His Master's Voice - Part three

His Master's Voice

Part three

Harry Buschman

Shelley reached across Woody and released the dark green shade. It went up half-way and stopped at a crazy angle. Through the dirty window he squinted at the sooty downtown slum of Binghamton, New York,

"This is it, Woody. Take a look."

"I already seen it. We been here since 4 a.m."

Shelley looked at his watch, "6:30, I'm gettin' up. This damn compartment is givin' me the willies."

"Wadd'ya gonna do with me?

"Put you in the trunk––wadd'ya think? I'm not gonna carry you around Binghamton on my arm."

Shelley spent a long time shaving then took his last clean shirt out of his garment bag. He considered it, then put it back and put on the one he wore yesterday.

"What suit'cha gonna wear?"

"The brown one, it'll hide the dirty shirt."

"Big mistake, Shelley. The dark blue suit and the clean shirt. Find a laundry and get'cha shirts cleaned. Brown suits are for losers."

Without argument, Shelley took Woody's advice and put on the clean shirt, a quiet tie and the dark blue suit. Woody had impeccable taste in clothing. When not dressed in his idiotic leprechaun outfit, he was always attired in elegant taste. Even now as he lounged in the double bed in his quiet striped silk pajamas, he was a perfect model of an English country gentleman waiting for his breakfast to brought up to him from below stairs.

"Another thing, Shelley."

"Yeah?"

"This act of ours––bummer!"

"Wadd'ya mean, what'sa matter with it?"

"It just ain't funny no more. The old Jew and the Irishman jokes. Jesus! You make it even worse with your Shylock make-up, and what about me, huh? A friggin leprechaun wantin' t'buy a harp in the pawnshop window. C'mon Shelley––when y'gonna catch up?"

Shelley bristled as he always did when confronted with the truth. Normally he had a hundred excuses, each of them blaming his poor performance as a man, as a husband and even as an entertainer, on someone else. But it never worked with Woody. Woody knew him better than he knew himself.

"Got any ideas?"

"You bet. Remember the skit we worked on while you wuz in the hospital for the hernia? You're the dummy and I'm the ventriloquist .... ? We had it all worked out, you even got me a tuxedo. I look goddamn good in a tuxedo, Shelley."

Shelley opened the steamer trunk to get Woody's clothes. "Think we could pull that off? We ain't tried it out on the stage before.

"What'ya mean stage, this is a dance floor! There'll be maybe fifteen, twenty people there and half of them won't be payin' no attention. Great time to try it out."

Shelley pulled out the little tuxedo. "The suit's still here. Well let's get the pajamas off and see––yeah, you're a cute little shit all right. Well, get in the trunk; we have to look for the "Paradise Hotel."

"Get a cab y'cheapskate, don't go wanderin' around this dumpy town like y'just fell offa box car."