“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.”
“So you’ll probably be on the board of directors by lunchtime and in a position to find out where they’ve taken Eddie.”
“You really think so?” said Jack.
“Just follow the American Dream.”
“I am a little confused by the American Dream, as it happens,” said Jack as he and Dorothy walked on, passing the Hollywood Suit Company, which knocks out really natty suits at a price that one can afford.[29] “I mean,” Jack continued, “if it is every American’s born right to follow the American Dream and succeed in this following, how come most Americans aren’t googlaires living in mansions?”
“It’s their right to try,” said Dorothy.
And that was that for that conversation.
“Let’s go on to a club,” said Dorothy.
Jack took to halting and gazing at her. “Actually, let’s not,” he said. “As you might be aware, I have nowhere to sleep tonight.”
“You can sleep with me if you want.”
“I was hoping you’d say that. Why don’t we give the club a miss, go to your place, have some more sex and get an early night? I have a hard day ahead.”
Dorothy looked up at Jack. “All right,” she said. “We should both have an early night. There’s no telling what might happen to us tomorrow at the Golden Chicken headquarters.”
“Us?” said Jack. “I will be going alone.”
“I think you’ll find that all management staff have been invited. Restaurant management as well as kitchen management.”
“So that’s why I’ll be going alone.”
“And that’s why you won’t. I follow the American Dream, too, Jack. I manage our branch of the Golden Chicken now.”
“What?” said Jack.
“There was some unpleasantness with the previous manager,” said Dorothy. “She didn’t go quietly. I was forced to use my Dimac.”
“Early night it is, then,” said Jack.
The Californian sun rose once again. As it always does, unfailingly.
Its warmth and golden wonder did not fall on Eddie Bear, however, for he lay dismally in a barred cell, many floors beneath ground level in that Area known as Fifty-Two.