Originally Posted: 12:53 AM - Feb 17, 2012

For nearly two weeks the staff on the first floor had put up with the unbearable noise upstairs due to the remodelling of a large section of the second floor. The thuds, bumps, grinding, groaning, not to mention the occasional vulgar outcry from one of the workmen, was giving everyone headaches. Sister had dispatched more aspirin and paracetamol in three days than she had in three months to the irritated employees.
"I don't know how much more I can take," Shirley Brahms sighed heavily. She cast her eyes skyward as another thud sent a shower of dust over her and her superior, Betty Slocombe.
"Well, Mr. Rumbold said they should be done today," Mrs Slocombe told her junior.
"He said that yesterday," Miss Brahms snapped sullenly. "And the day before that. And the day before that as well!"
Just then there was another heavy thud and the two women were treated to more dust Mrs. Slocombe passed a rag to Miss Brahms and they wiped down their counters once more.
"I couldn't help overhearing your conversation," came a voice from nearby. "And I can assure you both that the workmen will be done shortly. They are simply putting the final touches on the counters upstairs."
"Is that so, Captain Peacock?" Mrs Slocombe replied coolly. "I seem to remember hearing that yesterday as well, from Mr Harman."
Captain Peacock flicked a few specks from his shoulder. "Not to worry, Mrs Slocombe," he said with a reassuring smile. "I've just been up there to check on the progress. It looks like we'll have our new chemists' shoppe by the end of the week."
"How many new staff is Mr Grace taking on?" Mrs Slocombe asked.
"As I understand it," Captain Peacock replied, "young Mr Grace has chosen two chemists and they in turn have selected five technicians to work under them. Two were picked from our current staff, if memory serves me right."
"Oh yes," Miss Brahms interrupted. "Miss Hurst from Novelty Candles, she's going to be up there, isn't she?"
"I believe so," Captain Peacock said, with a slight involuntary grin. "She is being trained elsewhere for the position. Until she is fully qualified they will have her selling natural and herbal remedies."
"What sort of natural remedies?" Mrs Slocombe inquired.
"Oh, you know the sort of thing," Captain Peacock replied airily. "Vitamin pills, kelp extract, melatonin tablets... There is a thriving market for such things that supposedly keep one healthy and ward off illness. Just to be kind I bought a bottle of yohimbe bark extract from her yesterday before they took her counter upstairs. She said I would find it quite useful."
Miss Brahms began snickering and tried her best to control it. This did not go unnoticed by the floor walker, who raised an eyebrow at the young woman.
"What is so funny, Miss Brahms?" he demanded in his calm, authoritative tone.
"Do…do you know what yohimbe extract is for?" she giggled.
"What's it for?" Mrs Slocombe asked.
"Impotence!" Miss Brahms cackled.
Mrs Slocombe's eyes widened in shock, then she too burst into laughter. Captain Peacock, however, took a small bottle of pills from his jacket pocket as well as his glasses.
"What I want to know," Mrs Slocombe chuckled, "is how does she know he needs 'em?!" And with that both women fell apart with unbridled mirth.
Captain Peacock put his glasses on, read the fine print on the bottle, and blushed scarlet before slipping the bottle back into his pocket and walking away from the laughing women.

Over at the men's counter, Mr Lucas was folding vests and waiting patiently for his superior to finish with an elderly customer.
"Now if there is any problem with the jacket, do not hesitate to bring it to our attention," Mr Humphries trilled to a geriatric gentleman. "And don't worry if the sleeves are a bit long. They will ride up with wear."
The older fellow gave a nod and a smile before hobbling away. Mr Humphries waited until he was at the foot of the stairs before returning to Mr Lucas, who had been in the middle of a very interesting story.
"So, like I was saying," Mr Lucas continued, "there I was at this club in Soho. I'd just had my hair cut and styled by that woman you recommended – which, she did a great job, by the way, thank you – and I was wearing this really groovy suit, not to mention this great cologne what's supposed to drive women mad. At least it does in the commercials. Well, I'm walking around, looking smooth, looking cool, and none of the birds want to know me!"
"I hate it when that happens," Mr Humphries sympathised. "All that work and for nothing."
"Yeah, well, just wait 'til I tell you what happened next," Mr Lucas said. "I came across this chap who was looked as if he fell from the Ugly Tree and hit every branch on the way down. But all the birds were crowded around him! They couldn't get enough of him! Finally I got my courage up and said, 'Oi! What's your secret, mate? Why are all the girls digging you?'"
