«Some dillies. I’ll show you. One of ‘em’s a trick camera that—well, I’ll show you. And don’t worry, honey. I remember you told me you got a tricky ticker and I won’t pull any scary tricks on you. Won’t scare you, honey; just the opposite.»
«You big goof! Okay, Jim, not before eight o’clock now. But plenty before nine.»
«With bells on, honey. Be seeing you.»
He went out of the telephone booth singing «Tonight’s My Night with Baby,» and straightened his snazzy necktie at a mirror in front of a pillar in the lobby. He ran an exploring palm across his face. Yes, needed a shave; it felt rough even if it didn’t show. Well, plenty of time for that in two and a half hours.
He strolled over to where a bellboy sat. «How late you on duty, son?» he asked.
«Till two-thirty, nine hours. I just came on.»
«Good. How are rules here on likker? Get it any time?»
«Can’t get bottle goods after nine o’clock. That is, well, sometimes you can, but it’s taking a chance. Can’t I get it for you sooner if you’re going to want it?»
«Might as well.» The big man took some bills out of his wallet. «Room 603. Put in a fifth of rye and two bottles of soda sometime before nine. I’ll phone down for ice cubes when we want ’em. And listen, I want you to help me with a gag. Got any bedbugs or cockroaches?»
«Huh?»
The big man grinned. «Maybe you have and maybe you haven’t, but look at these artificial ones. Ain’t they beauties?» He took a pillbox from his pocket and opened it.
«Want to play a joke on my wife,» he said. «And I won’t be up in the room till she gets here. You take these and put ’em where they’ll do the most good, see? I mean, peel back the covers and fill the bed with these little beauties. Don’t they look like real ones? She’ll really squeal when she sees ’em. Do you like gags, son?»
«Sure.»
«I’ll show you some good ones when you bring up the ice cubes later. I got a sample case full. Well, do a good job with those bedbugs.»
He winked solemnly at the bellboy and sauntered across the lobby and out to the sidewalk.
He strolled into a tavern and ordered rye with a chaser. While the bartender was getting it he went over to the juke box and put a dime in, pushing two buttons. He came back grinning, and whistling «Got a Date with an Angel.» The juke box joined in—in the wrong key—with his whistling.
«You look happy,» said the bartender. «Most guys come in here to tell their troubles.»
«Haven’t any troubles,» said the big man. «Happier because I found an oldie on your juke box and it fits. Only the angel I got a date with’s got a little devil in her too, thank God. Real she devil, too.»
He put his hand across the bar. «Shake the hand of a happy man,» he said.
The buzzer in his palm buzzed and the bartender jumped.
The big man laughed. «Have a drink with me, pal,» he said, «and don’t get mad. I like practical jokes. I sell ’em.»
The bartender grinned, but not too enthusiastically. He said, «You got the build for it all right. Okay, I’ll have a drink with you. Only just a second; there’s a hair in that chaser I gave you.» He emptied the glass and put it among the dirties, coming back with another one, this one of cut glass of intricate design.
«Nice try,» said the big man, «but I told you I sell the stuff; I know a dribble glass when I see one. Besides that’s an old model. Just one hole on a side and if you get your finger over it, it don’t dribble. See, like this. Happy days.»
The dribble glass didn’t dribble. The big man said, «I’ll buy us both another; I like a guy who can dish a job out as well as take one.» He chuckled. «Try to dish one out, anyway. Pour us another and lemme tell you about some of the new stuff we’re gonna put out. New plastic called Skintex that—hey, I got a sample with me. Lookit.»
He took from his pocket a rolled-up object that unrolled itself, as he put it on the bar, into a startlingly lifelike false face. The big man said, «Got it all over every kind of mask or false face on the market, even the expensive rubber ones. Fits so close it stays on practically of its own accord. But what’s really different about it is by gosh it looks so real you have to look twice and look close to see it ain’t the real McCoy. Gonna be an all-year-round seller for costume balls and stuff, and make a fortune every Halloween.»
«Sure looks real,» said the bartender.
«Bet your boots it does. Comes in all kinds, it will. Got only a few actually in production now, though. This one’s the Fancy Dan model, good looking. Pour us two more, huh?»
He rolled up the mask and put it back into his pocket. The juke box had just ended the second number and he fed a quarter into it, again punching «Got a Date with an Angel,» but this time waiting to whistle until the record had started, so he’d be in tune with it.
He changed it to patter when he got back to the bar. He said, «Got a date with an angel, all right. Little blonde, Marie Rhymer. A beauty. Purtiest gal in town. Here’s to ’er.»
This time he forgot to put his finger over the hole in the dribble glass and got spots of water on his snazzy necktie. He looked down at them and roared with laughter. He ordered drinks for the house—not too expensive a procedure, as there was only one other customer and the bartender.
The other customer bought back and the big man bought another round. He showed them two new coin tricks—in one of which he balanced a quarter on the edge of a shot glass after he’d let them examine both the glass and the coin, and he wouldn’t tell the bartender how that one was done until the bartender stood a round.
It was after seven when he left the tavern. He wasn’t drunk, but he was feeling the drinks. He was really happy now. Ought to grab a bite to eat, he thought.
He looked around for a restaurant, a good one, and then decided no, maybe Marie would be expecting him to take her to dinner; he’d wait to eat until he was with her.
And so what if he got there early? He could wait, he could talk to her while she got ready.
He looked around for a taxi and saw none; he started walking briskly, again whistling «Tonight’s My Night with Baby,» which hadn’t, unfortunately, been on the juke box.
He walked briskly, whistling happily, into the gathering dusk. He was going to be early, but he didn’t want to stop for another drink; there’d be plenty of drinking later, and right now he felt just right.
It wasn’t until he was a block away that he remembered the shave he’d meant to get. He stopped and felt his face, and yes, he really needed one. Luck was with him, too, because only a few doors back he’d passed a little hole-in-the-wall barber shop. He retraced his steps and found it open. There was one barber and no customers.
He started in, then changed his mind and, grinning happily, went on to the areaway between that building and the next. He took the Skintex mask from his pocket and slipped it over his face; be a good gag to see what the barber would do if he sat down in the chair for a shave with that mask on. He was grinning so broadly he had trouble getting the mask on smoothly, until he straightened out his face.
He walked into the barber shop, hung his hat on the rack and sat down in the chair. His voice only a bit muffled by the flexible mask, he said, «Shave, please.»
As the barber, who had taken his stand by the side of the chair, bent closer in incredulous amazement, the big man in the green suit couldn’t hold in his laughter any longer. The mask slipped as his laughter boomed out. He took it off and held it out for examination. «Purty lifelike, ain’t it?» he asked when he could quit laughing.
«Sure is,» said the little barber admiringly. «Say, who makes those?»
«My company. Ace Novelty.»
«I’m with a group that puts on amateur theatricals,» the barber said. «Say, we could use some of those—for comic roles mainly, if they come in comic faces. Do they?»