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IN THE SPRAWLING MANSION OF MILD MANNERED MULTI-MILLIONAIRE PLAYBOY SIMON P. SYNAPSE, MISS SALLY SCONCE AWAITED ATTENDANCE IN THE DRAWING ROOM. BUT IT WOULD NOT BE SIMON WHO WOULD ATTEND HER BUT HIS ALTER-EGO SMART MAN! SIMON LOVED HER DEARLY AND DID NOT WANT HER TO BE INVOLVED IN HIS DANGEROUS MISSION OF RIDDING THE WORLD OF THE MENACE THAT WAS THE MASKED IMBECILE. SO HE CAME UPON HER IN DISGUISE....
From her bleach blonde locks of hair to her subconsciously elegant poise, Miss Sally Sconce was the very picture of innocence and purity. She was forthcoming but not confrontational. She permitted and even secretly enjoyed her fiance's eccentricities but never outwardly condoned them. Her patience knew no bounds, nor did her love for her dear Simon. She knew Simon wasn't ready to settle down, but she'd stay patiently by his side, permitting him what space he needed, and eagerly yet quietly await the day when Simon would be finally ready to settle down.
Of the depth and complexity of Miss Sally's feelings, Simon was only partially aware. He loved her in his eccentric way, but in spite of how important she was to him, she never seemed to be in the forefront of his mind.
She was at this moment, however. Simon's singular mission of the hour was to pass himself off as Smart Man. If he could fool her, his alter-ego would fool anyone, and he could fight the crimes of stupidity in secret evermore!
"Yo, Sally," Smart Man intoned, striding into the room with an air of confidence, swishing his cape back and forth and projecting his chest as far out as it would go. "You'd be, like, Miss Sally Sconce, I would presume?" He stroked his bare upper lip conspicuously and offered his hand.
"You have me at a disadvantage," Miss Sally said sweetly, unsuccessfully hiding her confusion.
"Ah ha!" Smart Man said triumphantly. "My name is Man. Smart Man. And believe it, sister, I dig your appellation."
"You're a friend of Simon's?"
"Simon? Simon? I know not this dude," Smart Man said, putting his finger to his lips and pretending to try to recall. "Mayhap the name rings a bell...."
"Simon P. Synapse," Miss Sally said. "He owns this mansion."
"Simon! Right! Si-MAHN! My main man Si! Yes, well, I haven't had the privilege of making his acquaintance, I'm afraid, but check it out! I dig this pad."
"Why are you wearing Simon's sweater?"
"What?"
"I gave him that sweater for his birthday last year."
"Oh! The sweater! Simon was charitable enough to loan me some rags. I dig them. This sweater is sweet."
"I thought you said you didn't know Simon."
"Um, I don't. He said to come by his place when I was hard up, you see. I had -- shucks! -- I lost my sweater, and Simon was, um, walking by at the time -- but he didn't see me...because he was sort of looking the other way...and he said that I could borrow one of his. Capital dude, he is."
"Yes. Um, you don't know where Simon is, do you? Nicolas told me he would be coming. If you'll excuse me, I'll go look for him."
"Er, nay, nay, fair chick!" Smart Man said hastily. "I shall endeavor to rouse him down myself."
"It's quite all right, thank you," Miss Sally said, ducking around Smart Man and heading toward Simon's personal quarters.
"Um, but, yo!" Smart Man spluttered and desperately charged ahead, cutting Miss Sally off and fleeing down the hallway.
He bumped into Nicolas as he careened around the corner. "Nicolas! Stall her!" he blurted, slipping into his dressing room, shutting the door, and racing over to the wardrobe, his green sweater already pulled up over his head.
A knock came from the door. "Simon?" Miss Sally called. "Are you in there?"
"Miss Sally!" Nicolas cried quickly. "Miss Sally, you mustn't go in there! Simon is...sleeping!"
"Miss Sally, don't come in, I'm changing!" Simon said at nearly the same time.
"What is Smart Man doing in there?" Miss Sally called.
"Smart Man?" said the muffled voice of Nicolas. "Smart Man isn't in there."
"Smart Man?" Simon said, toppling over to the floor as he tried to peel his tights off. "Oh, Smart Man! Yes! It's nice to meet you at last! Yo, Simon, whassup? I note with pleasure you have found suitable employment for my sweater. Yeah man, I dig it, it's hip." Simon threw on his mild mannered millionaire playboy clothes, then dashed to the mirror. The mustache! If only it would grow! "C'mon, c'mon," he muttered under his breath. "Yes, Smart Man," he continued to prattle loudly, reeling about the room for a way out of his dilemma, "I sure am glad to meet you. Yes, I am very glad to meet you also. Yes, it's remarkable how well the sweater fits. Yes, and I like the color green." Simon spotted a mink overcoat in a remote corner of his wardrobe, pulled it out, and dashed to the private bathroom. "I say, Smart Man, you look very different from me. Yes, dude, and you look totally different from me." Simon applied some shaving cream to the coat, very carefully shaved off a portion, then collected the fur together as he rooted about for some glue.
MEANWHILE, IN THE HALLWAY....
"This Smart Man is rather peculiar," Miss Sally said to Nicolas, who merely shrugged and smiled blankly.
The dressing room door flew open, and Simon P. Synapse, winded and tousled, emerged, straightening out his evening coat. "Ah, Miss Sally Sconce, what a felicitous inexpectation!" he said, draping an arm about her. "Let us dine post haste!" He steered Miss Sally toward the dining room, despite her protestations that it was the middle of the night.
"What happened to your mustache?"
"Um, forgot to comb it."