsy La Pim both sat up, but he still kept his arms around her. He looked into her face and was, as when he’d met her for the first time, surprised by the pinkness of her cheeks and the redness of her lips. He had seen her so often in the movies that he expected her to be in black and white.

  He smiled at her. ‘Close shave, but what some boddoes call “a happy outcome”, wouldn’t you say?’

  ‘No, I would not!’ snapped Mimsy La Pim.

  Blotto was so shocked by this reaction that he was momentarily deprived of speech.

  ‘Why do you have to put your dumb fingers into pies where they ain’t wanted?’

  ‘What do you mean?’ Blotto finally managed to ask. ‘Are you saying you didn’t want me to rescue you?’

  ‘Damn right I didn’t! You cannot begin to know how much planning has gone into this caper. Lenny set it up for me.’

  ‘Lenny “The Skull” Orvieto?’

  ‘Of course Lenny “The Skull” Orvieto. How many other Lennies are there that I happen to live with?’

  ‘Toad in the hole!’ said Blotto.

  ‘Listen, dumbo, for this to work I had to persuade Lenny to drop his prejudices about them and work with the Barolo Brothers. Let me tell you, that took some negotiation. And it was all going smooth as a dream until you came and poked your aristocratic British nose into things.’

  ‘But why did you want Lenny to organise your kidnap?’

  ‘Oh, come on! Don’t you understand anything, beef-brain? We’re in Hollywood. And what fuel does the whole Hollywood system run on? Publicity, baby, publicity. That’s the only thing that’s going to revive my career.’

  Blotto looked puzzled. ‘Look, I’m sure your being killed by a train would get a lot of publicity, but how’s it going to help your career if you’re dead?’

  ‘I wouldn’t be dead, knucklehead. Why do you think you found it so easy to break the chains with that stick you were carrying?’

  ‘It is not a stick,’ said Blotto with lofty disdain. ‘It’s a cricket bat.’

  ‘Cricket bat, stick – who’s counting? Those chains were sawn through so a baby could break them. Why’d you think the cameras were set up? That footage was going to feature in the newsreels within days. Everyone in Hollywood would have seen it.’

  Blotto still wasn’t keeping up. ‘Would have seen you being coffinated?’

  ‘No! Would have seen me freeing myself in the nick of time. Roles for women are changing here in Hollywood. They don’t want helpless innocents no more. Women in movies are getting more assertive. Independent. Footage of someone like me, who’s been kidnapped by the notorious Barolo Brothers and still manages to escape their wicked plans by my own efforts . . . well, that’d put me in the frame for a whole lot of new independent female roles . . . maybe even in the talkies, if they ever actually happen.’

  ‘Hoopee-doopee,’ said Blotto, still a bit confused.

  ‘But then you burst in like a football player at a quilting evening and the whole project’s up the Suwannee. If you knew the harm you have just done to my career . . . ! The minute I tell Lenny about this . . . after all the dollars he spent on it, all the humble pie he had to eat to get the Barolo Brothers on board . . . you’re a dead man. He’ll put a contract out on you, that’s for definite.’

  Neither of them realised, of course, that Lenny had already put the contract out. And that its specifications were yet to be met.

  ‘A contract for what?’ asked Blotto, suggesting that it wouldn’t have made a lot of difference if he had known about it.

  ‘You’ll find out!’ said Mimsy La Pim aggressively.

  There was silence between them. Twinks, tactfully not wishing to intrude on their tête-à-tête, kept her distance, standing guard by the three manacled Barolo Brothers.

  Finally, Blotto said, ‘Well, it is creamy éclair to see you after all this time.�
��

  ‘I don’t know what the hell you mean, but whatever it is, I can’t say the same about you!’

  ‘Fair biddles,’ said Blotto. Then, feeling that his quest should not be abandoned without at least a token struggle, he went on, ‘I was thinking, you know, now we have met again, Mimsy, it would be a beezer wheeze if we could spend a bit of time together and—’

  ‘When hell freezes over, you klutz!’ said Mimsy La Pim, as she stomped away from him and went to hitch a ride back to Hollywood with the cameramen.

  Blotto would not have been the first knight errant who had discovered when, after much searching, he had found the Holy Gruel, it was not worth having after all.

