This story is not intended to violate any copyrights held by Renaissance Pictures, StudioUSA or any other entity involved with the making of "Jack of All Trades".
“Aaawwk,” Jean Claude squawked as he settled on the lush green lawn next to Emilia Rothschild.
Beating the freshly turned soil around a newly planted Canna Lily, Emilia brushed the beads of sweat away from her brow, leaving a smudge of dirt in its wake.
“Can you believe it? Jack forgot my birthday again,” Emilia muttered as she continued to pound the earth.
“Don’t get your feathers in a ruffle,” Jean Claude said as he tried to soothe her injured feelings, “It’s all my fault Madame Emilia. I’ve sent him on a very special mission.”
“Even so, Jean Claude. He could have at least given me a card or wished me a happy birthday, something before he left. Especially after what happened last year.”
Foolish memories of Emilia’s subtle hints to Jack reminded her how clueless her partner could really be. It was almost midnight before the American spy got a clue. Emilia smiled as Jean Claude squawked, “Forget about Jack, Madame Emilia. You have better things to do. Go to the 'Drunken Pig' and intercept a package addressed to Governor Croque.”
“Governor Croque? But Why?” Emilia asked as she got up from her flowerbed and brushed the dirt from her skirt.
Heavily she sighed as she regarded her garden. This was the fifth Canna Lily she had planted in as many weeks. There, in a neat row were four others, all brown, all dried and all dead. She kept them in hopes they would soon sprout new foilage, but she resolved she would probably have to dig them up.
“Indeed, once you open the package,“ Jean Claude continued, “you will understand your mission. Vive la resistance,” the parrot was heard to say as he fluttered toward the massive hedge bordering Emilia’s residence.
Juggling a water can in one hand and her spade and fork in the other, Emilia regarded her handiwork, “I’m glad my laboratory pursuits work out better than my gardening ones,” she mused. Turning on her heels, she walked into the house.
“Keep talking bird brain, and you’ll give the secret away,” Jack Stiles said as he turned and moved away from the hedge. Jean Claude neatly settled on the tall man’s shoulder. “What idiot told you to say that?" Jack asked.
“Lest you forget, Monsieur Stiles, you did. I only repeat what I am told. Vive la resistance."
“Macaroon?” Jack offered the governor and his chief aide Captain Brogard.
“No thank you,” Croque said as he held his hand up, warding off the sweets ladened dish, “Where is our guest of honor, Mister Stiles?” he asked.
“Off getting gussied up, no doubt,” Jack said as he wandered off toward the other guests.
Pacing around the room, Jack was beginning to wonder if it was a good idea to throw Emilia a surprise birthday party. “What’s keeping her?” Jack thought.
Quickly Emilia changed from her grungy frock to one more suitable for an accidental meeting with the Governor. Putting on a fine blue and ivory garment, Emilia put on the final touch to her outfit by slipping on a pair of delicately hand crocheted gloves; a birthday gift from her father. She checked herself in the mirror before she walked out the door.
Rushing toward the Drunken Pig tavern, Emilia nodded her greetings to the natives of Pulau Pulau. Once at the door to the tavern, the English spy took a deep cleansing breath before she walked in and began her role.
“Surprise!” the partygoers announced as Emilia walked in. Jack quickly joined his partner at the door and gingerly took her hand leading her toward the crowd.
“Told you I’d make up for forgetting your birthday last year,” Jack whispered in her ear. “Were you surprised?”
“Undoubtedly, Jack Stiles, you have way too much time on your hands. I’m just going to have to work you harder." Emilia said out loud and then whispered to Jack, "A party for me? I knew all along.”
Veiling her surprise, Emilia immediately grabbed a champagne glass from an approaching waiter and took a sip.
“What do you mean?” Jack protested, “Admit it sister. I surprised you.”
“Xylophone music? Jack, you didn’t,” Emilia beamed as a native began playing his crude but melodic percussion instrument.
“You like it?” Jack asked remembering his haste in hiring the percussionist after the accordion player had to bow out unexpectedly.
Zealously, Jack offered his arm to Emilia. “Shall we mingle?” he asked. Taking his arm, the two walked to the center of the tavern and the crowd of well wishers.
