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 2 (our budget has completely dried up)
* * * * * * * *
Chris was steamed. He stomped into Jimmy's office, and slammed the door. "WHAT!?"
"Oh, am I keeping you from something?"
"You know damn well you are--it's a Saturday."
"That's right, it is. That would explain all these phone messages on my desk." Jimmy started sorting through various slips of paper. He picked them up, and read them at random. "Tell Babyface I'll see him at 7:30" "Tell Babyface I'll be in town tonight" "Tell Babyface---"
Chris made a circular motion with his hand. "Yeah, yeah? So?"
"Do you ever return these calls? Do you confirm these appointments? Vincenzo tells me he gives you the messages, but he has yet to see you exhibit the common courtesy of---"
"Vincenzo hates my guts, and he's just trying to get me in trouble."
"That's as may be, but what about this? Tell Babyface we look forward to seeing him Saturday night, Much Love, the Briskett Twins" Did you--"
"Ahhh!" Chris yelled. "The Briskett Twins? Did YOU take the message?"
"Yeah. So? I told them you'd be delighted to fit them in, even though it's your busiest night."
"Damn it!" Chris threw his hat on the floor. "I TOLD you to tell them I left town, that I moved away---that I DIED! Awwww, hell...."
"What's the big problem?"
"They're identical twins, genius. They want everything the same. At the same TIME...?"
At Jimmy's uncomprehending look, Chris exclaimed, "I'm only ONE MAN!"
"Ohhhh," JImmy looked thoughtful.
"I'm out-a here. I'll deal with the morons when I get back." Chris leaned over and picked up his hat. "You may own the night, but the day is mine. Arrivederci!"
By the time Chris had flirted with the girls behind the cosmetics counter at Woolworths, and picked up a new tie, and tried on a few things in the mens department, and ordered and eaten the Blue Plate Special at the lunch counter, he had totally shrugged off the days' small trials and tribulations. Now, on to the Bijou.
He winked at Selma, the ticket girl. "You really like that Jimmy Cagney, don't ya, Christopher?" she simpered. "I swear, you must be his biggest fan."
"Oh yeah, Jimmy," Chris said fondly, pocketing his change. "THAT'S mah man!" He tipped his hat to her, and went inside.
He liked to get there early, so he could snag his favorite spot, perfectly in the middle. He never bothered with popcorn, unless there was a new cute girl behind the concession stand. Most of the time, it was old Mrs. Simpkins, so...
The lights dimmed, and last-minute stragglers tripped over Chris. The music swelled, and the picture began. It wasn't long before Chris was totally immersed in Cagney's world, and getting his vicarious thrills.
The movie's first reel had just ended, when Chris felt popcorn rain down on him. Another late-comer, stumbling down the row behind him, mumbling apologies, and spilling his snacks everywhere. Idiot, Chris thought. Why would you bother coming in when the movie was half over?
Suddenly, Chris had the strangest sensation come over him. It was a creepy feeling, like he was being watched. The hairs on the back of his neck stood up. He knew he should just turn around, and see who the newcomer was. Probably some dumb teenager, maybe making out with his girl. What was the matter with him?
He felt more and more irritated, because here was Jimmy, making wise with his co-star Pat O'Brien, and Chris could hardly follow the dialogue, he was so distracted. Aw, hell. He mentally shook himself, and concentrated on the film. Just when he was beginning to relax, and Jimmy Cagney was smacking around some cop, he heard it.
The giggle.
The giggle he would know ANYWHERE. Awwww. he--e--e--el--elll... Chris immediately began sinking down in his seat. His heart beat like a rabbit's in his chest. Shit. What could he do? Maybe Mad Dog hadn't seen him? Could he be that lucky? But even if he hadn't spotted him, how could Chris get away still unnoticed?
After nervously turning over his options in his head, several times, Chris knew that he would end up just getting up and walking out, if only because his nerves couldn't take it anymore.
Here goes nothin' he thought. As low-key as possible, he turned in his seat, and crouching, he slipped down his row, up the aisle, and out of the dim theatre. He looked behind him. So far so good. He kept walking, out of the lobby, and back out onto the street.
He exhaled. Keeping a brisk, unpanicked pace, he made his way down 18th Street, occasionally looking from side to side, trying to glimpse behind him without being obvious about it.
Chris made it to the corner, and was waiting to cross the street, when he saw him. Aw, hell. Of course it couldn't be that easy, could it?
Mad Dog was walking toward him, his fashionably cut long coat, billowing out behind him. His stride was long and unhurried, his gaze glittering and intense. Aw.....
Chris acted unconcerned, but stepped out into the not-quite empty street, and got honked at for his impudence. He just kept walking, painfully aware that Mad Dog's stride was much longer than his, and he would catch up with him in no time. What to do, what to do?
Up ahead, Chris was delighted to see a large group of men and women exiting one of the string of restaurants on this block. Some club meeting breaking up? Excellent. Get lost in the crowd, Kirkpatrick. Go, baby, go. As quick as thought, Chris hurried, and cut through the moving mob of people, darting here and there....he picked the third eatery he saw, and dashed inside.
Breathlessly, he checked the joint out. Good. Lots of people. Looking at the coat rack he got a sudden inspiration. He jerked up one the men's over- coats, about 4 sizes too big for him. He zipped down the row of booths, threw the coat on, and sat down quickly. He adjusted his fedora as low as possible. Snatching up a menu from the table, he held it in not quite steady hands, hoping against hope that it wasn't Mad Dog, making the bell jingle on the front door.
He had a perfect view of the floor. Chris winced when he recognized the finely tailored trousers, and the beautiful coat of Timberlake. The legs walked past, then backed up a few steps. Chris gasped when he felt his hand seized.
"LITTLE hands!" Mad Dog giggled. "Little hands..."
Chris turned his big eyes on Juju. He smiled a sickly smile. "Ya caught me! Boy that was fun, wasn't it? You're really good at Follow-the Leader."
Timberlake sat down opposite him. He looked at Chris unwaveringly.
Chris lowered the menu. "Yeah, I love Follow-the-Leader. And Hide-and- Go-Seek, and---all kinds of games. You like games, Mad Dog?"
Mad Dog did. Nodding and tittering.
"Yeah, me too, Mad Dog. I--I like gin rummy, and oh, a good game of Parcheesi's hard to beat, and uh, Chinese Checkers....what do you like to play?"
"Make the Puppy Squeal." Timberlake's eyes grew enormous.
"I'm not familiar with that game," Chris said carefully.
"Fat Lou taught it to me. Along with Kick the Cop, Beat the Witness, and Bribe the Judge, ah-huh, ah-huh," and Timberlake.
"Ah-huh, ah-huh, " Chris pretended to be as amused as Mad Dog. "Well, this has sure been fun, Mad Dog, we need to do this again some time--"
"I'm thirsty," Mad Dog looked up, and signalled the waitress. "Bring us some sodas." He turned his bright eyes back to Chris. "You're staying with me."
"Sure, Mad Dog, sure. I'm thirsty, too." Chris said, tugging at his suddenly too tight collar.
