CLUTTERBUCKS — EPISODE 13

When Max leaves Wainfleet, he looks like the young man who arrived several weeks earlier, but he is in fact very much changed. 
His time at the old house with Maddie and David was great, there was something about their daughter Mary whom he had just met, and they loved the work he did for them, covering everything he could.
Flash to upholstered picture frames, light switch guards, baseboards, pie plates, spoons, baby toys.
But it was what happened yesterday that really changed him. He was all packed and had a couple of hours to kill he thought he’d wander downtown, maybe get in a quick game of basketball.  
He recognized Billy Cricket right away.
“Heard you were back,” Cricket said, “s’why I’ve been coming here. In case you turned up again.”
“Well, here I am. Leaving tomorrow.”
“Where you going?”
“Toronto. Scarborough Bluffs. Supposed to be nice there and I got a job to go to.”
“What job? There’s no jobs here.”
“What about your dad’s place, the dealership? He still got it?”
“Yeah. Can’t handle working with my old man. And it’s mutual.”
“I know he was tough on you – ”
“Whatever. You get used to it.”
“So what are you doing now, Cricket – they still call you Cricket?”
“Nothing really. Thinking about McMaster in the fall but nothing right now. There aren’t many left who remember me as Cricket. Janey Marsdale. Cheryl. They’re still around, married both of them, but most everybody else is gone. To Hamilton most of them, working at Stelco. God. Hope I don’t end up there but you never know.”  
A motorcycle growled into the parking lot, turned, growled away.
“Anyway. I been coming here hoping to meet up with you. Got somethin’ you otta know. Let’s talk.”
“Sure. I want to play a bit first though.”
“You go ahead. I’ll be over at the Shake Shack. Come when you’re done.”
It’s a humid day, too hot at this hour to play for very long, and Max goes to join Cricket on the picnic bench behind the Shack.
“So what’s up, Cricket?”
“I shoulda spoken up earlier and things might have worked out different for you. And for me. I mean it’s been eating away at me but my old man woulda killed me if I’d spoken up and I was too chicken-shit to do it. Mostly because of him but some of it was just me and my own chicken-shitness. I was gonna say it right up ’til the last minute. Man my heart was thumping and I thought I was gonna die but when I started to stand, before they sentenced you, my dad pushed me back down. I don’t know how he knew – or what he knew – but he knew something.”
“What are you talking about? Nothing you could have said that woulda changed anything. I mean they got me over the limit behind the wheel.” 
Max looked out over the fields faded in the summer heat. “I got what I deserved. I got better than I deserved. I ended up learning a trade that I like and am good at.”
“But you lost your family.”
“That came as a shock.”
“Sounds like something my old man woulda done – not yours.”
“Guess you never know ’til you know,” he paused. “What’s bugging you, Cricket?”
Cricket took a deep breath. “It was my fault,” he said.
“What are you talking about? Let me tell you, I blamed people at first. I blamed Mackey for buying us the booze. I blamed Cheryl’s parents for going away that weekend. I blamed everybody I could think of. My step-dad for letting me have the car. Everybody. But I never blamed you, Cricket. You were just there.”
“Well listen up and you’ll blame me soon enough.”
“I’m listening.”
“You remember up ’til you fell asleep?”
“Yeah. I mean obviously I was more wasted than I thought but I remember deciding I should go sleep somewhere. I had to work in the morning and wasn’t feeling so great, so I went inside and passed out on the couch. That’s all there was to it. Then I got up and drove. Don’t exactly remember that part. Like I said I was more wasted than I thought.”
“Not when you went to bed, you weren’t.”
“What do you mean?”
“When you woke up in the morning you were wasted because of me.”
Max got up from the picnic table and stood facing Cricket. “What do you mean?”
Cricket stood up too. “A few of us came in right behind you and you were already sleeping, passed right out on your back. I don’t know why I did it but I decided to pour a bit of my rye and coke into your mouth – it was wide open – and when I poured, you sort of smiled and swallowed. Got big laughs and I just kept doing it. I just kept doing it, and you kept swallowing.”
Cricket looked directly at Max now. “I just kept doing it. I thought it was funny. I thought of you going to work the next morning, you know, being all hungover in front of my old man. I thought he might hate you more than he hated me.”
It took a moment for it to sink in, and when it did, Max lost his legs.

