An Intruder at Poppycock

“Well, isn’t that nice?” Professor P’ohlig handed the certificate to Professor DeBusque. “The reason we’d never heard of the E.M. Forster Prize for Highly Important Contributions to Literature is because they’ve never given it before. We’re the first!”

Emily reached across the space between the two chaise lounges in the Poppycock office to grab the envelope as well, which she promptly shook upside down, causing a check to flutter out into Maude’s waiting hands. “Let me see? Oh! Well, if that amount of money doesn’t call for a celebration, I don’t know what does!”

Maude was sent out for provisions, and the girls both put on their Goggular Whatsits in the interim, getting down to the more serious part of Poppycock. Emily was nearly through perking up a new set of travel essays by Paul Theroux (a rush job, as he feared his popularity was on the wane after a few ill-placed elitist remarks in an interview), and Molly was hard at work on a manuscript by the great-grandson of James Joyce. Sadly, not altogether much of that famous Joycean talent had trickled down, but enough to make a go of it, and Poppycock was so devoted to the cultivation of new voices.

Suddenly, the door slammed open.

“Gracious, Maudie, what is it?” Molly said, not looking up, and continuing to nibble on the now damp end of her quill.

“No clotted cream left?” Emily didn’t look up either, sipping a glass of Madeira. But the silence was too prolonged to have come from Maude, and Emily looked towards the door. “Bloody hell.”

That made Molly look up as well. An ominous figure stood menacingly in the doorway, clothed entirely in black, complete with gaucho hat, cape, and Zorro mask. There was an awkward pause. “Whatever do you want?” Molly ventured.

The ominous person looked uneasily from Emily to Molly and back again. A handkerchief was removed from said persons’ pocket, and held up to the mouth in a ridiculous attempt to disguise the speaker’s voice.

“I – ahem – I command your services! Not for me – erm, not for myself do I ask for such a paltry thing, but for a writer, a great, great writer, who doesn’t even need your help, not at all!”


“Then may I enquire as to why you’re here, exactly?” Emily went back to her Theroux, dismissive in the manner of all the best people.

The figure winced. “I, em, it’s because…I…this author, you see, she won’t like my being here. The thing is, really, I’m trying to….sabotage her! I’m trying to sabotage her by getting you lot to muck up her latest manuscript, which I’ve stolen, you see, and then once you’re done buggering it, I’ll send it off to her agent, unbeknownst to her, like. And since they’ll publish any old codswallop she gives them, they won’t even look at it first. And her reputation will be simply ruined because of you two!”

Emily and Molly paid only the slightest bit of attention. “And why should we want to ruin this…I believe you said ‘great….great writer’ was it? Why should we be interested in her ruin, whoever she is? Why are you? And, pray tell, who are you” Emily made a little church of her daintily ink-stained hands and set her pretty chin lightly upon it.

The intruder may have had a dark complexion, but one could detect a flush at these words. “It’s because I’m a….I’m a terrible writer, you see, and I’m….jealous! That’s it! And one time she stole my boyfriend! Always nicking other people’s boyfriends, she is, and writing lovely, lovely books, and I’ve had enough! Never mind who I am.” The intruder folded their arms crossly across a flat chest.

Molly and Emily exchanged the tiniest smile.

“Well, then…sir?” There was an exaggerated harrumph from the person in the doorway. Molly’s tone became overtly, and insincerely, placatory. “Oh, I am sorry, madam. May we be permitted to…see the aforementioned manuscript?”

The cantankerous duelist looked as if she’d rather not come any closer, but as neither Molly nor Emily made any move to get up, she had no choice. She fumbled around the back of her cape, and pulled a large manila envelope out of, by all appearances, the seat of her trousers. She took a few mincing steps towards the desks, and threw it onto Molly’s, which was closer.

“Hmm….prolific little thing, at least.” Molly drew out the first of an obscene number of pages. “ ‘How I Intend to Win the Next E.M. Fors –‘ “

“Not that! That’s not for you!” The figure leapt back to the desk and snatched away the paper, crumpling it hastily and chucking it into the roaring fireplace. “That’s, uh, that’s not hers. She didn’t write that.”

“Oh of course not.” Emily rose from her desk, giving a delicate stroke to the cat, Agatha, who was, as usual, draped comfortably around her shoulders. She peeked at the title page. “Zadie Smith? Why, I thought she’d stopped writing! No one’s heard so much as a peep from her in years. Doesn’t that just take the biscuit! Do you really want us to ‘ruin’ her, as you say? Surely that wouldn’t be very charitable.” Molly and Emily turned expectant faces up to the intruder, like petals open up towards the sun.

“….Well…don’t…ruin it….Maybe you could just…change an adjective here and there, or…maybe thicken up the plot a bit? And there’s this one soppy character I can’t do anything with…that, em, she seems to be having a bit of a hard time with.” The intruder looked down glumly and sighed. “Maybe you could actually just fix it up a bit. It’s, em, it’s not very good. And as much as I don’t like her very much, I don’t want her to be embarrassed.”

The girls nodded understandingly.

“Of course,” said Emily. “We’d be only too happy to help. I suppose we shouldn’t….mention this to anyone? Not unless the novel is successful, naturally. And then we’d require only a small mention.”

The intruder brightened. “Oh yes, ta very much. That would be smashing. Brilliant. Smashingly brilliant. Well, I’ve got to go now. And remember, not a word to anyone!” And the intruder was gone.

She left the door open though, and that’s when Maude came back in, staggering under the weight of the enormous lunch basket. “Who was that in the ridiculous costume? Don’t tell me it was Zadie again.”

Molly shut the door firmly with a smile as Poppycock Enterprises shut down for the day in a mood of self-congratulations. “Who else?”