Ron Goulart has been doing funny for a long time now, though he tends to favor science-fiction over fantasy. Well, this isn’t science-fiction. It’s plain silly. The very notion is silly. It’s as silly as silly can be. In this day and age. The very idea. Imagine. You just can’t take something so obviously silly and make a decent story out of it. A flip one-liner, a quirky gag, sure. But a story? No way. There’s no substance to it, no body, no meat, and besides, it’s silly.

You can’t rationalize it. It doesn’t make any sense. It’s too neat and easy. There’s not enough work involved in the polishing. Trying to make a story out of the basic premise of “Please Stand By” is obviously an utter waste of time, and words, and paper, when there are so many more worthy subjects, so many more sage and subtle bits of satire that demand an author’s attention.

Well, I can see that there’s no point in beating you over the head with it, no way to get around it. The damn thing’s in here, so I guess you’re going to have to read it and see for yourself what I’m talking about. Then you’ll understand. After you’ve stopped reading.

And laughing.

PLEASE STAND BY

Ron Goulart

THE ART DEPARTMENT SECRETARY put her Christmas tree down and kissed Max Keamy. “There’s somebody to see you,” she said, getting her coat the rest of the way on and picking up the tree again.

Max shifted on his stool. “On the last working day before Christmas?”

“Pile those packages in my arms,” the secretary said. “He says it’s an emergency.” Moving away from his drawing board Max arranged the gift packages in the girl’s arms. “Who is it? A rep?” “Somebody named Dan Padgett.”

“Oh, sure. He’s a friend of mine from another agency. Tell him to come on back.” “Will do. You’ll have a nice Christmas, won’t you, Max?”

“I think the Salvation Army has something nice planned.”

“No, seriously. Max. Don’t sit around some cold bar. Well, Merry Christmas.” “Same to you.” Max looked at the rough layout on his board for a moment and then Dan Padgett came in. “Hi, Dan. What is it?” Dan Padgett rubbed his palms together. “You still have your hobby?”

Max shook out a cigarette from his pack. “The ghost detective stuff? Sure.” “But you don’t specialize in ghosts only?” Dan went around the room once, then closed the door.

“No. I’m interested in most of the occult field. The last case I worked on involved a freelance resurrectionist. Why?” “You remember Anne Clemens, the blonde?”

“Yeah. You used to go out with her when we worked at Bryan-Josephs and Associates. Skinny girl.” “Slender. Fashion model type.” Dan sat in the room’s chair and unbuttoned his coat. “I want to marry her.” “Right now?”

“I asked her two weeks ago but she hasn’t given me an answer yet. One reason is Kenneth Westerland.” “The animator?”

“Yes. The guy who created Major Bowser. He’s seeing Anne, too.”

“Well,” said Max, dragging his stool back from the drawing board. “I don’t do lovelorn work, Dan. Now if Westerland were a vampire or a warlock I might be able to help.” “He’s not the main problem. It’s if Anne says yes.”

“What is?”

“I can’t marry her.”

“Change of heart?”

“No.” Dan tilted to his feet. “No.” He rubbed his hands together. “No, I love her. The thing is there’s something wrong with me. I hate to bother you so close to Christmas, but that’s part of it.” Max lit a fresh cigarette from the old one. “I still don’t have a clear idea of the problem, Dan.” “I change into an elephant on all national holidays.”

Max leaned forward and squinted one eye at Dan. “An elephant?”

“Middle-sized gray elephant.”

“On national holidays?”

“More or less. It started on Halloween. It didn’t happen again till Thanksgiving. Fortunately I can talk during it and I was able to explain to my folks that I wouldn’t get home for our traditional Thanksgiving get-together.” “How do you dial the phone?”

“I waited till they called me. You can pick up a phone with your trunk. I found that out.” “Usually people change into cats or wolves.”

“I wouldn’t mind that,” Dan said, sitting. “A wolf, that’s acceptable. It has a certain appeal. I’d even settle for a giant cockroach, for the symbolic value. But a middle-sized gray elephant. I can’t expect Anne to marry me when I do things like that.” “You don’t think,” said Max, crossing to the window and looking down at the late afternoon crowds, “that you’re simply having hallucinations?” “If I am they are pretty authentic. Thanksgiving Day I ate a bale of hay.” Dan tapped his fingers on his knees. “See, the first time I changed I got hungry after a while. But I couldn’t work the damned can opener with my trunk. So I figured I’d get a bale of hay and keep it handy if I ever changed again.” “You seemed to stay an elephant for how long?”

