Penelope

by Marilyn Kaye

  “It’s not my place to have an opinion on the matter, Miss Penelope.”

  I sighed. “Well, you want to know what I think? I don’t think it’s going to make one bit of difference where the guys come from. They’re still going to run away. Only they’ll be screaming in French or Spanish or Italian.”

  I could have sworn I saw a glimmer of sympathy behind those reserved eyes. But all he said was, “I wouldn’t know, miss.”

  I folded my arms across my chest. “I’m going to cooperate, Jake. I’m going to meet their decayed aristocracy. But Jake, please see me before making any appointments. I want to arrange the meetings.”

  “As you wish, miss,” he said, and left the solarium.

  As I wish. As if.

  Chapter Nine

  “This is what I don’t understand, Edward,” Lemon said as they sat down in the bar. There were only a few people there, and the TV set was turned up loud to the local news. They could talk without being overheard or interrupted.

  “You knew about the curse. Why were you so shocked when you saw Penelope?”

  “When I heard that she was a pig-girl, I thought that meant she was a little chubby,” Edward replied. “I could have dealt with that. But I’m telling you, she’s a monster!” He looked at Lemon curiously. “How come you believed me when the police didn’t?”

  “You see this patch?” Lemon asked. “It indicates the lack of an eye. I lost the eye when I was following up a rumor about a baby with the face of a pig. It’s about time I got some compensation. Not to mention revenge on that—that—” He shuddered, unable to get the word out.

  “Monster pig-girl?” Edward offered.

  “No. Her mother. I still have nightmares about that woman coming after me with that soup ladle. They tried to make me believe that the baby was dead, but I knew they were bluffing. I’ve been waiting twenty-five years to get some proof of Penelope’s existence.”

  “Well, I’m telling you right now, she exists,” Edward declared. Then, suddenly, his face went pasty white. He stared at the TV screen. “What the hell…?”

  Lemon turned to see what had grabbed Edward’s attention. It was Edward’s own face. On the television.

  “I’ve been attacked! Do something! There’s a monster out there!”

  The camera shifted to the face of a reporter in a newsroom setting. “That was Edward Vanderman Junior, son of Edward Vanderman, CEO of Vanderman Industries, who appears to have had a nervous breakdown today. Details coming up on the six o’clock report.”

  Edward buried his face in his hands. “Ohmigod, ohmigod. Where did that come from?”

  “Surveillance camera,” Lemon said. “They’re in all the police stations.”

  Edward’s cell phone rang. He stared at it fearfully, and then picked it up.

  “Hello? Yes, Father. I know, Father. Of course not, Father! I’m coming back to the office now. Really?” He gulped, put a hand over the phone’s mouthpiece, and spoke to Lemon. “My father says the building is surrounded by the media. They want details about my nervous breakdown.” He spoke into the phone again. “Then I’ll go home. What? All right, Father. Yes, yes, I’ll do something about it! Good-bye.”

  He turned the phone off. “They’ve surrounded our house, too! My mother is going to have a real nervous breakdown. What am I going to do?”

  He looked so pathetic and helpless that Lemon took pity. “You’re going to help me expose the truth about Penelope. I’ll even give you credit in the story. Then everyone will know that you were telling the truth, that you weren’t hallucinating or having a nervous breakdown.”

  Edward absorbed this and calmed down. “Yes. Yes, that could work, that could save my reputation. I’m your witness, I actually saw her. And wait till my father finds out what I’ve uncovered about the Wilherns. I just might impress him for a change.”

  “I need more than a witness for the story, Edward,” Lemon said. “I need a photo.”

  Edward went very still. “A photo?”

  “A picture of Penelope. Real, tangible proof that I can publish with my story. Do you think you can get back into the Wilhern mansion?”

  Edward had gone so pale Lemon was afraid he’d pass out right there at the bar. “You’re not serious!” he whimpered. “You want me to take a picture of her? There’s no way I’m going back into that house.” His voice was rising. “I never want to see that face again. I can’t! I can’t!”