After being told his wife is in the building, Michool looks at Jane with whom he is sharing a super-sized fruit salad, stands up, and without a word, leaps over the fence and sprints down the alleyway. 
Jane very carefully pierces the last piece of pineapple with her fork and brings it to her mouth, folds her napkin and stands up, tucking a twenty under her plate.
She walks next door and folds herself into the comfort and chaos of Clutterbucks. It’s the end of the month and the regular are waiting to get in.
“Hello Hazel. How’s Clem doing? Marcel! You’re looking wonderful today. I recognize that scarf and it never looked that good on me! Morning Christine. That bell you were interested in is on sale today. Kept it for you. Behind the cash when you’re ready.” 
And she says it all without a quiver in her voice.
“First twelve in,” she says, “get a $15 Shoppers card. Oh, hello Clifford. First thirteen I mean.”
But suddenly she hollers for Jet who comes running, sawdust all over him from sweeping up after Avo.
“Take care of things,” she says, dashing out the front door.
By the time Michool gets to the Warrior Waze entrance at the back of Clutterbucks – flashback to him leaping obstacles parcour-style – Gerry has been fetched from where he was visiting Grace inside and is trying to talk to ‘Mrs. Rochester’, Michool’s wife.
The second she sees her husband, she dives at him, knocks him to the ground, straddles him and starts grabbing and hitting and punching and pulling. She is still flailing and swearing as Gerry manages to peel her off and snap cuffs on her wrists. He pulls Myrtle toward his car, which is parked behind the store, and with some difficulty, he finally gets her in.
Michool’s still down and when he looks over, he sees the car lurching and rocking as it pulls away. 
“Said she saw you on TV,” the new girl offers quietly. Other stuff, too. She said other stuff. You wanna hear it?”
“That she wants everything I own?” Michael stands up and dusts himself off, wipes the blood from his neck with a handkercheif which he pulls from the pockets of his dusty trousers. “That I’m keeping her locked up because Warrior Waze is all her idea and I’m taking all the credit? And the money?”
“Pretty much, yes, but more expletives.”
“Okay,” Michool says, sitting on the concrete steps. “Go on back in. It’s over. For now anyway,” and then to himself, “How the hell did she get out anyway?”
Michool sighs and puts his head in his hands. His suit is torn at the pocket and his tie has been wrenched loose. There are two scratches on his neck and on his hand, a crescent shaped cut. Where Myrtle bit him.
“You better get to a doctor.”
It’s Jane. She saw everything.
“You sure know how to keep a secret,” she says, and coming closer she notices a smear of dirt on his forehead. She sits beside him and rubs it in although she meant to rub it off. 
“I got another doozie if you’d care to hear it,” Michool says.
“Sure. Why not?”
“You know that guy from Dragon’s Den? The blond one with the gruff voice.”
“The one who wears those socks.”
“Cannot attest to the socks, but –”
“The one who bought the El Macambo.”
“That’s him,” Michool pauses. “Michael Wekerle. He wants to buy Warrior Waze.”
“I didn’t even know you wanted to sell.”
“Neither did I. Until now. Life’s too short.”
“So sell it then.”
“I will. Gonna miss it like hell but still.”
“Negotiate. Surely he will franchise. Work it so that you keep this location if that’s what you want. You don’t have to necessarily run it, you can hire somebody to do that, but it can still be yours.”
“Good idea,” he pauses and looks over at her. “Seven figures. Like seven big figures.”
“Good for you.”
Jane doesn’t know why but she starts to cry.
“So, sweetheart,” he says taking her hand and pressing it to his mouth. “How’d you like to have dinner with a married man?”