“Twenty-four hours. The first time�both times I’ve been in my apartment, which has a nice solid floor�I got worried. I trumpeted and stomped around. Then the guy upstairs, the queer ceramicist, started pounding on the floor. I figured I’d better keep quiet so nobody would call the cops and take me off to a zoo or animal shelter. Well, I waited around and tried to figure things out and then right on the nose at midnight I was myself again.” Max ground his cigarette into the small metal pie plate on his workstand. “You’re not putting me on, are you?” “No, Max.” Dan looked up hopefully. “Is this in your line? I don’t know anyone else to ask. I tried to forget it. Now, though, Christmas is nearly here. Both other times I changed was on a holiday. I’m worried.” “Lycanthropy,” said Max. “That can’t be it. Have you been near any elephants lately?” “I was at the zoo a couple of years ago. None of them bit me or even looked at me funny.” “This is something else. Look, Dan, I’ve got a date with a girl down in Palo Alto on Christmas Day. But Christmas Eve I can be free. Do you change right on the dot?” “If it happens I should switch over right at midnight on the twenty-fourth. I already told my folks I was going to spend these holidays with Anne. And I told her I’d be with them.” “Which leaves her free to see Westerland.”

“That son of a bitch.”

“Major Bowser’s not a bad cartoon show.”

“Successful anyway. That dog’s voice is what makes the show. I hate Westerland and I’ve laughed at it.” Dan rose. “Maybe nothing will happen.” “If anything does it may give me a lead.”

“Hope so. Well, Merry Christmas, Max. See you tomorrow night.”

Max nodded and Dan Padgett left. Leaning over his drawing board Max wrote Hex? on the margin of his layout.

He listened to the piped in music play Christmas carols for a few minutes and then started drawing again.

The bale of hay crackled as Max sat down on it. He lit a cigarette carefully and checked his watch again. “Half hour to go,” he said.

Dan Padgett poured some scotch into a cup marked Tom & Jerry and closed the Venetian blinds. “I felt silly carrying that bale of hay up here. People expect to see you with a tree this time of year.” “You could have hung tinsel on it.”

“That’d hurt my fillings when I eat the hay.” Dan poured some more scotch and walked to the heater outlet. He kicked it once. “Getting cold in here. I’m afraid to complain to the landlady. She’d probably say�‘Who else would let you keep an elephant in your rooms? A little chill you shouldn’t mind.’” “You know,” said Max, “I’ve been reading up on lycanthropy. A friend of mine runs an occult bookshop.” “Non-fiction seems to be doing better and better.”

“There doesn’t seem to be any recorded case of were-elephants.”

“Maybe the others didn’t want any publicity.”

“Maybe. It’s more likely somebody has put a spell on you. In that case you could change into most anything.” Dan frowned. “I hadn’t thought of that. What time is it?”

“Quarter to.”

“A spell, huh? Would I have to meet the person who did it? Or is it done from a distance.?” “Usually there has to be some kind of contact.”

“Say,” said Dan, lowering his head and stroking his nose, “you’d better not sit on the bale of hay. Animals don’t like people fooling with their food.” He was standing with his feet wide apart, his legs stiff.

Max carefully got up and moved back across the room. “Something?”

“No,” said Dan. He leaned far forward, reaching for the floor with his hands. “I just have an itch. My stomach.” Max watched as Dan scratched his stomach with his trunk. “Damn.”

Raising his head, the middle-sized gray elephant squinted at Max. “Hell, I thought it wouldn’t happen again.” “Can I come closer?”

Dan beckoned with his trunk. “I won’t trample you.”

Max reached out and touched the side of the elephant. “You’re a real elephant sure enough.” “I should have thought to get some cabbages, too. This stuff is pretty bland.” He was tearing trunkfuls of hay from the bale and stuffing them into his mouth.

Max remembered the cigarette in his hand and lit it. He walked twice around the elephant and said, “Think back now, Dan. To the first time this happened. When was it?” “I told you. Halloween.”

“But that’s not really a holiday. Was it the day after Halloween? Or the night itself?” “Wait. It was before. It was the day after the party at Eando Carawan’s. In the Beach.” “Where?”

“North Beach. There was a party. Anne knows Eando’s wife. Her name is Eando, too.” “Why?”

“His name is Ernest and hers is Olivia. E-and-O. So they both called themselves Eando. They paint those pictures of bug-eyed children you can buy in all the stores down there. You should know them, being an artist yourself.” Max grunted. “Ernie Carawan. Sure, he used to be a freelance artist, specializing in dogs. We stopped using him because all his dogs started having bug-eyes.” “You ought to see Olivia.”

“What happened at the party?”

“Well,” said Dan, tearing off more hay. “I get the idea that there was some guy at this party. A little round fat guy. About your height. Around thirty-five. Somebody said he was a stage magician or something.” “Come on,” said Max, “elephants are supposed to have good memories.”

