The Place----Chicago
The Time---1934
The Cast of Characters---(in order of appearance)
Christopher (Babyface) Kirkpatrick
"Fat Lou" Perlman
Juju (Mad Dog) Timberlake
JC (Twinkletoes) Chasez
Joey (Muscles) Fatone
Lance Bass, Cub Reporter
...and a supporting cast of millions. Well, a good half-dozen, anyway.
* * * * * * *
Chris and JC just looked at each other. Chris began to scoot off the bed, and pull up his suspenders, and straighten his tie.
"So," he said. "You're just wandering around the halls up here, huh?"
JC smiled shyly. "Well, actually, I was looking for you."
Chris' eyebrows raised. "Really." Hmm, he thought. A customer who *doesn't* make me want to retch--what are the odds? "Well....you found me!"
"In the nick of time, too." JC began to do that slight head-nodding thing that people do, when they're nervous, and not sure what to say next.
"OH! Did I say thanks at all?" Chris said. "Because, really, you did me a big one there. I--I wasn't able OR willing to meet that customers needs, and he was--you know, STEAMED. And fat psychos getting steamed---that's usually a bad thing...." Now it was Chris' turn to do the head-shake thing.
"Yeah..."
"Um, so what did you want?" Chris asked, when the silence grew too long.
"An appointment!" JC said. "I've been hanging around today, AND yesterday and I noticed you're pretty booked up, so I thought I could ask you to pencil me in."
"Pencil you in," Chris repeated. "I could probably pencil you in. Uhhhh--- what are you doing right now?" he laughed.
"Right now---?"
"BABYFACE!" Jimmy the Weasel roared, and kicked the door open. He stood there panting, before advancing on Chris.
"You're payin for that door, if it has to be replaced," Chris said.
"Never mind that, it's MY door, you idiot. I want to know what the HELL you did to Perlman!? He come downstairs screamin and cussing in some foreign language, I think it was German, and that creepy sidekick of his was sayin' "Mario, Mario" the whole time. And--and--" Jimmy's hands gestured helplessly, "It was such a frickin' disaster. And of course, YOU were involved so that explains a lot--"
"Hey!" Chris interrupted. "If it's anybody's fault, it's Mario's. If he'd been on the job, things never would have got so bad."
"What?"
"Perlman wanted to play rough, and Mario was supposed to come riding in like the cavalry, only he didn't. So, THIS guy---came to my rescue, instead."
JC smiled in a deprecating way, waving off Jimmy's impending thanks. "It was nothing, really. Anyone would've done it."
"Get out."
"What?"
"Get out, Mr. Do-Gooder. I don't need your kind around here. You got me on Perlman's bad side, and there's no telling how this is gonna play out. I can't afford your kind of interference. Babyface can look out for himself."
"Not two against one, he can't. I'm kind of surprised at your lack of concern for your employees, Jimmy. That's not how I treat MY people."
"Oh, YOUR people? And who might your people be, the National Butt-in-Other-People's-Business Society?" Jimmy looked at Chris, as if expecting him to laugh at this extraordinary flash of wit. Chris just looked at him.
"My people? You might know them as the Southside Gang," JC said, as calmly as ever.
"The Southside Gang?" Jimmy's face paled. "Who--who---are you--?"
"Some folks call me Twinkletoes," JC winked at Chris. "They say I've tapdanced my way out of more trouble....charges never seem to stick, investigations always seem to dry up." He shrugged, innocently. "Guess I'm just lucky, is all."
Chris folded his arms, and enjoyed the changing colors on his boss' face. Pale ripened into red mortfication, then matured into purple apoplexy. "You-- you might TELL a guy! How was I supposed to know? I heard your pop died. Word on the street had it that you were at some sissy college back east. At least for a year or two. How long you been back?"
"A month or so. I like to lay low, scope out the situation, before I announce my presence. I think I've got a handle on how things are going."
JC looked at Chris, and then stepped closer to Jimmy. "I'd like to--uh, speak to you in private, if I may."
Jimmy shot a look at Chris, and then looked back at JC. "O' course. Sure."