  * * *

  Needless to say, it was Twinks who decided what they should do with the manacled Barolo Brothers. Frogmarching them over to the Lagonda and ferrying them back to Los Angeles sounded too much like hard work. So, reaching into her ever-resourceful sequined reticule, Twinks produced some chain links, with which she joined the three villains together. If they were able to move at all in their formation as a giant charm bracelet, they certainly wouldn’t get far. And back at the Hollywood Hotel Twinks would alert the LAPD to their whereabouts.

  Blotto was a little cast down as they walked from the railway to the Lagonda. His fantasies of being reunited with Mimsy La Pim had been with him for some years, and they had been nurtured by every new movie of hers he saw at the Tawsford Picture Palace. So some level of disappointment was understandable. Twinks did not say anything. She knew that her brother’s fits of melancholy didn’t last long, and that his natural buoyancy usually reasserted itself within minutes.

  Twinks herself was feeling almost manically cheerful. Everything they could possibly have achieved in Hollywood had been achieved, except for the entrapment of a Texas oil millionaire, and having met one of those, she thought she was well out of any such liaison. Now there was nothing to stop them shaking the dust of Los Angeles off their feet and returning to Tawcester Towers as soon as possible.

  They were both dreamy as they approached the Lagonda, Blotto ankle-deep in gloomy dreams, his sister deeper in cheery ones.

  So they were quite surprised to hear an Italian-accented voice say, ‘Stop! You are about to take your last steps on this earth!’

  They were equally surprised to be confronted by Giovanni and Giuseppe, both holding automatic pistols.

  Blotto and Twinks looked at each other, their expressions echoing the same thought. This really was rather tiresome. After the shoot-out at the Barolo Brothers hideout and the unappreciated rescue of Mimsy La Pim, they’d really thought their morning’s work was done. All either of them wanted to do was get back to the Hollywood Hotel for generous cocktails and a large lunch. Neither had much energy left to deal with two Italian hitmen.

  They couldn’t think of many ways of dealing with them, anyway. Giovanni and Giuseppe were too far away from them for Blotto to be able to do anything with his cricket bat, and the field in which they stood was empty of convenient rocks to hide behind.

  Wearily, Twinks realised she’d have to resort to the old tactic, much used in such situations, of talking her way out of it. ‘Well, look it may tickle your mustard to kill us, but I do think you should have a little cogitette about—’

  ‘Can it, lady!’ said either Giovanni or Giuseppe.

  Oh, snickets! Talking their way out of it wasn’t going to work. In fact, it looked like nothing was going to work as the two Mafiosi raised their pistols and each took a bead on one of the siblings.

  Blotto and Twinks held hands in a final gesture of solidarity.

  Two shots rang out.

  There was a moment of stillness, then, in unison, Giovanni and Giuseppe both fell forward onto the ground.

  ‘Well done, Corky!’ cried Twinks. ‘Give that pony a rosette! Lucky I gave you the Derringer, wasn’t it?’

  The chauffeur smiled. He had only been doing what he did best. He had been designed as a killing machine. And he had just killed in the cause of defending the Lyminster family, which made things even better.

  29

  A New Star in the Hollywood Galaxy!

  BRIT BEEFCAKE BIFFS HOLLYWOOD BIG-LEAGUERS IN RIP-ROARING RESCUE BID!

  Once again your gal with fingers on more pulses than a pea-canning plant has an excluseroonie for my friends in fanland! You’ll be seeing this on the newsreels soon, babes, but you heard it from Heddan first! Hollywood has a new hunk! Forget Toni Frangipani and Hank Urchief – their beefcake’s crumbling and there’s no contest in the face of the new cookie on the block. He’s so darned good-looking it isn’t fair on the rest of his gender. But he doesn’t just look heroic, he does heroic too! We’ve all seen movies where maidens are rescued from massacre by locomotive in the nick of time, but now there’s footage that flashes it up for real. Some minor moll with Mafia minders musta got on the wrong side of her mister, cos she found herself chained in the channel of a choo-choo. It was about to be thumbs-down for the dumb clown when Hollywood’s new hero hitched her up to heaven, plucked her from the path of the chugger and rescued her rashers!