“I think I was sort of drunk at the time. I can’t remember all he said. Something about doing me a favor. And a flash.” “A flash?”

“The flash came to him like that. I told him to�to do whatever he did.” Dan stopped eating the hay. “That would be magic, though. Max. That’s impossible.” “Shut up and eat your hay. Anything is possible.”

“You’re right. Who’d have thought I’d be spending Christmas as an elephant.” “That magician for one,” said Max. “What’s his name? He may know something.” “His name?”

“That’s right.”

“I don’t know. He didn’t tell me.”

“Just came up and put a spell on you.”

“You know how it is at parties.”

Max found the phone on a black table near the bookshelves. “Where’s the phone book?” “Oh, yeah.”

“What?”

“It’s not here. The last time I was an elephant I ate it.” “I’ll get Carawan’s number from information and see if he knows who this wizard is.” Carawan didn’t. But someone at his Christmas Eve party did. The magician ran a sandal shop in North Beach. His name was Claude Waller. As far as anyone knew he was visiting his ex-wife in Los Angeles for Christmas and wouldn’t be back until Monday or Tuesday.

Max reached for the price tag on a pair of orange leather slippers. The beaded screen at the back of the shop clattered.

“You a faggot or something, buddy?” asked the heavy-set man who came into the room.

“No, sir. Sorry.”

“Then you don’t want that pair of slippers. That’s my faggot special. Also comes in light green. Who are you?” “Max Keamy. Are you Claude Waller?”

Waller was wearing a loose brown suit. He unbuttoned the coat and sat down on a stool in front of the counter. “That’s who I am. The little old shoemaker.” Max nodded.

“That’s a switch on the wine commercial with the little old winemaker.” “I know.”

“My humor always bombs. It’s like my life. A big bomb. What do you want?” “I hear you’re a magician.”

“No.”

“You aren’t?”

“Not anymore. My ex-wife, that flat-chested bitch, and I have reunited. I don’t know what happened. I’m a tough guy. I don’t take any crap.” “I’d say so.”

“Then why’d I send her two hundred bucks to come up here?”

“Is there time to stop the check?”

“I sent cash.”

“You’re stuck then, I guess.”

“She’s not that bad.”

“Do you know a guy named Dan Padgett?”

“No.”

“How about Ernie Carawan?”

“Eando? Yeah.”

“On Halloween you met Dan Padgett and a girl named Anne Clemens at the party the Carawans gave.” “That’s a good act. Can you tell me what it says on the slip of paper in my pocket?” “Do you remember talking to Dan? Could you have put some kind of spell on him?” Waller slid forward off the stool. “That guy. I’ll be damned. I did do it then.” “Do what?”

“I was whacked out of my mind. Juiced out of my skull, you know. I got this flash. Some guy was in trouble. This Padgett it was. I didn’t think I’d really done anything. Did I?” “He turns into an elephant on national holidays.”

Waller looked at his feet. Then laughed. “He does. That’s great. Why’d I do that do you suppose?” “Tell me.”

Waller stopped laughing. “I get these flashes all the time. It bugs my wife. She doesn’t know who to sleep with. I might get a flash about it. Wait now.” He picked up a hammer from his workbench and tapped the palm of his hand. “This girl. The blonde girl. What’s her name?” “Anne Clemens.”

“There’s something. Trouble. Has it happened yet?”

“What’s supposed to happen?”

“Ouch,” said Waller. He’d brought the hammer down hard enough to start a bruise. “I can’t remember. But I know I put a spell on your friend so he could save her when the time came.” Max lit a cigarette. “It would be simpler just to tell us what sort of trouble is coming.” Waller reached out behind him to set the hammer down. He missed the bench and the hammer smashed through the top of a shoe box. “Look, Keamy. I’m not a professional wizard. It’s like in baseball.. Sometimes a guy’s just a natural. That’s the way I am. A natural. I’m sorry, buddy. I can’t tell you anything else. And I can’t take the spell off your friend. I don’t even remember how I did it.” “There’s nothing else you can remember about what kind of trouble Anne is going to have?” Frowning, Waller said, “Dogs. A pack of dogs. Dogs barking in the rain. No, that’s not right. I can’t get it. I don’t know. This Dan Padgett will save her.” Waller bent to pick up the hammer. “I’m pretty sure of that.” “This is Tuesday. On Saturday he’s due to change again. Will the trouble come on New Year’s Eve?” “Buddy, if I get another flash I’ll let you know.”

At the door Max said, “I’ll give you my number.”

“Skip it,” said Waller. “When I need it, I’ll know it.”

