The Real Housewives of Toledo
UNCLE agents have a difficult time with regularly scheduled vacations. There were unanticipated alerts, unexpected medical leaves, and enforcement agents were always considered "on call." It made long term planning nearly impossible. Therefore, agents snatched time off in short spurts, a weekend here, a few days there.
"Who's in Toledo?" was Kuryakin's first question when Solo gleefully revealed his travel plans.
"No one I know. Yet."
"Then why go to Spain at all? Why Toledo?"
"There's less bureaucrats there than in Madrid."
"Hmmm. A valid point, I agree." Still, Kuryakin was less than impressed with his partner's choice.
"And…plenty of old stuff to look at…castles, churches, fortresses…" Solo bluffed.
"And I know how interested you are in 'old stuff'," the Russian teased.
Solo pulled a half-remembered reference out of his hat. "Hey, Pal, it happens to be the capital of Castile."
"Not since the 16th century."
"Smug Russian," Solo snapped.
"Product of capitalist education," Kuryakin shot back.
"You'll think it's...silly and sentimental." Solo hesitated, suddenly bashful.
"Come on, Napoleon. It's never stopped you before," his friend reminded him.
"Aw right." Napoleon Solo had just grabbed a reservation for the trip of his lifetime. He had the opportunity to travel the Route of Don Quixote, which links la Mancha Castile to Montes de Toledo.
"Bring me back some marzipan," his partner requested. "Best in the world there."
Agents were encouraged to use the in-house travel department, for security purposes. Napoleon dialed and requested a four-day trip to Toledo, Spain. He had quite forgotten he had once…or twice…dated Dulcy Parmenter in the travel section. She, however, would never forget. She re-routed Solo to Toledo, Ohio.
#######
Napoleon had been preoccupied by flirting and did not notice the plane headed west instead of east. They landed much sooner than he expected, and he had somehow missed the entire view of the Atlantic. Suddenly he very much regretted ever having taken the brunette from Travel to the Castle Club. He circled the small branch airport slowly, in an air of disbelief that he could actually be back in Toledo. Ohio.
His only previous business here had been on a routine courier assignment six or eight years ago. He remembered it for the aftermath: the inconvenience of being stuck in an elevator with—what's 'er name, the deputy –something of some city office. (The Up and Down Affair) She was cute, he mused, remembering more details now as he concentrated. She spent the weekend ferrying him and Illya all over town, to the Polish festival, the zoo, the art museum, the Jeep factory tour, a Mudhens game, touting her city, encouraging them to settle there.
Yeah, she was kinda cute, a Midwestern Miss, a Girl Scout at heart. Spinster…Spencer….yeah, Margo Spencer. Deputy director of the Chamber of Commerce, Solo snapped his fingers upon recalling the details. Certainly, with her connections, she could find him a room in town…perhaps even room in her heart…
He took a cab to the Chamber of Commerce offices downtown and put on his most charming smile. Margo was not the girl at the desk.
"Margo Spencer?" repeated the stiff woman beside the files. "She hasn't worked here in ages. 'Old friend', you say…" Her tone rose and she seemed suspicious. Solo turned up the wattage on his charm. "Well, you might try A & P—it's double coupon day." And then, in a strange reversal of temperament, she dug out Ms. Spencer's address and handed it over. After all, this was worthy gossip ."Welcome to Toledo—have a pleasant visit." As Solo ambled out the door, her dialing finger was already steaming.
Solo took a cab to the local grocery store in a bungalow neighborhood. He looked over the carted crowd, and walked the aisles past bread and milk and eggs. Spying a familiar outline, he strode past the canned tomatoes. "Miss Spencer? Margo?"
At the sound of that well-modulated voice, Margo halted and turned. Solo saw it was she, but her silhouette had …rounded out. Considerably. "Napoleon! Napoleon Solo," she proclaimed. "When you didn't show up for the sauerkraut festival, I knew we had lost you as a potential citizen."
"Margo, good to see. ..all of you," he took both her outstretched hands. "You've changed—your hair," he swallowed. She wore one of those cute little page boy cuts that were all the rage a decade ago. And a very baggy floral frock.
"How gallant of you," she smiled widely. "So you appear like magic and transport me back in time. My goodness! I can't believe—it's really You!" Margo was not sophisticated enough to disguise her delight. "What in the world are you doing here? Is Illya with you?"
"No, it's not business, and I find myself alone in town…" he was beginning to think that looking Margo up for a good time was not his most well-reasoned plan.
"Well, if you're free then you need to come to supper. Please, I insist."
Solo had been about to beg off, but Margo was so genuinely glad to see him.
"And you need to meet David, of course, and Tommy and Timmy—"
"David and Tommy and Timmy?" he began to feel faint.
"Yep—MRS David Spicer," she twiddled her left hand in front of his face, showing off her modest ring. "And twins, right out of the gate. I'm hoping this one is my princess," she patted her expanding tummy region.
"Well…I don't know how long I can stay…"
"At least you can have a cup of coffee. I've got some muffins from the PTA bake sale—and you can carry my groceries in." Seems her plan was more well-reasoned than Solo's, and accomplished much more quickly.
Well, he really ought to carry the woman's parcels. He was a gentleman, after all.
A savory aroma wafted past his nose as he opened the door to the bungalow. Maybe he'd change his mind about supper after all…
"Mmmmm…" Margo sighed as she crossed the threshold. "Thanks, Napoleon, you can just put the bags on the counter. New contraption I got for our anniversary last year, called a crock pot. You put the food in in the morning, and it slow cooks all day, without any attention from me. I can get all my errands and chores done, and supper's ready. You really should stay," she continued as she measured out the coffee, "It's September. No more potato salad and hot dogs. Real food: rosemary pork roast, potatoes simmered in onion gravy…can't I tempt you any more?" she teased, reflecting on their one weekend so long ago. She pried open the large tin and offered "your choice: cinnamon raisin or vanilla walnut."