  Before he’s seen on your screens, only I, your newsie floosie Heddan, can be your guide to his ID. He’s a bit of a Brit and his surname’s the same as kidnapped cupcake Honoria Lyminster, who recently raised a riot by humiliating Hollywood’s hunks and hitailing away from The Trojan Horse. Yes, the coming colossus is her brotheroonie Blotto – or to give him his noble name, Devereux Lyminster. Not only is he a hit in Hollywood, he’s also heir to the throne of England – a publicist’s dream! You heard it here first, but you gotta believe, star-spotters, you’ll hear it a lotta times more. Devereux Lyminster is the new Hollywood high-roller! Producers and agents, please form an orderly line to sign up Daring Dev!

  More soon from your marvellous movie maven Heddan Schoulders!

  The next morning there was a bigger crowd than ever before at the cricket pitch behind J. Winthrop Stukes’s mansion. The match was the White Knights v. the Peripherals, Ponky Larreighffriebollaux’s line-up of his old muffin-toasters from Eton. Stukes felt very pleased with himself for having secured the services of Blotto to play for the White Knights.

  On this occasion Hank Urchief was not at the game. He was ensconced with his lawyer, trying to sue Terminal Services for breach of contract. Toni Frangipani and Wilbur T. Cottonpick were ensconced with their lawyers trying to do exactly the same.

  Few of those present in front of the pavilion seemed to be aficionados of the game. Their only interest was when Devereux Lyminster was going to leave the field so they could talk to him. Having no knowledge of cricket, they couldn’t understand that, because he was opening the batting for the White Knights, he would not return to the pavilion until he was out. And since he had played most of the Peripherals’ bowlers at school from the age of about twelve, he knew all their little tricks and was in no danger of ever getting out. Six after six sailed over the various boundaries.

  Twinks was there to watch, hugely relieved that the list of spectators included no amorous swains. Her Hollywood visit had included enough of those to last a lifetime. Though not particularly interested in what was happening on the pitch, she sat quite happily beside a recuperating Corky Froggett. His injury was causing him a little discomfort but he hardly felt it. He was still glowing with the satisfaction of having shot Giovanni and Giuseppe, fulfilling the destiny for which he had been put on God’s earth.

  On the other side of Twinks sat Ponky Larreigh-ffriebollaux, watching his team’s bowlers being humiliated by her brother. Tongue-tied as ever in her presence, he could manage little more than the occasional ‘Tiddle my pom!’

  Eventually the morning session ended and lunch beckoned. Some of the other White Knights had succumbed to the Peripherals’ bowling but, needless to say, Blotto had notched up another unbeaten century. Ponky’s team were going to have to do wonders in the afternoon to come close to the home side’s total – particularly if Blotto’s prowess with the ball matched wha
t he had demonstrated with the bat. There was a very contented smile on the face of J. Winthrop Stukes, who always liked to lead a winning side.

  When the crowd of non-cricket aficionados saw that play had stopped, they rushed out onto the pitch to besiege Hollywood’s new hero with requests. Contracts and pens were held out to him on every side.

  ‘Mr Lyminster, I’m offering you an exclusive ten-year contract with Humungous Studios . . .’

  ‘Lyminster, Elephantine Studios will double any offer made to you by those shysters . . .’

  ‘Devereux, I’m directing a new movie about the life of Abraham Lincoln and I’m sure you’d be perfect for the leading role . . .’

  ‘Dev buddy, you could have been born to play the part of Napoleon in the new blockbuster I’m producing . . .’

  And so it went on, all the way back to the Pavilion.

  Now Blotto had been very well brought up. He very rarely expressed anger. His default mode was politeness . . . sometimes patronising politeness when dealing with inferiors, but politeness all the same.

  This assault, though, was more than he could take. And on the cricket pitch too! Did the stenchers have no sense of propriety? He had been goaded beyond endurance and, just as his sister had done, he found himself resorting to strong language.

  ‘Snubbins to the lot of you!’ he shouted and went into the pavilion to have his lunch.

  30

  Home Sweet Home

  Because of Corky Froggett’s injury, Blotto did all the driving on the way back to New York. This was not something he minded. The irritation caused by having to drive on the wrong side of the road was partly compensated for by the emptiness of the road along which they drove. And the Lagonda was in its element. It loved lapping up the distance.

  With every mile they put between themselves and Hollywood, Blotto felt less pained by the broken dreams he had nurtured about Mimsy La Pim. He hadn’t had an opportunity yet to talk to Twinks about that situation, but when he did he would emphasise how clearly he had now come to distinguish between the world of the movies and real life.