"And what did he say?" Mr Humphries asked.
"He said it was this concoction called Funky Cold Medina." Mr Lucas frowned for a moment. "I'd never heard of it. But he sold me a vial of it and said to put a drop in a girl's drink, that she'd be all over me within seconds. So I went up to this girl. Her name was Sheena, I believe. Well, I thought, let's give this stuff a go! She asked me for a drink and I put a couple drops in the glass. She took a sip, licked her lips, and I knew that I was in!"
"Oh my," Mr Humphries breathed. "Do you have any spare with you? I could do with a little help myself."
Mr Lucas dug into his pocket and produced a small vial. "I thought you might. You can have the lot. I'm not messing around with it anymore."
Mr Humphries took the bottle and turned it over in his hands. "Why not? If it works so well why are you giving it to me?"
"Because it works a little too well," Mr Lucas said, repressing a small shudder. "You see, I had the house to myself so we went back there, went upstairs, and she turned around, had me unzip her dress. So I unzipped it, real slow and seductive-like. It fell from her shoulders – and she wasn't wearing anything else. No bra, no knickers, not even tights!"
"Oh, my word!" Mr Humphries grinned. "I'll bet your heart was racing!"
"It was," Mr Lucas nodded. "Until she turned around, then it sort of fell into my stomach. Turns out that Sheena was a man."
Mr Humphries clasped a hand to his mouth to prevent him from crying out. "You're joking!" he whispered, unable to hide the hint of glee in his voice.
Mr Lucas shook his head slowly.
"What did you do?"
"I threw him out. I don't mess around with no Oscar Meyer wiener." Mr Lucas folded the last vest and slid the drawer back into place under the counter. "You must be sure that the girl is pure for this Funky Cold Medina."
Mr Humphries looked down at the vial again and thought for a moment, then slipped it into his pocket. "I'll remember that. Thanks!" And with that he disappeared around the corner. A moment later Mr Lucas could hear him on the phone, talking to someone named Terry.

Miss Brahms just finished wiping off a mannequin and was rather pleased with how she'd arranged its clothing when another thud sounded overhead and bits of plaster came down from the ceiling. A few small pieces floated into the dummy's hair while the dust clung to every bit of fabric it could find. Miss Brahms swore under her breath and started to walk away when she heard Captain Peacock's dulcet tones.
"Gather around, everybody," he called out. "I have a very important announcement to make."
Miss Brahms followed Mrs Slocombe to the centre of the floor, where they were accompanied by Mr Grainger, the elderly senior salesman, as well as Mr Humphries and Mr Lucas. Captain Peacock waited until they had assembled then cleared his throat.
"Ah, excellent," came a voice from just around the corner of the men's department. A middle-aged man with a shining pate and rather large ears strolled out onto the floor, coming to a halt beside Captain Peacock. "I'm glad I caught you all here. I have a rather important announcement to make regarding the new chemists' shoppe upstairs."
"I was just about to do that, Mr Rumbold," Captain Peacock said, with a slight edge to his voice that the other man obviously did not catch, for he carried on as if no one had spoken.
"The workmen have nearly finished now," Mr Rumbold said merrily. "And the new technicians are beginning to stock the shelves. However, in order to be ready for Monday morning they need a few spare hands. Each of the departments has chosen one or two individuals to assist them in stocking the shelves and counters, and I have come down here to see if there are any volunteers."
The staff simply stared at him in much the same way one stares at a calculus word problem. Boredom and a bit of irritation passed through them all. Rumbold, once again, was oblivious to it. He rocked back and forth on his heels, his hands clasped behind his back, and waited for a moment before speaking again.
"I see," he said. "Very well. I shall simply assign one of you to go upstairs and help. Mind you, I was going to offer a bit of a bonus to whomever volunteered for the job."
"How much?" Mrs Slocombe demanded.
"It's too late now," Mr Rumbold said, waving her query aside. "I can see that the staff here are not the friendly, jolly, supportive persons that I described to Mr Grace this morning at the board room meeting. A shame, really…"
"Oh, for heaven's sake," Mr Humphries sighed. "I'll do it. I'll go upstairs."
"That's the spirit, Mr Humphries," Mr Rumbold said, beaming at him. "Just for that I will give you the bonus, anyway." And with that he passed an envelope to the thin blonde man, who opened it tentatively. His eyebrows shot up in surprise and he tucked the envelope into his jacket before giving a wry smile to his colleagues, then walking toward the lift.