The door of the old Victorian house buzzed and Max caught the doorknob and turned it. The stairway leading upstairs was lined with brown paintings of little girls with ponies and dogs. The light from the door opening upstairs flashed down across the bright gilt frames on which eagles and flowers twisted and curled together.

“Max Keamy?” said Anne Clemens over the stair railing.

“Hi, Anne. Are you busy?”

“Not at the moment. I’m going out later. I just got home from work a little while ago.” This was Wednesday night. Max hadn’t been able to find Anne at home until now. “I was driving by and I thought I’d stop.” “It’s been several months since we’ve seen each other,” said the girl as Max reached the doorway to her apartment. “Come in.” She was wearing a white blouse and what looked like a pair of black leotards. She wasn’t as thin as Max had remembered. Her blonde hair was held back with a thin black ribbon.

“I won’t hold you up?” Max asked.

Anne shook her head. “I won’t have to start getting ready for a while yet.” “Fine.” Max got out his cigarettes and sat down in the old sofa chair Anne gestured at.

“Is it something about Dan, Max?” The single overhead light was soft and it touched her hair gently.

“In a way.”

“Is it some trouble?” She was sitting opposite Max, straight up on the sofa bed.

“No,” said Max. “Dan’s got the idea, though, that you might be in trouble of some sort.” The girl moistened her lips. “Dan’s too sensitive in some areas. I think I know what he means.” Max held his pack of cigarettes to her.

“No, thanks. Dan’s worried about Ken Westerland, isn’t he?”

“That’s part of it.”

“Max,” said Anne, “I worked for Ken a couple of years ago. We’ve gone out off and on since then. Dan shouldn’t worry about that.” “Westerland isn’t causing you any trouble?”

“Ken? Of course not. If I seem hesitant to Dan it’s only that I don’t want Ken to be hurt either.” She frowned, turning away. She turned back to Max and studied him as though he had suddenly appeared across from her. “What was I saying? Well, never mind. I really should be getting ready.” “If you need anything,” said Max, “let me know.”

“What?”

“I said that�”

“Oh, yes. If I need anything. Fine. If I’m going to dinner I should get started.” “You studying modern dance?”

Anne opened the door. “The leotards. No. They’re comfortable. I don’t have any show business leanings.” She smiled quickly. “Thank you for dropping by. Max.” The door closed and he was in the hall. Max stood there long enough to light a cigarette and then went downstairs and outside.

It was dark now. The street lights were on and the night cold was coming. Max got in his car and sat back, watching the front steps of Anne’s building across the street. Next to his car was a narrow empty lot, high with dark grass. A house had been there once and when it was torn down the stone stairs had been left. Max’s eyes went up, stopping in nothing beyond the last step. Shaking his head and lighting a new cigarette he turned to watch Anne’s apartment house.

The front of the building was covered with yards and yards of white wooden gingerbread. It wound around and around the house. There was a wide porch across the building front. One with a peaked roof over it.

About an hour later Kenneth. Westerland parked his gray Mercedes sedan at the corner. He was a tall thin man of about thirty-five. He had a fat man’s face, too round and plump-cheeked for his body. He was carrying a small suitcase.

After Westerland had gone inside Max left his car and walked casually to the corner. He crossed the street. He stepped suddenly across a lawn and into the row of darkness alongside Anne’s building. Using a garbage can to stand on Max pulled himself up onto the first landing of the fire escape without use of the noisy ladder.

Max sat on the fire escape rail and, concealing the match flame, lit a cigarette. When he’d finished smoking it he ground out the butt against the ladder. Then he swung out around the edge of the building and onto the top of the porch roof. Flat on his stomach he worked up the slight incline. In a profusion of ivy and hollyhock. Max concealed himself and let his left eye look up into the window.

This was the window of her living room and he could see Anne sitting in the chair he’d been sitting in. She was wearing a black cocktail dress now and her hair was down, touching her shoulders. She was watching Westerland. The suitcase was sitting on the rug between Max and the animator.

Westerland had a silver chain held between his thumb and forefinger. On the end of the chain a bright silver medallion spun.

Max blinked and ducked back into the vines. Westerland was hypnotizing Anne. It was like an illustration from a pulp magazine.

Looking in again Max saw Westerland let the medallion drop into his suit pocket. Westerland came toward the window and Max eased down.

After a moment he looked in. Westerland had opened the suitcase. It held a tape recorder. The mike was in Anne’s hand. In her other she held several stapled together sheets of paper.

Westerland pushed her coffee table in front of Anne and she set the papers on it. Her eyes seemed focused still on the spot where the spinning disc had been.

On his knees by the tape machine Westerland fitted on a spool of tape. After speaking a few words into the mike he gave it back to the girl. They began recording what had to be a script of some kind.

