The Many Loves of Dobie Gillis 3 In God We Trust
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The Many Loves Of Dobie Gillis 7: What's In A Name free porn video
Chatswroth Osborne, Jr. was played by Stephen Franken. My
best other memory of him was as one of Samatha's warlocks
on "Bewitched". He was both an admirer of Uncle Arthur, and
the "Little Lord Faunteroy" mama's boy that she was engaged
to marry without her knowledge or consent.
The Many Loves of Dobie Gillis 7: What's in a Name?
By Ron Dow75
A blond, crew cut, average early 1960's Working-Middle
Class teenager sat on the marble bench in the park in front
of the bronze cast statue of Rodin's "The Thinker". Today
his fist was not under his chin, but holding a cheek. At
last he let the hand fall, hinged by the elbow on his thigh
to join his other hand suspended between his knees.
"Hello, my name is Dobie. That much I know. Whether or not
I'm a Gillis, that, I don't know.
"I ask you, what would you rather be? Would you want to be
known as Dobie?
"I know: I've always been Dobie. And I think that may have
been my problem all along. You see I have had terrible luck
with girls." A smile lit up his All-American face as he
lifted his head in the general direction of Heaven. "Girls.
Is there a more lovely word in this or any other Earthly
language..." The smile became less inspired but still
remained as his head left the clouds, "They say the polls
show that 'tranquil' is considered the most beautiful word.
I was not included in that poll.
"If they'd asked me I would have told them that once you
find that perfect, most dreamy, warm and creamy girl, your
life would become tranquil... Well, as much as guys like me
can expect out of life."
The teenager rose to his feet, "You see, the hardest, least
tranquil part of life is finding that one and only, life-
altering love. Not that I haven't tried. May God be my
witness that I've tried!
"But, in the end, it always came back to me being just
plain Dobie.
"As opposed to, say, Gaspar." He'd walked past the "Keep
Off the Grass" sign to pale and gangly boy sitting in it.
"This is Gaspar."
Gaspar was listening intently at somebody invisible, and
taking notes in his loose-leaf book. He was oblivious to
everything else. Dobie said, "I know he may look like
Maynard G. Krebs, bathed, shaved and conventionally
attired, but he's not. That he is bathed, shaved and
conventionally attired should be tip off."
Dobie shook his head, "No, this is M. Gaspar Krebs, a
burlesque stripper." He raised his hand, "For those of you
who do not want to see a boy expose his pale and gangly
body, don't worry. I don't want to see that, either.
"The boy you see before you used to be a 5 foot 6 inch,
35C-25-36, raven-haired beauty professionally known as
'Anne Ville'. An inexplicable accident, some would even
call it a weird and unusual phenomena, transferred the
woman's soul into the pathetic body of my oldest, and best
friend. And you know what? He'd rather have that pale and
gangly, pathetic body!"
Dobie was forced to move as four nubile, high school aged
girls rushed to sit, admiringly, at feet of Gaspar, front,
side, catty-corner, and behind the other boy. After looking
wistfully, Dobie looked away from the painful scene, and
said, "Can you blame him!?!"
Stepping around, and a bit distracted by the objects of his
desire, Dobie admitted, "Psychologically, 'Anne Ville' is
still a woman. And from every indication, her only interest
in the male gender was to date it. Er, I will get to that
indication shortly."
Walking around the front of the semi-circle of giddy
admirers, now, Dobie was still speaking, "So there you have
it. A totally feminine-type woman inside a body nobody in
their right mind would want -And the fact that it used to
belong to Maynard G. Krebs proves that- yet, who can have
any girl. Any girl! And why: All because his name is
Gaspar, and not Maynard. Or Dobie.
"...Or Milton." He had walked over to another high school
desk out on the park sward with a clean-shaven, even better
groomed, and one of the best looking teenagers in the Tri-
State area, if not beyond. "Milton Armitage III is a
totally masculine-type with the body anybody in their right
mind would want. Er, that is to say, if the inexplicable
were to happen again, that is the body I'd want to end up
inside."
