They were all of a single race. The human one.
And suddenly Jack yearned to be back in Toy City. This was not his world, even if these were somehow his people. There was such diversity amongst the denizens of Toy City, the gollies and the dollies, and the teddies and the clockwork folk. Each with their own specific, particular outlook on life, their own ways of being. They were Jack’s folk. Jack was one of them now. He had always been an outsider, always looking for something. But there was nothing here he wanted.
Jack looked towards Dorothy.
No, not even her, really.
Jack just wanted to be back with Eddie. Back in Toy City with all of this horror behind him.
“What are you thinking about?” asked Dorothy. “Eddie, I bet.”
“More than Eddie,” said Jack. “I was thinking about … well, no, it doesn’t matter.”
But it did. It really did.
As they drew closer to the desk where they were to receive their passes, Dorothy said, “Look at that, Jack. I bet you don’t like that.”
Jack looked and Jack saw. Behind the desk was a tall glass cabinet. Very tall, very wide, glass-shelved. Upon these shelves were many little figures.
Jack peered and Jack saw and recognised these figures.
The clockwork clapping monkeys. The band from Old King Cole’s. The orchestra from the Opera House. And oh so many more.
And right in the middle and larger than the rest sat a bear wearing a trenchcoat. And there was no mistaking that bear.
Jack made certain growling sounds and urged on the queue before him.
And presently it was his and Dorothy’s turn to receive their passes.
“Name?” said a young tanned lovely, with a great beehive of golden hair.
“Dorothy,” said Dorothy. And then she added her surname. Dorothy received her pass.
“Next,” said the lovely to Jack.
“Jack,” said Jack to the lovely. “Jack is my name. My name is Jack.”
“And Jack what would it be?”
“You have me on that one,” said Jack. “What would it be?”
“Your surname. You are Jack what?”
“I am Jack the head chef of the Golden Chicken Diner on Hollywood Boulevard.”
“I require your surname.”
“All right,” said Jack. “I’m Sir Jack.”
“There’s no Sir Jack on my list,” said the lovely. “Please leave by the way you came in. Next, please.”
“No,” said Jack. “Hold on there. I am the head chef.”
“Your name is not on the list.”
“I only started yesterday. I rose up through the ranks.”
“Ah,” said the lovely, batting preposterous eyelashes towards Jack. “You are a migrant worker.”
“Exactly,” said Jack.
“No work visa, no ID, paid in cash and poorly, too.”
“That kind of thing,” said Jack.
“Then get out before I call security.”
“Now hold on –” said Jack.
“If I might explain,” said Dorothy. “Jack is from England.”
“Oh,” said the lovely. “England, is it? Where you all wear bowler hats and take tea with the Queen at three? Well, why didn’t you say so?”
“Would it have made a difference?” Jack asked.
“Well, naturally it would. We Americans just love you English. Our politicians, in particular our President, are so keen to cultivate a special relationship with your Prime Minister. I have the gift of prophecy, you see, and I calculate that in some future time our President will be able to bully your Prime Minister into breaking the Nato Alliance and help him invade a Middle Eastern nation state.”
“Eh?” said Jack, accepting the pass he was now offered. “What was that you said?”
“You want it all again? You see, I have the gift of prophecy. And I calculate –”
“That’s enough,” said Jack. “Can I use your toilet, please?”
“Well, you can’t use mine, but you can use the men’s room – it’s over there.” And the lovely pointed with a lovely hand.
And Jack said, “Excuse me, please,” and made for the door at the hurry-up.
And once inside the men’s room, he locked himself into a stall and withdrew from his trenchcoat Wallah the calculating pocket.
“Oh,” whispered Wallah. “Remembered my existence at last, have you, Jack?”
“I’m so sorry,” said Jack. “All kinds of things have been happening.”
“Of that I am fully aware,” whispered Wallah. “I have been plunged into dirty dishwater, then roasted in a rotisserie. Then washed and wrung out once again by your lady friend to get the smell of chicken out of me.”
“It’s all been rather hectic,” said Jack.
“Well, all the sex you’ve been having certainly has.”
“It’s just business,” said Jack. Which was a callous thing to say, more callous too because there was a more than even chance that he meant it.
“You are a very bad boy,” said Wallah.
“Eddie sometimes says that,” said Jack.
“And you behave very badly when that little bear isn’t with you.”
“I behave very badly when he is,” said Jack. “Often with his encouragement.”
“Time is growing short,” said Wallah, and her voice was faint. “Eddie has less than forty-eight hours – you must move with haste.”
“I’ve got this far,” said Jack, “thanks to you.”
“But I can take you no further. You forgot about me, Jack.”
“I didn’t. Everything got hectic. I told you.”
“You forgot about me. But it doesn’t matter. I thought I was special to you. But it doesn’t matter. What matters is that you find Eddie and together you stop the fiend who would destroy Toy City.”
“I’m on the case,” said Jack. “I’m trying.”
“I can do no more to help you but tell you this: I calculate trouble by teatime and I calculate that, given the choice, you should duck to the right.”
“Right,” said Jack in a puzzled tone.
“Right.” said Wallah. “And so goodbye, Jack.”
“Goodbye.”
“Goodbye, Jack. I am fading fast. Time is up for me.”
“No,” said Jack, shaking Wallah about. “You can’t go now. You can’t –”
“Die?” said Wallah. “I’m dying, Jack. Would you do something for me?”
“Anything,” said Jack.
“Anything?” said Wallah. “Anything I ask?”
“Anything,’said Jack.’Anything at all.”
“Then kiss me, Jack,” said Wallah, “and …”
Jack emerged from the men’s room. He had a rather guilty look on his face. And it was a red and embarrassed face that this guilty look was upon.
“What have you been doing in there?” Dorothy asked Jack. “You look as if you’ve been –”
“Don’t be absurd,” said Jack. “I’ve been in there by myself.”
“Then you were –”
“Stop, please,” said Jack. “Let’s get a move on with what we’re supposed to be doing.”
“You have been,” said Dorothy. “Every woman can recognise that look on a man’s face, even though most women won’t ever admit it to a man. You’ve been –”
“Stop!”
When all had been issued their passes, all were led by the lovely to a golden escalator, up this and into a great hall (all gold) with seating upholstered in a similar hue. The seating was set up in rows before a stage, which Jack found unsurprisingly to be all over golden panels. And at length blinds were drawn at golden-framed windows and a spotlight, remarkably white in its brilliance, shone on the golden stage illuminating a golden microphone held high by a golden stand.
And into this spotlight stepped a dramatic personage who wore a suit that was not of gold, but was beige.
“Howdy doody, golden people,” he bawled into the microphone.