Solo dipped into the tin and emerged with a hand full of dark, dense muffin.
He watched her intently. She literally twirled from the counter to the table with two large mugs of fresh coffee. She balanced her belly so gracefully he had to marvel.
"You seem…very happy," he observed quietly.
"Oh, I have my days…" she warned but with humor snapping in her eyes, "but yeah, happy. A good life .Blessed." She scooted a laundry basket across the floor with her foot and began to fold tee shirts and jeans, all the while keeping eye contact with her surprise guest.
"David and Timmy and Tommy," he guessed.
"And my kaffee klatch with the girls, and my little garden-"
Solo had noticed the sprinkling of flowers on each side of the door. Illya could have told him the latin derivative of the marigolds and impatience and pansies and catmint. Solo just saw the cheerful colors and soothing greens.
"—and Susie Q, here," she patted herself.
"And where did you meet David?" he asked politely.
"At the movies. It was a new James Bond flick, so the theater was really crowded. He tripped and spilled his popcorn on me. Oh, he was so sweet and fumbling with his apology. I just had to share my popcorn with him."
Solo nodded. "So you might say he fell for you."
"It wasn't til our second anniversary that he admitted he stumbled on purpose." She giggled, remembering.
"A very resourceful guy."
"He works on the line at Jeep. But listen to me babble…what's new in your life? How's Charlene?"
"Charlene?"
"Remember, you were so upset when the elevator stopped—you had a date with Charlene, and you didn't want to be late…"
"Oh, uh, yeah…." He really did not remember. Just another disposable night in his life.
"Well, work keeps me hopping. Not much time to give a relationship what it deserves…" he trailed off, inexplicably sorry, ashamed of his rationalization.
"You're still alone, then." And Margo was the one who sounded sorry, pitying his status as a sophisticated super spy, and thanking God for the love which surrounded her daily. "I'm sure this all must seem very ordinary to you," she waved her arm to encompass all the suburban splendor surrounding them. " Very dull and plain and hokey. I bake cookies; David leads the cub scouts. On Friday nights Judy from down the street baby sits and we go bowling. Sometimes we go to a movie and neck like crazy in the dark."
"It sounds very nice," he said courteously.
"Oh, Solo," she shook her head. "C'mon. You're a midnight supper at a dance club; I'm a Sunday school picnic." Her naturally warm generosity inspired her. "If you'd like to stay here…" she offered openhandedly. "You're very welcome; you could call the top bunk. Or the boys could camp in the backyard; they'd love it. Or, I still have enough city contacts left to get you a good room at the Park Inn. They've refurbished it, it's gorgeous, and that great view of the river-"
"Now you sound like the Margo I remember, encouraging the tourists, luring the investors."
So Napoleon Solo helped the twin scouts set a fire and they roasted marshmallows into the night, squeezing them between graham crackers and chocolate bars, oozing from the sides as their sticky fingers glommed onto every imaginable surface. Napoleon was called upon for stories, and he had plenty of material for exciting adventures, carefully edited. The fresh air and starlight was conducive to sleep on any point on the globe, and he dreamt visions of saucy and sultry senoritas—after all, he WAS Napoleon Solo.
He enjoyed his next few days, with little expectation, and little exertion. David invited Napoleon to his Wednesday night poker game. Solo luxuriated in the experience of sleeping in. He read the newspaper slowly, with a second cup of good coffee, while Margo peeled potatoes. He rented a boat to sail down the mighty Maumee. He accompanied Margo as a field trip chaperone when the twins' class explored the zoo. One morning, he pulled out the lawnmower and clipped the Spicers' grass, just to inhale the fresh green aroma that his city home lacked.
In the evenings, following the ritual of bath-story-prayer-tuck, Margo joined her gents in the living room. "Ooof," she sighed and settled beside her husband. David's arm curled around her, Margo's head tipped onto his shoulder; to Napoleon's eyes, it was as if David encircled the whole world in the familiar embrace. "Star Trek?" David suggested and Margo smiled.
Solo enjoyed the show, and enjoyed having the time to simply watch TV like the rest of the population. Illya might like this, Solo thought. If only the cash-conscious Commie would buy a television.
At no time was Napoleon shadowed, shot at, poisoned or punched.
Solo wanted to thank his hosts, and insisted on treating them to an evening in the city. They went to dinner and dancing at the Starlight Club. Margo set Solo up with a friend, who was a Spanish teacher at local Whitmer High School. Debra was fascinated with Napoleon's original vacation idea, and they made tentative plans to meet in Spain over the school's Christmas break. (after all, he WAS Napoleon Solo).
Epilogue
Solo returned to headquarters looking remarkably refreshed. He made a detour to Travel and walked directly up to Dulcy Parmenter's desk. She glared at him defensively, expecting the anger she deserved, or perhaps a disciplinary note in her file. Solo shook her hand and said a gracious "thank you, Dulcy. It was one of the most memorable vacations I've ever spent." He left her gaping, and stripped her of the revenge she had sought.
He met Illya in the corridor who had his hand out. "My marzipan…" he requested expectantly
Solo slapped a package in his hand and kept on walking.
"Wait," Illya called after him. "What's a Tony Packo?"*
finis
* Hungarian hot dogs made famous by Klinger's Toledo memories on M*A*S*H.