From the way Westerland used his face he was doing different voices. Anne’s expression never changed as she spoke. Max couldn’t hear anything.

Letting himself go flat he slid back to the edge of the old house and swung onto the fire escape. He waited to make sure no one had seen him and went to work on the window that led to the escape. It wasn’t much work because there was no lock on it. It hadn’t been opened for quite a while and it creaked. Max stepped into the hall and closed the window. Then he went slowly to the door of Anne’s apartment and put his ear against it.

He could hear the voices faintly now. Westerland speaking as various characters. Anne using only one voice, not her own. Max sensed something behind him and turned to see the door of the next apartment opening. A big girl with black-rimmed glasses was looking at him.

“What is it?” she said.

Max smiled and came to her door. “Nobody home I guess. Perhaps you’d like to subscribe to the Seditionist Daily. If I sell eight more subscriptions I get a stuffed panda.” The girl poked her chin. “A panda? A grown man like you shouldn’t want a stuffed panda.” Max watched her for a second. “It is sort of foolish. To hell with them then. It’s not much of a paper anyway. No comics and only fifteen words in the crossword puzzle. Good night, miss. Sorry to bother you. You’ve opened my eyes.” He went down the stairs as the door closed behind him.

What he’d learned tonight gave him no clues as to Dan’s problem. But it was interesting. For some reason Anne Clemens was the voice of Westerland’s animated cartoon character. Major Bowser.

By Friday, Max had found out that Westerland had once worked in night clubs as a hypnotist. That gave him no leads about why Dan Padgett periodically turned into an elephant.

Early in the afternoon Dan called him. “Max. Something’s wrong.”

“Have you changed already?”

“No, I’m okay. But I can’t find Anne.”

“What do you mean?”

“She hasn’t showed up at work today. And I can’t get an answer at her place.” “Did you tell her about Westerland? About what I found out the other night?” “I know you said not to. But you also said I was due to save her from some trouble. I thought maybe telling her about Westerland was the way to do it.” “You’re supposed to save her while you’re an elephant. Damn it. I didn’t want her to know what Westerland was doing yet.” “If it’s any help Anne didn’t know she was Major Bowser. And she thinks she went to dinner with Westerland on Wednesday.” “No wonder she’s so skinny. Okay. What else did she say?”

“She thought I was kidding. Then she seemed to become convinced. Even asked me how much Westerland probably made off the series.” “Great,” said Max, making heavy lines on his memo pad. “Now she’s probably gone to him and asked him for her back salary or something.” “Is that so bad?”

“We don’t know.” Max looked at his watch. “I can take off right now. I’ll go out to her place and look around. Then check at Westerland’s apartment. He lives out on California Street. I’ll call you as soon as I find out anything.” “In the meantime,” said Dan, “I’d better see about getting another bale of hay.” There was no lead on Anne’s whereabouts at her apartment, which Max broke into. Or at Westerland’s, where he came in through the skylight.

At noon on Saturday Max was wondering if he should sit back and trust to Waller’s prediction that Dan would save Anne when the time came.

He lit a new cigarette and wandered about his apartment. He looked through quite a few of the occult books he’d collected.

The phone rang.

“Yes?”

“This is Waller’s Sandal Shop.”

“The magician?”

“Right, buddy. This is you, Keamy?”

“Yes. What’s happening?”

“I got a flash.”

“So?”

“Go to Sausalito.”

“And?”

“That’s all the flash told me. You and your friend get over to Sausalito. Today. Before midnight.” “You haven’t got any more details?”

“Sorry. My ex-wife got in last night and I’ve been too unsettled to get any full scale flashes.” The line went dead.

“Sausalito?” said Dan when Max called him.

“That’s what Waller says.”

“Hey,” said Dan. “Westerland’s ex-wife.”

“He’s got one, too?”

“His wife had a place over there. I remember going to a party with Anne there once. Before Westerland got divorced. Could Anne be there?” “Wouldn’t Mrs. Westerland complain?”

“No, she’s in Europe. It was in Herb Caen and�Max! The house would be empty now. Anne must be there. And in trouble.” The house was far back from the road that ran up through the low hills of Sausalito, the town just across the Golden Gate Bridge from San Francisco. It was a flat scattered house of redwood and glass.

Max and Dan had driven by it and parked the car. Max in the lead, they came downhill through a stretch of trees, descending toward the back of the Westerland house. It was late afternoon now and the great flat windows sparkled and went black and sparkled again as they came near. A high hedge circled the patio and when Max and Dan came close their view of the house was cut off.

“Think she’s here?” Dan asked.

“We should be able to spot some signs of life,” Max said.