  Geez, what a jerk. It was all Lemon could do to refrain from slapping him. “Calm down, calm down.” The guy was a serious wimp, but he was Lemon’s only connection. “We’ll find someone else to go and meet her. My paper will put up a bribe, maybe five thousand.”

  “You’ll need more than money to find someone whom the matchmaking agency will approve,” Edward said. “Don’t forget, any man who wants to meet her has to be an aristocrat, a real blue blood. I don’t know any blue bloods who are desperate for money.”

  He had a point. Lemon considered the dilemma. Then he recalled something—a minor bit that had appeared in his paper’s gossip column recently. He smiled.

  “Wait a minute. I think I do.”

  Chapter Ten

  Parallel Penelope: A Fantasy of Real Life

  by Penelope Wilhern

  When Jessica Wilhern was giving birth to her baby, she and her husband, Franklin Wilhern, were a little nervous. Legend had it that a curse had been placed by a witch on the Wilhern family one hundred fifty years earlier when Ralph Wilhern had refused to marry the witch’s daughter and the daughter committed suicide. The witch declared that the next daughter born to the Wilherns would have the face of a pig.

  Jessica did give birth to a daughter. But since all that business about a curse was nonsense and there were no such things as witches anyway, the child was absolutely perfect and bore absolutely no resemblance whatsoever to a pig. And they named her Penelope.

  The family was filled with joy. Little Penelope was a delight from the day she was born, and she never gave her parents a moment of worry. The Wilherns, a wealthy and socially prominent family, gave their daughter a privileged life. She went to a private school, she had extravagant birthday parties, and on every vacation she went with her parents to exotic places like Egypt and India and China where she met fascinating people and had exciting experiences. Her mother and father liked to show her off to people because they were so proud of her.

  As she grew up, she became prettier and prettier, and by the age of sixteen she was beautiful. She was also very nice and very smart, and she became the most popular girl in her high school. She was head cheerleader, she played on the basketball team, she was Juliet in the school production of Romeo and…

  In her senior year, she was elected student body president and prom queen. She had fifteen best friends, hundreds of regular friends, and a different boyfriend every month. Her hobby was figure skating and she just skated for fun, but she was so good that she was invited to join the Olympic team, gave a flawless performance, and won the gold medal.

  She made her debut at a grand ball, and all the newspapers called her the debutante of the year. Her picture was in all the magazines, and she became legendary for her poise, her charm, and, of course, her beauty.

  Of course, all the finest men in the world wanted to marry her. Famous men, brilliant men, men who were so handsome they took her breath away came begging for dates. She went out with them, and sometimes she let them kiss her, and every single one of them asked her to marry him. But she always said no, thank you. Penelope was waiting for someone very, very special. Someone not just handsome, not just smart and rich and famous. He had to be special in a special way.

  One day, there was a knock on her door. A man stood there, but he was not an ordinary man. There was something very special about him. He had rabbit ears. Two great pink rabbit ears instead of regular normal ears.

  People laughed at him and made fun of him, and some people were afraid of him because he looked so different. But Penelope was smarter
than most people. She could see deep into the rabbit man, and she knew he was the perfect man for her.

  Rabbit Man asked her to marry him, and Penelope said yes. All her friends thought she was crazy, because she could have any man in the whole wide world. But Penelope wanted Rabbit Man because she knew he was the best man in the whole wide world.

  They had a great big wedding. And when they were pronounced husband and wife, she kissed him, and something amazing happened. He turned into Prince Charming. He told her that a wicked witch had put a spell on him, and it could only be lifted when a girl fell in love with him just as he was.

  Prince Charming took Penelope to his golden castle. They had lots of children and the most biggest garden in the universe. Now, you probably think the next line will be “and they lived happily ever after.” But this is not the end of the story. Because Penelope made an amazing discovery.

  There were many girls in the world who were not as beautiful as she was, and some of them were downright ugly. She met girls who had donkey ears and fish mouths and frog eyes, and even girls who had pig snouts instead of noses.

