Page 33 of Shadow Ticket
New Trier kids work in the movie house as ushers and usherettes and popcorn slingers for 25¢ an hour, minus the rake-off to Red Barker, currently running the ushers’ union off and on between episodes of jail time state and local and keeping an eye open in the back of his head for unwelcome attention from Large Alphonse, who cannot be said to wish him well.
“This Lois the usherette you’re inquiring after?” Sheldon the apron on duty tonight sliding an Old Log Cabin Presbyterian in front of Hicks, “since when, mind me asking, did you start chasin jailbait, Hicks, that ol’ middle-age hankering creepin up on you, pal? Not too happy a prognosis for none of you degenerates, better you nix that jive while you still can.”
“Lucky for us both, Sheldon, my interest right now ain’t so much in Lois herself as her circle of friends, including the customer who just walked in.”
“And a pleasant good evening to you, Hicksie, what’s up, you’re supposed to be dead.”
Giancarlo Foditto, or Dippy Chazz, as he’s known in the lounges of the underworld, has made no secret of his deep yen for Lois, which he can’t explain, much less control. Chazz is a gangland kiddy of the more amiable sort who all his life has wanted to be taken for menacing, trying to wear the snappiest cut and shade of suit, the most sinister model of snap-brim, yet always coming across harmless and vulnerable as a fairground balloon, having somehow hypnotized the whole International Brotherhood of Tough Guys into respecting his need to stay unpopped as long as possible. Anybody so much as lays a finger invites correction.
“I’ll take your word for it, Dipster. Haven’t seen you around much either, come to think of it.”
“Business activities, tryin to stay low.”
“How much you owe them this time?”
“Ain’t money.” A tremulous silence. “If it was money—”
“—you’d already be out with the tambourine and I’d be out the door.”
Dippy Chazz’s usual Wisconsin Old Fashioned shows up, Korbel brandy, 7UP lithiated lemon soda, and, sharing the toothpick with a cherry, a pickled Brussels sprout.
“Ciao, Caramello.” It’s Lois, the usherette of interest, blonde, curvaceous, without flaw, precisely fine-tuned as to the exact makeup that goes with the undependable light in here. As if aware of its effect on Chazz, she hasn’t changed out of her usherette outfit either—that, thatgreenstripedown the trouser leg—mm, hmm! Accompanied by a redhead tonight just as attention-getting.
“Amore mio,” helplessly murmurs Dippy Chazz.
“Ooh yes, just a li’l sip, puh-leeze?” from a narrow velvet case producing a custom gold-plated soda straw with a noticeableLengraved on it. Snuggling in, she gets to work on the Wisconsin favorite, unlipping her straw long enough to remember, “Oh, Giancarlo? some funny men came around this morning, to our li’l playroom?”
“Porca miseria,” turning his head so fast his hat slides off of it, “and they followed you here, right?”
“Hm? Oh, no forget it, not my type, I like ’em suave and Continental and— Chazzy? Sugarcube? Where the hell’d he go?”
“Seven-teen’ll getcha twen-ty, yes,” Sheldon murmuring to the tune of “Shadow Waltz,” “it will…”
Lois fishing around for her car keys. “See if I can catch up with him, you mind, Daphne?”
“Oh no, not at all,” her friend smiling and glaring at the same time. “Thought we were going on down to Chicago tonight.”
“You’ll be OK here.”
“Till I’m not OK, Lo-life.”
“Giancarlo’s friend here, what was your name again, he’ll keep an eye on you I’m sure. Hicks? Meet Daphne. Back in a breeze, children.”
Hicks and Daphne have a quick look at each other.
She’s not exactly screaming “Help me!” but then she doesn’t have to. Natural redhead, captivating set of pins, a way of letting you know you’re getting the O-O but gO-Od. Hicks doesn’t devote much thought, he just steps in.
“OK, um, Daphne, anything here I should know about?”
“Sure. Those two gorillas that just came in the door?”
So there are, sporting vaguely medical whites, looking a bit cross, as if they were expecting a quieter evening.
“They’re after you? Better come on, then.”
“Oh, brother!” comments April when she hears the story later. “Just like that, natch, ‘Better come on, then.’ Leave the thinking to Officer Johnson, as always.”
“Two on one, come on, Angel, fair’s fair, ain’t it.”
