Author's Notes: This story is based on the 1922 Charles Chaplin film "Pay Day". It uses some of the characters from the story, mainly Charlie, Phyllis and Syd. Chaplin played his Little Tramp character in this film, although the Tramp had a job and was married in "Pay Day." The actress Phyllis Allen played the part of his wife and Chaplin's real life half-brother Sydney played a small part in the film, one of Charlie's buddies, but since the film didn't say he wasn't related to Charlie, I decided to say he was Charlie's brother in my story. Mabel Normand wasn't in this film, but I put her character Mabel in as Syd's wife. The original film revolves around Charlie and Phyllis' marriage. I just went a bit further and imagined what could have happened to them after the movie ended. I have tried to write it in the tone of the film which was comedic and there was a lot of slapstick, The slapstick in my story is a bit violent for which I have rated it T. There is also some alcohol abuse and considerable lying, which warrant a T also. However, it's all done in the spirit of fun and no one really gets hurt. Also, the title is a bit punny...

Pay Day After Pay Day

It was a breezy summer night. Or perhaps one might say morning, as it was considerably after midnight. A small, dark-haired youngish man with a black toothbrush moustache, wearing a derby and carrying a cane, was walking carefully along the side walk. He occasionally stretched his arms out to the side like a tightrope walker, trying to keep his balance. Reaching his home, he misjudged the height of the steps leading to his porch and fell onto the steps, sliding down again to the cement pavement. He made another attempt, this time making a loud clatter, as he slid back down the steps again. He hoped his wife hadn't heard. He decided that it might be best to hide for a moment to make sure he hadn't awakened her.

The little man sneaked around the side of the porch and sat down against the house, certainly out of the line of sight of his wife, should she happen to open the door. He pulled out his pocket watch and clicked open the cover, wondering what time it was. Nine-thirty? He scratched his head. He knew it must be later than that; it was still dark. He put the watch closer to his face. He could hear it ticking. Then he rotated it a little. Now it said three o'clock. Maybe that was correct. He was still a bit puzzled. How could the watch tell him two things at the same time? He put the watch back in his pocket.

He dug in his pockets to see how much money he had left. He had been paid recently and had managed to squirrel away a bit for a night on the town before his wife demanded he hand over his pay envelope. He checked all of his pockets. There wasn't much left. He found only a stray quarter dollar in the bottom of his waistcoat pocket where he kept the watch. He put the money back and patted it, it would be safe there.

He noticed that in the dark, normal things appeared a bit strange. There seemed to be more trees than he remembered in the yard and looking up, there were two or three moons in the sky. He tried to count them, but there was a different number each time. Finally he shrugged his shoulders and closed his eyes, for he was very sleepy. His head drooped and his hat fell off into his lap.

The next thing the little fellow knew was that he was being awakened violently. He was still sitting in what was actually his wife's flower garden, which extended around the perimeter of the house. Someone was hitting him rather painfully. He put his hands over his face to deflect the blows and realized that he had fallen asleep out in the garden and his wife Phyllis was hitting him with her umbrella.

"Get out of my flower garden, you lazy little tramp!" said Phyllis. She stopped beating him for a minute as she pulled him up by the collar on his cutaway suit jacket. She was considerably taller and heftier than the slender little man and he knew she had a pretty powerful right hook too. He tried not to tangle with her if he could help it.

From the dopey expression on his face, Phyllis could tell her good-for-nothing husband, Charlie, had been out on the town with his good-for-nothing friends again. He was still pretty sloshed.

He smiled and tried to tip his hat to her, but it had fallen off. He looked down on the ground to see where it was.

"Where were you last night, Charlie?" She finally let him go and he fell backwards, his legs flipping into the air. He tried to get up and Phyllis grabbed him and stood him up. He tried to look solemn so Phyllis wouldn't know he had been drinking.

"I asked you a question!" said Phyllis, her hands on her ample hips. Her dark hair was tied up in a bun on top of her head and her dark eyes were angry. She was wearing a house dress with an apron over it, ready for a day of work.

"What toime is it?" asked Charlie. He belched softly and hiccupped and put his hand to his mouth. He still tried to look solemn.

"It's six o'clock in the morning. Time for any self-respecting man to have been working for an hour or two. And this isn't funny, Charlie. "

"No, it ain't." He tried to look solemn, but he couldn't, even with Phyllis' sombre presence just in front of him.

He hooked the crook of his cane around the bannister to keep himself steady. "Phyllis, I'm toired...I ain't slep' all noigh'..."

Phyllis stared at her husband for a moment, her hands still on her hips. "Hmmmpphhh! You certainly are a sorry sight!" she said. After a pause, she added, "All right, I'll let you sleep for a little while. Then you must get up and start doing your chores!"

"What dye is it?" asked Charlie. He was still confused.

"It's Saturday, Charlie. You'd know if you weren't so sloshed."

"Bu' I wanted t' go fishin' t'dye wi' Syd..."

"That worthless brother of yours! He gets into as much trouble as you do. You'd do well to stay away from him. I'm amazed that, seeing as there are prohibition laws, you two can still have your nights on the town and come home like this!"

"It's easy if yer careful," said Charlie, hiccupping again.

"It must be, or you wouldn't be able to do it!"

Charlie looked her in the eye, which wasn't easy, considering he was swaying a little and having a hard time focusing his eyes. He said with as much conviction as he could muster:

"Phyllis, I'm th' man o' the 'ouse. I'm goin' fishin' wi' Syd t'dye!"

"Oh no, you're not!" said his wife. Phyllis set her jaw a bit firmer and glared at him for an instant, her brows knit. It usually didn't do Charlie much good to stand up to her. She just got angrier. She grabbed him by the back of his coat and dragged him into the house. She pulled him into the bedroom.

"Now don't forget to take off your coat and hat and hang them up. And for heaven's sake, take off those filthy shoes before you get into bed. I had to wash the bedclothes several times the last time you did that...mud all over..." She slammed the door on him and went about her business.

At least he would have some peace and quiet for a little while. He removed his outer clothing and got into bed in his long underwear, but forgot to take off his hat. He fell asleep almost immediately.

He awoke up to a loud banging on the bedroom door. It felt as if Phyllis were pounding directly on his head. He groaned. The time had gone by rather quickly. He sat up holding his head.

Phyllis poked her face into the bedroom. "Get dressed, Charlie. It's time to get up. I've made you breakfast and hot coffee. Get out here before it gets cold."

"I'm comin', me lovely," he answered, even though "lovely" was definitely not a word that described his wife. Fearsome, perhaps... He couldn't quite remember why he had proposed to her...