Disclaimer: I disclaim any right I might have to the story and characters of `Remember Wenn'...for they are certainly not mine own. However, this story is, and I defy anyone who would try to change that fact. I would also laugh at them, and mock them in their vain attempts. Ha ha ha. Now, on with the show.
Scott was tired. It had been a long day. It wasn't the jet lag that bothered him. He had grown used to that in his travels. It was his heart that bothered him more than anything.
"Post, Sir," a cockney accent greeted him as he entered the door to the hotel.
"Thank you, Jenny." Scott smiled sadly as he took the envelopes from the young lady's hand.
"Lor," Jenny whispered to the girl next to her behind the reception desk, "I ain't never seen a man as depressed as `e is."
"Aye, he is the saddest man on earth, that is a fact."
Scott walked slowly up the stairs, having dropped his usual jaunt. He wasn't in a dancing mood these days. By now, the two girls at reception would be charmed to their wits' end by good ol' Scotty, but good ol' Scotty didn't feel that charming anymore.
Entering his suite, he found solace in the dark shadows provided by the heavy, black air-raid curtains that adorned the large French windows opening out to a balcony's view of royal London. Removing his coat and hat, he placed them carefully on the tree by the door before pacing a few steps forward and sitting somewhat comfortably on the Edwardian couch in the center of the room.
Pulling out the day's mail from his jacket pocket where he had lacklusterly placed it a few moments earlier, he flipped through the packet of red and blue striped air mail envelopes. One was written in a swirled script, addressed to a `Master' Scott Sherwood. It had to be Aunt Agatha. She had called him that since he was a boy, at least when she wasn't calling him Scubby. The next envelope was air-mail marked and manila in color, `Scott Sherwood' typed in heavy black ink. Most likely military. He could look at it later. He'd had enough of the military for today. Flipping to the third envelope, the feminine handwriting struck him as familiar.
"Betty Roberts?!" He read the writing in shock. Staring dumbfounded at the envelope, he pulled his pocket knife out and slit it carefully, making sure not to frey any of the soft handwriting marking the return address. Inside, three thin sheets of plain white stationary unfolded to reveal a letter handwritten by Betty herself.
December 15, 1941
Dear Scott,
I hope you arrived in England safely and are enjoying your new position. It must be very different, going from a city like Pittsburgh halfway across the ocean to a war-torn metropolis. Although, you have been in London before. How is Maxine? Really though, I'm only teasing. I do sincerely hope you're well and safe.
Things here at WENN are as usual to say the least. Mr. Foley and Eugenia are getting married next week on `Bridal Bouquet.' Do you remember the Justice of the Peace that almost married Mackie and me? This time he definitely won't be acting.
Victor has been very busy with the W.E.N.N. He still spends the majority of his time in Washington, which can't be helped. Saying `no' to the government is completely out of order now. So, between scripts for the W.E.N.N. and WENN itself, I hardly have time to breathe.
I know how things were left, Scott, and I supposed that's the main reason I'm writing this letter. I watch Hilary and Jeff argue every day over their morning coffee, but despite that, I still see the adoration in her eyes, and how thankful she is with every barb she makes, that he's home and safe.
What I'm trying to say, Scott, is that it isn't the same here without you. You're risking your life when you could be here.
I can't go back and change my decision Scott, and I can't change the war either. All I can do is live with what has happened, and I refuse to delude myself in a fantasy world, Scott. I suppose the war has taken that away from all of us, with the possible exception of Elizabeth Marlowe.
Scott, what I wasn't able to say before you left, what I had always wanted to say to you, ever since `Buy Barley Futures' crossed your lips, is that I care about you. You're special, Scott. Granted, you were a con man who pulled off some very large prevarications in his time, but you changed, Scott. You changed for me. I was too blind to realize it then, and I'm sorry for not noticing sooner how wonderful a man you are.
When I first saw you in that uniform, I couldn't believe my eyes. A sudden fear and desperation crept up in me, Scott. For the first time this war was affecting something beyond the world and the country; it was affecting us. I didn't want you to leave, and I don't want you to be there now Scott. I want you to be safe here at WENN. Take care of yourself, Scott. Survive this war so you can come home and things can be better than they were.
And if you do see Maxine, and want to give her a `big cuddle', remember me, Scott. I'll be here, posed behind my typewriter, waiting for your safe return and praying for it with all of the love I have for you, Scott.
Always yours,
Betty
Scott sat back for a moment and stared at the letter. Grinning for the first time in weeks, he reached over to the phone on the end table and picked up the receiver.
"Hello, operator? Could you get me a line to the United States please? Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania, number KL9-366. Thank you."
One of the benefits of his military positions was that Scott could get a line out to the U.S. whenever, no questions asked. The connection took several minutes, but finally Gertie's voice came on the line.
"Hello, WENN."
"Gertie! Oh, I'm fine, Miss Reece, and how are you? Good, good. Gertie, could you get me Betty, please?"
The call was transferred, and Scott heard Betty's voice, slightly rushed, greet him over the crackling line. "Hello, WENN Writing Department, Betty Roberts speaking. How may I help you?"
"Betty Betty Betty, I love you too."
The End
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