Holbrook stood in the corner of the huge living room clutching a glass of
sparkling cream soda. He'd never drunk cream soda, and it had a nice rich
tingle to it. He sipped at it, being careful not to spill. The room was full of
glamorous animals who mostly ignored him.
A lady bulldog dripping with fat pearls approached Holbrook. "I am the
Duchess of Woof," she announced. "Are you somebody?"
Holbrook had to shake his head no.
She moved on.
Holbrook's Desert Sunset had replaced the portrait of Count Rumolde's
mother on the wall near the elevator. He had been rather surprised to see that
it was the only piece of art in the room, since the count had told him he
collected art. But even so, no one noticed it.
"There's Corvus Cawfield," he heard someone say.
Holbrook craned his neck. He saw a large black crow moved talking with a
serious-looking mole. The crow had a lively sparkle to his eyes. How
Holbrook wished he had the courage to go up and talk to him.
A troupe of snails arrived. They proved to be a rowdy bunch, drinking a great
deal of champagne and breaking into song at the least excuse.
Grayler, the butler, moved smoothly through the crowd offering small
sandwiches and delicate bits of cheese.
Then Holbrook forgot about everything because, at that moment, the elevator
doors opened and out stepped the prettiest creature he had ever seen. She
was a slender frog with long, graceful legs. Her eyes, large and dark, were
tender, yet there was something fierce and proud in them, too.
Other creatures turned to stare. A swan near Holbrook reared back her neck
and hissed softly, "Margot Frogtayne!"
"The famous ballerina?" asked someone.
"The best in the world," barked the duchess.
"Well, that depends," replied a snippy-looking Chihuahua. "Perhaps the
ballerina Miss Swanson here would not agree."
The swan glared at the duchess. Clearly, she did not.
"The exhibition will determine the best," said the Chihuahua.
But the duchess wasn't listening. Like others in the crowd, she seemed to
have eyes only for the frog and her companion, a large smiling snail with a
tiny silk cravat around his neck.
Margot Frogtayne moved with grace into the foyer. She paused to look at
Holbrook's painting.
Holbrook's throat pounded. How he wished it was Starry Sky that was
hanging there! Something special and wonderful—something as special as
she was.
The frog smiled and turned to the snail. "C'est tres jolie, n'est pas, Enrico?"
The snail nodded. He had a warm, pleasant face. When he spoke, his voice
was deep and flowery. "Molto bello," he said.
"What'd he say?" Holbrook eagerly asked the duchess. "What'd she say?"
"They said the painting is pretty, more or less," she growled.
They thought his painting was pretty! And now other animals were noticing it,
too.
Count Rumolde rushed up to them, his paws held out. "Mademoiselle
Margot, Signor Escargot! Welcome! I am honored. I see you are admiring my
newest acquisition. Let me introduce you to the artist."
He waved a paw for Holbrook to join them.
All the animals now turned to stare at Holbrook.
Holbrook stood for a moment. The frog smiled at him. He stumbled forward.
"He's nobody," he heard the duchess say in answer to a question. She
sounded rather angry.
"Holbrook, this is Mademoiselle Margot Frogtayne. The world's greatest
prima ballerina."
"Enchantée," the frog said modestly, turning her lovely eyes downward. She
curved one pretty leg just a bit.
"I refuse to stay here and be insulted!" the swan trumpeted and flapped into
the elevator.
Count Rumolde paid no attention.
"And this, of course, is Enrico Escargot."
Holbrook smiled anxiously at the snail; everyone else seemed to know who
he was.
Enrico laughed. "You have not heard of the great Enrico Escargot?" He threw
back his head, and in a voice surprisingly powerful for such a small creature
(large as he was for a snail) he sang, "Figaro! Figaro, Figaro, Figaro."
When Holbrook still looked confused, the duchess barked, "Everyone knows
Enrico, the world's greatest operatic tenor!"
Enrico Escargot smiled at Holbrook, "It is of no consequence, my friend. The
world knows many things that are not important."
A large lobster crowded closer. He glared at Holbrook over tiny steel
spectacles. "He doesn't know of Mademoiselle Frogtayne or Signor
Escargot. Really, my friend, where have you been? Living under a rock?"
Holbrook blushed. Actually, his burrow was under a rock.
Enrico frowned and started to say something, but a number of animals, along
with the lobster, crowded forward and pushed Holbrook aside. The Duchess
of Woof nearly seized him with her jaws, so eager was she to get past him.
Holbrook was forced back into his corner. He took a big gulp of his cream
soda, but it was warm and had lost its bubbles.
© 2006 by Bonny Becker. Reprinted by permission of Clarion Books /
Houghton Mifflin Company
Continues...
Excerpted from Holbrook: A Lizard's Tale by Bonny Becker Copyright © 2006 by Bonny Becker. Excerpted by permission.
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