“I’m turning into a first class peeping torn. All I do is watch people’s houses.” “I guess detective work’s like that,” said Dan. “Even the occult stuff.” “Hold it,” said Max. “Listen.”

“To what?”

“I heard a dog barking.”

“In the house?”

“Yep.”

“Means there’s somebody in there.”

“It means Anne’s in there probably. Pretty sure that was Major Bowser.” “Hi, pals,” said a high-pitched voice.

“Hello,” said Max, turning to face the wide bald man behind them.

“Geese Louise,” the man said, pointing his police special at them, “this sure saves me a lot of work. The boss had me out looking for you all day. And just when I was giving up and coming back here with my tail between my legs�well, here you are.” “Who’s your boss?”

“Him. Westerland. I’m a full-time pro gunman. Hired to get you.”

“You got us,” said Max.

“Look, would you let me tell him I caught you over in Frisco? Makes me seem more efficient.” “We will,” said Max, “if you’ll let us go. Tell him we used karate on you. We can even break your arm to make it look good.” “No,” said the bald man. “Let it pass. You guys want too many concessions. Go on inside.” Westerland was opening the refrigerator when his gunman brought Max and Dan into the kitchen.

“You brought it off, Lloyd,” said Westerland, taking a popsicle from the freezer compartment.

“I studied those pictures you gave me.”

“Where’s Anne?” Dan asked.

Westerland squeezed the wrapper off the popsicle. “Here. We’ve only this minute finished a recording session. Sit down.” When the four of them were around the white wooden table Westerland said, “You, Mr. Keamy.” Max took out his pack of cigarettes and put them on the table in front of him. “Sir?” “Your detective work will be the ruin of you.”

“All I did was look through a few windows. It’s more acrobatics than detection.” “Nevertheless, you’re on to me. Your overprotective attitude toward Miss Clemens has caused you to stumble on one of the most closely guarded secrets of the entertainment industry.” “You mean Anne’s being the voice of Major Bowser?”

“Exactly,” said Westerland, his round cheeks caving as he sucked the popsicle. “But it’s too late. Residuals and reruns.” Dan tapped the tabletop. “What’s that mean?”

“What else? I’ve completed taping the sound track for episode 78 of Major Bowser. I have a new series in the works. Within a few months the major will be released to secondary markets. That means I don’t need Anne Clemens anymore.” Dan clenched his fists. “So let her go.”

“Why did you ever need her?” Max asked, looking at Westerland.

“She’s an unconscious talent,” said Westerland, catching the last fragment of the popsicle off the stick. “She first did that voice one night over two years ago. After a party I’d taken her to. She’d had too much to drink. I thought it was funny. The next day she’d forgotten about it. Couldn’t even remember the voice. Instead of pressing her I used my hypnotic ability. I had a whole sketch book full of drawings of that damned dog. The voice clicked. It matched. I used it.” “And made $100,000,” said Dan.

“The writing is mine. And quite a bit of the drawing.”

“And now?” said Max.

“She knows about it. She has thoughts of marrying and settling down. She asked me if $5,000 would be a fair share of the profits from the major.” “Is that scale for 78 shows?” Max said.

“I could look it up,” said Westerland. He was at the refrigerator again. “Lemon, lime, grape, watermelon. How’s grape sound? Fine. Grape it is.” He stood at the head of the table and unwrapped the purple popsicle. “I’ve come up with an alternative. I intend to eliminate all of you. Much cheaper way of settling things.” “You’re kidding,” said Dan.

“Animators are supposed to be lovable guys like Walt Disney,” said Max.

“I’m a businessman first. I can’t use Anne Clemens anymore. We’ll fix her first and you two at some later date. Lloyd, put these detectives in the cellar and lock it up.” Lloyd grinned and pointed to a door beyond the stove. Max and Dan were made to go down a long flight of wooden stairs and into a room that was filled with the smell of old newspapers and unused furniture. There were small dusty windows high up around the beamed ceiling.

“Not a very tough cellar,” Dan whispered to Max.

“But you won’t be staying here,” said Lloyd. He kept his gun aimed at them and stepped around a fallen tricycle to a wide oak door in the cement wall. A padlock and chain hung down from a hook on the wall. Lloyd slid the bolt and opened the door. “The wine cellar. He showed it to me this morning. No wine left, but it’s homey. You’ll come to like it.” He got them inside and bolted the door. The chains rattled and the padlock snapped.

Max blinked. He lit a match and looked around the cement room It was about twelve feet high and ten feet wide.

Dan made his way to an old cobbler’s bench in the corner.

“Does your watch glow in the dark?” he asked as the match went out.

“It’s five thirty.”