Daphne meets Circio at his store, The Time Zone, in the north Scarborough plaza, at 8am. 
She hands him the brooch first, then the pouch of diamonds.
“I’ll wait,” she says.
Circio puts the glass in his eye, squints like a pirate, and tells her he needs coffee. 
“And not from the coffee shop here,” he adds. “coffee’s shite there. Go to the next plaza north, to The Shakes, and tell them coffee for Circio.” He shoves a greasy bill her way. “It is very unusual for me to be up at this hour and you must get me coffee!”
She snaps the money from his hands.“How do you take it?”
“Big!”
She slams the door as she leaves and Circio gets to work. 
Time pieces are the great passion of his life. He works with gold and silver as required, and gemstones – sapphires mostly – but it’s the interiors at which he excels and his first experience with diamonds bigger than those denoting hours or adorning bevels or hands, was when Daphne handed him this very brooch several months ago and asked him to extract the diamonds. 
“I know nothing about diamonds,” Circio had said, shaking his head. “I wouldn’t even know a diamond if it came out of my nose.” 
“Doesn’t matter. It’s your skill I need. And your silence.”
“I don’t know. I–”
“Double the usual.”
“– will do my best.”
Now, she’s paying him the same to replace the crystals with the original diamonds. Again. No questions asked. Difference is that this time, she’s not watching his every move.
Half an hour later Daphne returns and plunks a coffee in front of him.
“There is no shoe repair. This is from Perk-Up!”
“This will not cure my headache,” he turns off his headlamp and squints up at her. “How could you miss the shoe repair? Simple directions. Walk south to th–”
“North!” Daphne says. “You said walk north!”
Circio squints up at her again and opens his eyes just enough so she can see them roll.
“Why would I say walk north when the facking coffee shop is south.”
Daphne makes sure to slam the door behind her.
Circio texts his sister in law at The Shakes: She’s on her way. I need 45 minutes.

BING Kreskin! I got the proposal from Simple Simon, and the first chapter
Dad’s picking me up at ten. Give it to him ZOOM
BING Done!
What Vanity does not say is that the first chapter is beautiful – and that she immediately emailed Simon requesting the full manuscript – something she rarely did. 
This is very good! Ask for the rest and if it’s this good, I want to talk to him ZOOM
BING And say what?
Like let’s find a mutually agreeable pen name and get writing ZOOM
BING Stop reading my mind 
If I can feed him my story-lines and he can do THIS to them, frees me up to do what really matters ZOOM
BING Libbe?
Libbe! ZOOM
Of course Matthew is dying of curiosity. Must be twenty bings before they finally find a Starbucks and Kreskin runs in. He has left his phone as usual and it sits face up on the passenger’s seat. Matthew reaches over, touches it, and in spite of his dyslexia, manages to make out the last few lines of texts: 
frees me up to do what really matters
Bible? 
Bible! 
“Jesus H. Christ!” Matthew says. “Now he’s writing a sequel to the goddamn Bible!”

Once she finally finds the coffee shop, Daphne has to wait almost half an hour and she’s rattling with impatience when the red curtains at the back of the shop finally part and the coffee is brought to her – pomp, circumstance, cream, sugar, and porcelain – on a red velvet cushion.
“To go,” she says. “Jesus Christ I need it to go!”
Circio is finished by the time she gets back. 
“Oh my God, Circio,” Daphne says, her frustration gone in a huge wave of relief. “You did a superb job. Of course you did. Look at that! It’s perfect! I’ll e-transfer you the money–”
“Please now. I am no charge.” 
She can’t believe her ears. Circio not charging her? Unheard of!
“What!?” she says. “You’re not charging me?”
“Fack! I mean send me now I am low battery no charger and away later today from country.”
“Oh, it’s just that I gotta be back for a meeting. Like five minutes ago!”
“Please now.”
Daphne fishes for her phone in her purse of chocolate bars and sends him the money.
“Very good,” Circio says, “also the coffee.”

Daphne heads to Clutterbucks where she’s meeting Maddie’s auctioneer-husband David Frost, and his appriaser/partner/brother. The posters she had Grace design are all over the neighbourhood, in the local papers, and she eblasted them to all her customers.

Clutterbucks Show & Go – Free Appraisals
Here’s your chance to find out if that thingadoohickey your crusty old aunt left you is worth anything. Get a free appraisal on ONE item, this Thursday ONLY, from 10am. And join us for our very first auction! This Saturday. Preview from 9:00. Champagne breakfast at 10:00. Auction from 11:00.