"Well, carry on, everyone," Mr Rumbold said, rubbing his hands together.
The staff went back to their counters and Captain Peacock watched as Mr Rumbold strolled back to his office, looking quite smug.

At one o'clock the staff queued up in the Canteen for lunch, which was its usual abysmal fare. They settled down at their regular table, which they had occupied for every tea, coffee, elevenses, and lunchtime for many years, and scowled at their plates.
"What did you pick, Shirley?" Mr Lucas asked.
"Some sort of soup," she replied. "I'm not sure if it's chicken or minestrone."
"Does it smell like garlic and Old Spice?" Mrs Slocombe inquired.
Shirley sniffed it gingerly and nodded.
"It's chicken soup," Mrs Slocombe stated knowingly.
"How do you reckon that?" Shirley asked.
"I went out with the cook who makes it from his own recipe," Mrs Slocombe told her quietly. "And he's quite liberal with his aftershave. It gets all over his face, neck, and arms, then it somehow gets into the soup."
"Is that the one what looks like Ringo Starr?" Shirley asked.
"No, it's the one what looks like Robin Williams," Mrs Slocombe replied.
"You mean the bloke with more hair on his arms than Chewbacca?" Mr Lucas chuckled.
"He's a very charming man," Mrs Slocombe snapped. "Which is more than I can say for you, Mr Lucas."
Shirley shook her head, then shuddered violently when she spooned up some of the soup and found a thick, dark, coarse hair in it. "It's disgusting the way they feed us," she whimpered.
Captain Peacock filed into his seat along with Mr Grainger. "Does anyone know if Mr Humphries will be joining us today?" he asked.
"I am," Mr Humphries panted from behind. Captain Peacock jumped, then composed himself as the younger man walked around with a brown paper bag and settled himself next to Mr Lucas.
"Ah, are you finished assisting the technicians?" Captain Peacock inquired casually.
"As far as I'm concerned they can take every milligram of diazepam in stock and overdose!" Mr Humphries snapped as he dumped the contents of the sack onto the table. An apple rolled off the edge but was deftly caught by Mr Lucas and returned to Mr Humphries, who was seething with rage.
"This isn't at all like you, Mr Humphries," Mrs Slocombe declared, very unnerved by his anger. "What happened up there?"
Mr Humphries took a deep breath to calm himself. "I have never in my life encountered such rude, arrogant, nasty people in my life. The moment I set foot on the floor they took one look at me and started with the insults. At first I didn't catch what they were saying, then it became more and more obvious they were having a go at me."
"What exactly were they having a go at?" Mr Lucas asked. He had a pretty good idea, but he also felt bad for his friend and wanted to be supportive.
"My intellect, for one thing," Mr Humphries snarled. "Yes, maybe I didn't graduate magna cum laude from Cambridge with a doctorate in pharmacology, but that doesn't mean I don't know what erector pilli are! And mine were certainly standing at attention today, I can tell you that."
Mr Lucas stared at him then subtly moved his chair a few inches away under the premise of readjusting his position in it.
"What's an erector pilly?" Shirley asked.
"That's the muscles connected to the fine hairs all over your body," Captain Peacock explained. "It's basic biology."
"I didn't know that," Mr Grainger said. "You learn something new every day!"
"I didn't know that, either," Mrs Slocombe concurred. "I mean, it must not be common knowledge, really."
"Mrs Slocombe," Mr Humphries said slowly, clearly trying to remain calm, "that is not the point. When you're trying to help someone prepare for their new position and they make a remark to a co-worker that, 'the poof is checking out your erector pilli', it tends to give you the urge to bitch-slap said person."
"So they tried to make you look stupid," Mr Lucas observed. "Is that all?"
Mr Humphries gave him a very nasty look. "No, Mr Lucas, that is not all. I heard remarks about my clothing, my voice, and even my hairstyle. But the straw the broke the camel's back was when I mistakenly placed several bottles of penicillin in the antidepressant section one of the chemists literally took his arm and swept every bottle off the shelf, then berated me as if I were a small child. At that point I stood up and told him where he could stick every single capsule before leaving the floor. I was nearly at the lift when one nasty girl, who couldn't have been more than eighteen, called out, 'Thanks for the laughs, Ginger!'"
