17

By the time Jack clocked off from his first day at the Golden Chicken Diner, it had to be said that he was a firm believer in the power of the American Dream.

“Head chef?” said Dorothy as she clocked off in a likewise manner.

“Hard work, ambition and faithfulness to the company’s ethic,” said Jack, and almost without laughing.

Although Jack didn’t feel much like laughing. Jack felt anxious and all knotted up inside. Jack worried for Eddie. Feared for his bestest friend.

Jack’s bestest friend was more than a little afeared himself. He was afeared and he was hungry, too. Eddie had spent a most uncomfortable day travelling third class in the luggage compartment of a long black automobile.

There had been some stops for petrol, which Eddie had at first assumed were stops for winding of the key. Until he recalled that the cars of this world were not at all powered by clockwork. And there had been lots of hurlings to the left and the right, which Eddie correctly assumed were from the car turning corners. And there had been slowings down and speedings up and too many hours had passed for Eddie Bear. For as Eddie knew all too well, with each passing hour, indeed with each passing minute, the car was taking him further away, away from his bestest friend Jack.

“I can see that look on your face again,” said Dorothy to Jack. “You are worrying about Eddie.”

“How can I do anything else?” Jack asked outside the diner as he slipped on his nice clean trenchcoat.

Dorothy shrugged and said, “You’re doing all you can. And my, that trenchcoat smells of chicken.”

Jack made that face yet again.

“I’ll tell you what,” said Dorothy. “I’ll take you out tonight, to a club – how would you like that?”

“If it’s a drinking club,” said Jack. Hopefully.

“I’ll see what I can do.”

“Dorothy,” said Jack, and he looked into the green eyes of the beautiful woman. “Dorothy, one thing. You only had enough money to pay for a couple of cups of coffee earlier. How come you can now afford to take me out to a club?”

“I stole money out of the cash register,” said Dorothy.

“Oh, that’s all right then,” said Jack. “I thought you might have done something dishonest.”

No further words were exchanged upon this matter and Jack and Dorothy walked arm in arm down Hollywood Boulevard.

Dorothy pointed out places of interest and Jack looked on in considerable awe, whilst wishing that Eddie was with him to see them.

“That’s where the Academy Awards ceremony is held each year to honour the achievements of movie stars,” said Dorothy. “One day I will go onto the stage there and receive my award for Best Actress.”

“I thought you were going into producing,” said Jack.

“Yes,” said Dorothy. “Best Actress and Best Producer and I hope you’ll be there, too. You’d look wonderful in a black tuxedo and dicky bow. Very dashing, very romantic.”

At length they reached the Hollywood Wax Museum.

“Would you like to see the movie stars?” asked Dorothy. “They are here in effigy.”

Jack shrugged. “About this drinking club. I’ve had a hard day and I do like to unwind over a dozen or so beers.”

“All in good time, come on.”

Now wax museums are very much like Marmite.

In that you either love ’em or hate ’em. There’s no in between. No, “I think I fancy a visit to the wax museum today, sort of.” It’s either yes indeedy-do, or no siree.

At the door to the wax museum stood the effigy of a golden woman in a white dress, the skirt of which periodically rose through the medium of air-jets beneath to reveal her underwear.

“I like wax museums,” said Jack. “Yes indeedy-do.”

“That’s Marilyn Monroe,” said Dorothy as she purchased the tickets from a man in the ticket booth who looked like a cross between Bella Lugosi and Rin Tin Tin. “She’s the most famous actress in the world.”

“Does she have a nursery rhyme?” Jack asked.

“No, silly,” said Dorothy. “Come on.”

And they entered the wax museum.

It was dark in there – well, they always are, it lends to the necessary ambience. And disguises, of course, the fact that wax museums are generally housed within crumbling buildings with really manky decor, faded damp-stained wallpaper and carpets that dare not speak their name.

But that’s part of their charm.

Jack viewed The Legends of the Old West: William S. Hart, Audie Murphy, Jimmy Stewart, Gabby Hayes, Hopalong Cassidy, Clayton Moore, Roy Rogers and Trigger.

Jack then viewed The Mirthmakers: Buster Keaton, Charlie Chaplin, Laurel and Hardy, the Marx Brothers (whose hand prints Jack had viewed outside Mann’s Chinese Theatre) and Abbott and Costello.

Then The Hollywood Horrors: Lon Chaney Senr., Bella Lugosi, Dwight Frye, Boris Karloff.

“Oh,” said Dorothy. “They scare me.” And she nuzzled close to Jack.

And Jack took to this nuzzling and Jack turned up the face of Dorothy and kissed it, on the forehead and on the cheek and then on the beautiful mouth. And Dorothy kissed Jack and moved his hands from her shoulders down to her bottom.

And, as there was no one else around, and the lighting was so dim and everything, very soon some clothes were off and the two of them were having sex.

And somewhat sooner that Jack might have hoped, it was over, and somewhat soon after that the two of them were back in the evening sunlight of Hollywood Boulevard.

“Well, thanks for that,” said Jack.

But Dorothy put her fingers to his lips. “It took your mind off Eddie for a while, didn’t it?” she said.

“Damn,” said Jack. “I wish you hadn’t said that. Now I feel worse than ever.”

Eddie Bear felt worse than ever. He felt hot and he felt sick from all the bumping about and when the car finally stopped for good and all and the lid of his prison was lifted, Eddie Bear peered into the sunlight and felt almost exhilarated. Almost.

“Out,” said the voice of his bestest friend, which came not from that fellow.

“I’m wobbly,” said Eddie. “You’ll have to lift me out.”

“Out, or I’ll kick you out.”

“Well, there’s no need for that.” Eddie struggled up and over and down. To rest his paw pads on sand. “If I ask you where I am, will you tell me?” he asked.

The other Jack shook his head grimly. “Where you’ll not be found,” said he. “Come on, get a move on, that way.”

That way proved to be between the open steel-framed gateway of a tall and barbed-wire-fenced enclosure. Eddie looked to the left and the right of him. The fencing faded off in either direction. This was a large enclosure. There was a guard post by this gateway. A uniformed guard sat in it.

There was also a sign on an open gate. The sign read:

AREA FIFTY-TWO

UNAUTHORISED ACCESS FORBIDDEN

There were some rules and regulations printed beneath these words and these were of the military persuasion.

Eddie looked up bitterly at the other Jack. “I’m hungry,” said Eddie. “And thirsty, too. Is there a bar nearby?”

“There’s plenty of bars where you’re going,” said the evil twin of his bestest friend. “All made of steel.” And he laughed, in that mad way that supervillains do.

“Most amusing,” said Eddie. “But why have you brought me here?”

“Because you are so special,” said the anti-Jack. And he did more of the manic laughing.

Jack wasn’t laughing. He now felt very guilty.

“Listen,” said Dorothy, “you’re doing everything you can. Didn’t you tell me that as head chef of a Golden Chicken Diner you were invited to the head office tomorrow for a motivational training session?”

“I don’t recall doing so,” said Jack, “but that is what I’m doing.”