Oh, Johnny, Oh!
By Eddie Romero
Clem Corrales was annoyed. For the sixth time within a year, he had been forcibly ejected from his father’s home — by his father. What was he to do? For revenge? At length, he decided to corner the cigar market. With considerable delight, he lingered over a vision of pompous Mr. Corrales cringing humbly before his feet, begging for a paltry puff. It was a most ingenious plan, and he made a mental note of it for future reference.
“Where to, boss?”
Clem twisted his head to look at a silent, lumbering Chinese in faultless clothes, staggering under the weight of a golf bag and three or four bulky suitcases.
“The usual little hideaway, Suzy,” Clem grinned.
His feelings were slightly assuaged. At least, Mr. Corrales had had the parental decency to allow his erstwhile son one servant. Suzy had always been an extraordinarily competent servant. The Corraleses had discovered him in a suburban restaurant, and he had accepted employment only on condition that his sartorial wants be fully provided for. And so, for some 21 years, Suzy had pleased his employers. He was always as immaculate as a cinema butler.
“Will go to residence of Mr. Johnny, boss?”
“It looks like it, doesn’t it? He’ll be glad to see us again — I hope.”
“Will require very much hope,” prophesied Suzy.
Juan Castillo-Perez, 26, handsome, rich, sports-loathing, and hopelessly meek, was particularly proud of his ancestry. He firmly believed the Castillo-Perezes had trod the earth for centuries as potent monarchs, or, at least, as notable leaders.
At this moment, he was studiously regarding a magnificent portrait of Don Juan Castillo-Perez, the most eminent of an eminent clan, who, about 150 years ago, had staggered the world with astonishing commercial manipulations which earned him the title of the Merchant King of the Far East. Beneath the striking portrait, on a shelf of silver, lay a relic of the Merchant King’s fame — diminutive silver slipper, presented to him by the ruler of a European nation. Juan Castillo-Perez examined the royal token through a pair of horn-rimmed spectacles. As long as he could remember, no human hands had been permitted to touch the slipper. It had rested on the shelf for possibly 100 years and, as long as Juan Castillo-Perez had anything to say about it, it would remain there.
J. C.-P. looked up disgustedly. The doorbell was ringing. He walked across the room and opened the door.
“Hello, Johnny!” Clem said rapidly. “I just dropped in to look around and see how things are, but I can’t stay very long. A week or two, maybe. Well, well, the old shack hasn’t changed a bit since I left two weeks ago. I bet you’re simply oozing with joy to see me and Suzy again. When do we eat?”
Juan Castillo-Perez peered at his unexpected, uninvited guest.
“The name,” he growled, “is Juan, if you please.”
Juan’s guest walked majestically in, followed by Suzy carrying the suitcases.
“Where do I put the baggages, boss?” Suzy puffed.
“The Blue Room will do, Suzy. Run along!”
“I regret,” the young financier said, “to inform you the Blue Room is occupied.”
“Ah!” ejaculated Clem ecstatically. “Have wedding bells rung down the curtain on your gay young life since last I saw you? Why didn’t I get an invitation to the wedding?”
“The remark,” snorted J. C.-P., “is not funny. My cousin is here for a brief stay. A likeable young man. You will observe he is rather — ah — lighthearted. However, much to my satisfaction, he is more conservative than certain persons I know.”
“Oh? Going high-hat on me, huh? Why, if I had any money I’d march right to a hotel.”
“Where do I put the baggages, boss?” Suzy persisted.
“In the Yellow Room, Li Tseng,” instructed J. C.-P.
“Name of humble self,” said the Chinese, drawing himself up with profound dignity, “is Suzy, please.”
“Hullo, Juan. Who’s this?” a handsome young man demanded.
“Good morning, Antonio,” Juan Castillo-Perez smiled. “This is Mr. Corrales. He’s come to visit us for a while.”
“Hi,” said Clem.
“Glad to meet you. Any friend of Juan’s is a friend of mine. Well, Juan, I must be getting along. I have a date for lunch with Nena,” he said. He sauntered out.
“Did he say Nena?” Clem blurted out. “Why, that’s the girl you’re supposed to be engaged to. And come to think of it, that’s your best suit he’s wearing.”
Juan Castillo-Perez scratched the back of his head.
“To be perfectly frank,” he said in a troubled voice, “her feelings toward me have cooled lately.”
“What do you mean to say is, she just — cooled?”
“Y-e-e-s.”
“And I may safely presume that all this started after Cousin Tony dropped for a visit.”
“Well, yes, by an unusual coincidence.”
Clem delivered such a tremendous kick to a valuable table that it creaked.
“And while you’ve been feeding, clothing, and sheltering this long-lost cousin of yours, he’s been after your girl!”