Mr Humphries closed his eyes, took another deep breath, and began peeling a banana. Mr Lucas watched as he shoved about a third of it in his mouth and chewed somewhat aggressively.
"Did you mention any of this to Mr Rumbold?" Captain Peacock inquired.
Mr Humphries swallowed and shook his head. "No. I just went down to the first floor, grabbed my lunch, and headed toward the Canteen." He unwrapped a sandwich and peeled it apart to peek inside. "Ugh! I don't know why I let Mother pack my lunch sometimes. I can't stand salami."
Mr Lucas, who had just taken a pull from his cup of tea, suddenly spat it out, clearly shocked by his co-worker's statement.
"I think you should bring this up with Mr Rumbold immediately," Captain Peacock advised.
"I doubt he'll be able to persuade Mother to put turkey in my sandwiches," Mr Humphries grumbled.
"No, I mean your complaints regarding the chemists and the technicians," Captain Peacock corrected him gently. "You have every right to be angry and if that's the way they treat the staff, who knows what sort of comments they might make to customers."
"Not necessarily," Mrs Slocombe interjected. "I mean, look at the way we talk about some of the other staff, yet we know to treat the customers with respect and decorum."
"Not to mention the nicknames we've come with for some of the management," Shirley added.
"We used to come up with all sorts of silly monikers for the really dumb managers," Mr Grainger reminisced fondly. "There was a Jug Ears well before Mr Rumbold's time. Mr Garrison, I believe his name was. Turned out later he was a closeted homosexual with a fetish for hand-puppets. A very odd fellow indeed."
"Oh, I remember him!" Mrs Slocombe chirped. "He had this one puppet he called Mr Hat! And the things he'd make it say to you. Oh! Such a vulgar man." She frowned for a moment. "Whatever happened to him?"
"He went to an asylum for a few months," Mr Grainger replied. "Then he became Miss Garrison."
"I heard about that," Mr Humphries said. "He still writes to me sometimes. Or, rather, she writes to me."
"We're getting off the subject here," Captain Peacock snapped. "And that is that Mr Humphries should report what occurred today to Mr Rumbold. He deserves a public apology for the emotional distress they have caused him."
"Here, here!" the staff agreed unanimously.
Mr Humphries' demeanour softened considerably at the support he was receiving from his co-workers. Then his eyes screwed up and he clasped a handkerchief to his face. His sobs were incomprehensible to everyone except Mr Lucas, who had known him long enough to be able to translate for the others.
"He says he's very touched," Mr Lucas told them. Mr Humphries gestured and mumbled something else.
"What was that?" Shirley asked.
"He says that he's never known such loyalty, such honour, and…" Mr Lucas listened for a second to his superior's sobs. "And such kindness. He appreciates you standing behind him."
Mr Humphries' whimpers settled down and he composed himself once more. Just then Mr Rumbold came into the Canteen, looking a bit grave.
"There you are, Mr Humphries," Mr Rumbold snapped. "I want a word with you regarding your time on the second floor today!"
"And Mr Humphries would like to register a complaint," Mrs Slocombe stated firmly. "Several complaints, actually. The staff of the chemists' shoppe were exceptionally rude and nasty to him while he was attempting to assist them."
Mr Rumbold looked somewhat taken aback by this. "I was told he was rude to them! The chemist in charge this morning said that he corrected Mr Humphries when he made a mistake with some drugs and that Mr Humphries told him to...oh, what did he say..." Mr Rumbold consulted a piece of paper on a clipboard he had been carrying under his arm. "Ah, yes. He said Mr Humphries told him that if he didn't shut the...well, we won't repeat that word...that he would slap him so hard that his grandmother would feel it. Then he told the chemist he could take the entire shipment of penicillin and...well, do something perhaps physically impossible with them." Mr Rumbold took off his glasses and frowned. "Now, really! This is not at all like you, Mr Humphries! In all the years I've known you, you've always come across as genial and personable."
"He is!" Shirley interrupted. "It's them what's rude and mean and deplorable! Tell 'im what happened, Mr Humphries!"
Mr Humphries started to speak when a young man in a white lab coat strolled into the Canteen, saw him, and called out, "Oi, Ginger! You left your bill pad behind! 'Ere!" And he threw it across the room where it nearly collided with Mr Humphries head. He ducked and picked up the pad while the technician leered at him before joining his co-workers at another table.
"How ignomonious!" Mrs Slocombe growled.