Milton was trying to act sophisticated and urbane about
Gaspar having all of the girls around him. If he were an
actor, he would get an award for doing such a superb job of
acting like somebody doing a poor job of acting.
Dobie said, "Despite his all-around manliness; despite the
glossy venire of culture his family's money has bought him;
despite his being perfect male specimen in every way, there
is one fact of human nature that has left him at the
disadvantage in a head-to-head competition for mating
rights: A Milton can never beat a Gaspar.
Dobie gestured, "And the irony is there would be no Gaspar
for Milton to compete against if Milton hadn't once been so
confident of his 'God's gift to women' right to mate with
whoever he wished to bestow his honor. Er, this is that
indication I was talking about earlier, the one that
suggested 'Anne Ville', the stripper, was interested in
men.
"Shakespeare wrote, 'Hell hath no fury like a woman
scorned'. But Dante wrote that the deepest part of Hell was
also the coldest, reserved for those like Satan, Brutus and
Judas. And it was the author Conan Doyle, I believe, who
wrote, 'Revenge is a dish best served cold'. Can you
imagine, then, the consequences when Hell freezes over, and
a fallen woman becomes a Gaspar?" Dobie shuddered.
Notebook in hand, Gaspar got up from his school desk. Dobie
eyed him as he said, "And how is Gaspar planning on getting
his revenge on the one who is now reduced to being just a
Milton? By forcing a showdown for the title of Supreme Male
of the Tri-State Area, if not beyond. And as every king
needs a queen, the proof will be the prize: The most
desirable, the Supreme Female of this same part of the
world." Gaspar walked up to a new high school girl. This
one was anything but nubile.
"Zelda Gilroy!?!! Her name alone should disqualify her!"
Dobie looked around, and saw a cute and trim, shorthaired
blonde in a well tailored violet dress suit. She was
stooping behind the still seated Milton Armitage III; she
had one hand on one of his broad shoulders while pointing
at Gaspar and Zelda. Dobie did some pointing of his own,
"There! Thalia Menninger; she's the one I would nominate
for the most desirable, Supreme example of Female
superficial beauty!" But Milton had his eyes only on
Zelda... in a stricken sort of way.
Dobie turned away, unable to identify any more with the boy
he had once most envied. "This is what I've had to witness
the whole day, as Gaspar and I share all of our classes.
All while every relationship that tied me to my own
identity is called into question: Greedy Thalia is trying
to get the rich Milton interested in another girl. Handsome
Milton struggles to be interested in plain Zelda. Devoted
Zelda appears more interested in, if you'll pardon the
expression, heterosexual Gaspar than me. And Gaspar is not
my friend.
"...And I may not be a Gillis, just a Dobie. There! I came
back to what I was talking about when I started down this
garden park path of musing." And he started to walk away.
"In this crazy world I live in, your name is your destiny;
and it maybe that I have no right to the one name that
isn't Dobie. No right because the man who I though was my
father may not be.
"Oh, he said he was my father. But it was the look he had
when he said it, like it made him feel sick. You know, like
whenever he's forced to say I'm his son.
"To think that I would ever wish that Herbert T. Gillis
were my father! Can my life get any stranger?"
A lilting and lovely voice called out, "Oh, Dobie!"
Dobie stopped, "I have a feeling my life is about to get
stranger." Then a smile broke out on his fresh face, "If
people are not acting the way I expect them to act, maybe
my luck is about to change."
He turned around to look as Thalia caught up with him,
"...Or maybe not. You called my name, my Angel of
Mercenaries?" He noted that her narrow lapelled jacket with
the gold buttons was open to let her blouse ruffles
emphasize her bosom.