Looks like it worked. 
“Holy cow,” she says, turning the corner onto Kingston Road, “what is this, Antiques Roadshow?” The lineup goes between Clutterbucks and Our Salad Days, wraps around the back, and comes out the other side between Clutterbucks and MeetMeat. Those in line are holding their treasures, from a life-sized knight to dollhouses, tables, grandfather clocks.
Jet waves from the crowd and gives Daphne a big smile.
She had no idea so many people would show up, so hopeful and with so many treasures. It’s a busy day, there are a few outstanding pieces but most, as expected, are in the 50 to 100 dollar range, a few in the thousands, and one – she convinced the owner to put it in the auction – is valued, for insurance purposes, at 22 thousand. Not bad for a box of comic books.
At four o’clock, the lineup dwindling, Daphne tells Jet to invite the last few hopefuls inside, lock the door behind them, and put up the closed sign.
“Okay, only one more,” Daphne says to a tired David and his very tired and slightly annoyed brother who goes only by Mr. Frost. “And then I have something to show you. Something really special. I’ll go get it.”
Mr. Frost’s eyes are closed when she comes back into the room, but they soon open, grow wide, and his brows reach great heights when he sees Daphne hand a large painting to David, who takes it, immediately springs to his feet, and turns it and touches it and peers at it and turns it again and squints at it and finally, smiles. 
Mr. Frost waits – anxiously – a line of sweat appearing on his forehead, his hands clenching in his lap, his foot tapping impatiently until David passes it to him, silently and meaningfully, and he grabs it like Gollum takes the ring. 
Hunching over it, he coos slowly, “I would start the bidding at two hundred and fifty–”
“Oh goodness. I though it would be more,” Daphne says, “damn! Wish I hadn’t said anything to the owner.”
“Thousand,” Mr. Frost continues. “I will confirm, but if my hunch is correct–”
“Come now, Stephen, sorry, Mr. Frost, you don’t work on hunches. You’ve been studying the Group of Seven since university and I–”
“Be that as it may. I enjoy hunching. And if my hunch is correct, this painting is from the autumn of Tom Thomson’s final year. His last trip perhaps. Certainly one of the last. This could actually be the one. This could be THE one. It takes one’s breath away.”
Daphne is thinking about two things: Greybird’s reaction, and her commission. 
“Have you a safe large enough?” Mr. Frost asks. “I have a safe just for this sort of thing. I daresay you do not?”
“No, I don’t,” Daphne says, “so please, yes, please take it. Now that I know what it’s worth, I won’t be able to sleep unless it’s in a safe.”
Mr. Frost stands, and rather shaken still, says to Daphne, “Get me a blanket.”
Daphne goes to the bedding department and finds a suitable blanket with which to protect the painting. She also grabs some cord from the cash and a pair of scissors. 
She hands the blanket to Mr. Frost.
“Thank you,” he says, wrapping it over his shoulders. “There’s a draft.”
“One more thing,” Daphne reaches into her purse for the turquoise pouch which she slowly places in Mr. Frost’s outstretched hand. He shrugs the blanket off his shoulders, stares at her for a moment, sits up very straight, loosens the strings and lets the brooch roll onto the velvet tray in front of him. 
He shoots a meaningful glance at David who is not breathing.
“This,” Daphne says, “is from Tifffany’s New York. Purchased in 1936 from Mr. Tiffany himself, who signed the receipt, which I have here. Originally purchased by the present owner’s grandmother.”
Mr. Frost pops the glass into his eye. He takes a penlight from his shirt pocket and carefully aims the bright little beam. 
“This,” he says, holding it like a turd, “is a fake.”

Of course it’s no surprise that Circio’s door is locked and the lights are off. Nor is it much of a surprise to see the note that explains he is on “extendo” holiday. 
If she had one more week, she might be able to figure a way out of this mess, but she decides she better go tell Hilda the truth. Mostly anyway. She’ll use the commission on Greybird’s painting to pay her back and will hopefully break even.
She texts Karley: I’ll be at your parents new place in one hour. Can you come?
The first thing Daphne says is, “lovely place!”, the second thing she says is, “sit down”, and the third thing she says is, “before I start I need you to know that I will make it up to you. Every penny.”
She reaches into her purse and places the pouch on the coffee table in front of Hilda and Clive. She carefully opens the pouch and pulls out the brooch. Karley moves from the chair to the arm of the couch, beside her mother, and the three of them look back and forth between the brooch and Daphne.
“Here’s what happened: I took it to my guy for a cleaning. Normally I stay with pieces such as this but it was early, and he was doing me a big favour, and he needed coffee so I went to get him one. I realize now that he tricked me, sent me on a wild caffeine chase, and by the time I finally got back, he was finished, it was beautiful as you can see, and I thanked him, paid him, and went back to the store where I met with my auctioneer and appraiser. Thought I’d show them so you’d have an idea of its worth before going to Tiffany’s.
“Imagine my surprise when the appraiser told me it was a fake. I was in shock of course, but I knew what had happened. My jeweller ‘friend’ had switched the diamonds for these,” she taps the glistening stones. “They’re crystals. The appriaser said everything else about this piece is perfectly authentic, it’s worth a considerable amount of money indeed for the provenance, the workmanship, the materials, yes, it’s platinum and of superb quality, but these diamonds are not diamonds.”
Hilda gasps, covers her mouth with her hand.
“As I said, Hilda, I am fully responsible for it. I will pay for new diamonds, or pay you what it’s worth. Or what it was worth. I am so sorry. Can’t even tell you how sorry I am.”
“Daphne,” Hilda says, her voice shaking, “the diamonds never were diamonds. I could have sworn I told you. It was a sample piece. A prototype. A fake!”