"It gets worse," Mr Humphries whimpered. "Look what they've written in my bill pad!"
He passed it over to Mr Lucas and they all crowded around it to look at it. Anyone who walked by at that moment would have heard both women gasp, a few four-letter words from Captain Peacock, and Mr Grainger mumbling, "I'm not sure I understand half of it, but it sounds dreadful."
Mr Rumbold snatched up the bill pad. "My apologies, Mr Humphries," he said. "I should have known better than to doubt your veracity. I shall take this matter up with young Mr Grace personally." With that he started to leave until Mr Humphries called him back.
"I actually need that," he said, pointing to his bill pad.
"I shall have someone from Accounts bring you a fresh one," Mr Rumbold told him. "Oh, but you will need these..." And he tore out a few sheets of paper that had figures written down from the past week, passed them to Mr Humphries, then left.

At five-thirty the staff had already covered their counters and busts, eager to get home and relax, when Mr Rumbold appeared at the foot of the stairs.
"Ah, good," he beamed. "You're all here. I have a quick announcement to make regarding the incident today with Mr Humphries and the chemists."
"Are they going to apologise to our Mr Humphries?" Mrs Slocombe demanded.
"Er, I'm afraid not," Mr Rumbold replied solemnly. "I spoke to young Mr Grace about their rudeness and, well, it fell on deaf ears."
"You mean he won't do anything about them?" Miss Brahms squeaked.
"No, I mean he didn't hear a word I said," Mr Rumbold sighed. "His hearing's nearly gone and he refuses to wear his deaf aid most of the time. Says the batteries cost too much."
Every member of the staff rolled their eyes in irritation.
"So, if they're not going to apologise to Mr Humphries," Captain Peacock said, "then why have you detained us?"
"Well, I was considering the matter in my office this afternoon," Mr Rumbold began. "And I had an idea. Perhaps if we take the high road and turn the other cheek, as it were, they might reflect on their actions and perhaps choose to make amends."
"And if they don't?" Mrs Slocombe asked.
"Er, well, we shall cross that bridge when we come to it," Mr Rumbold replied. "But for now I say we simply show them the same courtesy and respect that we'd show any other employee here at Grace Brothers. And just to show there are no hard feelings I think we should invite them to the staff social club tomorrow evening for amiable conversation and light frivolity. Who knows? Once they see how charming and friendly our Mr Humphries is, why, he might have a new circle of friends by the end of the evening."
Mr Humphries raised his eyebrows and puffed his cheeks, clearly at a loss for words.
"I take it, then, that you will be extending the invitation to them this evening?" Captain Peacock drawled.
Mr Rumbold thrust his chest out proudly. "I've already done it, actually. And Mr Weinstock, their departmental manager, has already accepted."
"Then what's the point of even asking us if we'll do it if you've already gone and done it herself?" Mrs Slocombe snapped.
Mr Rumbold waved this aside. "Yes, I realise I should have discussed it with you all before, but time was of the essence. However, I can understand if you are unable to attend tomorrow evening due to previous engagements or, well, lack of desire due to the circumstances. But let me also remind you that each of you has applied for a wage increase in the last month and I am still considering every application."
The staff looked around at each other, speechless. Mr Rumbold nodded and bade them goodnight before setting his executive bowler atop his head and stepping into the lift.

The next day passed without incident, if you do not count Mr Lucas trying to pinch Miss Brahms on the rear and finding his hand had fallen instead on Mrs Slocombe's posterior. This resulted in a few choice words and a threat to bat him 'round his ear hole. There was also a very confused customer who originally came in to purchase a handkerchief and some gloves, only to walk out with said items as well as two pairs of trousers when Mr Humphries insisted on taking his inside leg and fitting him.
"Did you see those pants he came in with?" Mr Humphries chirped to Mr Lucas at lunch. "I had to do it, otherwise he'd still be walking around London wearing lime-green polyester bell-bottoms. Ugh!"
"Are you two going to the club tonight?" Mr Grainger asked, tucking into his custard.
"I thought I'd give it a try," Mr Humphries replied. "I've brought my casual evening wear with me. I just hope Rumbold's right about 'turning the other cheek'."
"I'll bet you've turned many a cheek, Mr Humphries," Mr Lucas joked.
"I'll smack your wrist in a minute," Mr Humphries snapped. But a slight grin was tugging at his lips all the while.
