Man of My Dreams

 For Edward Duke, who would have been 70 on June 17.

Don’t get me wrong, I’m proud to be a member in good standing of the U.S. branch of The Wodehouse Society, and Plum’s deathless prose lives on, as deathless prose is wont to do. But it is my recollection of Jeeves-and-Wooster impersonator Edward Duke who keeps my heart young, merry, and seeking the sunny side of life.

Edward’s 1980s one-man show, Jeeves Takes Charge, was my introduction to P. G. Wodehouse, inspiring me to browse the bookstores (yes, book stores) for handy paperback collections of the stories Edward had adapted. Goofy for a sounder romance following a wrenching heartbreak the previous summer, I daydreamed myself into scenarios with Bertie and Jeeves, in fleet rotation, as Edward accomplished in transforming himself from master to servant at the drop of a monocle.

At one point during this mindless mischief I took out an “In Search Of” ad in the city magazine, noting I was seeking a man “with Jeeves’ brains and Bertie’s heart.” My neighborhood surely housed suitable Wodehousians who would get the reference. None sallied forth with the requisite personal attributes.

I’ve known for a few decades now that the love of my life was destined to be fictional. I had started writing my own “Jeeves/Bertie” love-interest into existence in the form of a modern-day grandson of Jeeves who, after I was denied permission by the Wodehouse estate to use that surname, accepted the name that had haunted me in a dream once in my youth: the mysterious, dark stranger, a lover named Ni (Nigel) Perry.

I’m almost convinced the light romance novel that ensued was the child I never had. The story was conceived in a burst of ecstasy after I’d received an autographed photo as a thank-you for all the mad “Dear Santa” letters I’d sent Edward (and never really expected him to receive). The first draft took about three weeks to write. The final polished draft: done at the end of nine months. 

Baby born! Alas, subsequently rejected some 50 times over by publishers who know better, the Heart of Joy manuscript is quietly bound and shelved, unread, even by myself. I did manage to get a copy of it to Edward, and his assessment was as follows:

“Very funny opening line! Very funny! But then it sort of meandered.”

I tried not to take it personally and guessed he really only had read the first page. Busy man, you know.

Edward Duke, of course, was not in reality the man of my dreams, but for me he made a dashed jolly inspiration for the impossibly handsome, kind, and wise Ni Perry.

Love, hosaa
Heart full of joy and gladness