Thalia Menninger, that cute and trim, cut-short and permed
blonde responded with, "That I did, my well-endowed man of
potential substance. While the woman that most stands in
our way of you marrying into $341,740-"
Though perhaps he shouldn't have been, Dobie was surprised,
"You found out how much the trust fund Chatsworth set up
for me is worth!?!"
Thalia smiled a self-congratulatory smile, "To the penny;
subtracting for the recession we are currently in, and
subject to market fluctuations and how that relates to
interest rates, it is around $341,740."
"Just, 'around'? He shook his head in wonder at how quickly
she could work.
Thalia explained, "The total is based on the accruement of
the thousand dollars that was invested in your name on the
day you were born."
Dobie looked away, then looked back, staring, "I was given
a thousand dollars?!"
Thalia looked straight into his eyes, "There are trusts in
the names of most of the people around here."
Dobie had learned from bitter experiences to look a gift
horse in the mouth, "Uh, hunh: 'Most people'... the
epicenter of Middle-Class America. If I may be so crass as
to ask, how did you find this out?"
Thalia, the girl of his most fanciful of fantasies (usually
involving an apron), took his arm and started to escort him
away from the Thinker. "As your futures financial manager,
you, as my client, have every right to know."
Dobie said, "I'm glad to know I have a right to know about
my money; even if I do not have any, yet."
But the truth was her touch, her aroma, her siren's
intonation, would not allow him to have anything but a show
of sarcasm. In her presence-in the presence of any
beautiful creature, any appearance of independence was just
that, a Greek mask. Dobie knew that; and more particularly,
he knew that Thalia knew it. Still, for what little self-
respect he had in him, he had to continue with the charade.
Thalia explained, "The secret of successful asset growth is
not what you know, but what those in the know know."
Dobie said, "In other words, 'Who you know'."
Thalia smiled at his simple understanding of the world, "I
prefer to think of it as insider trading. I trade something
to get further inside. I have spent the majority of my life
negotiating the maze of inner circles."
Dobie said, "Thalia! You're only 17!"
The acute girl nodded, "One year away from being unshackled
by the archaic, and arbitrary laws that tell me I'm a
minor. One year away from being able to pursue my higher
earning."
Dobie said, "Thalia! The fact is that you are a minor! And
'for the majority' of your life you were obviously one!"
She was not offended. Instead, Thalia squeezed his arm in
that way Dobie thought only girls did, "I assure you my
soon-to-be-corporate suitor, the tactic you, and other
conventional people, think is the way a woman gets ahead in
the male-corporate world does not work over the long term,
which is how one needs to plan investments. For a woman to
truly advance her career, she must always keep conventional
wisdom in mind."
Dobie said, "For one who is suppose to believe in
conventional wisdom, I hesitate to grasp what you are
saying."
Thalia smiled up towards him, "To remove it from my
personal situation, so that you can look at it more
objectively, let's talk about homosexuals."
Dobie cringed at the mention of that word, as all normal
boys, heterosexual or not, did, "Homosexuals?"
Thalia continued anyway, a hand rubbing the arm as she
rested her head on his shoulders, assuring him that she
recognized his frail male ego, "Conventional wisdom says
that you cannot trust homosexuals in positions of security.
The inner circles, as it were. By putting a stigma on them,
conventional wisdom is fulfilled, keeping it firmly fixed,
and the convention."
Dobie was scandalized, as he finally allowed himself to
grasp what Thalia, the most angelic looking girl he knew,
had done with her youth, "You blackmail people!!"
Thalia saw little to object about, "Only somebody that buys
into the conventional wisdom can be blackmailed. And,
looking at it from an investor's point of view, for
something to pay, somebody has to be prey."
Dobie persisted in his indignation, "You threaten to tell
friends, relatives and employees something about them and
you that isn't true!"
She was pleased, and cooed as she snuggled more tightly to
him, "You recognize, then, that I did not do it. I would
never trade my body unless I was assured, in escrow, of a
solid return. I am a virgin; as pure as the driven snow."