"I'm afraid I shan't be able to attend this evening," Mr Grainger went on. "Mrs Grainger wants me to help her clean up the spare bedroom for her sister. She's arriving Sunday afternoon and staying with us while her house is being fumigated."
"Blimey! How long will that take?" Mr Lucas asked.
"Oh, I expect a few hours," Mr Grainger replied. "She likes to be very thorough in the bedroom, Mrs Grainger."
Mr Lucas and Mr Humphries exchanged knowing grins. "I mean, how long will it take to fumigate your sister-in-law's house?" Mr Lucas chuckled.
"Oh, that." Mr Grainger shrugged. "I have no idea. But she's staying for a week. It will be nice to see her, really."
"Well, Miss Brahms and I have also brought our evening wear for the occasion," Mrs Slocombe said, joining the conversation. "You never know, they might turn out to be very classy, sophisticated individuals. And one of us could get lucky with one of the chemists! They do make very good money, you know."
"Not to mention all the free yohimbe extract you could ever need," Miss Brahms chuckled, catching Captain Peacock's eye. He ignored her and kept his attention focused on his cottage pie.
"Well, what if they're still rude and nasty, even if we're nice as pie to 'em?" Mr Lucas asked.
"Good point, Mr Lucas," Captain Peacock agreed. "I suppose if things do not change then we will have to consider other options. Of course, going to Rumbold has proven ill-effective so far. We could always try putting the matter before young Mr Grace..."
"With a bullhorn," Mr Humphries added, rolling his eyes.
"Yes," Captain Peacock muttered. "But for now let's try to be positive. When we arrive at the club tonight, all smiles, good attitude, and we shall pretend the incident yesterday never happened."

At six-thirty sharp the Ladies and Gents department queued up outside the social club in order of superiority. Captain Peacock adjusted his cravat and led them into the lamp-lit room, whereupon they immediately were greeted by a short Hebrew gentleman.
"Ah, Captain Peacock!" Mr Weinstock beamed, taking the taller gentleman's hand and shaking it warmly. "I'm so glad you all could make it! My staff are on their way down right now. They a few last-minute issues with the stock, but it's all been worked out."
Captain Peacock smiled at him and began introducing everyone. "May I introduce you to Mrs Betty Slocombe, head of Ladies wear, and her junior, Miss Shirley Brahms."
The women bowed slightly when their names were mentioned and Mr Weinstock returned the gesture.
"Mr Ernest Grainger, I'm afraid, could not be here this evening," Captain Peacock went on. "But I have here Mr James Lucas, the junior, and Mr Claybourne Humphries, the first sales assistant."
"Ah yes," Mr Weinstock said, stepping forward to shake hands with the men. "We met yesterday. On behalf of my department, I sincerely apologise for any emotional distress their comments may have caused you."
"Apology accepted," Mr Humphries replied, giving Mr Weinstock his charming smile.
"Are we to understand, then," Captain Peacock said, "that the staff will also be offering their regrets concerning the matter?"
Mr Weinstock sighed heavily and jammed his hands into his pockets. "I'm afraid not. I've tried to convince them they should, but they just laugh at me. Then they pat me on the head and tell me there's a penny on the floor. So, really, it's not just you that they're targeting. It's pretty much anyone who doesn't have some sort of medical degree. Which is to say, most of the staff."
"But you're a manager," Captain Peacock interjected. "Surely you can control your subordinates and instruct them to show some courtesy to other staff members?"
Again Mr Weinstock sighed and shook his head. "My hands are somewhat tied. You see, we didn't have a lot of applicants for the job due to the fact that young Mr Grace doesn't want to pay proper chemists' and tech's wages. We had to take what we could get. It's not the best but we need to keep them. For now, anyway. So it's not like I can threaten them with termination when I can't back it up and they know it. Reprimands are about all I can do until we find a few more decent people." He gave another sad shake of his head, then looked up. "Oh! Here they come now."
The first floor staff turned to see seven well-dressed individuals file into the club. The two eldest stepped forward and gave the Ladies and Gents appraising looks.
"Ah, Dr Furter, Dr Scott, thank you for coming tonight," Mr Weinstock bubbled. "Allow me to introduce you to the first floor staff. Ah, you've met Mr Claybourne Humphries already, I believe."
Claybourne gave them a warm smile, which was not returned. Instead he received icy glares.