“The magician was right. We’re in trouble.” “I’m wondering,” said Max, striking another match. “You’re wondering what the son of a bitch is going to do to Anne.” “Yes,” Max said, spotting an empty wine barrel. He turned it upside down and sat on it. “And what’ll he do with us?” Max started a cigarette from the dying match flames. “Drop gas pellets through the ceiling, fill the room with water, make the walls squeeze in.” “Westerland’s trickier than that. He’ll probably hypnotize us into thinking we’re pheasants and then turn us loose the day the hunting season opens.” “Wonder how Lloyd knew what we looked like.” “Anne’s got my picture in her purse. And one I think we all took at some beach party once.” Max leaned back against the dark wall. “This is about a middle-sized room, isn’t it?” “I don’t know. The only architecture course I took at school was in water color painting.” “In six hours you’ll be a middle-size elephant.” Dan’s bench clattered. “You think this is it?” “Should be. How else are we going to get out of here?” “I smash the door like a real elephant would.” He snapped his fingers. “That’s great.” “You should be able to do it.” “But Max?” “Yeah?” “Suppose I don’t change?” “You will.”

“We only have the word of an alcoholic shoemaker.” “He knew about Sausalito.” “He could be a fink.” “He’s a real magician. You’re proof of that.” “Max?”

“Huh?”

“Maybe Westerland hypnotized us into thinking I was an elephant.”

“How could he hypnotize me? I haven’t seen him for years.”

“He could hypnotize you and then make you forget you were.”

“Dan,” said Max, “relax. After midnight if we’re still in here we can think up excuses.” “How do we know he won’t harm Anne before midnight?”

“We don’t.”

“Let’s try to break out now.”

Max lit a match and stood up. “I don’t think these barrel staves will do it. See anything else?” “Legs off this bench. We can unscrew them and bang the door down.”

They got the wooden legs loose and taking one each began hammering at the bolt with them.

After a few minutes a voice echoed in. “Stop that ruckus.”

“The hell with you,” said Dan.

“Wait now,” said Westerland’s voice. “You can’t break down the door. And even if you could Lloyd would shoot you. I’m sending him down to sit guard. Last night at Playland he won four Betty Boop dolls at the shooting gallery. Be rational.” “How come we can hear you?”

“I’m talking through an air vent.”

“Where’s Anne?” shouted Dan.

“Still in a trance. If you behave I may let her bark for you before we leave.” “You louse.”

Max found Dan in the dark and caught his arm. “Take it easy.” Raising his voice he said, “Westerland, how long do we stay down here?” “Well, my ex-wife will be in Rome until next April. I hope to have a plan worked out by then. At the moment, however, I can’t spare the time. I have to get ready for the party.” “What party?”

“The New Year’s Eve party at the Leversons’. It’s the one where Anne Clemens will drink too much.” “What?”

“She’ll drink too much and get the idea she’s an acrobat. She’ll borrow a car and drive to the Golden Gate Bridge. While trying out her act on the top rail she’ll discover she’s not an acrobat at all and actually has a severe dread of heights. When I hear about it I’ll still be at the Leversons’ party. I’ll be saddened that she was able to see so little of the New Year.” “You can’t make her do that. Hypnotism doesn’t work that way.”

“That’s what you say now, Padgett. In the morning I’ll have Lloyd slip the papers under the door.” The pipe stopped talking.

Dan slammed his fist into the cement wall. “He can’t do it.”

“Who are the Leversons?”

Dan was silent for a moment. “Leverson. Joe and Jackie. Isn’t that the art director at BBDO? He and his wife live over here. Just up from Sally Stanford’s restaurant. It could be them.” “It’s a long way to midnight,” said Max. “But I have a feeling we’ll make it.” “We have to save Anne,” said Dan, “and there doesn’t seem to be anything to do but wait.” “What’s the damn time. Max?” “Six thirty.”

“Must be nearly eight by now.”

“Seven fifteen.”

“I think I still hear them up there.”

*

“Now?” “Little after nine.”

“Only ten? Is that watch going?” “Yeah, it’s ticking.”

“Eleven yet. Max?” “In five minutes.” “They’ve gone, I’m sure.” “Relax.” “Look,” said Dan, when Max told him it was quarter to twelve, “I don’t want to step on you if I change.” “I’ll duck down on the floor by your feet. Your present feet. Then when you’ve changed I should be under your stomach.” “Okay. After I do you hop on my back.”

At five to twelve Max sat down on the stone floor. “Happy New Year.”

Dan’s feet shuffled, moved farther apart. “My stomach is starting to itch.” Max ducked a little. In the darkness a darker shadow seemed to grow overhead. “Dan?” “I did it, Max.” Dan laughed. “I did it right on time.” Max edged up and climbed on top of the elephant. “I’m aboard.” “Hang on. I’m going to push the door with my head.”