"Well, hey, just because it's MY room, don't let me be a third wheel or whatever. I'll go downstairs, and get something to eat, like I planned to before. So. This is me. Leaving." Chris was peeved that they didn't even acknowledge his exit. Fine! Whatever.
He clomped down the stairs, and whirled through the swinging doors into Mama Weasel's kitchen. A wave of spicy warmth embraced him, even before he reached down to drop a kiss on Mama's head.
"Mama! I'm starving. And everybody's being mean to me. What have you got for your boy, huh?"
The thin old lady with the iron-gray bun of hair muttered something in Italian, and slapped his hands away from the bread she was kneading. She pointed to a small table flush against the wall.
"Aw, hell."
"Hello to you too, Whore." A very handsome Italian man looked up from his plate of spaghetti, and waved his fork at Chris. "Mama set aside a plate for you--come and get it."
"Have you poisoned it yet?" Chris mumbled, and dropped down into the chair opposite the other man.
"Haven't had time, besides this is too good. Mama outdid herself today." Soon enough, the two men were making inroads on the mountains of pasta and sauce. Eventually, when the plates were clean, Chris looked up to see his dinner companion fish out a hankie, and mop at his face.
"Too much for ya, Useless?"
"I told ya to stop calling me that."
"Stop calling me Whore."
"Well, that's what ya are. A pansy little fairy-boy Whore."
"And YOU'RE useless. Can't even get a job."
"What's that?" the Italian cocked his head. "Can't get a what?"
"You heard me, can't get a job."
"Say my name."
"What?" Chris asked. "Say your name? You're Joey "Muscles" Fatone. So what? You got a nice name, but you ain't got a job."
Joey smirked. "I do too got a job, and it don't involve sucking dick."
"Give yourself time."
Joey lurched forward, and snatched the front of Chris' white shirt. But Chris' reflexes were quicker, and he squirmed away, dancing behind Mama, and laughing at Joey. "You'll work up to it, paesan. Give yourself time, I have faith in you...!"
"Come here, you little prick! I'm gonna snap your neck like a chicken bone!" Breathing out such threats, and darting at Chris repeatedly, Joey was soon on Mama's bad side, and she shooed the both of them away, with her apron.
The moment they walked through the doors into the public area of the club, however, they both shed their previous demeanors, and bacame composed and businesslike.
They slid into a booth near the back, and each snatched up a section of the newspaper. "So," Chris said softly. "You are employed, now. I hope the new sensation won't prove overwhelming. If it does, you might try putting your head between your knees until it passes." He looked up and smiled. "Gee, do ya get a paycheck and everything?"
"Get paid more than you, I bet." Joey said, as he studied the sports page.
Chris snickered. "YEAH. I'm sure you do."
Joey started to answer, but spying someone's approach, he merely said, "Well, got to go. My EMPLOYER is waiting for me." He nodded at Chris emphatically. "He-Who-Cuts-My-Checks cannot be kept waiting." He folded the newspaper, put it aside, and stood up. "Hey ya, Mr. Chasez. You ready to go?"
"Almost," JC began, looking down at Chris, who turned around in his seat, and was looking up in some surprise.
Joey smacked Chris upside the head, and said, offhandedly, "Don't mind the little whore. Jimmy keeps him around for the odd sicko who likes boinking boys."
Chris' eyes sparkled in sudden delight.
JC's eyes widened, but not with delight. "What did you say?"
"I said, don't mind the whore. He puts out for anybody with ten bucks, but you don't have to pay him no mind."
After a moment, of JC running his hand through his hair, and still being robbed of the power of speech, Chris couldn't resist. Jumping to his feet, he put his hands on either side of JC's face, and tiptoed up, and planted a long, but sweet one on him. He pulled back. "Did ja like that, Twinkletoes?"
A slow smile, and then, "I *loved* it, Babyface. Thank you."
The two of them turned in unison, and looked expectantly at Joey. "You were saying, Muscles?" JC asked.
"I---I---I wasn't sayin' nothin'. Wasn't me."