"Yes, well, this is Captain Stephen Peacock, Mrs Betty Slocombe, Miss Shirley Brahms, and Mr James Lucas..." As he spoke their names each staff member bowed slightly and gave a kind smile. "Our staff are all on first-name basis with each other, except for our chemists. May I introduce you to Dr Frank Furter, Dr Everett Scott, Brad, Janet, Rocky, Sarah Jane, and Angeline."
As the chemists and technicians were introduced they simply inclined their heads sharply to acknowledge the others, except for Angeline Hurst, who gave Captain Peacock a deft wink. Sarah Jane gave a tiny wave and giggle, which earned her several reproving glares from her co-workers.
"Well, this looks rather jolly," came Mr Rumbold's voice from the door. He came in, rubbing his hands with confidence, and surveyed the scene, which looked remarkably like a Mexican stand-off.
"I could use a drink," Captain Peacock muttered, breaking the icy silence.
"Hear, hear," Betty and Claybourne chorused together.
Everyone broke off and went to acquire drinks or tables. The managers and Captain Peacock retired to a small table where a bottle of scotch was already waiting for them, along with a bucket of ice and three chilled glasses. Once out of earshot, James nudged Claybourne and gestured discreetly towards the technicians.
"'Ere, you're right," he whispered. "They're not a friendly lot, are they?"
"I could feel the boys undressing me with their eyes," Shirley muttered.
"So could I," Betty said, giving the male technicians a surly look.
"No wonder they looked so grave," James said over the rim of his glass.
Betty shot him a nasty stare before turning up her gin and tonic, draining the glass in a few swallows. She set it back down and motioned for the bartender to fill it back up.
"Easy on the gin," came a sweet voice from behind the Ladies and Gents. "It's terrible for your liver, you know."
"Miss Sarah Jane Smith," James greeted the young woman. "So glad you could join us this evening!"
"Yes, well, you keep your hands to yourself," Sarah Jane warned him. She addressed the bartender with her order as well as that of the entire chemists' shoppe. She took the drinks on a tray and gave them all a kind smile before retreating to a table towards the back of the room.
"So, what are we supposed to do tonight?" James asked, casting a glance at the technicians and doctors. "Do we ask them to dance? Chat? Play Sardines?"
"I have an idea," Claybourne replied. "There's a billiards table over there. Why don't we challenge them to a friendly game?"
"I haven't played pool in years," Betty chuckled. "Now darts, that's another story."
"I don't think we should partake in any sort of game," Claybourne said, "that involves throwing sharp, pointy objects."
"Yes, I agree," James nodded briskly. "Instead we'll play a game where we slap our balls around while stroking long shafts of wood."
Claybourne gave him a reproving glare and began racking up the balls. "Just go over and ask if they want to play."
James chuckled merrily and went over to the furthest table, where the staff were engrossed in conversation.
"Sorry to interrupt," James said politely. "But we were wondering if you'd like to have a friendly game of billiards?"
His invitation was met with stony stares, except for Angeline, who stood up quickly and replied, "Oh, that sounds fun! Come on, Brad! You're always going on about how good you are. Let's see what you've got!"
Brad, a somewhat athletic-looking twenty-something stood up and shook his dark blonde hair back. "Alright," he said. "Rack 'em up!"
James smiled warmly and led them all over to the table, where Claybourne already had the balls racked up and was chalking up his cue. A lit cigarette dangled from his mouth and he was looking much more macho than usual with his jacket off and his sleeves rolled up. His co-workers looked at him with respect as he took a puff and gestured toward Brad.
"I'll break, if you don't mind," he drawled. "And Shirley's my team-mate."
"Suit yourself," Brad muttered, obviously bored and unimpressed.
Claybourne took his place behind the cue ball, lined up a shot, and there was a loud 'CRACK!' as all fifteen balls went shooting in every direction on the table. Two striped balls went into a corner and side pocket. He took another drag off his cigarette and gave Brad a grin before knocking two more striped balls into corner pockets, calling them each time. His co-workers applauded him after each shot and when he missed the third they still cheered him on.
"Well done, Claybourne!" Shirley bubbled. "'Ere, we didn't know you was so good!"
"It's just a knack," he said, giving her a wry smile before taking a seat and sipping his cosmopolitan.
Brad selected a cue, chalked it up, and began knocking solid balls into the pockets. He had five in before he missed, which was possibly due to the fact that Angeline had leaned over to get a better view, exposing her ample cleavage.
"Oh, what rotten luck," Claybourne sympathized, but was grinning all the same. "You're up, Shirley."

continued...