Looking down at the oh-so-warm boa wrapped around his arm,
Dobie said unhappily, "That is the problem with similes and
metaphors; it all depends on context."
Thalia's tone became more efficient, again, "As does life.
That is why there are so many loopholes in conventional
wisdom. Without 'if's, and's or but's', it could never hope
to remain in the hands of those who most profit from it.
'Hard and fast' are only for the conventional -Here we
are!"
Dobie at last let his eyes and mind wonder off of the
seductive vixen. They had come to the end of the town's
commons; and parked by the curb, blocking the crosswalk,
was a limousine. Conventionally black.
Dobie exclaimed, "Thalia! You've finally blackmailed
somebody who would give you a limo!?!"
A large man got out of the front door even as they
approached.
"-With a chauffer!?!!"
Thalia laughed at the thought, "Of course not! Without the
proper status that only a respectable age and a thick
portfolio can provide, it would be counterproductive to my
prospects. To have the wedge edge, I must be viewed as a
na?ve bit of sauce."
The man in the off-black uniform with cap moved to open the
rear door of the off-black automobile.
Dobie asked, "If it's not yours, whose is it, then?!"
Thalia smiled, "Don't you recognize the wonderful color
scheme? It's the same as the ink of the dollar bill."
Chatsworth Osborne, Junior rose from out of the limo, and
said in his young patrician voice, "Please! Mumsie had it
professionally matched to that of the hundred-thousand-
dollar bill. That being the largest denomination this
country provides."
The brunette with the side-swept bangs had toned-down his
usual attire, he wore gray-blue slacks and oxford loafers,
but instead of his typical yachty blue blazer with the
family coat-of-arms and the top-buttons open starched shirt
with the ascot, he had on a simple dark gray jacket, and a
starched shirt without the ascot.
Thalia had stopped escorting, meaning touching, him;
displeasured, Dobie said to the boy she was heading
towards, "Too bad you don't live in a country where
inflation would allow you to have billion denomination
bills."
Chatsworth chuckled in his friendly snob way, "With enough
inflation, I could be known as the scion of a
trillionaire."
Thalia assured him, "A multi-trillionaire." Chatsworth
smiled on her effort to curry favor.
Dobie muttered, "Where's deflation when you need it?"
Chatsworth said, "This is not the time for a discussion of
economics. I must tell you, sometime, about the school of
economics that Mumsie's establishing at the University of
Chicago." And he invited them through the door he'd just
come out of, "Shall we away to our young swain's intended?"
Dobie cried, "You know where May is?!"
Chatsworth said, "I had previously informed you that Mumsie
keeps a watchful eye on me, heir to the vast Osborne
fortune, and all I associate with."
Dobie said, "But you never associated with May ...Er, have
you?"
Gentlemanly, Chatsworth held Thalia's hand as she ladylike
lowered herself onto the seat, "Do you mean in the sense
that my cousin Milton Armitage III has?"
Dobie nodded, "Mumsie" knows about that, too."
Standing erect, Chatsworth informed him, "Mrs.(!)
Chatsworth Osborne, Senior knows just about everything that
goes on within a 24 mile radius of the estate."
Dobie said, "Your mother and my father both limit
themselves to marathon distances. (Which almost sounds like
an oxymoron.)"
Chatsworth motioned for the other boy to enter, "Both run
things, and the original marathoner collapsed dead on its
completion. The distance, as such, is a quite apt symbol
for driven people, shouldn't you think?"
Dobie looked around as he ducked down to get into the
chauffeured car, "'Driven'?"
Thalia told him, "Let's not have any more comments about
metaphors and similes... Or sub-definitions."
Bending enough to talk through the open door, Chatsworth
said, "As one I choose to associate with, those that you
associate with require a certain amount of background
checking, as well; as I may come into contact with them,
through you."
Dobie nodded, satirically, "Of course; you can't risk
meeting somebody who might surprise you."