  Penelope wanted to help these poor girls who weren’t born as fortunate as she was. So she decided to become a doctor and devote her life to fixing girls with animal parts. All the ugly girls became beautiful girls, they all found handsome boyfriends, and everyone lived happily ever after.

  The End

  Okay, I was only ten when I wrote it. But at least it proves that I wasn’t completely self-centered.

  Chapter Eleven

  “You ever heard of Max Campion?” Lemon asked as they walked to the Cloverdilly Pub.

  “The real estate Campions? I know the name. Max Campion. No, never met him.”

  “I never met the guy but I’ve heard plenty,” Lemon said. “His old man was Clarence Campion, the real estate mogul. He died a couple of years ago and left Max his fortune. And Max blew the whole wad gambling.”

  “And you think he can help us out?”

  “The guy’s got it all,” Lemon told him. “Social Register, old family, all that crap. But he’s completely broke. Rumor has it he’s been passing bad checks. My contact says we can find him at the Cloverdilly. He’s a regular in their back gambling room.”

  The Cloverdilly had just started filling up with the after-work crowd. Behind the bar, the bartender was slamming the brews down in front of customers and the jukebox was blasting old rhythm and blues. Lemon, with Edward at his side, moved through the room to a doorway leading to another, smaller room. A beefy-looking man hopped off a stool and stopped them.

  “Whattaya want?”

  “We’re looking for Max Campion,” Lemon said.

  The man’s eyes narrowed. “Why?”

  “Got a little proposition to make him.”

  The bouncer or whatever he was looked them up and down, and must have decided they didn’t look like cops or gangsters. He jerked his chin in the direction of a table, where a heavyset guy, a blue-haired woman, an old man, and a younger one were playing cards.

  “That’s him.”

  The younger guy with shaggy hair was getting up. “I’m out,” he muttered, and he tossed his cards on the table. With his hands in the pockets of his battered leather jacket and his head down, he brushed past Lemon and Edward. They followed him through the bar and out onto the street.

  “Hey, Campion,” Lemon called.

  The guy kept moving.

  “Come on, fellow, wait up!”

  The young guy looked over his shoulder. “What do you want?”

  “Listen, Campion, I got a proposition for you.”

  Campion scowled. “You got the wrong guy.”

  “You haven’t heard the proposition,” Lemon said. “Interested in making an easy five grand?”

  Campion actually stopped. Now that Lemon could get a good look at him, he could see that the guy was younger than he thought he’d be. He looked pretty worn out, though, like someone who had been gambling all night long. For many nights. And losing.

  He gave them a tired, crooked grin. “Who do I have to kill?”

  “Nothing like that, man. All you got to do is pretend you’re interested in Penelope Wilhern, take a photo of her, and give it to me.”

  “I don’t have a camera.”

  “I’ll lend you a camera.”

  “Why don’t you hire some paparazzi guy?”

  “Because a paparazzi guy wouldn’t be able to get into the Wilhern house,” Edward told him. “The only men who can meet Penelope are people like us. Not like him.” He indicated Lemon. “Like you and me.”

  “You and me,” Campion repeated. “What do we have in common?”

  “I’m a Vanderman. You’re a Campion.”

  “So?”

  “We’re aristocrats.”

  Campion started laughing. “Yeah? Well, I must be the one and only aristocrat who’s completely broke.”

  “Exactly!” Lemon said. “That’s why we figured maybe you’d take the job. You got the credentials and you need the money.”

  Campion considered this. “And who’s this Penelope Wilhern? Another aristocrat?”

  “You never heard of the pig-girl?” Edward asked. “People think she’s a myth, but I’m telling you, she’s absolutely real. And I’m warning you, she could be dangerous. Just be prepared.”

  Campion’s lips twitched. “I think I can handle myself with a girl. Even a pig-girl.”

  “Excellent!” Lemon declared happily. “Let’s talk.”

