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 3 or 4 (we've had to cut back--budget concerns)
* * * * * * *
Chris liked to get up early on Saturdays, and creep downstairs in his socks and robe, and snag his favorite spot. There was a little table, right by the front window, where he could sip his coffee, and watch the world go by. The best times of his life were spent here, scratching away in his notebook, working on the screenplay that he had every intention of taking to Hollywood some day. He'd come up with an outline he was excited with, and had broken his story into three "acts" and nothing was more absorbing than working on his characterizations, and trying out different subplots.
"Here ya go, Babyface." It was Jimmy the Weasel, and he slid a hot cup of Joe in front of Chris, and smiled as he added a small plate with rolls and butter on it, too.
Chris looked up at Jimmy in fear. "Perlman's put a hit out on me."
"What?"
"My days are numbered. You feel sorry for me, you want to ease my final moments!"
Jimmy waved away his fears. "Naaahh. What are ya talkin bout. Can't a person be NICE once in a while?"
"A person, yes."
"Hey! If I want to bring a low-level employee a cup of coffee, and some rolls, I'm gonna bring him some coffee and rolls, okay? Stop bustin' my chops, here. What am I, some freak that can't be nice?"
"I--I--there really is no safe answer to that, so Jimmy," Chris lifted up his mug and toasted his boss with it, "here's to you, and being nice. Thank you."
"That's more like it," Jimmy sniffed, and glided away, eventually disappearing back into his office.
Chris stared down into his coffee. Well, that was weird. He tried to shrug the uneasy feeling off. After scarfing down a buttered roll or two, he picked up his notebook, and began reviewing some notes in the back.
Movement outside the window caught his eye. Hmm. There was some guy out there. What the hell? Some blonde guy was bobbing back and forth behind Jimmy's new Ford parked out front. His head would pop up, he'd scope things out, then hide behind the car again.
Chris' sense of the absurd was intrigued. He dropped his notebook, sat back in his chair, and decided to watch the show.
Sure enough, the blonde guy was now moving stealthily from around the car. Standing up straight, he moved a little too nonchalantly over to the newsstand where he bought a paper.
"Oh please," Chris silently begged the gods of comedy. "Let him...."
Chris' wish was fulfilled when the young man held up his paper as if he were reading it, walking up and down in front of JImmy's club. He would dart a quick glance from behind it from time to time. "I really need to bring him some scissors," Chris murmured to himself, "so he can cut out some eyeholes to peek through..."
A moment later, the young man bumped right into a woman pushing a baby carriage. His apologies went unheeded, as she angrily berated him, and even smacked him with her purse a few times. By now, Chris was laughing out loud.
This was better than Buster Keaton and Charlie Chaplin combined.
To Chris' great surprise, though, the embarassing incident with the young woman seemed to settle something in his mind, because the blonde now boldly pushed the front door open, and poked his head in. "Hello?" he said.
"Hello," Chris answered him, restraining his mirth. "Can I help you, buddy? I'm the only one out here at this time of day."
"Uh...." now he seemed unsure, as if he'd thought better of this, after all.
"Come in, come in," Chris gestured. "Sit down and take a load off."
As he impulsively entered the club, and took a seat opposite Chris, his green eyes widened, and he looked around him nervously. "Hi!" he said, extending a hand. "My name is Lan--I mean, Ted. Ted Bass--I mean, Ted Baxter." He took a deep breath, and said forcefully, "My name is Ted Baxter."
"You're sure now?"
"Yes! I'm Ted Baxter. I'm a long-time resident, a Chicago native? I uh-- am looking for employment. I'm looking for employment in this area of town only because this is where the buses run." "Ted" looked at Chris with some diffidence. Why was this dark-haired man looking at him so strangely? His eyes seemed all lit up somehow.
"So you're looking for a job, eh?" Chris put his head down, and seemed to stare into the depths of his coffee cup. "Gee, Buddy, times are tough all over. There's a depression on, if you haven't heard. Jobs are real hard to come by."
"Yeah, I know," "Ted" said. "But maybe I could do whatever it is you do. Or be your assistant."
"I appreciate the offer," Chris said, patting the man's arm. "But I work alone. But tell you what. Mama Weasel, I mean, Mrs. Vitaglia, is always looking for a new dishwasher. We go through the dishes around here, let me tell ya. How about I just go back there in the kitchen, put in a good word for ya, and we'll see? You never know. It's worth a try, right?"
"Ted" nodded his head so hard Chris thought he heard his eyes rattle.
"O--kay then. You sit right here, and I'll go see about it." Chris looked back over his shoulder at the the fidgety blonde, bobbing his legs up and down, and glancing all around him.
"Hey, Jimmy," Chris said, as he pushed the office door open. "We got a live one out there."
"What do you mean?"
"My guess is, the Daily Bugle's trying to slip another undercover reporter in on us. The greenest thing you've ever seen is sitting at my table, trying to angle in on some dishwashing job."
Jimmy sighed. "Give me strength. Well, sure, we gotta take him in. They'll just send somebody else, if we don't."
"So...? You want me to tell Mama to give him a job then?"
"Hell, yeah. It was Mama who told me Keep Your Friends Close, and Your Enemies Closer. Send the guy on back."
"Right."
"Boy are you in luck!" Chris sprinted back up front. "Mama says she would LOVE to get some decent help for a change. Come on, I'll take you back."
"Ted" started breathing faster. "Oh! Oh! I'm in! I--I mean, I Have a Job. How Gratifying in This Economically Challenging Time."
"Ye-ea-ah," Chris said. "Come on, follow me."
After Chris got "Ted" settled in with Mama, who looked like most people do when their cat brings them a dead bird, he grabbed his notebook, and went upstairs to his room. He passed Mario coming down the stairs, and contented himself with a brief kick to his backside.
"Hey, what was-a dat for?"
For NOTHIN' ya big lug."
"Ah---" and Mario directed a Sicilian stream of invective at Chris' head. He knew better than to hit the smaller man, aware that spoiling his looks would only anger Jimmy.
"Same to you in triplicate!" Chris yelled over his shoulder, as he let himself into his room. SLAM.
Morons. He was surrounded by morons. Chris fussed under his breath, as he quickly shed his robe and pajamas, and threw on his second-best suit. Saturday was the best day of the week, as far as he was concerned.
He would head downtown, flirt with the salesgirls at Woolworths, grab a sandwich at the coffeeshop, and then---
watch all the movies at the Bijou, and after darting out to eat again, go back and watch 'em all again. The second time, taking notes on the screenplays, and thus justifying the expense. For various reasons, Chris always felt guilty when he spent money on himself.
"There!" he said, preening in the mirror. "John Garfield never looked so good." He snatched up his fedora, and let himself out.
As he practically danced down the stairs, he heard Jimmy's familiar bellow----"Babyface! Get your ass in here. Pronto!"
Chris stopped in mid-bounce on the stairs. "Aw, hell. What now?"