Juan Castillo-Perez turned red.
“I prefer to drop the subject.”
But Clem was in no mood to accept his friend’s curt suggestion. He finally came to the conclusion that this cousin was a heel without a soul, deserving only the most outrageous treatment. He then mapped out a plan for outrageous revenge, such as Cousin Tony deserved. Clem mused, doodled, slept, played solitaire, and swatted flies alternately. By precisely 7:45 PM, his efforts were repaid in full. Antonio was to be wholly and completely erased from the picture.
Triumphantly, Clem donned his evening clothes and left his room. As he was tripping down the stairs, he heard someone behind him.
“Hi, there, Corrales! All dressed up, aren’t you?” boomed the baritone voice of the traitorous cousin.
“Evening, Tony. You’re not in rags, either.”
“Not exactly,” said Tony. “I’ve a dinner date with Nena — you know her.”
An inspiration seized Clem, but his face did not betray it.
“So have I. She called up and said she’d never forgive me if I didn’t join you two kids,” he beamed, his features an inscrutable mask of infantile innocence.
The revelation jolted the dastardly cousin.
“She what?” he inquired.
“You know how it is. I couldn’t refused. Have to be Boy Scout once in a while, you know.”
“Oh, sure,” Antonio grunted, sarcastically.
It was a Saturday evening, and, as could be expected, the Malta Club was teeming with revellers. Henri de la Fournier, the club’s overnourished French proprietor, glowed with satisfaction. Clem Corrales entered the dining room with Nena and Tony.
“A lovely evening, my friends. A night for music, wine, and romance!” said the proprietor.
The gal, Mr. Fournier observed, is a peach.
“Champagne and caviar, Henri,” Clem said. “The sky’s the limit.” And then he whispered to the Frenchman, “My somewhat overdressed friend here will foot the bill.”
Henri clicked his heels and promptly vanished.
“Why don’t you two dance?” Clem smiled.
“Capital!” said Antonio. The phrase, if you must know, was fresh from the sound-track of a recent film.
Apparently to help Tony get into the festive spirit, Clem gave him a hearty slap on the back of his head. This maneuver enabled Clem to pour the contents of a small bottle down Antonio’s neck. Immediately a stream of red ants started an attack on Johnny’s unfortunate cousin. Antonio took Nena in his arms, and poised himself for the first step of a tango.
Clem watched the exhibition with ghoulish delight. Upon the termination of the first fourteen steps, Antonio’s cheek acquired a nervous twitch. When the ants swept on to other parts of his body, Antonio felt the urge to go into a rhumba. He did this in a manner which reminded onlookers of a Mexican jumping bean.
Nena stared at her partner, appalled. At irregular intervals, he would leap into the air with an eerie war-whoop. Then he took to lying on the floor and squirming like a worm. Suddenly he rose and dashed toward the nearest exit.
“You poor little girl!” Clem sympathised when the embarrassed Nena returned to the table.
“What on earth made him do that!” she asked. “Oh, I’m so ashamed. Let’s get out of here.”
“Champagne and caviar, my friends,” Henri piped up. “Eat, drink, and be merry, for — ”
“Take it away,” Clem said, realising there was no overdressed young friend to foot the bill. “I don’t feel like dying tomorrow.”
With the air of Sir Galahad, Casanova, Don Juan, and Tyrone Power all rolled into one, Clem hurriedly left with the humiliated beauty and hailed a taxi.
“Nena,” Clem said, “I hope you won’t take this too hard. But I’m going to let you now. My emotions can no longer stand the strain of this ghastly secret.”
“What is it, Clem?”
“It’s about Tony. Now brace your self, girl. Did Tony ever tell you his father was a homicidal maniac?”
“Good heavens — no.”
“Or that his grandfather, on his father’s side, thought he was a bird? He flew out of a third-story window in the Castillo-Perez home.”
“He was killed that way?”
“Why, no. He landed on his head, but he wasn’t hurt a bit.”
“Susmariosep! It’s almost unbelievable.”
“Of course, I understand you’re really set on marrying Tony. You might be able to change him. Johnny doesn’t really matter, you know.”
“Clem,” she said, “you’ve got to know. I love Johnny.”
He said composedly. “You’re showing it in a swell way.”
“I thought I could make him jealous — make him do something impulsive and romantic,” Nena said. “He’s meet, and I wanted him to be a real man. There isn’t much that’s primitive in him, is there?”
“Oh! So that’s it.”
“Yes, Clem,” she blushed. “He hasn’t even held my hand.”
“A decided weakness that needs correcting,” Clem said.
“You know what I mean. I thought that if Tony got a little fresh with me, Johnny’d walk right up and punch him in the nose.”
“He didn’t?”
“He didn’t even bat an eye.”
