âIf the kid can sing and dance, sure Iâll see him,â heâd say, but somehow he never got around to it.
Out of the door that led to the changing rooms came two chorus girls â Bangles and Tillie. Bangles was a little plumper than the rest of the girls and chewed gum until her face muscles ached. She also talked a lot, which, all this considered, was very unfair on her jaw â and on the ears of whoever was nearby. Itâs not untrue to say that the other girls tended to avoid Bangles whenever they could. Tillie had been caught on the way out and was visibly suffering from the non-stop chatter that was dribbling out of Banglesâ mouth.
Fizzy stopped sweeping long enough to say goodnight to the two girls. He brushed his dirty hands down the front of his dungarees and pecked them both on the cheek. ââBye, Bangles, âbye Tillie. Take it easy now.â
ââNight, Fizzy.â
The rest of the girls trooped out, saying goodnight to Fizzy and Razamataz as they went. Fizzy picked up a bucket and mop. He hummed his tune and swished the water round and round in time with the bluesy beat. Just then, Fat Sam burst through the door from his office. Fizzy never wasted an opportunity to ask for an audition and this time was as good as any. But Fat Sam was obviously preoccupied. He gave Fizzy as much time as he did the wooden hat-rack by the exit door. He didnât mean to be nasty. It was just that he had a lot on his mind right now, and tap dancing janitors were as important to him as yesterdayâs papers.
Knuckles helped Sam into his overcoat and faithfully brushed him down with a brush he kept in his inside pocket. His task completed, he promptly cracked the knuckles of his left hand â like a full stop at the end of a sentence.
This habit irritated Fat Sam no end. He would shout at Knuckles to stop it. And the more Fat Sam shouted, the more nervous Knuckles would get. And the more nervous he got, the more heâd crack his knuckles â and consequently Fat Sam shouted at him even more. It was a strange cycle, a confused roundabout that poor old Knuckles had no way of jumping off.
He pressed his fist into his hand and the bones wiggled together to let out that unmistakable sound like a nut yielding to a nut-cracker.
âDonât do that, Knuckles.â
âBut itâs how I got my name, Boss.â
âWell, knock it off, else change your name.â
Knuckles bowed his head and nervously put his arms behind his back out of harmâs way. Fat Sam was growing impatient. He stalked up and down flexing his fingers and shooting out his arms to expose the neat starched shirt cuffs. He did it without thinking. Just as Knuckles clicked at his hands. Fat Sam shouted impatiently in the direction of the dressing room, âTallulah, are you ready? How much longer you want us to wait?â
Tallulah wasnât about to be hurried. She was the star of the Fat Sam Show and nobody hurried her. Sheâd hurried and bustled for too long and now she was taking things a little easier. Her tired lazy voice drifted down the stairs.
âComing, honey. You donât want me looking a mess, do you?â
Fat Sam threw his hands into the air, and paced the floor, his shoes echoing on the shiny wooden floor boards. He was uneasy. Knuckles watched his boss carefully, knowing that something was up but not daring to interfere. Without thinking, he cracked his knuckles in sympathy with what Fat Sam was thinking. Sam scowled at him with such venom that no words were necessary. Knockles put his hands in his pockets.
âSorry, Boss. It kind of... slipped out.â
Meanwhile, Fizzy had plucked up enough courage to speak.
âEr... Mr Stacetto, about the audition...â
Fat Sam looked at him for the first time. He wasnât unkind. He liked Fizzy and if there was ever enough time â which there wasnât â he would have given him a chance. He put his
Elmore - Carl Webster 03 Leonard