Chatsworth smiled, "You do understand." He entered the car
the proper way for a man, foot first while lowering himself
to the seat, "And speaking of surprises. This May-waif of
yours has provided as much of a challenge as that former-
beatnik character you hang around."
Dobie commented, "A bigger challenge than you think, it
seems."
Once Chatsworth was safely inside, the chauffer closed the
door. "The usual procedure is to gather the subject's vital
statistics and documentation. Not only does our stray not
have a birth certificate, she has no school or medical
records. There are barely any official and legal evidence
that she exists, other than the few arrest records of
various vice squads around the country, as well as Canada.
There are probably more than just a few; but the Osborne
agency cannot even verify her real name. 'May Nardgee' is
merely her current nom du jour." While he had been talking,
the chauffer had gotten in, and, at the young master's
signal, started driving.
Dobie asked, "She does have parents, doesn't she?!"
Chatsworth informed him, "There is a woman who claims to be
her mother. She, too, likes to change identities; though
her favorite appears to be 'Betty Grable'."
Dobie said, "Betty Grable!? The movie actress!?!"
Thalia smiled, "How very innocent and wholesome of you, my
Child of the Sheltered '50's. Betty Grable was at least as
famous for being the most pinned-up girl the last world
war... All at a time when movie thespians were under
contract and did not receive proper royalties."
Chatsworth said, "I believe her legs were insured for a
million dollars each." He was sitting European-style, one
knee over the other, as opposed to Dobie's (tightened)
figure-4, and Thalia's braid.
Dobie was a little puzzled, "How did the daughter of a
movie star become a burlesque stripper?"
Chatsworth was amused, "The woman was not that Betty
Grable."
Thalia explained, "As a way of promoting herself, the
entity infringed on the copyright the more famous should
hold. I would imagine as with so many cases of that nature,
the studio did not want to give the usurper any added
publicity, as it takes years for such matters to move
through the courts." And she luxuriated in the thought of,
"...With the lawyers just piling up oodles of recompense."
Chatsworth said, "The photos show a certain amount of
resemblance, thanks to a the blond wig the brunette wore.
However, I believe her audiences were not that interested
in her face." He liked to gesture with his foot.
Dobie compared her with his own, and did his double take,
"This is the mother!?!"
Checking her hem, Thalia said, "Like mother, like
daughter."
Dobie protested, "May isn't like that!!"
Chatsworth was pleased, "Oh! You do have feelings for the
artfully tatterdemalion."
Thalia said, "Now, now, my Defender of His Lady's Virtue, I
am not one of those conventional thinkers who would condemn
her."
Dobie cried, "You plan on blackmailing her!" Why did times
like this make her perfume stronger?
Chatsworth said to him, "I should not worry about the
d?class? effect upon the general public. There is currently
a certain cache about such ecdysiasts as Gypsy Rose Lee and
Sally Rand."
Dobie was not allayed, "Oh? And how does your mother feel
about the her nephew Milton's 'mixing' with an, uh,
exdeasyist?"
Chatsworth's attitude shifted with the person under
discussion, "Mumsie does not share the opinions of the
general public. 'Repugnant' is the word she used. She
called him a 'typically dirty little man'. While a certain
amount of intrigue is expected among the servants and the
local wenches, it is quite another matter to sink so low
beneath one's station as to associate with entertainers. As
head of the Osborne clan, she called Milton before her, and
forbade him to be an Armitage until otherwise notified."
A light turned on in Dobie, "Milton isn't an Armitage
III!?! He's just, merely a Milton?! No wonder he hasn't
confronted Gaspar, yet." His legs became uncrossed.
Chatsworth said, "Do you identify with the loss of
hereditary identity?"
Dobie said, "You know about that, too?" He set his feet
down.
Thalia leaned closer, "The thought that you are not tied to
those Gillis people by blood only whets my increasing
estimation of you, my Man of Appreciating Interest. You may
be a lost heir to a fortune."