Max hung on and waited. The door creaked and began to give.

“Watch it, you guys!” shouted Lloyd from outside.

“Trumpet at him,” said Max.

“Good idea.” Dan gave a violent angry elephant roar.

“Jesus!” Lloyd said.

The door exploded out and Dan’s trunk slapped Lloyd into the side of the furnace. His gun sailed into a clothes basket. Max jumped down and retrieved it.

“Go away,” he said to Lloyd.

Lloyd blew his nose. “What kind of prank is this?”

“If he doesn’t go,” said Max, “trample him.”

“Let’s trample him no matter what,” said Dan.

Lloyd left.

“Hell,” said Dan. “How do I get up those stairs?”

“You don’t,” said Max, pointing. “See there, behind that stack of papers. A door. I’ll see if it’s open.” “Who cares. I’ll push it open.”

“Okay. I’ll go find a phone book and look up Leversons. Meet you in the patio.” Dan trumpeted and Max ran up the narrow wooden stairs.

The elephant careened down the grassy hillside. All around now New Year’s horns were sounding.

“Only two Leversons, huh?” Dan asked again.

“It’s most likely the art director. He’s nearest the bridge.”

They came out on Bridgeway, which ran along the water.

Dan trumpeted cars and people out of the way and Max ducked down, holding onto the big elephant ears.

They turned as the road curved and headed them for the Leverson home. “It better be this one,” Dan said.

The old two story house was filled with lighted windows, the windows spotted with people. “A party sure enough,” said Max.

In the long twisted driveway a motor started. “A car,” said Dan, running up the gravel.

Max jumped free as Dan made himself a road block in the driveway.

Red tail lights tinted the exhaust of a small gray Jaguar convertible. Max ran to the car. Anne Clemens jerked the wheel and spun it. Max dived over the back of the car and, teetering on his stomach, jerked the ignition key off and out. Anne kept turning the wheel.

Max caught her by the shoulders, swung around off the car and pulled her up so that she was now kneeling in the driver’s seat.

The girl shook her head twice, looking beyond Max.

He got the door open and helped her out. The gravel seemed to slide away from them in all directions.

“Duck,” yelled Dan, still an elephant.

Max didn’t turn. He dropped, pulling the girl with him.

A shot smashed a cobweb pattern across the windshield.

“You’ve spoiled it for sure,” cried Westerland. “You and your silly damn elephant have spoiled my plan for sure.” The parking area lights were on and a circle of people was forming behind Westerland. He was standing twenty feet away from Max and Anne.

Then he fell over as Dan’s trunk flipped his gun away from him.

Dan caught up the fallen animator and shook him.

Max got Anne to her feet and held onto her. “Bring her out of this, Westerland.” “In a pig’s valise.”

Dan tossed him up and caught him.

“Come on.”

“Since you’re so belligerent,” said Westerland. “Dangle me closer to her.” Max had Lloyd’s gun in his coat pocket. He took it out now and pointed it up at the swinging Westerland. “No wise stuff.” Westerland snapped his fingers near Anne’s pale face.

She shivered once and fell against Max. He put his arms under hers and held her.

Dan suddenly dropped Westerland and, trumpeting once at the silent guests, galloped away into the night.

As his trumpet faded a siren filled the night.

“Real detectives,” said Max.

Both Anne and Westerland were out. The guests were too far away to hear him.

A bush crackled behind him and Max turned his head.

Dan, himself again, came up to them. “Would it be okay if I held Anne?” Max carefully transferred her. “She should be fine when she comes to.”

“What’ll we tell the law?”

“The truth. Except for the elephant.”

“How’d we get from his place here?”

“My car wouldn’t start. We figured he’d tampered with it. We hailed a passing motorist who dropped us here.” “People saw the elephant.”

“It escaped from a zoo.”

“What zoo?”

“Look,” said Max, dropping the gun back into his pocket, “don’t be so practical about this. We don’t have to explain it. Okay?” “Okay. Thanks, Max.”

Max lit a cigarette.

“I changed back in only an hour. I don’t think it will happen again. Max. Do you?” “If it would make you feel any better I’ll spend the night before Lincoln’s Birthday with you and Anne. How about it?” “How about what?” said Anne. She looked up at Dan. “Dan? What is it?”

“Nothing much. A little trouble with Westerland. I’ll explain.”

Max nodded at them and went up the driveway to meet the approaching police. Somewhere in the night a final New Year’s horn sounded.

—«»—«»—«»—

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From “Smart Dragons, Foolish Elves” edited by Alan Dean Foster

2003.07.04

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