Good morning folks. Cowboy Jim Dinner here and welcome to Funny Business, your guide to making a living in the world of comedy. And remember, folks, I didn’t say a good living. 
It’s Monday, and we have Daphne today. 
Hey guys! Hello Cowboy. You look dashing as ever today and you out there will never know if I am being serious or not. (She is being dead serious.)
What else do we have today? We are going to announce the winner of the Comedy Conversation for Two coming up at the end of the show.
Ah! I can’t believe I didn’t enter! Of course I meant to, but you know then everything happened and by everything I mean nothing short of every single thing. I’ll tell you. If you have the whole day. But I was thinking, Jim, for future contests we should have them blind. You know. So I can still enter.
Blind?
You know. No names on anything.
How will I know what’s what?
These things can be worked out, Jim. Not rocket science. 
Okay you figure it out for me then. All I want to do is read them and put the funny ones in a pile and then read the funny ones again and if they’re still funny, they go into an even–
Spare us your system. I have stories to tell. Let me tell you about the auction we had on Saturday
blah blah blah
And so then I called Greybird and I mean you know Greybird, Cowboy. Hard to get much more than a pulse outta that guy. I mean talk about serene. Hello? he says and then of course I didn’t even say who I was or anything like that. I just came straight out with it. Three quarters of a million dollars! I said. And I don’t know if you know anything about dealer commission, but let’s just say next time we go for pizza, it’s on me.
So happy for both you and Greybird. Amazing! And while we’re on the subject of money, let’s get to the contest winner! Just like we cold-called you, Daphne, when you won, we’re going to cold-call our winner. Would you like to do the honours?
Sure!
And then we’ll get her on next week and she can read her winning entry. It’s a gas. Trust me. You will die.
Okay. Let me grab my phone. Okay. Give me the number.
fouronesixtwosixsevensevensevenfouroh 
It’s ringing.
Hi Daphne.
What!? Who is this?
Daphne, it’s Jane. You called me. Who the heck did you think it would be?