Dobie leaned away to look at her better, "And I'm sure you
could arrange it that I was, even if I wasn't."
Thalia squealed at the thought, "Rmmm!"
Chatsworth's more serious tone remained, "With such
possibilities in mind, I have called upon a more thorough
check of your lineage, Mr. Doe."
Dobie asked, "Mr. Doe?"
The Chatsworth smile flickered back, "That is the usual
designation of a person unknown."
Dobie protested, "I am not unknown!"
Thalia smiled sweetly, "You are to most of the world. The
most important factor to higher mathematics." She'd
unbraided her legs, and now had them together, pointed in
Dobie's direction.
Chatsworth said, "Perhaps you would rather be known as 'Mr.
Smith'? That is the usual nom d'affaire, is it not?"
Dobie answered back, "I haven't had any affair, yet!"
Chatsworth smiled fully, "But you may be the result of
one."
Dobie said a little wide-eyed, "Gee; I hadn't gotten that
far in my thinking."
Chatsworth leaned a little closer, "You know what that
would make you?"
Thalia patted Dobie on his arm, "It would make you the same
as our little trust-fund baby."
Dobie told them, "But we know who it's father is!"
Chatsworth was ever so smug again, "Not necessarily. The
Osborne legal staff has come up with 37 scenarios in which
my cousin would not turn out to be the un-rightful father.
A series of medical tests would have to be administered
just to narrow down the child's paternity, and even then,
thanks to the state of the modern medical art of 1960, it
could prove inconclusive. Several years of litigation would
then ensue."
Dobie cried, "How could anybody fight your money!?"
Chatsworth leaned back, hands on knees, "Exactly. You could
be like Don Quixote and waste your trust tilting against
bank vaults. Or you could have the mother-to-be sign a
waiver, and receive the standard $25,000 in return."
Thalia savored the thought, "A bonus!"
Dobie turned to look, displeased, at Thalia, before looking
again, still displeased, at Chatsworth, "If that's why
you're giving me this lift, why didn't you tell me in the
first place!?!"
Chatsworth, "And spoil my little cat and mouse game? The
fun is getting there."
Dobie dispirited said, "I don't find it any fun getting
there. Tell me how much further is it to where May is?"
Chatsworth said, "Ah, yes. The last you saw of the wayward
lass was nearly the last any of Mumsie's security saw of
her, as well. She does seem to have a knack for loosing
people."
Dobie nodded, "Like Maynard."
Chatsworth smiled as a man, "She is surely not as big an
enigma."
Dobie had to agree, "No... not 'as big as'. Not now." More
of one.
Chatsworth narrated, "I was told she took shortcuts (though
perhaps long-cuts would be a more appropriate term) across
fences and through yards, up fire escapes, over buildings,
and down drain pipes that no proper girl would think of
taking, and few boys, I dare say."
Dobie had heard this part of the story before, "It sounds
as if there are still some things that remain the same
about May."
Thalia didn't, "Well, I hope you can convince the woman to
change her ways. We must think of the little dividend she
is to deliver."
Chatsworth came to the climax, "The adventuress eluded the
best efforts of the search party that was called out. It
was only when they had gathered to plan a new strategy that
they found her: All, to their professional consternation,
quite by accident."
(Thalia noted, "Mrs. Osborne spies on the spies.
...Understandable, judging by where they choose to set up
field headquarters. No wonder Milton was allowed to 'date'
this May-creature.")
Dobie was now impatient with the story (and musings),
"Well?! Where did you find her?"
The End of this chapter
+++
I believe that the original show occasionally did a tableau
in lieu of Dobie's typical monologue. I meant it to be like
a typical low-budget stage flashback.
I couldn't find a place to mention it, but because of the
nature of Chatsworth's "mission" he took one of the
limousines that did not have the Osborne coat-of-arms on
it.
Fawn
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