“Well,” Clem said soothingly, “that’s best forgotten now. You go right home and write him a nice letter, and everything will be all right. I’ll see to that.”
“That wouldn’t do at all. That wouldn’t change him. I’ve decided to marry Tony.”
“You’ve what!” he sputtered. Why…why…you just — ”
“That’s the only thing there is for me to do. Johnny must know all about Tony and his father and his grandfather. When he realises I’m going to marry a good, he’ll have to do something!” Her eyes gleamed. “I’d like to poke Tony in the snoot!”
Clem groaned, for he knew full well that Antonio’s ancestors had been sane, solemn, sober people. There was about as much chance of Juan Castillo-Perez’s stopping the wedding as Clem’s winning the forthcoming presidential election.
“But Johnny won’t interfere!” he shouted.
“Why not?”
“S-s-s-s-s-s-supposing he d-d-d-d-doesn’t l-l-l-love you?”
“Oh, don’t be silly, Clem. Johnny’s in love with me. He has always been that way about me.”
“Well, supposing Tony is a gigolo who doesn’t want to get hitched up?”
Nena’s eyes narrowed menacingly.
“I’d even blackmail him into it.”
Clem was worried. Woman, he decided, is not easily understandable creature. He endeavoured to think. He was going to wreak bitter vengeance — on somebody. As the taximeter ticked away, Clem’s heretofore unconquerable soul alternately rose and fell — collapsed, if you must be technical. He paid no attention to Nena’s optimistic chatter. To put it crudely, he was stumped.
The taxi halted with a jolt.
“Well, good night, Clem,” Nena was saying. “Thanks for everything. And remember, mum’s the word.”
“Uh. Of course.”
“Not a word to Johnny, now.”
“No, no.”
“Is anything the matter?”
“Um? Uh-uh!”
“Well, in that case, good night.”
“Back to the Malta, driver,” he said.
When Clem managed to sit up in bed the next morning, he could have sworn two or three dozen hammers were banging away at his head. He opened one eye. There, before him, stood a grim specter in horn-rimmed glasses. Clem moaned and stuck his head under the sheet.
“Clemente,” the specter said, “I do not approve of your attempts to drown yourself in liquor when you know you can’t foot the bill.”
Clem’s head popped out from under the sheet.
“Johnny, old boy, what happened?”
“From bits of information, I took the liberty of piecing together, you returned to the Club Malta after taking Nena home, and requested a double whiskey.”
“I think I remember that.”
“You consumed the drink and demanded another. Whereupon the proprietor inquired as to whether or not you could pay for the celebration. You did not hesitate,” Juan Castillo-Perez’s face reddened a shade, “to remove your trousers and offer them as a guarantee of your good faith.”
“Crude, wasn’t it?”
“After another whiskey and a gin sling, you approached the star entertainer of the club and asked for a dance. Upon her refusal, you ay down at her feet and purred like a kitten. You declared you would not move an inch until she accepted you as a partner. A police officer was promptly called. I bailed you out.”
“Tsk, tsk, tsk!”
“All the way home, you insisted my driver sing Sweet Adeline with you.”
“Delightful little melody, isn’t it? How did your driver sing it?”
“Hoarsely. He was arrested for drunken driving, and I had to drive the car the rest of the way myself, after pacifying you, I regret to say, with a monkey-wrench.”
“You’re terrible,” said Clem. “How is Antonio?”
“He was irritated with your behavior last night, but in view of the pleasant circumstances that have befallen him, I gather he intends to forgive you.”
“What pleasant circumstances?”
“This morning,” Juan answered, “Nena called him up on the telephone and proposed to him. Marriage, you know. He accepted her. They are to be married tomorrow afternoon.”
The ceiling promptly fell on Clem. At least, he thought it had. To describe his feelings would be sheer folly, for he was at once amazed, surprised, unhappy, vexed, enraged, incredulous, dumbfounded, and worried.
“What are you going to do about it?” Clem asked.
“Naturally, I am exceedingly happy for Antonio’s sake. He has made an excellent choice.”
“You’re telling me! What about you?”
“I am going to be the best man.”
“That’s nice. But you love the girl, don’t you?” Clem thundered.
“I’m afraid that has to be forgotten, Clemente,” Juan faltered, biting his lip. “It is unfortunate that…” The last of the illustrious Castillo-Perezes turned and hurriedly walked away.
Suzy drifted in with a large breakfast tray.
“Suzy,” Clem said, “I got into a mess because I used my brains without using you first. You’ve got to get me out of it.”
“I’m familiar with situations,” Suzy modestly admitted. “Venture to say, mess is regarding Miss Nena?”
“Yes.”
“Expected as much,” said Suzy.