  Chapter Twelve

  “I like the sound of this one,” my mother said. “Dietrich von Strudelhoffer. Take a look at his picture, Penelope.”

  I took a quick glance at the very blond, bare-chested hunk in the photo. “I dunno. He’s okay, I guess. Looks like a bodybuilder.”

  “He’s Baron Dietrich von Strudelhoffer,” Wanda pointed out. “Very old title, Middle Ages or something. You’d be a baroness, Penelope. There’s a duke around here somewhere, too.”

  We were sitting around the dining room table, going over the men I’d be meeting today. “Is there anyone from France?” I asked.

  Wanda rummaged through a few folders and opened one. “Henri de Villeneuve. No title, but the ‘de’ means he’s an aristocrat.”

  I checked out the photo. “Kind of old.”

  “There’s nothing in the curse about the age of your Prince Charming. And he has a chateau, Penelope. It needs some work, but…”

  My mother clapped her hands. “Ooh, a fixer-upper! What fun!” She beamed at me. “Wouldn’t you love to renovate a château, darling?”

  “Sure,” I said. “I’d love it.”

  “I’m so happy you’re getting into this new direction, Penelope. Aren’t you excited about meeting all these foreigners?”

  “Absolutely,” I said.

  My mother was clearly pleased that I wasn’t responding with my usual sarcasm, and she didn’t appear to be at all surprised by my new ardor. Wanda, however, was looking at me with downright suspicion.

  Actually, I was a little excited, or maybe it was just nerves. I’d never done anything quite like this before. I was determined that nothing would go wrong today.

  “I’m going to go check on your father, darling. And you should be getting ready. What time is your first visitor coming?”

  “Ten o’clock,” I said. “Pierre, I think. Or maybe it’s Enrique. I can’t remember.”

  “I still don’t understand why you insisted on making the arrangements yourself,” my mother said. “That’s what I pay Wanda to do.”

  I shrugged. “I just wanted to get more involved in the whole thing.”

  My mother looked so happy to hear this I almost felt guilty. “Fourteen interviews! It’s going to be a very long day for you, Penelope.”

  “I’ll manage,” I said.

  My mother left the room, and Wanda looked at me quizzically. I sensed that she was on the verge of interrogating me about this sudden interest I was showing, but then her cell phone rang.<
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  “Yes, Wanda here.” She frowned. “No, we’re only seeing foreigners today. And we’ve already got fourteen interviews lined up.” Her frown deepened. “Just a minute, I’ll ask her.” She turned to me. “The agency’s just heard from an American who wants to be seen today. Can you squeeze him in? I know you’ve got a full schedule.”

  “Sure,” I said. “He can come at ten.”

  “I thought you just said you were seeing someone else at ten.”

  “I meant ten thirty.”

  Her eyes narrowed, but she returned to her phone call. “All right, he can come at ten. What’s the name?” She hung up. “He’s Maxwell Campion.”

  “Okay.”

  “Don’t you want to write that down?”

  “I’ll remember,” I said.

  She looked at me warily. Wanda could be a lot more astute about me than my mother, who only saw what she wanted to see. I needed to allay Wanda’s qualms about my new zeal.

  “How did you get into this business, Wanda?” I asked. “I mean, it’s an interesting line of work, matchmaking. How do you train for it?”

  Wanda countered with her own question. “What’s your sudden interest?” she asked. “I’ve been working here seven years and you’ve never asked me about myself before.”

  “Just curious,” I said lightly. “Who knows, maybe once I have my real face, I might want to get into some kind of career.”

  “Not matchmaking,” Wanda said flatly. “You have to have a calling.”

  “You mean, like a nun?”

  “Yes. You have to have a very strong belief.”

  “In what?” I asked. “Love? Marriage?”

  “You have to believe that there’s someone for everyone. That each person in the world has a soul mate that he or she is meant to be with.”

  “I don’t need a soul mate,” I stated. “Just someone who won’t run away screaming when he sees me.”

  “You have been my greatest challenge,” Wanda acknowledged.