Max ran back to tell Maddie the news, stayed one more night, and left first thing the following morning, promising to return Labour Day weekend before Mary leaves again for school. He is now standing in line at Value Village, ready to purchase a well-used ten-speed. Looks like it’s in pretty good condition and for sure it’s not the kind of bike he’ll have to worry about anyone stealing. It’s the ugliest bike ever. While he’s there, he picks up a couple of books. Also three t-shirts and a pair of shorts.  
BING Tell Daphne. Sorry. But you have to tell her first thing
BING Max has something to tell you
Not there yet but on my way. Just bought a bike! ZOOM
BING Helmet? 
Not yet ZOOM
BING I will send you the money
No! I’m ok. Will get one today ZOOM
BING Tell her
On my way ZOOM
BING Tell her right away. Don’t be shy be proud. Tell her right away it will change everything
Max likes the area. Nice wide sidewalks. Interesting stores. Looks friendly and eclectic. Lots of places to sit. Little parks with benches. Lots of coffee shops. Used book stores. And best of all, some of the old places remain and here and there it’s like the past fifty years haven’t happened. Decidedly un-quaint but nothing pretentious and everything sits well with him.
He feels at home already. 
Except for the traffic. Too many cars and buses, taxicabs, and lots of other cyclists, most of whom act as if they’re in a race. 
He knows it’s against the rules, but he hops up onto the sidewalk for now – until he gets a helmet anyway. 
He’s getting close – two numbers away – which is when he rides right through the middle of Our Salad Days patio. He does not realize what he’s done until he’s done it and he looks back to see that he’s being watched by everybody whose lunch he just interrupted, with a special glare from the waitress.
He shrugs. Hollers sorry. Gets off his bike still looking back, and leans it against the bench outside Clutterbucks, walks through the door and stands there while his eyes adjust to the darkish interior.
The bells turn into Just Dropped In (To See What Condiiton My Condition Was In). 
“Max! Welcome! Come on in. Over here. Here! Cold cold cold. Warmer. Yes. Ah. Now you see me?”
“Hi, Daphne,” he says, big smile. “Nice to see you.”
He keeps smiling as he looks up, down, side to side. “Wow. This place is huge!”
“Come on let me show you around. Just finishing up your shop.”
Through the window he catches a glimpse of the waitress from next door who is crouched down looking at his bicycle. Then she peers through the window, frowns, and finally, she opens the door and goes in.
“That’s my bike,” she says.
“It’s my bike. I just bought it. Fifteen bucks at Value Village,” Max says.
“It’s my bike. It got stolen.”
“Oh. I figured it was steal-proof, you know, on account of it being so ugly.”
“Me too. But it was stolen and it’s my bike.” Normal is ready to put up a fight.
“Okay, take it,” Max says, “third sticks anyway.”
“It does,” she says, “third sticks.”
“How long ago was it stolen?”
“Two weeks,” she turns to Daphne. “Happened during the Strawberry festival. One minute it was here, next it was gone.
“Max, come on,” Daphne hollers, “let me show you your space.”
“You’re going to live here?” Normal asks.
“He sure is.”
“Oh. Okay. See you around then. And thanks for my bike!”
“You’re welcome. Leave it there for now I’ll fix third for you.”
“I’ll buy you a bike,” Daphne says after Normal leaves. “I’ve had some good fortune lately.”
“Why does everyone want to buy me things? I don’t want you to buy me things. I want to work for what I get. Stop feeling sorry for me. Please.”
“Yes. You’re right. I get it. Sorry.”
“No don’t be sorry–”
BING Did you tell her?
BING Did he tell you?
Daphne leans forward.
“Tell me what?”

Grace had a feeling Avo was back. 
About a week before the Strawberry Festival, she thought she saw him in the neighbourhood twice and the Saturday of the festival she thought she saw him a couple of times, chalked it up to lack of sleep. It wasn’t until Daphne told her that he was back that she had her first good night’s sleep since he’d been gone. He had come, Daphne told her, to play – and win – the Warrior Waze $25,000 grand prize.
Now, when Gerry flies out the door to help with Mrs. Rochester, Avo rushes to Grace’s floor and scrambles up.
She has been crying. He has been eavesdropping.
He puts his hands on her shoulders.
“I heard what he just told you. I had a feeling so I was listening. I have a very good sense about people and I don’t know why he would do this to you of all people but that guy you are kissing with is not a good apple Graceif. 
“Some men who crave power like to be cop and also they may crave power over women and to control them and I think that is what he is trying to do because he–”
Avo suddenly stops talking. His voice seems to have evaporated, but he continues in a whisper.
“You know I know how to get things done which is because I had to learn everything from when I was a boy how to fend for myself. So if I needed a dollar, I would get a dollar. If I needed twenty-five thousand of them, I would get twenty-five thousand of them. If I needed a DNA test, well, I would get one of those, too. Which I did and what he told you is a lie.
“She is your daughter, Grace.”

When Daphne leaves the radio station and walks out into the sunshine, she’s thinking things just can’t get much better. 
Harriet is on her way, with Vera, to Clutterbucks where Max is currently setting up shop. Greybird’s driving down and should be there soon. Michool said he’d be dropping in before dinner with some news. And Grace texted, she has some news, too. Kreskin has asked Simon and Vanity to meet him on the bench out front. Jet’s watching the store while Jane goes clothes-shopping for the first time in months. She’s got a dinner date.
That’s when Moses runs out into the parking lot after her.
“Daphne! Can I have a word?”
“Sure. What’s up, Moses?”
“Something for you to think about.”
“Okay. Hit me.”
“You come highly endorsed.”
“No kidding. Highly endorsed by whom?”
“Cowboy Jim.”
“Ah!”
“He gave me an idea and I think – I hope – it’s something you’d really like to do.”
“Okay,” Daphne smiles, “tell me, Moses. What would I really like to do?”
“You’d really like to create a sitcom based on Clutterbucks.”

– curtains –