The Chinese sat down and listened to the story. Suzy seemed to be aware of the gravity of his master’s dilemma, for his teeth chattered. And when Suzy’s teeth chattered, anyone who knew him could safely conclude the Chinese was worried.
“What are you going to do, Suzy?”
“Silence, please. Suzy is thinking.”
Clem ate his breakfast. He chewed, drank, and cursed as silently as he could until he felt there was nothing quite worth chewing, drinking, or cursing about.
After what seemed innumerable centuries, Suzy snapped his yellow fingers: “Confucius say, to put plugged nickel in crooked slot machine is merely tit for tat.”
“Just what would that mean?”
“Factor №1,” Suzy explained, “Miss Nena love Mr. J. C.-P. Factor №2, she marry somebody else because he refused to be knuckle-pushing cave man. Factor №3, we gotta make Mr. J. C.-P. into a cave man. Factor №4, to achieve our end, we must hurt his pride. Factor №5, his pride is mainly in honorable family — especially ancestry. Elementary, boss.”
Clem’s eyes widened.
“I don’t see how I could get along without you, Suzy. Let’s get to work.”
The church bells were ringing, the sun was shining, the Rev. Pedro P. de Pedro was beaming in anticipation of a fat contribution to the church, and the bridegroom-to-be was in the best of spirits. So, incredible as it may seem, was Clem. Nena found him inside the church.
“Clem,” she sobbed, “do you think Johnny will go through with it?”
“Personally,” opined Clemente Corrales thoughtfully, “I’d hate to be married to Tony — he eats crackers in bed. Simply awful, isn’t it?”
“Stop it, Clem. Do you think he will?”
“He will.”
“Oh, please, Clem. I mean Johnny.”
Clem grinned paternally.
“Don’t worry, sister. That sugar-faced would-be baby dumpling of yours is going to take a sensational plastering.” He paused. “There’s Johnny now. You just toddle along, and I’ll light the fuse.”
He rose, patted her on the shoulder, and walked away.
Juan Castillo-Perez had got out of his 12-cylinder car. He was standing before the church, staring fixedly at the pile of worn shoes attached to the rear bumper of the wedding car. To all appearances, he had been stricken with paralysis. His eyes protruded menacingly, and for the first time in some 20 years, his fists were tightly clenched. For there before him was the muddy and stained relic that had belonged to the illustrious Don Julio Castillo-Perez — the silver slipper.
“They’re waiting for you, Johnny,” Clem said, the picture of blissful innocence. “You’d better hustle.”
“Clemente,” said J. C.-P. sternly, “the name of Castillo-Perez has been outraged.”
Trembling, he pointed to the mud-spattered slipper.
“Oh, that,” said Clem pleasantly. “Antonio grabbed it this morning to add to his neat collection there. He said it was foolish to have a rusty example of bad taste around your joint, anyway.”
“Oh?”
“Oh, yes,” Clem asserted, getting into the spirit of the thing. “I told him you wouldn’t like it. He said you hadn’t liked it when he chiseled in on your romance and walked away with your girl, but you hadn’t done anything about it. I would have pasted him one — but he is your third cousin, you know.”
“Oh?” Johnny remarked briefly, breathing hard. “Clemente, this ceremony must be stopped.”
Clem’s heart beat furiously.
“I don’t see why.”
“Nena must not marry that heartless despoiler of decency,” thundered Juan Castillo-Perez.
“Suits me to a T,” said Clem. “What are you going to do?”
“You’ll see.”
Juan Castillo-Perez marched into the ancient, peaceful church. Clem and his outraged friend soon found Nena.
“Nena,” J. C.-P. roared, “you are not going to marry Antonio. You will marry me — definitely.”
“So?” she smiled tenderly. “I’d like to see you do something about it.”
The last of the dashing Castillo-Perezes did not hesitate to take up his ex-fiancée’s challenge. He picked her up and, without even an “if you please,” walked gruffly out of the church. Nena had her honor to consider. So she managed to kick off her shoes and start kicking; rather half-heartedly for a bride-to-be who was being very unconventionally abducted.
“Let me go, you brute!” she yelled. “Let me go.”
“The name,” said our hero, severely, “is Johnny.”
Then, seeing her plea was to no avail, Nena surrendered herself to the inevitable and kissed him. Even that did not stop the last of the illustrious
Castillo-Perezes — which goes to show how furious he was.
“You,” she said weakly, “shouldn’t do that, you know.”
“Stop!” a man thundered. “What’s this all about?” Demanded the furious bridegroom-to-be. “You put my wife down.”
“She is not your wife,” retaliated Johnny. “And she will never be!”
“Oh?” Antonio was about to say, when a mathematically calculated right hook caught him on the jaw, knocking him into a flower bed.
“Oh! Nena shouted. “Oh, Jonny, oh!”
